When the flow came strongly, escaping liquids built volcanoes. From their crown and flanks steam rose incessantly. They created lake-speckled plains when the currents ebbed. The ground crews had chosen a quiet upwelling, so they did not have to fight strong turbulence when the submersible descended, searching.
The vent widened as they plunged. Chunks of ice drifted by in the amber spotlights. They dropped several kilometers through solutions of ammonia, carbon dioxide slush, methane crystals, and twinkling specks of debris. The moon’s spin stirred the grains of rock, keeping a fine suspension hanging like a shimmering curtain before the working lights.
They reached a zone of reasonably pure water. Carlos deployed a huge sac and ran nose into the current. It billowed and filled—strong, though only one molecule thick. Carlos showed Nikka how to attach floaters to the tail of the sac while he ran the board. He found a strong updraft. When he called out, she released the floaters and the sac self-sealed. Guided by the floaters, it rose up the vent. It would bob to the surface of the lake, be snagged ashore, and a mass spectrometer would separate out the rare deuterium. Lancer’s fusion motors could burn the deuterium, as backup to the reactions that ran in the ramscoop drive.
“Rather a lot registering on the impurity detectors,” Nigel observed.
“Whole zoo of stuff out there,” Carlos muttered. He had been quiet since their descent. His face knotted with conflicting thoughts and he kept his attention fixed on the complex half-moon control pit.
“What’s it look like?” Nikka had come forward after freeing the floaters manually.
“Chicken soup, actually. Or the Ross 128 equivalent,” Nigel said from the wall bunk where he lay.
Carlos said, “Science Section’s coming down in a few days, take deep samples.”
“Interesting. Heavy molecular stuff. Free radicals, too.”
“This water’s too cold to make free radicals spontaneously,” Nikka remarked. “No energy source.”
“Indeed.” Nigel frowned. “You’d imagine—”
Carlos. Want to talk to those passengers of yours.
“That’s the fifth time he’s called,” Carlos said.
Nigel yawned. “Poor fellow. Ask if there’s news.”
“Ted, this situation is really out of hand and I just want to do what’s—”
I know that. Hitting you all of a sudden like that, really mixing up your loyalties—I know, Carlos.
Nigel whispered, “Sounds quite judicious and forgiving. Man for all ages, is Ted.”
Nikka smiled and shushed him.
“Marvelous actor. I never appreciated that till now.”
Carlos had said little the last hour. The release of talking to a third party opened him up. He could not hide his own confusion and uncertainty, but this came through as reluctance to own up to his actions; or so Landon would interpret, Nigel guessed. Landon listened and conferred with the director of Pocks Operations. The surface crews were angry at the violation of regs and the possible danger—principally to the equipment; it was good to remember what was replaceable—in case Carlos got into a jam. But if he stayed away from the vent walls it made sense to let him go ahead, locating streams of pure water and filling the teardrop sacs. Landon conferred some more and then provisionally approved Carlos staying down. If anything changed, or Nigel’s condition deteriorated, however—
“I’ve got a filter with me,” Nigel put in.
Was wondering when I’d hear from the kingpin. I must say this is right in line with your whole career. Under pressure you crack.
There was a gentlemanly iciness in Landon’s voice. They were, of course, both speaking for the recorded benefit of any future review board.
“Undergo a phase transition, is more the way I’d put it. Or tempering. Marvelous process, that. Lessens brittleness. Reduces internal stresses.”
Well, we’ll wait out the time for your mandatory vote. Don’t think the consensus isn’t going to factor in this escapade.
“I came with him, Ted,” Nikka said. “Do you want to shut me up, too?”
“Don’t commit yourself,” Carlos broke in. “Ted, I hope you can see that she’s in a very excited state and not really—”
I follow. Well, I could have done without this slice of shit you put on my plate, Nigel. Things are jittery back here as it is, with the Earthside news. We’re waiting for an update now and I may have to replan everything if—
“What’s the news?” Nikka asked.
Getting a spotty carrier wave. More thermonuclear strikes, looks like. Satellite warfare seems to have gone just the way everyone predicted—complete cancellation. Reports of alien craft in orbit, too. Some are landing in the oceans.
“My God,” Nikka said softly.
Yeah. And Nigel picks this moment to pull one of his—
“Bit cavalier about causality, aren’t you?” Nigel said sharply. “You already had warning signals about the Earthside situation—it’s been brewing for a week. So you thought you’d slot me away while everyone’s distracted. No accident it’s all happening at once. Only it’s not going as you’d planned, is it?”
Paranoid, Nigel, real paranoid.
“We’ll see. If I’ve any friends up there who’ll vote for me—”
After this? Don’t bet on it.
Nigel grimaced in irritation. “No point in this talk. Carlos, what’s that on the sonar? Big structure in the left quadrant.”
“Signing off,” Carlos barked. The job took precedence over all else. He banked to port in a downstream.
“That was to get him off the air,” Nigel said gently. “Needn’t shy away from everything.”
“If we hit one a those bergs—”
