Arthur Clarke - 2061 - Odyssey Three

He did not bother, because there was a brief acknowledgement from Greenburg.

'Fine, Cliff – thought I'd lost you for a minute. Back at the chamber – now going into the other tunnel – hope there's nothing blocking that.'

This time, Greenburg replied at once.

'Sorry, Bill. Come back to the ship. There's an emergency – no, not here – everything's fine with Universe. But we may have to return to Earth at once.'

It was only a few weeks before Dr Chant discovered a very plausible explanation for the broken columns. As the comet blasted its substance away into space at each perihelion passage, its mass distribution continually altered. And so, every few thousand years, its spin became unstable, and it would change the direction of its axis – quite violently, like a top that is about to fall over as it loses energy. When that occurred, the resulting cometquake could reach a respectable five on the Richter scale.

But he never solved the mystery of the luminous glow. Though the problem was swiftly overshadowed by the drama that was now unfolding, the sense of a missed opportunity would continue to haunt him for the rest of his life.

Though he was occasionally tempted, he never mentioned it to any of his colleagues. But he did leave a sealed note for the next expedition, to be opened in 2133.

'Have you seen Victor?' said Mihailovich gleefully, as Floyd hurried to answer the Captain's summons. 'He's a broken man.'

'He'll grow it back on the way home,' snapped Floyd, who had no time for such trivialities at the moment. 'I'm trying to find out what's happened.'

Captain Smith was still sitting, almost stunned, in his cabin when he arrived. If this was an emergency affecting his own ship, he would have been a tornado of controlled energy, issuing orders right and left. But there was nothing he could do about this situation, except await the next message from Earth.

Captain Laplace was an old friend; how could he have got into such a mess? There was no conceivable accident, error of navigation, or failure of equipment that could possibly account for his predicament. Nor, as far as Smith could see, was there any way in which Universe could help him get out of it. Operations Centre was just running round and round in circles; this looked like one of those emergencies, all too common in space, where nothing could be done except transmit condolences and record last messages. But he gave no hint of his doubts and reservations when he reported the news to Floyd.

'There's been an accident,' he said. 'We've received orders to return to Earth immediately, to be fitted out for a rescue mission.'

'What kind of accident?'

'It's our sister ship, Galaxy. She was doing a survey of the Jovian satellites. And she's made a crash landing.'

He saw the look of amazed incredulity on Floyd's face.

'Yes, I know that's impossible. But you've not heard anything yet. She's stranded – on Europa.'

'Europa!'

'I'm afraid so. She's damaged, but apparently there's no loss of life. We're still awaiting details.'

'When did it happen?'

'Twelve hours ago. There was a delay before she could report to Ganymede.'

'But what can we do? We're on the other side of the Solar System. Getting back to lunar orbit to refuel, then taking the fastest orbit to Jupiter – it would be – oh, at least a couple of months!' (And back in Leonov's day, Floyd added to himself, it would have been a couple of years...)

'I know; but there's no other ship that could do anything.' -

'What about Ganymede's own inter-satellite ferries?'

'They're only designed for orbital operations.'

'They've landed on Callisto.'

'Much lower energy mission. Oh, they could just manage Europa, but with negligible payload. It's being looked into, of course.'

Floyd scarcely heard the Captain; he was still trying to assimilate this astonishing news. For the first time in half a century – and only for the second time in all history! – a ship had landed on the forbidden moon. And that prompted an ominous thought.

'Do you suppose,' he asked, 'that – whoever – whatever – is on Europa could be responsible?'

'I was wondering about that,' said the Captain glumly. 'But we've been snooping around the place for years, without anything happening.'

'Even more to the point – what might happen to us if we attempted a rescue?'

'That's the first thing that occurred to me. But all this is speculation – we'll have to wait until we have more facts. Meanwhile – this is really why I called you – I've just received Galaxy's crew manifest, and I was wondering...'

Hesitantly, he pushed the print-out across his desk. But even before Heywood Floyd scanned the list, he somehow knew what he would find.

'My grandson,' he said bleakly.

And, he added to himself, the only person who can carry my name beyond the grave.

Despite all the gloomier forecasts, the South African Revolution had been comparatively bloodless – as such things go. Television, which had been blamed for many evils, deserved some credit for this. A precedent had been set a generation earlier in the Philippines; when they know that the world is watching, the great majority of men and women tend to behave in a responsible manner. Though there have been shameful exceptions, few massacres occur on camera.

Most of the Afrikaners, when they recognized the inevitable, had left the country long before the takeover of power. And – as the new administration bitterly complained – they had not gone empty-handed. Billions of rands had been transferred to Swiss and Dutch banks; towards the end, there had been mysterious flights almost every hour out of Cape Town and Jo'burg to Zurich and Amsterdam. It was said that by Freedom Day one would not find one troy ounce of gold or a carat of diamond in the late Republic of South Africa – and the mine workings had been effectively sabotaged. One prominent refugee boasted, from his luxury apartment in The Hague, 'It will be five years before the Kaffirs can get Kimberley working again – if they ever do.' To his great surprise, De Beers was back in business, under new name and management, in less than five weeks, and diamonds were now the single most important element in the new nation's economy.

Within a generation, the younger refugees had been absorbed – despite desperate rearguard actions by their conservative elders – in the deracinated culture of the twenty-first century. They recalled, with pride but without boastfulness, the courage and determination of their ancestors, and distanced themselves from their stupidities. Virtually none of them spoke Afrikaans, even in their own homes.

Yet, precisely as in the case of the Russian Revolution a century earlier, there were many who dreamed of putting back the clock – or, at least, of sabotaging the efforts of those who had usurped their power and privilege. Usually they channelled their frustration and bitterness into propaganda, demonstrations, boycotts, petitions to the World Council – and, rarely, works of art. Wilhelm Smuts' The Voortrekkers was conceded to be a masterpiece of (ironically) English literature, even by those who bitterly disagreed with the author.

But there were also groups who believed that political action was useless, and that only violence would restore the longed-for status quo. Although there could not have been many who really imagined that they could rewrite the pages of history, there were not a few who, if victory was impossible, would gladly settle for revenge.

Between the two extremes of the totally assimilated and the completely intransigent, there was an entire spectrum of political – and apolitical – parties. Der Bund was not the largest, but it was the most powerful, and certainly the richest, since it controlled much of the lost Republic's smuggled wealth, through a network of corporations and holding companies. Most of these were now perfectly legal, and indeed completely respectable.