Charles Sheffield - The Spheres of Heaven

“Are you suggesting that we ask your froth-men the way to the nearest land?”

“No, sir!” Bony wanted nothing to do with those floating assemblies of bubbles. “I noticed that when I was outside and high on the underwater slope, the light seemed a lot brighter. It makes me think we’re not perhaps all that deep, maybe as little as thirty meters. The buoyancy of the heavy water is greater than ordinary water, because of its greater density. We might be able to float the ship to the surface more easily than we think.”

“Not a bad idea.” Indigo smiled at Bony. “Good work, Rombelle. Of course, before we do anything with the ship we have to be sure what we’ll find up at the surface. Are you volunteering to go out again and take a look?”

Bony was proposing no such thing. He had seen enough of deep-sea diving in modified space-suits for one day.

Before he could reply, Liddy said, “Let me do it. I’m no use fixing things inside the ship, but I’m sure I can put on a suit as well as anyone and go up to the surface.”

“Do it soon,” Indigo said, “before we have to worry about it getting dark.” And, as Bony tried to hide his surprise, “Did you think I was doing nothing, while you two were playing your games with airlocks and romping around outside? I adapted one of our light-meters and I’ve been monitoring the ambient light level for the ship since the time we arrived. This planet has a twenty-nine-hour day, and we’re more than halfway through the cycle. That means we have maybe five more hours before darkness.”

“I’ll get ready right now,” said Liddy. Bony was still staring at Friday Indigo. He had written the man off completely, and now here came common sense and a talent for improvisation. Maybe you didn’t have to be an idiot just because you were rich.

Indigo was nodding at Liddy. “Carry on, as soon as you’re ready. Be sure to carry extra weights and inflate your suit extra hard when you go up. That way, when you bleed away the excess air you’ll sink straight back down to the ship. The trip up to the surface will be useful even if you can’t see land. We can go again after it gets dark and try for a fix on the stars. That will answer one other important question: where are we in the Geyser Swirl.”

More sound sense from Friday Indigo. But Bony recalled the shape that had flown over him as he stood on the seabed, a form like a great three-leaf clover. Was that at the surface, or above it? He found himself saying, against his better judgment, “There may be other things up there. Don’t you think I should go with Liddy, as a backup if things go wrong? And shouldn’t we take a line with us, so that we can pull ourselves back if we get into trouble? And if we attach an insulated wire, we can have continuous two-way communication with the ship even though the radios don’t work in water.”

Indigo laughed. “My God, that’s four ideas from you in one day. You’re less of a fool than you look.”

A dubious compliment, at best. But Indigo was continuing, “Now here’s an idea for you. You said you intended to see if the suit control thrustors would still work under water, but you didn’t do it when you were outside. So why don’t you try it now? You can cruise around a bit on the way up or on the way down. Maybe you’ll see your mysterious froth-men, and find out what they are up to.”

It was phrased as a cheerful invitation, but Bony was under no illusions. He had to go outside again and face the horrible bubble creatures.

He turned to Liddy. “I’ll come and help you to operate the airlock. Just give me a half a minute, then I’ll be with you.”

Bony’s urge to go to the bathroom had returned. This time he felt sure that it would not vanish by itself.

Salamander Row sits on the sunward side of the Vulcan Nexus. Shielded by four hundred million square kilometers of solar collectors, there is no visible evidence on the Row that the flaming disk of the Sun’s photosphere lies less than two million kilometers away. Other than the Salamanders, the residents of the Row need never see the Sun and can remain oblivious of the solar presence.

The Salamanders themselves are a different matter. As monitors and custodians of the great array they ride their refrigerated spacecraft hair-raisingly close to the solar furnace, skimming low above vast hydrogen flares and across the Earth-sized whirlpools of sunspots. Occasionally a cooling unit fails. Vehicle recovery is performed — always — but never the bodies of the crew members. Those are burned, what remains of them, out in space by their Salamander brethren. On Salamander Row, by convention, the names of the dead are recorded but they are not talked about. The Salamanders refuse to admit the power of King Sun. Other residents of the Row often seem determined to deny his existence.

That is their privilege. It is, however, a privilege denied to the occasional visitor. Before an arriving ship can reach the Nexus and the Row, it must first drive inward until the eye of the Sun fills half the sky. Although the temperature inside the ship never rises past a comfort level, the psychological heat mounts by the minute.

Danny Casement had shed his jacket before they crossed the orbit of Mercury. Now he mopped at his wrinkled forehead, stared at the port where the photo-glass turned the solar disk to an opaque circle of dark gray, and wondered how many more minutes to Nexus rendezvous.

And he, believe it or not, had chosen this. Chan Dalton, worried about schedule, had offered him a choice: did he want Europa, or the Vulcan Nexus?

“You out of your mind?” Danny, packing the things he would need on the Hero’s Return and sending everything else to sealed storage, stared at Chan. “If you think I’m going to invite Deb Bisson on a trip with you as leader, you can think again. Anyone says your name to her, he’d better be ready to go home with teeth marks in his ass. You dumped her. You go to Europa.”

It made sense at the time. Chan would go to Europa, find Tully O’Toole, and face Deb; but there was a trade-off: Danny had to go to Salamander Row and look for the Bun.

The ship was smart enough to fly itself and the only other person on board was a woman. Expensively dressed, clearly a lady, striking in appearance although no longer young, Alice Tannenbaum was big-bosomed and strongly built. Casement prime choice, under normal circumstances. She had also shown interest in Danny. Almost as soon as they had introduced themselves, Alice was saying, “If you have never been to the Vulcan Nexus before, I would love to serve as your personal tour guide.” A little smile and a sideways glance. “The Nexus offers pastimes that most visitors never see.”

“Ah — er — well.” Danny did his own sideways glance, to where the occluded disk of the Sun loomed ever larger. Soon it would fill the whole port. “I — er — I — um.” After a few replies of that caliber, she apparently decided that she was dealing with a half-wit and retreated to the rear of the passenger cabin.

Well, maybe she was. If the known dangers of the Vulcan Nexus gave you fits, how would you manage the unknown ones of the Geyser Swirl? You wouldn’t, unless you took a better hold of yourself. And if she knew the Nexus, she might be able to save him some time.

Danny made a mighty effort, stood up from his seat, and wandered toward the back of the cabin. He smiled at his fellow passenger.

“I’m sorry I was rude a few minutes ago. This is quite an overwhelming experience, flying so close to the Sun.”

“That’s understandable. You’ll get used to it after a while.” She moved along the seat, making room for him. “Where are you from, Jack?”