Gregory Benford - Jupiter Project

We had just cleared the Can. I slammed on the drive. The boost pushed me back in my seat with a gratifying weight. We went hell for leather out the top, burning fuel extravagantly. I wanted to get away, and fast. I’d use up some of my safety reserve, but it was worth it. Ten minutes out, I switched in the computer orbit. Roadhog stirred under me. She pointed her nose at the glowing crescent of Jupiter and I felt the ion engine kick in on a new vector. We were off.

Roadhog ran steadily for a few minutes before the radio came alive.

“Bohles! This is the bridge. We have just picked you up on radar. Turn around. Radiation levels—”

I switched it off. After I had given the Roadhog a thorough check I clicked it back on again.

“—mander Aarons speaking. I order you to return to the Laboratory. You can accomplish nothing this way.”

“I don’t think he’s listening, sir. We haven’t had a peep out of him.”

“Hmmmm. Can someone go out and get him?”

“Not too easily. Those shuttles have big engines on them, for their weight. He’s already moving pretty fast.”

“How long to pick him up?”

“Two hours, minimum.”

“Not good enough. I can’t ask someone to risk his life—”

“Don’t bother,” I said. “I’ll take all the risks.”

There was a pause. Then: “Bohles, this is a very foolish thing to do. There is no need—”

“Listen, I’d like to talk to my father.”

Faintly: “Where’s his father? On intercom? Patch him in.”

“Hello, Matt?”

“Hi, Dad.” My voice seemed thin, weak. I swallowed.

“This isn’t very smart.”

“I’ve got to do something. I don’t want to go Earthside, Dad. You said yourself that we’ve got to justify keeping the Lab out here by solid results. Well, maybe it’s too late, but I’m going to try.”

“Son…”

“What is the radiation level along my orbit?”

A pause. “Well, you are a little lucky there. The background count seems to be falling off. Maybe there is going to be a lull in the storm, but you are taking a chance.”

“Anybody who keeps breathing takes a chance.”

“Matt, your mother would like—”

“No, no.” I didn’t think I could take that. “Don’t put her on.”

In the background: “If the pattern holds, sir, the radiation levels will be acceptable.” “Hmmmm. Cancel that order to intercept.” “I think he has a good chance to come out of it all right, sir.” “But you don’t know, do you?” “Uh, nossir.”

“Dad?”

“Yes, Matt. Your mother—”

“No. I’m signing off. I’ll let you know if anything changes. I’m not eager to get a radiation burn out here, either. But I believe this is worth the risk.”

“I think Yuri will be around to look you up when you get back, too.” I could imagine him smiling as he said it.

“Tell him I’ll be receiving visitors. And don’t worry. I’ll be okay. I want to think things over out here. Alone.”

“I hope—”

“Good-bye.” I switched off.

Loneliness is a sad word; solitude is more dignified. But loneliness is just solitude you don’t want, and there were times in the hours ahead when I would have given anything if Jenny or Zak or anyone had been there.

For a while I watched the radiation gauge every two minutes. It dropped a little but not much. My radio emergency light blinked a few times; I ignored it.

The journey became almost hypnotic. Jupiter was a thin crescent sliced by the familiar bands. I could make out some of the outer moons: Ganymede was a faint blue disc, Io trailed behind me, an orange-red ball that fell below as I moved toward Jupiter’s north pole. Satellite Fourteen was coming down to meet me.

I watched the huge whirlpools catch up and pass below me. At their centers I could see dark blotches—methane? frozen water?—swirling in a grand, lazy dance. It was hard to believe those blemishes were larger than the Pacific Ocean.

Jupiter filled the sky. This close it is more like an infinite plain than a planet and you can’t really be convinced that you aren’t going to fall into it. Beyond the terminator, in what should have been blackness, I could see thin fingers of yellow lightning playing in cloud banks.

Perhaps Jupiter was the home of the gods and the storms were merely giant tournaments; Jove throwing his thunderbolts…

I caught myself right there. Men have been hypnotized by Jupiter’s vastness before me and I recognized the symptoms.

I gave myself some rations, savored them to stretch out the time, and busied myself by climbing around the Roadhog and looking her over. The superconductor fields were working okay. Because of them I couldn’t climb over the side and inspect the undercarriage. I called the Can a few times. After a few tries at persuading me to come back, the bridge officer gave me radiation level readings. They matched pretty closely to mine.

I didn’t think very much about the radiation. I was getting a little more than the “acceptable” dose, but that was just an average worked out for people in all sorts of jobs. If I got a lot there were treatments that would help.

Even if I didn’t make it—so what? Nobody lived forever. I wouldn’t live to see the first star ship leave; I’d never know if there were intelligent life forms living near the Centauri system, or Tau Ceti, or…

I caught myself again. No use getting morbid.

Minutes crawled by, then hours. I dozed.

My radio emergency light was blinking an angry red when I woke up. I ignored it and checked the time. Rendezvous should be coming up.

I looked around to orient myself. Jupiter was still a striped custard below; now I could see a purple darkening toward the pole.

In a few minutes I picked out a white dot that seemed a likely candidate. It grew. I matched velocity and watched Satellite Fourteen resolve itself into an overweight basketball.

I coasted over. The Faraday cup didn’t show any damage; everything looked just the way I had left it.

I disconnected it from the satellite’s electrical system and checked carefully over the outside. Nothing wrong. The heart of a Faraday cup is the grid trapping mechanism. I would have to open it up to get a look at that.

I unclipped a no-torque screwdriver from my suit belt and took the cover off the cup. Everything still looked okay. I removed the backup shields and slid the center of the cup out. It was just big enough to hold in one hand.

The final cover came off easily. Then I saw what was wrong.

The space between anode and cathode was filled with some sort of oil.

I thought back. Oil? That didn’t make sense. I was sure it wasn’t there when I installed the cup. It wasn’t oil, anyway. It was more like sticky dust. I poked a finger into the gap. Some of the stuff stayed on my glove; some more drifted away into space.

I swore. An electrical failure I could understand, but this was out of my department.

What about that old Faraday cup I’d replaced? I hadn’t even looked at it. I’d just let it drift away from the satellite, since I didn’t have any further use for it. Maybe that one had this gunk in it, too.

One thing was certain: I wasn’t going to fix it out here. I took out a plastic sheet and wrapped up the part, dust and all.

I got back in the Roadhog , waved good-bye to Fourteen and fired the ion engine.

The work had made me hungry again. I ate some rations and then finally answered my radio.

“Matt?” It was Mr. Jablons.

“Who else?”

“I thought you might like to know that Satellite Seventeen’s cup cleared up a while ago. There appears to be some saturation phenomenon operating.”

“Oh, great. You mean if I’d left the cup on Fourteen alone it would fix itself?”