Gregory Benford - Jupiter Project

I marched through the decks, muttering to myself, hands clenching and unclenching.

Dr. Kadin arrived a few minutes after I got back to Monitoring. I studied the reports from equatorial satellites. The radiation being fed into the belts had dropped in the last hour, almost down to the permissible level for shuttlecraft operation.

“Do you suppose the storm is dying out?” I asked Dad. He peered at his viewscreen, which at the moment was focused on a gigantic orange whirlpool in the ammonia clouds. “There isn’t any way to tell. The storm activity seems to be related to the number of vortex formations in the atmosphere, and there aren’t any new ones building up right now.”

“There may be a relatively quiet time coming up.” Dr. Kadin put in, “much like the eye of a hurricane. I must say this is all very queer and extraordinary. There has been nothing like it in the nine years we’ve been here. I hope Satellite Fourteen will give us the data we need.”

“Where is Fourteen?” Mr. Jablons asked.

Dad switched to another input and reported. “Two minutes until anything significant could register.”

Dr. Kadin got a distant look in his eye. “You know,” he said, “so many curious things are happening at once, it is enough to make one wonder. We have recorded massive thunderstorm activity deep in the atmosphere. Great bolts of lightning.”

“The formation of living cells requires lightning, doesn’t it?” I asked. “Electricity can energize the manufacture of molecules—like the ones we know are down there in the clouds—to produce living compounds.”

“So experiments on Earth have shown,” Dr. Kadin agreed, raising his eyebrows and sighing. “But we have never found such things in Jupiter. Perhaps lightning is not all that is needed.”

“What about those meteor swarms?” Mr. Jablons put in. “What’s the explanation for them?”

“I am afraid today is not a bright one for the scientists. Our expert on the asteroid belt says they may come from there. Another says the orbits trace back to Jupiter’s own moon system. There remain many questions; we do not have sufficient data. The odd thing is that the swarms strike Jupiter near the poles, not the equator. Very unusual—”

“The Faraday cup on Satellite Fourteen is beginning to register an increase,” Dad said.

We all crowded around his desk. Dr. Kadin fidgeted at his robes. Mr. Jablons tapped a pencil on his knee. Distant murmurs from the Can underlined the silence between us.

The black line rose again. I clenched my fists, watching it, not daring to move. The only sound was the pinging of a recorder.

“Looks good,” Mr. Jablons said hopefully.

Dr. Kadin said nothing.

The line shot up, climbing to nearly the same level Seventeen had registered. It held there, steady, steady, holding—

And fell.

In a moment, the readings dropped to zero. The Faraday cup wasn’t working.

“Well.” Dr. Kadin said. “I had hoped—”

I couldn’t listen to it. I turned and bolted from the room.

“Matt!” my father called after me. I didn’t look back.

I ran down the corridor, blinking back tears of anger. That cup couldn’t fail, I just knew it!

I took an express elevator inward, toward the center of the Can. The tube that led to the air lock was deserted. Nobody was going outside now, during the storm.

I forced myself to calm down a little once I was in the suiting-up bay. It wouldn’t be smart to foul up an air hose and find out about it in the middle of decompression.

I left the bay, carrying my helmet under my arm, and stepped into the short passageway that led to the main air lock. It would be a good idea to cycle the lock manually; the bridge might notice it on their board if I put the lock on automatic. I put a hand on the hatch wheel.

“Hey, shrimp, what’re you doing?”

I didn’t say anything. I turned the wheel faster. I heard Yuri’s steps behind me.

A hand landed on my shoulder and spun me around.

“There’s a storm, kid. Nobody goes outside.”

“I’ve got permission.”

“Oh? From who?”

“Commander Aarons. Ask him.”

“A likely story.”

“It’s true. Go on, ask him. He’s right over there.” I pointed down the corridor.

Yuri turned his head, following my finger. My heart was beating furiously. The cold fear began to seep into me again and I hesitated. I knew this was it. I would get only one chance.

Yuri frowned in disgust and started to turn back toward me.

I slammed my fist into his stomach.

“Hey!” He staggered back.

I jabbed at his chin. Yuri blocked and hit me in the shoulder. I backed off. He came crowding in on me, fast. I swung and missed. Yuri brushed my arm aside and landed a solid punch in my stomach, knocking the wind out of me.

The world turned purple. I jabbed and caught him weakly on the chest. Something slammed into my face. I reeled back, gasping. He hit me twice more and I went down.

“Dumb, really dumb.” He prodded me with a toe.

I lay face down on the polished deck. The dust, the goddamned yellow dust. The crowd heckling, laughing. Coward, weakling…the spattering sound …

I was down, but I wasn’t really badly hurt.

I blinked and the drifting purple mist faded away. I breathed deeply.

And I reached inside myself, deep, into the cold ball of fear at the center of me. I saw it for what it was. And I smothered it, pushed it away.

I forced myself up onto my hands and knees.

Yuri smirked at me. “Come on, I think I will take you to see the officer of the watch. He should be most interested in—”

I brought my thigh up and shot my leg out in a frontal kick, the way I’d seen it done on 3D. Yuri started to turn. The kick caught him in the side. He staggered, off balance. “Wha—”

I leaped at him. I gave him two quick jabs in the side of the head. He whirled and hit me in the stomach. Pain lanced through me. I gritted my teeth and stood my ground. I landed three punches on his chest. Yuri slowed. I slammed my fists into him again and again and again and suddenly he wasn’t there anymore.

I looked down. He was lying on the deck. He didn’t move but he was breathing. I didn’t think he was hurt. At the moment I didn’t care much one way or the other. Yuri had been dishing out a lot of crap lately. I figured he could take his chances.

I left him there. Sure, I could tie him up, but what if somebody else came along while I was doing it?

I cycled out of the lock, breaking the hatch open before the red light winked green. A burst of air blew me away from the lock, tumbling. I sucked in a sour breath of suit air. Time, time…

I leveled off using attitude jets and picked out the Roadhog ’s berth. I cruised over to it. I felt lightheaded; I automatically checked my oxygen level to see if I was hyperventilating. The meter didn’t say so; the effect was probably from adrenaline. I could hear my pulse tripping in my ears.

I coasted into the seat after clearing the mooring lines. I backed Roadhog out of her berth in one burst. I set a beeline course for the mouth of the Can and thumbed on the autopilot. Good; the course for Satellite Fourteen was logged in. Departure time in five minutes. Well, that would have to be close enough: I couldn’t hang around waiting, and Roadhog would clear the Can in less than two.

I ran a quick check on the shuttle. One of the forward lines had vapor-locked, but I overloaded the pressure and blew it open. It would probably be okay for the trip. I told myself.

We passed pretty close to the Sagan going out. It was eerie, being alone in the bay. There were no work lamps, no other moving craft, only the pinwheeling lights of the Can.