Dark as Day (44 page)

She made sure that she was present when the completed product was delivered. She sat and watched as Hal Launius displayed the spray syringe. It was tiny, more like a toy than a medical instrument. The tube held a few drops of misty gray-blue liquid, innocuous in appearance; but Jan could not repress a shiver when Launius applied the syringe’s tip to Sebastian’s bared upper arm. The liquid vanished instantly, absorbed through the skin.

“Feeling all right?” Valnia Bloom, to judge from her voice, was more concerned than she would admit.

“Yeah.” Sebastian sat dull-eyed. “Fine.”

Jan wasn’t. “What happens next?”

“For a few hours, nothing at all.” Hal Launius examined the empty syringe and nodded in satisfaction. “After that, the nanos will have multiplied enough to make themselves felt. Sebastian, you will run a fever—no more than a degree or two, I expect—and then you’ll need to pee a lot. That’s how the nodules will be excreted. Make sure that you drink plenty of fluids to help your kidneys.”

“When will it end?” Valnia Bloom asked. “Before we began, you suggested four or five days would be enough.”

“I was being conservative. Safer to play it that way.” Launius packed away the syringe in its little carrying case. “But if this isn’t all over and done with in three days or less, I owe you dinner.”

He left. Valnia Bloom followed him a few minutes later, after advising Sebastian that his temperature and pulse would be monitored remotely and reminding him that water would help to flush out his system. Jan watched him closely. For all the notice he took of Valnia Bloom’s words, she might as well have saved her breath.

Then Jan and Sebastian were alone. It was no novelty, they had been alone together most of their lives. But since leaving Earth, things had changed. Perhaps it was Sebastian, perhaps it was Jan, but what had once been easy companionship was now awkward. Sebastian never started a conversation. His replies were only a few words. He seemed preoccupied, far off in some private world.

Jan stuck it out for three hours. At last she told Sebastian that she needed to go outside for “a breath of air”—a notion utterly alien to a Ganymede native. He simply nodded. She left the research quarantine facility and headed upward. The surface itself lay only four habitat layers above their heads.

Jan had made no conscious plan as to what she would do next. It seemed like random impulse when she looked for and located a surface access point, donned one of the protective suits with its superconducting fine mesh, and proceeded upward one more layer and out through multiple locks onto the naked surface of Ganymede.

Close to the lock, the ground, worn down by the passage of many people and vehicles, had taken on the texture of fine sand. Flecks of ice and mica at Jan’s feet glittered in the light of the distant Sun. Farther off, to her left, she saw sunglint on jagged ridges and icy pinnacles. She knew their name—those were the Sabine Hills—but she felt no desire to explore them. A brief pang of homesickness for the soft and rounded contours of Earth came and went. She told herself that the Outer System was home now. She had better get used to the idea. This world and this scenery possessed its own stark splendor.

It was not until she found herself walking steadily west, toward an array of gantries and scaffolds rising into the black sky like the glittering spires of an alien city, that she finally realized what she was doing. Ahead of her lay one of Ganymede’s main spaceports, the home for hundreds or thousands of vessels ranging in size from single person space-hoppers to full-sized interplanetary liners. In the latter class—she could not see it yet, but already she was looking—was the OSL
Achilles
, being prepared for its next flight from Ganymede to the Inner System. Paul Marr had told Jan that although he was on leave, he stopped by the ship every day to see how preparations were coming along.

Jan halted, stared up to the steady stars, and wondered if she should go no farther. Spending his off-duty hours with Paul was one thing, behaving like a fool and interfering with his work was another. But as she looked again to the spidery derricks and gantries, she recognized the solid outline of the
Achilles
. Her steps, taking orders from somewhere other than her conscious mind, led Jan in that direction.

Security at the ship—indeed, everywhere on the surface—seemed casual to nonexistent. Jan was able to approach the
Achilles
, operate the elevator on the scaffold surrounding the ship, and enter an airlock unimpeded and apparently unobserved. It was a shock to emerge from the inner lock and find herself face to face with Captain Kondo.

He inclined his head to her politely. “It is nice to see you again, Ms. Jannex. How may I help you?”

Did he have one of those phenomenal memories, which could store away the name of every passenger who ever traveled on the
Achilles
?

Kondo’s next words eliminated that idea. “If you are seeking my first officer, you are fortunate in your timing. He is in the engine room, far aft, but he is preparing to leave momentarily. Although you know the way there, I would much prefer you to remain in this location. I will make him aware of your presence.”

His tone was formal, but as he turned away the captain added, “I feel I am much indebted to you, Ms. Jannex. Many times I have urged Paul to enjoy himself and to take more relaxation between trips, but always to no avail. It seems that you have succeeded where I failed. Have fun with my first officer—but please bring back enough of him to fly the
Achilles
.”

After that parting dig he left Jan to wait alone. She stood by the airlock exit, glad that Captain Kondo would not be present to observe her interaction with Paul—whatever it might be.

Paul appeared a few minutes later. He said, “Jan!”

It was impossible to tell from the one word of greeting if he was actually pleased to see her. Her suit ruled out a hug or other gesture of affection.

“I’m sorry, Paul. I wasn’t planning to come up here at all, but then they started the sluicing operation on Sebastian, and it made me feel really uneasy, and I know it’s supposed to be harmless and painless, but he’s going to run a fever, and somehow …” Her voice trailed away.

“I understand. How long will the operation take?”

“No one seems sure. Three days, maybe four.”

“Then the worst possible thing that you could do is hang around all the time with nothing to do but worry. Do you have to be anywhere special for the next few hours?”

“No.”

“Then come with me. I guarantee something to take your mind off Sebastian for awhile.”

“Where are you going?”

Paul pointed a finger upward, and grinned when he saw Jan’s expression. “No, I don’t mean the forward observation chamber of the
Achilles
. We’ve been there, done that—or tried to. I knew I would be in the spaceport today, so I booked myself for a space-spin. I asked for a single-seater, but I’ll call and change it to a side-by-side with dual controls.”

“I’m going to fly a spaceship?”

“No, you’re not. Another day, maybe, but not today. Division of labor. I do the flying, you do the sight-seeing.”

Jan had not agreed to go, but apparently refusal was not an option. Paul said, “Give me a minute to get my suit on. Good thing you are all set,” and popped into an adjoining cabin before she could speak.

Again Jan was left standing alone. She felt much better. There were times when it was good to have someone else making the decisions.

* * *

Suited and outside the
Achilles
, Paul led them across an open expanse of the surface dotted with small spacecraft. Here and there, bright red shields against the solar hail of high-velocity protons hid whatever sat beneath. There were too many ships to count and to Jan the place was a maze. Paul obviously knew exactly where he was going. Fifteen minutes later he halted by a blunt-nosed oddity that reared high on six skinny legs. To Jan’s earth-trained eye it resembled a giant blue dragonfly. Paul patted the side as they came up to it. A hatch in the side promptly opened and deployed a narrow ladder.

“Don’t you have to make arrangements in advance for this sort of thing?” Jan asked, as they climbed up and dropped into massive cushioned seats. Jan’s at once adjusted to her size.

“You might think so.” Paul was checking read-outs. “And the average person couldn’t take a ship without special notice. But I’m in the business. It’s one of the perks. A lot of crew become planet-crazy if they’re stuck below surface between flights, so we can fly anytime we want. Ready to go?”

It was a rhetorical question, because Jan’s weight had suddenly become immense. The dragonfly was rising and rotating, her stomach was turning with it, and the surface of Ganymede dropped away with dizzying speed.

She said, through clenched teeth, “What’s our acceleration?”

“One gee.” The cabin had pressurized and Paul was opening his helmet. “I thought I ought to make you feel at home.”

This
was one Earth gravity? But then, before she had time to ponder how quickly the familiar became unfamiliar, she had something else to think about. Another ship, this one ten times their size, flashed by in front of them. Jan saw a line of portholes and people’s heads, and knew that they had missed each other by a few tens of meters.

“Perfectly safe.” Paul must have heard her gasp. “We’re in the arrival zone, relative positions are controlled to within millimeters. Once we’re clear of this I doubt you’ll see another ship until we come back in to land.”

“Where are you taking us?”

“Wherever you’d like to go.”

“How about Io? I’ve heard it’s spectacular.”

“It sure is. Spouting volcanoes and lava and flaming sulfur pits. I’ve tried to paint that scene a hundred times, but I’ve always thrown away the result. I can’t even get close to the reality. Whenever I read a description of Hell, I think of Io. But we can’t go there today.”

“Power limitations?”

“No. The Moby will run forever. But Ground Control doesn’t want crew members joyriding out to Uranus or Neptune, so they’re stingy on volatiles for reaction mass. Anyway, a round trip to Io is a full day’s ride at our acceleration. We’ll just ride around a bit.”

Perhaps they would, but at the moment the dragonfly ship seemed to be plunging straight for the center of cloud-racked Jupiter. The planet was swelling visibly, at least in Jan’s imagination. She recalled their last encounter with the planet, and the
Achilles
’ near-fatal swingby. What on earth had Sebastian been trying to accomplish when he fiddled with the locks? He had never answered her when she asked him that. Jan had never admitted it to Valnia Bloom—in fact, she had insisted on the exact opposite—but Sebastian’s behavior was becoming steadily more peculiar. Although he still stared endlessly at images of Jupiter and Saturn, he no longer drew their cloud patterns. He no longer seemed to do anything at all. Anyone examining him would conclude that he was half-witted or drugged. He had not always been like that—if he had, he would never have passed the tests, and he and Jan would still be back on Earth. But in his present condition, where in the System could Sebastian possibly be allowed to go next?

“Mind if I talk?” Paul broke into her thoughts. “You seem a bit out of it.”

“I’m all right.” Jan could detect a slight change in heading, they were no longer plunging straight for Jupiter. “The view reminded me of … something.”

“That’s what I was afraid of.” Paul swiveled his seat to face her. “I was surprised to see you board the
Achilles
today—surprised, but pleased. Because there’s been something I wanted to say to you, and I’ve been putting it off.”

What was coming? Jan stiffened in her chair as Paul went on, “We’ve had a great time these past few weeks—at least, I have. But in six days the
Achilles
will be gone, and I’ll be gone with it. Now, I’m a sailor and I’m probably a typical one. If it hasn’t quite been a girl in every port, it has been a different companion on every trip. Two or three weeks were just enough time to start something going, then when you arrived at your destination you went your separate ways with everything tied off neat and civilized. I won’t lie to you, Jan, I’ve had a hell of a time doing that and there were never any regrets.

“So I ought to be the last man in the System with any right to complain when something cools off. Except it hasn’t been like that with us. We were really intense on the way out to Ganymede, and again after we arrived until you went off to see how things were with Sebastian. I thought that was it, things were over between us. But you came back and we were hot as ever. I was starting to imagine that we might be something special for the long-term. Then Sebastian had to have this weird operation done, and away you went again.

“Now, I don’t want you to think I’m jealous of the poor bastard. I’m not. I’m sorry for him, because in my opinion—don’t get mad—he’s not firing on all neurons. But it seems like whenever he’s in trouble, I disappear off the screen so far as you are concerned. Like today. You come aboard the
Achilles
, and I get a big lift just out of seeing you. Only it turns out you didn’t really come to visit me at all. You came because you were worried about Sebastian. So I bring you up here, thinking this will take your mind off him. But after take-off, you went away somewhere inside your head. Tell me the truth. Were you thinking about Sebastian just now?”

Jan paused, then reluctantly nodded.

“Do you wonder if I can’t see any sort of future for the two of us? What do you want, Jan?”

“I don’t want you to leave.”

“I have to leave. The
Achilles
lifts off in six days.”

“I know. I didn’t mean that. Look, Sebastian’s operation will be finished in three days. Will you wait that long, then ask me again what I want?”

“If it has to be that way.” The ship had been following a long curved arc while they talked. Jupiter’s great orb had vanished, and the frosty glitter of Ganymede lay dead ahead. Paul turned to face away from Jan. “I will ask again. But I’m afraid I already know what you’ll say. We’d better close our suits, we’ll be landing in five minutes.”