Arthur Clarke - 2061 - Odyssey Three

'Nothing, yet; that's why I wanted to talk to you. I'm quite prepared to say that you're the only pilot who can fly the mission.'

'They'll know that's nonsense; Floyd could do the job as well as I could. There's not the slightest risk – except for a malfunction, which could happen to anyone.'

'I'd still be willing to stick my neck out, if you insist. After all, no-one can stop me – and we'll all be heroes when we get back to Earth.'

Chang was obviously doing some intricate calculations. He seemed rather pleased with the result.

'Replacing a couple of hundred kilos of payload with propellant gives us an interesting new option; I'd intended to mention it earlier, but there was no way Bill Tee could manage with all that extra gear and a full crew...'

'Don't tell me. The Great Wall.'

'Of course; we could do a complete survey in one or two passes, and find what it really is.'

'I thought we had a very good idea, and I'm not sure if we should go near it. That might be pressing our luck.'

'Perhaps. But there's another reason; to some of us, it's an even better one...'

'Go on.'

'Tsien. It's only ten kilometres from the Wall. We'd like to drop a wreath there.'

So that was what his officers had been discussing so solemnly; not for the first time, Captain Laplace wished he knew a little more Mandarin.

'I understand,' he said quietly. 'I'll have to think it over – and talk to van der Berg and Floyd to see if they agree.'

'And Head Office?'

'No, dammit. This will be my decision.'

'You'd better hurry,' Ganymede Central had advised, 'The next conjunction will be a bad one – we'll be triggering quakes as well as Io. And we don't want to scare you – but unless our radar's gone crazy, your mountain's sunk another hundred metres since the last check.'

At that rate, thought van der Berg, Europa will be flat again in ten years. How much faster things happened here than on Earth; which was one reason why the place was so popular with geologists.

Now that he was strapped into the number two position immediately behind Floyd, and virtually surrounded by consoles of his own equipment, he felt a curious mixture of excitement and regret. In a few hours, the great intellectual adventure of his life would be over – one way or the other. Nothing that would ever happen again could possibly match it.

He did not have the slightest trace of fear; his confidence in both man and machine was complete. One unexpected emotion was a wry sense of gratitude to the late Rose McCullen; without her, he would never have had this opportunity, but might have gone, still uncertain, to his grave.

The heavily laden Bill Tee could barely manage one-tenth of a gravity at lift-off; it was not intended for this sort of work, but would manage much better on the homeward journey when it had deposited its cargo. It seemed to take ages to climb clear of Galaxy, and they had ample time to note the damage to the hull as well as signs of corrosion from the occasional mildly acid rains. While Floyd concentrated on the lift-off, van der Berg gave a quick report on the ship's condition from the viewpoint of a privileged observer. It seemed the right thing to do – even though, with any luck, Galaxy's space-worthiness would soon be of no further concern to anyone.

Now they could see the whole of Haven spread out beneath them, and van der Berg realized what a brilliant job Acting Captain Lee had done when he beached the ship. There were only a few places where it could have been safely grounded; although a good deal of luck had also been involved, Lee had used wind and sea-anchor to the best possible advantage.

The mists closed around them; Bill Tee was rising on a semi-ballistic trajectory to minimize drag, and there would be nothing to see except the clouds for twenty minutes. A pity, thought van der Berg; I'm sure there must be some interesting creatures swimming around down there, and no-one else may have a chance of seeing them.

'Coming up to engine cut-off,' said Floyd. 'Everything normal.'

'Very good, Bill Tee. No report of traffic at your altitude. You're still number one on the runway to land.'

'Who's that joker?' asked van der Berg.

'Ronnie Lim. Believe it or not, that "number one on the runway" goes back to Apollo.'

Van der Berg could understand why. There was nothing like the occasional touch of humour – providing it was not overdone – to relieve the strain when men were involved in some complex and possibly hazardous enterprise.

'Fifteen minutes before we start braking,' said Floyd. 'Let's see who else is on the air.'

He started the autoscan, and a succession of beeps and whistles, separated by short silences as the tuner rejected them one by one in its swift climb up the radio spectrum, echoed round the little cabin.

'Your local beacons and data transmissions,' said Floyd. 'I was hoping – ah, here we are!'

It was only a faint musical tone, warbling rapidly up and down like a demented soprano. Floyd glanced at the frequency meter.

'Doppler shift almost gone – she's slowing fast.'

'What is it -text?'

'Slowscan video, I think. They're relaying a lot of material back to Earth through the big dish on Ganymede, when it's in the right position. The networks are yelling for news.'

They listened to the hypnotic but meaningless sound for a few minutes; then Floyd switched it off. Incomprehensible though the transmission from Universe was to their unaided senses, it conveyed the only message that mattered. Help was on the way, and would soon be there.

Partly to fill the silence, but also because he was genuinely interested, van der Berg remarked casually: 'Have you talked to your grandfather lately?'

'Talked', of course, was a misnomer where interplanetary distances were concerned, but no-one had come up with an acceptable alternative. 'Voicegram', 'audiomail' and 'vocard' had all flourished briefly, then vanished into limbo. Even now, most of the human race probably did not believe that realtime conversation was impossible in the Solar System's wide, open spaces, and from time to time indignant protests were heard: 'Why can't you scientists do something about it?'

'Yes,' said Floyd. 'He's in fine shape, and I look forward to meeting him.'

There was a slight strain in his voice. I wonder, thought van der Berg, when they last met; but he realized that it would be tactless to ask. Instead, he spent the next ten minutes rehearsing the off-loading and setting-up procedures with Floyd, so there would be no unnecessary confusion when they touched down.

The COMMENCE BRAKING alarm went off just a fraction of a second after Floyd had already started the program sequencer. I'm in good hands, thought van der Berg: I can relax and concentrate on my job. Where's that camera – don't say it's floated away again.

The clouds were clearing. Even though the radar had shown exactly what was beneath them, in a display as good as normal vision could provide, it was still a shock to see the face of the mountain rearing up only a few kilometres ahead.

'Look!' cried Floyd suddenly. 'Over to the left -by that double peak – give you one guess!'

'I'm sure you're right – I don't think we did any damage – it just splattered – wonder where the other one hit-'

'Altitude one thousand. Which landing site? Alpha doesn't look so good from here.'

'You're right – try Gamma – closer to the mountain, anyway.'

'Five hundred. Gamma it is. I'll hover for twenty secs – if you don't like it, we'll switch to Beta. Four hundred... Three hundred... Two hundred. ('Good luck, Bill Tee,' said Galaxy briefly). Thanks, Ronnie... One hundred and fifty... One hundred... Fifty... How about it? Just a few small rocks, and – that's peculiar – what looks like broken glass all over the place – someone's had a wild party here... Fifty... Fifty... Still OK?'