Jupiter (37 page)

When Krebs slept. She showed no indication of doing so. They cruised through the ocean, checking all the ship's systems, Muzorawa standing glassy-eyed at his console while the sensors poured an unending stream of data into the computers — and sights, sounds, all sorts of sensory impressions directly into his nervous system.

The power and propulsion systems were working so smoothly that Grant almost felt bored, standing at his console. His legs ached now, and a vague, dull pain nagged at him, behind his eyes, barely on the threshold of consciousness, just enough to be bothersome. He tapped into Zeb's sensor data, intending to peek at the incoming data for only a few moments.

Instantly, he was awed by the flow of sensations that enveloped him. He could see through the water clearly, see the swirl of manna trickling from above, and - far in the distance - thicker streams of the organic particles sifting downward into the darker depths. The water flowed past him smoothly, as if he were gliding through the ocean like a fish. And the ocean was warm; Grant felt a steady glow of heat rising from the bottomless depths.

There were no creatures in this sea, he realized. No fish, no fronds of plants. We've got to go deeper for that. Dr "Wo said they detected the moving objects more than ten kilometers below the surface, and even then they were so far away—

'She's asleep.'

Grant snapped his attention back to the bridge. He had to blink several times, get his perspective adjusted. I'm in the ship, he told himself, consciously disconnecting from the sensors' data stream.

Turning, Grant saw that Krebs had actually left the bridge. The optic fibers that linked her to the ship's systems were tucked back in their storage locker in the overhead.

'She finally left the bridge,' Karlstad said softly, furtively, 'after almost fifty hours straight on duty.'

'She took a couple of naps,' O'Hara said.

'Run out the antenna,' Karlstad told her. 'Quick, while we've got the chance.'

Muzorawa said, 'Grant, it might be wise if you go to the hatch and keep an eye on her. Warn us if she gets out of her bunk.'

'I'll have to disconnect,' Grant complained. 'I'll monitor your systems,' Muzorawa said. With even more reluctance than usual, Grant disconnected while O'Hara spooled out the antenna and powered up the microwave transceiver.

'Oooh, there's a great lot of incoming messages waiting for us,' she said. Then, her expression turning puzzled, 'No, wait. It's only one message, but they've been repeating it over and over again.'

'Never mind the incoming crap,' Karlstad snapped. 'Link me to the medical computer.'

Grant hovered by the hatch, one eye on Krebs' berth, the other on the wallscreen that began showing blocks of medical jargon. Krebs' bunk was shuttered offby its privacy screen. The captain was resting, alone, disconnected from the ship for the first time since they'd left the station.

He wondered about Krebs, about what drove her. Nearly killed in the first deep mission, here she was back in the Jovian ocean, staying linked to the ship far longer than she had to, longer than she ought to. Is she surrendering to the emotional power of the linkage? Grant asked himself. But if she did, how could she disconnect herself voluntarily after so many hours of being linked? She must be tough, he thought; a lot stronger than I am.

'So that's it!'

Karlstad's exclamation made Grant turn to the bridge. The three of them were still at their consoles, and the wallscreen was covered with medical terms.

'Visual agnosia,' said Karlstad, 'means she doesn't recognize things visually. Her visual sense is impaired.'

'You mean she can't recognize faces?' O'Hara asked.

Nodding vigorously, Karlstad said, 'That's why she looks so funny at you. She can't tell who she's looking at until you say something to her. Then she recognizes your voice.'

'That's strange,' Muzorawa said.

Scrolling through the medical dictionary display, Karlstad said, 'It's rare, but there's a considerable history on it.'

'What causes it?'

'Often it's physical trauma to the brain, the visual cortex. A cerebral hemorrhage, for instance.'

'A stroke?'

'Or a physical blow to the head,' Karlstad added.

'But she's had neither,' Muzorawa pointed out.

Karlstad said, 'True, but she was badly injured in the first mission.'

'No head injuries, if I recall rightly,' said O'Hara.

'Yeah, that's right.' Karlstad sounded disappointed.

Grant spoke up, 'What about living in this high-pressure environment? Could that cause injury to the brain?'

'The earliest experiments did cause some nerve damage,' Karlstad said. 'That's why we raise the pressure slowly, give the body time to adjust.'

'Do you think that's what's happened to Dr Krebs?' O'Hara asked.

'Obviously,' said Karlstad.

'Then what do we do about it, do you think?' she wondered aloud.

'Nothing,' Muzorawa said.

'Nothing at all?'

'Krebs has adjusted to her problem. It hasn't interfered with her work, has it?'

'No,' O'Hara said slowly, 'I suppose it hasn't.'

'Not yet,' Karlstad said.

'The medical board approved her for this mission,' Muzorawa pointed out. 'The psychologists did not object.'

Karlstad looked unconvinced. 'She's a walking time bomb,' he muttered.

'I disagree,' Muzorawa said.

'She could get us all killed.'

Muzorawa's expression was utterly serious. 'Egon — all of you — I think our best course of action is to watch Dr Krebs carefully. If she shows signs of disability, if she begins to behave erratically, then we will have to decide what should be done. At present, she's performing quite normally.'

'Staying linked to the ship for nearly fifty hours is normal?' Karlstad challenged.

'Did she perform her duties well?' Muzorawa shot back. 'Have we accomplished our mission goals, so far?'

The two men were glaring at each other, Grant saw: Karlstad with his usual haughty, almost sneering expression; Muzorawa stolid and determined.

O'Hara broke the deadlock. 'I'd better take a peek at this message the station's been beaming to us all this time.'

Muzorawa said, 'Good idea.' Karlstad nodded.

The medical dictionary's text vanished from the wallscreen. In its place the blue and white symbol of the International Astronautical Authority appeared, quickly replaced by the scowling face of a man in a gray tunic, sitting at what appeared to be a work station aboard a spacecraft.

Grant twitched with surprise. He knew that face. It was Ellis Beech, the New Morality official who had recruited him to spy on Dr Wo.

Beech's dark eyes were steady and calm, his long narrow face looked composed, almost indifferent. Yet to Grant there seemed to be something seething beneath that impassive cool exterior, something unrelenting, implacable.

'Dr Krebs, I am the chairman of the IAA inspection team approaching the station. You have previously been ordered by Dr Wo to abort your mission and return to Station
Gold
. He gave that order at my insistence. Now I personally order you to return to the station. In the name of the IAA, I order you to abort your mission and return at once! We know that the message you sent with the data capsule is a deliberate falsehood. You are still able to maintain communications contact with the station. Return at once or you will be stripped of your position at Station
Gold
and your professorship in Heidelberg will be forfeited. Abort your mission and return immediately!'

Grant stared at Beech's icy image on the wallscreen. How could he be chairman of the IAA team? he wondered, his mind spinning. The New Morality must have taken control of the inspection team. Maybe they've taken over the entire IAA!

Karlstad also stared at the wallscreen, mouth hanging open in shock.

'They found out about your tapping the medical computer,' Muzorawa said softly. It wasn't an accusation, merely a statement of lamentable fact.

'That they did,' O'Hara agreed sadly.

Karlstad closed his mouth, shrugged, then said, 'Okay, so they found out. What do we do about it?'

'I don't know,' said Muzorawa. 'This is an awful situation.'

'For Krebs,' Karlstad said.

'For all of us,' Muzorawa corrected.

'Maybe not,' Karlstad said. 'She's in command, after all. We're just following her orders. She's the one who told us not to acknowledge Wo's order to return to the station.'

'Dr Wo gave that order under duress,' Grant said heatedly. 'It's obvious they were forcing him to make that call.'

'That still doesn't help us to decide what we should do about this,' O'Hara said. 'Should we—' She stopped, her eyes going wide.

From behind him, Grant heard Krebs' harsh voice, 'So you've put me into the meatgrinder, eh?'

Grant whirled around. How long had she been standing there at the hatch? How much had she heard?

'Let me assure you, all of you,' Krebs snarled,'that if I go down, the four of you go down with me.'

'We are here to explore the ocean,' Krebs said firmly. 'We are not turning back because some bureaucrat in the IAA has allowed the politicians to overrule his own sense of responsibility.'

'But, Captain—' Karlstad began.

'Silence! Men and women have died in this effort. Do you think that I'm going to spit on their graves by turning back? Not before we've done our damnedest to find out if there's life down here.'

'Yes, Captain,' Karlstad said, as if he'd never considered any other course of action.

'I agree completely,' said Muzorawa.

'It doesn't matter whether you agree or not,' Krebs spat. 'We are going deeper. Now.' She levelled a finger at O'Hara. 'And no communication with the station! Nothing! For no reason. Even if we are dying in this coffin we make no attempt to contact the station
unless I tell you to
. Is that clear?'

'Perfectly clear,' Lane answered.

'Good. Now take your stations. We are going down to ten kilometers.'

Wordlessly, the four of them began to link up to the ship's systems. Krebs did also. Grant felt almost relieved. At least she knows it all now. We're not sneaking around her back anymore. The visual agnosia doesn't affect her ability to run this ship.

'Ready for linkage,' he reported. Before the others, he noticed.

'Very good, Mr Archer. You may link.'

As Grant reached for the console switch that would unite him again with the power and propulsion systems, he realized that Krebs couldn't possibly be a Zealot terrorist. She doesn't want to destroy this mission, she wants to carry it through, no matter what the consequences afterward.

He felt better about her. And about the mission. He tried not to think about what would happen to them after the mission, when they returned to the station and the waiting Ellis Beech.

Once the others were linked Krebs gave the order to dive to ten kilometers. After several hours, the headache behind his eyes was throbbing through Grant's skull. The pressure's building up, he realized. As we dive deeper the pressure outside the hull goes higher, which means the pressure here on the bridge goes up to compensate.

How deep can we go? he asked himself. He knew the submersible's specifications, but those were merely numbers. How much pressure can we stand? Zeb was wrong: this vessel can take a lot more pressure than we can. We'll crack long before the hull does.

He glanced at Karlstad, tending the life support console. Egon looked tense, his lips a thin, tight line, his face even paler than usual. If we weren't immersed in this fluid he'd be sweating, Grant thought. Egon can
feel
the pressure squeezing on the hull; it must seem like a giant vise trying to crush his body,

'Ten kilometers,' Lane sang out.

'Maintain descent angle,' said Krebs. 'We're going deeper.' Grant heard a groan. It didn't come from anyone on the bridge. It was a metallic, grinding complaint.

'Pay no attention to that noise,' Krebs told them. 'It's not important.'

As if in obedience to her, the grinding noise stopped.

'Support cylinder nine needs lubrication,' Krebs said, trying to reassure them. 'Nothing to worry about.'

The nested shells that comprised the
Zheng He
were connected by buttressing cylinders that contained hydraulic pistons within them. They compressed slightly as the pressure outside the hull squeezed on the ship. Grant began to wonder how well the cylinders would support the shells if one of them was already showing signs of strain.

Maybe I'm the one who's wrong, he realized. Maybe the ship will fail before our pain becomes unbearable.

After a tense four hours of steady descent, Krebs told Muzorawa and Karlstad to take a rest period.

'One hour, then report back here to relieve O'Hara and Grant,' she commanded.

Grant took over Karlstad's life support systems. True to his expectations, he could feel the pressures inside each level of the ship building, mounting, pressing in on him, slowly crushing him to death like a giant boa constrictor wrapping its coils around him. It was getting difficult to breathe, it took a conscious effort to lift his chest to inhale.

Stop it! he chided himself. It's ninety percent imagination. Ninety-nine percent! Look at the pressure graph; it's only gone up a couple of percentage points since we entered the ocean. You're letting your emotions overpower your brain.

Still he felt as if he were being smothered. His headache pounded. He glanced at O'Hara. She seemed normal enough, intently piloting the ship deeper into the sea, watching with glowing eyes the sensors that Zeb normally monitored. Grant fought an urge to tap into the sensor net and see what she was looking at. No, he told himself, you've got enough to do. Don't allow yourself to be distracted.

Then he wondered what the increasing pressure was doing to Krebs. Her condition was due to pressure-induced trauma to her brain. It had be worse as they descended deeper. Did she feel pain? Confusion? He shot a glance over his shoulder at her. Krebs seemed perfectly normal, floating in her usual spot up by the overhead, scowling at him.