'It's the pressure we're under,' said O'Hara.
'Right. It's damaging her brain even more,' Karlstad agreed.
'It only seems to affect her visual cortex,' Muzorawa said.
'So far,' said Karlstad. 'How long will it be before other parts of her brain start to cave in?'
His eyes riveted on the closed hatch, Grant heard himself say, 'She's sailing us toward the Red Spot.'
'She'll turn off long before we're in any danger,' Muzorawa said.
'Will she?' Karlstad asked.
'Of course she will.'
'I think she's going crazy,' Karlstad said. 'She was always a tyrant. Now she's getting fanatical, ignoring a direct order from the IAA.'
'We all agreed that we want to continue the mission,' Muzorawa said.
'Did we?' Karlstad shot back. 'Nobody asked me.'
'Are you afraid, 'Gon?' O'Hara challenged him.
'Afraid? Me? Ninety kilometers down with a crazy blind woman in command who's telling the IAA to stick it in their lower intestine? What's there to be afraid of?'
Muzorawa finished connecting his optical fiber links. 'I think a certain amount of fear is a healthy sign. But we mustn't let it overwhelm us. We must not panic or take rash actions.'
'What do you mean by rash?' O'Hara asked.
'Relieving Krebs of command,' Karlstad replied instantly.
'We can't do that,' Grant said.
'Not even if she's going to get us all killed?'
'There is no evidence of that,' said Muzorawa. Then he added. 'As yet.'
O'Hara looked toward the closed hatch. 'She must be in terrible pain.'
'She doesn't act it,' said Karlstad.
'Not physical pain, perhaps, but… imagine being blind. Unable to see.'
'Unless she's connected to the ship.'
'Yes,' said O'Hara, in a whisper. 'There is that.'
'So what are we going to do?' Karlstad demanded.
No one had an answer.
Krebs returned to the bridge exactly one hour after she'd left, without the need for Karlstad to rouse her.
Watching her link up, it now seemed obvious to Grant that she couldn't see. She fingered each of the optical fibers, her eyes unfocused, and ran its end across the electrodes in her legs until its minuscule electrical field clicked into place with the proper implant. She can't see the color codes on the fibers, Grant realized. She can't see anything at all.
Until she was completely wired and activated her linkage. Then she straightened up and took command.
'Mr Grant, what are you gawking at?' she demanded.
Grant snapped his head around and stared at his console. 'Nothing, Captain.'
'You tend to your duties, Mr Grant, and I will tend to mine.'
'Yes'm.'
'Dr Krebs,' said Muzorawa. 'We must discuss your condition.'
'There is nothing to discuss.'
'I'm afraid there is.'
'I am fully capable of executing my responsibilities,' Krebs said. Grant thought he heard the slightest of tremors in her voice.
'Dr Krebs, the trauma to your visual cortex is worsening.'
Krebs glared at him, but said nothing.
'It is possible that it will continue to worsen,' Muzorawa went on, calmly, reasonably, almost gently. 'It could lead to a cerebral hemorrhage.'
'I know that,' said Krebs, her voice several notches lower than usual. 'I accept that risk.'
'We should abort the mission and return to the station,' Muzorawa said. Grant marvelled at how impersonally he managed to put it. No blame. No shame.
Krebs hovered in the middle of the bridge, breathing hard enough for Grant to see her chest rising and falling. The ship was running smoothly enough; he still felt the steady thrum of the generator and the energy of the thrusters, but that was all background now, like the constant aching pressure behind his eyes, like the growing dull pain in his back, pushed to one side as he focused consciously on the interplay between Muzorawa and Krebs.
At last she said, 'If we return to the station with nothing to show for our efforts, they will never permit another mission. They have already ordered us to abandon our work. I will not do that. Not under any circumstances. Is that clear?'
'But your health is in danger. Your life—'
'What good is my life if I can't pursue the search to which I've devoted it?' Krebs' voice rose powerfully. 'What use would my life be if I am not permitted to do the work which I love? I have already sacrificed everything else in my life — family, friends, even lovers — to be
here
, in this damned ocean, seeking the answer to the greatest question of them all: is there intelligent life here? Will we find a companion species, another life-form with which we can converse? Will the human race's loneliness end here, in the hot sea of Jupiter?'
None of the crew could say a word. They all stared at her.
Krebs broke into a bitter smile. 'I see the disbelief on your face, Dr Karlstad. You find it difficult to believe that I had lovers?'
'Uh, n… no, not at all,' Karlstad stammered.
'We go on,' Krebs said. 'I don't care if I die here. Better here than in some dusty classroom where I wouldn't even be allowed to teach about extraterrestrial life.'
Muzorawa replied meekly, 'Yes, Captain.'
Krebs nodded as if satisfied, then turned her baleful look toward O'Hara. 'Dr O'Hara, dive angle of five degrees. Now.'
Lane glanced at the others, then asked, 'We're going deeper?'
'Deeper,' said Krebs.
Grant's head throbbed with pain. Each beat of his pulse was like a hammer banging inside his sinuses. His back hurt as if it was slowly petrifying. They had passed the hundred kilometer depth and were still pushing deeper, in a shallow dive that ran parallel to a bright swirling stream of organic particles.
Somewhere out in that dark sea waited the Great Red Spot, Grant knew. He could not see it, not even when tapping into the ship's long-range sensors. But it was there, that enormous vortex, that eternal storm that was bigger than the entire Earth, sucking currents into its voracious maw. It was waiting for them, drawing them to it like a magnet pulls on a tiny filing of iron.
They were riding one of those inflowing currents now, buffeting noticeably whenever they drifted toward its turbulent outer edge. As long as they remained well within the current, though, the ship rode easily, smoothly. Grant was able to cut down on the thrusters' power. The Red Spot was doing their work for them, but Grant feared that the work would lead to their destruction.
On a rest break with Muzorawa, Grant pleaded, 'Zeb, you can't let her drag us into the Red Spot.'
'She'll turn off long before we get into danger,' Muzorawa said. But his red-rimmed eyes would not maintain contact with Grant's.
Pulling himself down wearily to sit on the end of his bunk, Grant pointed out, 'The current's getting stronger. I don't know how far we can go before it'll be too strong for the thrusters to break us free.'
Muzorawa considered that for a long, silent moment, then looked directly at Grant. 'What does your fluid dynamics program tell you?'
'I'd have to make a calculation…'
'Do that,' said Muzorawa wearily. 'Then show it to me. It might be the point that forces a decision.'
'A decision?'
'About her,' Muzorawa said, gesturing toward the bridge.
Still they descended. A hundred kilometers, a hundred ten, a hundred fifteen. The ship creaked and groaned, metal screeching with strain. She sounds as if she's in agony, Grant thought. Just like the rest of us.
O'Hara came back onto the bridge after a rest period, with a smile on her lips. It surprised Grant; he hadn't seen any of them smile in days.
'You must have had a good dream,' he said as she hooked up.
'No dream,' O'Hara replied. 'I didn't sleep at all.' Grant closed his eyes. The headache seemed to abate a little when his eyes were closed and he saw the glowing star at the heart of the fusion generator, felt its warmth, thrilled at the harmonies of electricity coursing through the ship's wiring.
'Look at this.' O'Hara nudged him. 'I took them from the sampling system."
She held a dozen or so tiny pebbles in the palm of her hand. No, not pebbles, Grant thought. They were so minute they looked almost like dust motes, except that they were a glassy light gray rather than sooty black.
'Your diamonds,' O'Hara said, her voice lilting with delight.
'Is that what they are?'
'They're truly diamonds, they are. Not gemstone quality, I'm afraid, and very small. But how many women can say they've held a fistful of diamonds in the palm of their hand?'
'Hey, let me see,' Karlstad said, from his console.
Krebs' sour voice broke in, 'You are supposed to be on duty, Dr O'Hara.'
'I was showing Mr Archer the diamonds that the sampler's scooped in,' Lane replied, somewhat defensively.
'You should have spent your rest period
resting
,' Krebs growled. 'You know that—'
'Something's moving down there,' Muzorawa said.
'What?' Krebs shot over toward him like a stumpy torpedo.
'Very long range,' said Muzorawa. 'Sonar return. But definitely a moving object.'
'Distance? Speed?' Krebs demanded. 'We need numbers!'
'There's more than one!' Muzorawa's voice was shaking now.
Grant tapped into the sensor net and saw three, no four, fuzzy things moving slowly in the same direction as the ship. Another slid into view, then two more.
'They're seventy-eight point six kilometers, slant range,' Muzorawa called out.
'How deep are they?'
'Fourteen kilometers deeper than we are.'
'O'Hara, give me a two-degree angle of descent.'
'We can't go deeper!' Karlstad cried out. 'We're far beyond our design limit now!'
'Silence!' Krebs roared. 'Deeper!'
Leviathan cruised slowly through the stream of food, eating constantly to regain its strength. The flagella were already in bud, to replace the members that had been lost, and that took even more energy. Leviathan ate greedily, but swam steadily around the great storm, heading back for the haunts of its Kin.
Several of the skin members were budding, too, but it would be a long time before their offspring could be thickened and hardened to replace the armor Leviathan had lost when it was up along the edges of the cold abyss.
Leviathan was impatient to find its Kin, eager to replay to them the tale of its battles with the darters and the eerie, tentacled monster up in the cold distance. Yet it knew that the Elders would display their displeasure. They had often warned Leviathan against moving away from the Kin. Youngsters often wanted to strike out on their own, they had pictured to Leviathan time and again, their imagery flashing deep red to show their seriousness. But youngsters often disregarded the wisdom of their Elders. Many never returned to the Kin.
Leviathan would return, it told itself, and return in triumph. It had gone to regions of the all-encompassing sea that no one of its kind had ever seen before. It had travelled up toward the cold abyss and survived. The Elders treasured knowledge, or so they imaged. Yet how could new knowledge be gained if no one moved off into the unexplored parts of the world?
Leviathan envisioned itself swimming with the Picturers, drawing the scenes of its epic journey so that they could add the depiction of its tale to the Kin's history of images. No matter how many times its members dissociated and recombined, this adventure would remain in the minds of all who could see. It would never be forgotten.
But first Leviathan had to get back to the Kin. It followed the food stream, heading toward home. It would be good to return, even if the Elders flashed pictures of discontent over its adventure. They will be jealous, Leviathan thought. While they remained in the same old feeding grounds, I explored new regions. I will add to the store of knowledge, and that is a positive thing.
Leviathan realized that some time in the future it would become an Elder. The thought startled Leviathan. But it resolved never to cease exploring, even when it was an Elder. And it would never discourage a youngster from exploring, either. Leviathan was certain of that.
Then a cluster of its sensor members felt a distant tremor in the darkness of the ocean.
Darters! they warned. Following us and coming up fast.
'Number four cylinder's failed!' Karlstad yelped.
'I see it,' said Krebs, her voice tight. 'The piston has jammed. Structural integrity is not threatened.'
'It can't take any more pressure,' Karlstad insisted.
'We are deep enough,' Krebs said. 'Almost.'
Grant had tapped into Zeb's sensor returns. He saw a herd of enormous things out there in the ocean, objects the size of mountains, of islands, so huge that size began to lose all meaning.
'Distance?' Krebs demanded.
'Fifty-two point four kilometers,' answered Muzorawa.
It made no sense to narrow the distance to them, Grant thought. They were so immense that getting closer would mean the sensors could only focus on one of them. On just a part of one of them, at that.
'Hold here,' Krebs commanded. 'Conform to their course and speed.'
Grant felt the thrusters straining to match the speed of the Jovians. They were Jovians, he was certain. No doubt about that at all. Mind-boggling in size, they were gliding through the ocean, propelled by rows of flippers five rimes bigger than
Zheng He
. They seemed to be cruising leisurely through the stream of organics, sucking the particles up into many openings that lined their undersides.
They're alive, Grant told himself. But could they be intelligent? They're grazing like cows.
A light flashed on one of them, a sudden yellow glow that flared for a moment and then winked out. 'Did you see that?'
'A light of some kind.'
'Natural bioluminescence, do you think?'
'Look! They're flickering back and forth!'
'Like signals!'
'Be quiet!' Krebs snapped. 'Attend to your duties. Make certain that everything is being recorded.'
Grant's heart was racing with excitement. He could see the giant creatures flicking lights along their massive flanks, red, yellow, a piercingly intense green. What does it mean? Are they intelligent signals? Can we make any sense of them?