Dark as Day

32

Jan had eaten a little too much cultured lobster at the Belly of the Whale; or maybe it was the rich chocolate dessert that did not agree with her. At any rate, at the time of night when she normally would be in the deepest phase of her sleep cycle, she found herself poised on the edge of consciousness. Faint imagined voices spoke inside her head, their mutterings just too faint to be understood.

She lay flat on her back, her thigh in companionable contact with Paul’s. He was sleeping soundly, as always. He didn’t usually stay over at the research facility — Valnia Bloom somewhat frowned on the idea — but preparations for the next voyage of the Achilles were going smoothly. He had pleaded for one more chance to capture her in his painting. She was, he said, an unusually difficult subject. Something in her smile — a certain wistfulness, a certain longing — eluded him. He wanted to try first thing in the morning, when his hand was at its steadiest.

Jan opened her eyes and stared up into darkness. Suddenly she was fully awake. The voices were not in her head, they were real. They came from the monitor system in Sebastian’s apartment. Was he talking to himself, in his sleep?

Not unless his voice could change instantly from male to female and back.

She stared over at the video monitor and saw nothing. Sebastian’s living room was empty, and his kitchen and bedroom were dark.

“Paul.” She nudged him, and he muttered a sleepy protest. “Paul, there’s someone in with Sebastian.”

She poked him in the ribs again, harder, and swung out of bed.

“What was that for?” He was finally awake, and grumpy.

“Someone is in Sebastian’s apartment. In his bedroom, I think.”

“What of it? Isn’t he allowed visitors?”

“At this hour?” Jan was into her clothes and feeling around for her shoes. “Look at the time.”

“I just did. Everyone in their right mind is asleep — as I was.” But he was on the edge of the bed, feeling for clothing. “I feel sure that he’s all right.”

“Somebody is with him. I heard a woman’s voice.”

“Then it’s Dr. Bloom.”

“It isn’t. She told me she would be away from the facility tonight.”

“So she changed her mind.” But Paul also was looking for shoes. “Oh, all right. Go ahead, I know you’ll worry unless you see for yourself. I’ll follow you down.”

Jan gave him a quick kiss on the top of his tousled head and was on her way while he was still fumbling at the bedside.

Thirty seconds took her to the door of Sebastian’s apartment. It was ajar, when it ought to have been locked. Suddenly wary — this was a quarantine as well as a research facility, so no one should be able to enter — she eased the door open and quietly stepped inside.

The living room was deserted, but she heard voices coming from the bedroom. A man and a woman — and neither one was Sebastian.

She moved to stand at the bedroom door and listen.

The man’s voice said, “I don’t know. I’ve been trying to reach Bat for the past quarter of an hour on my wrist unit. He’s inaccessible.”

“Not answering?”

“Busy line. He’s talking to Bengt Suomi. He’s ignoring my request for a priority override.”

They had been speaking in whispers, but suddenly the woman said, in a louder voice, “Look, this is ridiculous. We’re creeping around like burglars. How important do you think this is?”

“I can only go by what other people have told me. Bat never gets flustered, and he’s never in a hurry. If he says something’s urgent, it has to be really urgent.”

“Then we should go outside and shout and scream until somebody comes along who can help us find Sebastian Birch. But let me try something before we do that. I left my talk unit back in the work cubicle. May I borrow yours?”

“It won’t do any good. If Bat doesn’t answer a call from me, I don’t see why he’d take one from you.”

“You’re right, of course. But I may be able to cheat. The Puzzle Network employs a special access code. It’s for use by Masters’ level only, and I’m not supposed to know it. But I do. At least we’ll find out how important this is. ’Scuse me.”

Jan had heard enough to be sure that the intruders, whoever they were, had no right to be in Sebastian’s apartment. And they sounded more puzzled than dangerous.

She opened the bedroom door and said, “Who are you, and what are you doing in a private apartment?”

The woman was full-figured and apparently in her early twenties, and she went on talking into a wrist unit. But the man, a few years older, swung sharply around and said, “We’re trying to find Sebastian Birch.”

Jan heard Paul enter the apartment behind her, and it made her feel a good deal more comfortable. She said firmly, “He should be here — where you have absolutely no right to be. What business of yours is it where Sebastian Birch is?”

“I’m Alex Ligon. This is Milly Wu.”

“And where is Sebastian?”

“We have no idea — this place was empty when we arrived. But we wanted—”

He was interrupted. The woman, Milly Wu, was holding up her hand. Jan heard a man’s voice, thinned to a faint basso rumble by the wrist unit’s small speaker. The woman interpreted. “Bat’s been speaking to Bengt Suomi. Suomi agrees that it’s absolutely imperative to find Sebastian Birch, and keep him under lock and key.”

“He was under lock and key,” Jan said. “He just completed a delicate medical procedure, and it could have side effects. Are you sure he wasn’t here when you arrived?”

“Quite positive. How did you know that we were in this apartment?”

Jan jerked a thumb toward the ceiling. “Monitors. No picture when the room is dark, but audio is always active. I heard voices. How did you get into the facility?”

The man evaded the question. He said, “We were sent here to find Sebastian Birch, because someone thought that he might be dangerous, to himself and maybe to others.”

He had hit one of Jan’s hot buttons. She exploded. “Dangerous? Sebastian would never harm anyone else — but he might easily hurt himself. My name is Janeed Jannex, this is Paul Marr, and we belong here. We are responsible for Sebastian’s safety. I’ll get an explanation from you two later. But first—”

Jan looked straight up at the ceiling and did what she should have done before leaving her own bedroom — except that she had been sure that Sebastian was here. She said firmly, “Surveillance on, and thirty-second reporting. I need tracer output. Where is Sebastian Birch?”

In the few moments of silence that followed she added, more to Paul than to the newcomers, “Ever since the sluicing operation began he’s had a trace generator on him, with round-the-clock automated surveillance. We should be able to track him anywhere he goes.”

“Sebastian Birch is in Section eighty-two,” a voice said from midair. “He is at Level Zero.”

“That can’t be right.” Jan lost any residue of calm. “Level zero is the surface. It’s vacuum. If he’s there, he’s dead.”

“Or he’s in a suit. But he wouldn’t know where the suits are.” Paul turned on Alex, who felt as though he was in a vacuum himself. “Did you two come in that way, from the surface?”

“No.”

Jan had a terrible feeling in -the pit of her stomach. She said, “Sebastian does know where the suits are. He knows because I told him, after I’d been up to the surface and visited you on the Achilles. Some things he remembers perfectly. I bet he’s up there now, staring at Jovian cloud patterns.”

Paul nodded. “You’re probably right, but we must go up and bring him back. The surface can be dangerous to a novice. We’ll find him easily if the generator is a body implant. The tracer will tell us exactly where he is.”

He was trying to reassure Jan, but it produced an unexpected reaction. The voice from the wrist unit, now amplified enough in volume to be understood, asked, “Is there any possibility that Sebastian Birch might obtain access to a working ship?”

“Who the blazes is that?” Paul asked.

The male intruder said, as though it was supposed to mean something, “That is Rustum Battachariya.” The amplified voice continued, “If there is a way for Sebastian Birch to gain access to a ship, he must be stopped. Under no circumstances can he be allowed to leave Ganymede.”

“There are hundreds of ships up there on the surface,” Paul said. “A whole fleet of them. Hell, surface access here is right next to a major spaceport.”

“And Sebastian is an expert pilot — a natural, according to the man who gave us lessons.” Jan spoke to the ceiling again. “Surveillance. Priority report. What are Sebastian Birch’s present actions and location?”

“Sebastian Birch is moving across the surface at seven kilometers an hour. He is now in Sector eighty-four.”

“The spaceport sector.” As Paul said those words. Jan shivered. She asked, “Surveillance, how close is he to a ship?”

“Forty-seven ships in operating condition lie within four hundred meters of his present location.”

“Do they have crews aboard?”

“That information is not available.”

Paul said, “Chances are, none of them will have a crew aboard,” as the voice came again from the wrist unit. “Sebastian Birch must be stopped, by whatever method. He must not be permitted access to a ship able to leave the surface of Ganymede.”

Jan challenged. “Why not? What makes you think you can give orders?”

“At the moment it would be counterproductive to tell you my reasons for concern. Let me say only that this issue is of paramount importance, and could lead to… many deaths. If you question my credibility, ask Magrit Knudsen of the Coordinators’ Office about Rustum Battachariya — but, I beg you, do it later.”

Jan made a hard decision. She knew that Sebastian was completely harmless, but — “Paul, we have to stop him.”

He, thank God, did not question her. He said at once, “Surveillance, couple to spaceport operations. Operations, this is Paul Marr, first officer of the OSL Achilles. We have warning of a potential escapee from quarantine. Any individual found on the surface in Sector eighty-three should be taken into custody and held pending my arrival. Use whatever means are necessary to secure him.”

Jan thought, And break my heart. She swallowed and said to Paul, “I have to go after him. Myself. I have to.”

“I know. I’m coming with you.”

The man, Alex Ligon, said, “What about us?”

Paul stared at him for a moment. “Look, I don’t know what you’re doing here, or who you are. But I have pilot rating for everything from a one-person hopper to the biggest liners. If you can beat that for space credentials, come along. Otherwise, don’t bother and don’t get in the way.”

The man scowled and opened his mouth, but it was the woman, Milly Wu, who got in first. “You tell us to look, now you look. We’ve had no sleep for close to a full day. I can’t speak for Alex Ligon, but I’ve had only half a meal since breakfast yesterday. We came running over here because we were told that somebody might be in trouble. We don’t know your friend Sebastian Birch, and we don’t know why he has to stay on Ganymede. But as for me, I’d be just as happy never to meet him. Here.” She took the wrist unit and tossed it to Jan. “Take it or leave it. If you want to know anything else, don’t ask me. Ask Bat.”

Jan cut off a developing argument. “Paul, I know your credentials very well and they don’t need to. We have no time for a fight. You two, go back to Battachariya, whoever and wherever he is. Anything needs sorting out about your coming here, we do it later.”

She left before there could be more discussion. Ten seconds later, Paul had caught up with her. “You were right,” he said. “And I was wrong. I’ve found out where my ego lies. They were just caught in the middle. Mind if I lead the way?”

Jan didn’t. Once they were out on the surface, Paul’s lead would be essential. She had been outside before, but compared to him she was a tyro. She fumbled her way into a suit at maximum speed and ran the last twenty meters up the surface ramp.

Looking off to her right as they emerged onto Level Zero she again saw a spiky city of gantries and scaffolds, glittering in reflected sunlight. Their layout had changed since last time. Ships by the dozen — by the hundred — lay scattered at the feet of the construction rigs, everything from bulbous freighters to spindly-legged singletons. High above everything hung the familiar ball of Jupiter, swollen and striated. To Sebastian it might be an object of infinite fascination, but she could imagine how others saw it: only a madman would leave Ganymede and fly closer to Jupiter, just to stare at atmospheric cloud patterns.

Jan heard a crackle on the wrist communications unit, then Milly Wu’s voice. “Rustum Battachariya is still on the line. He wants to keep in touch with you. I’ll try to patch him in to local video and audio.”

The voice that sounded in Jan’s suit, however, was not that of Rustum Battachariya. A musical contralto said, “Janeed Jannex? This is spaceport operations. We are taking over from automated surveillance. We have tracked your man, and he is entering a Mayfly-class single-seater.”

Paul broke in. “This is Paul Marr, first officer of the Achilles. Can you stop him taking off?”

“Oh, hi, Paul. Tess Walkabie here. Prevent him? How?”

Jan said, “Override the ship’s controls.”

“Come on, you ought to know better than that. Manual controls can always override remotes.”

Paul said, “What I had in mind was sending someone out to the ship.”

“Who? We have only three people on duty. Cargo arrivals and departures are automated, and no passenger ships are scheduled. We weren’t expecting emergencies, or much of anything. Don’t you people ever sleep? It’s the middle of the graveyard shift.”

The woman was right. To Jan, it seemed no particular time of day or night. She would do better to leave things to Paul, who knew what he was doing.

The woman went on, “If this Sebastian takes it into his head to fly, he’ll be gone long before we could get there. In fact, you are closer to him than we are.”

“Close enough to reach him in time to stop him taking off?”

“No. But I can direct you to another ship, Paul — a Flyboy scooter, two-person. Lots of volatiles already onboard.”

“That would be perfect. A Flyboy is faster than anything in the Mayfly class. No matter where he goes, we’ll be able to follow and catch him. Is it ready to lift?”

“Ready as you are. Do you want it?”

“Yes!”

“It’s yours. Bear twenty degrees left of your present heading. Keep moving and I’ll steer you to it.”

Jan needed steering. Lack of sleep, her over-rich meal, and the strange surroundings combined to remove her from reality. Her previous experience on the surface of Ganymede had been an unhurried stroll. Now she struggled to keep up with Paul, following him across a gritty plain of water-ice crystals a hundred and fifty degrees below their freezing point. It was not a run. It was not a walk. It was a rapid, unsteady shuffle past looming insectile derricks and through the long black shadows cast by squatty cargo hulls.

A flash of blue on her right made Jan turn that way. “There goes the Mayfly,” said the contralto voice. “He’s away. Don’t worry, you have less than a hundred meters to go.”

Neither Paul nor the chief of operations, Tess Walkabie, had said anything about the size of the scooter they would fly. Jan, climbing after Paul up the short ladder, found herself apologizing as she squeezed in beside him. Paul didn’t even acknowledge that he had heard her. He had taken the controls, and was flicking through a lightning status check.

Jan said, “I thought this was supposed to be ready to fly?”

“I’m sure it is. You just don’t skip your own checkout, ever. We’re in good shape. Operations? We’re ready to go, but I don’t have visual contact.”

“He’s out of your line-of-sight and range. Don’t worry about that. I’ll feed you the Mayfly’s ID and you or your autopilot can do the rest. Wherever he goes, your scooter can follow. You are faster, and you will catch up. Better set collision avoidance.”

“Doing it.” Paul flipped a switch. “Prepared for take-off.”

For Jan that was insufficient warning. Even after her earlier experience, she was unprepared when the scooter reared to a vertical position and accelerated upward — hard. She could not fall, because the seats were gimballed to follow the direction of acceleration, but the change in attitude brought her to an uncomfortable fore-and-aft posture, knees crunched tightly into the narrow space in front of her seat. Her view of the world outside the scooter became a flickering display, with beneath it a slit of transparent panel that looked ahead to an alien field of stars.

“He’s heading inward.” Paul was studying the information panel that ran across the upper edge of the viewing screen. “We’re trailing him, and our path is toward Jupiter. You were right, Jan. He’s back to his old fixation with cloud patterns.”

There was a sudden and surprising interruption. The voice of Rustum Battachariya, so faint and garbled by interference as to be almost unidentifiable, broke in from the wrist unit that Milly Wu had given to Jan. “A fixation with clouds would be acceptable. Regrettably, that may not be the case.”

The unit was not designed for such long-range operation. Bat was fading in and out as he went on, “If Sebastian Birch merely desired to observe… disturbance in Jovian atmosphere… would not have encouraged such immediate action. Unfortunately…”

Jan said, urgently into the tiny unit, “What is he doing? I have to know.”

“I fear that he seeks… atmospheric entry.”

“Why?”

“My apologies… I cannot discuss this. However, you must stop… seek to summon other forces…”

The rest of Bat’s words were lost in a wash of static.

“He’s going,” Paul said. “The wrist unit’s beyond the limit of its range.”

“He says Sebastian is going for Jupiter atmospheric entry.”

“Yes. Again.”

“Paul, we have to stop him. He doesn’t know what he’s doing. If someone can help us…”

“Not feasible.” Paul had turned on a signal detection system to scan the sky ahead of the Flyboy scooter, and a single red speck flashed on the screen. “That’s Sebastian’s ship. There’s no other vehicle in space between us and Jupiter. Europa and Io are on the other side of the planet, they can’t do us any good. Amalthea is in the right position, but it only has cargo vessels ready to fly. It’s up to us.”

“What can we do?”

“So long as he keeps accelerating, not much. We have no way to change his course, no way to disable his ship without killing all of us.”

Paul adjusted a setting, and the broad arc of the Jupiter terminator appeared on the screen next to the flashing speck of red. “It’s going to take a while to catch up, but we’ll be alongside him long before he’s close to the planet. Then I can blanket him with emergency frequency radio signals, and he’ll have to listen — he can’t switch that unit off. It will be up to you, Jan. You have to talk to him. Persuade him to turn his ship around and head back to Ganymede.”

Persuade him? You don’t know Sebastian. But it would be pointless to say that to Paul. Who did know Sebastian? Certainly not Jan, though she had spent every waking hour with him for many years.

She sank back into her seat, staring at the blinking red dot on the screen. It was slowly brightening, but the arc of Jupiter seemed to grow more rapidly. “How much time do we have?”

“Hours and hours, before we are close to Jupiter. But we’re within emergency signal range. You can talk to him now.”

Paul sounded calm and sane. Jan felt neither, but she had to pretend. “Sebastian? Can you hear me?”

She didn’t expect a reply, but the answer came at once. “Yes, Jan. I hear you.”

The words were rational, but the tone was of someone talking in a dream. She felt Paul’s encouraging pat on her suited arm. “Sebastian, the ship that you are flying doesn’t belong to us. We must return it.”

“I know. I’m not stealing it, Jan. I’m just borrowing it.”

“It’s time to give it back. You have to turn around now.”

“Not yet, Jan. Not until I’ve finished.”

“What do you mean, finished? Where are you going?”

“I need to fly close to Jupiter. I need to go to the clouds.”

“Sebastian, if you fly back to Ganymede you can have the use of telescopes that will show you all kinds of cloud details. A swingby may sound easy, but it isn’t. You need to have an expert in charge of it.”

“You don’t understand, Jan. I have a job to do. I must do it.”

“What job? Nobody gave you a job — certainly not one like this.”

“They did, Jan. I know what I must do. I’ve always known it.”

“That doesn’t make sense, Sebastian. We’ve spent almost our whole lives together, and you’ve never talked to me about a job. What is it you have to do?”

“You wouldn’t understand. Jan, I hope you won’t mind, but I don’t want to talk anymore. I’m not going to talk anymore.”

“Sebastian…” Jan felt Paul’s hand on her arm.

“You’re not getting through to him,” he said quietly. “Admit it, Jan. He’s crazy. I said that you had to persuade him, but you can’t persuade a crazy man.”

“I have to try. Let me keep talking to him, maybe I can get through to him.”

“It’s all we can do. As we approach I’m going to bring us right alongside. It may help if he sees our ship and knows you’re with him wherever he goes. Talk to him, Jan.”

About what? But the words came spilling out. She began with their earliest days together, in the displaced persons’ camp at Husvik. She spoke of their schooling, the flower festival in Punta Arenas, summer evenings that lasted forever. Then there was their joint decision to take jobs on the Global Minerals’ platform, the application to move to the Outer System, their plan to work on the Saturn orbital weather station.

Through all of it Sebastian answered not a word. When the two ships were racing side by side, Jan could see the dark dot of his helmet in the Mayfly’s tiny cabin. So near and yet so far away. And as Jupiter loomed large in the sky ahead, she realized that all her talk of “their” plans and “their” actions was delusion. She had proposed. She had persuaded; Sebastian had merely gone along. So why did he refuse to go along now, when she needed to persuade him as never before?

She knew why. Her thinking had not been quite accurate. The interest in the cloud patterns of the outer planets had never been hers. It had always been Sebastian’s, and his alone. That had brought them out to Ganymede. That drove them now toward Jupiter.

Their trajectory was not as Jan had expected. They were flying side by side, but rather than following a path that would graze by the planet, the two ships were arrowing right toward the center of Jupiter’s banded disk. She realized that Sebastian had never said he wanted to make a flyby. He wanted to “go to the clouds.” If they did not change course they would plunge deep into the atmosphere on a path of no return.

Through all her talking, Paul had sat quietly. She was still talking, with a sense of futility and with no response from Sebastian, when Paul said, “Ah! At last. That’s what I’ve been waiting for.”

He manipulated the controls so fast that she could not follow what he did; but suddenly they were in free-fall.

“What’s going on?”

“He’s out of volatiles. I told you, Ganymede Ground Control doesn’t like crew members joyriding too far, so they’re stingy with reaction mass. The Mayfly has no more drive capability.”

“Does that make any difference?”

“A huge difference. While we were both accelerating, nobody could leave either ship without being left behind in space. Now I can go over to his ship and bring Sebastian here. Then we turn around and go home. We still have plenty of reaction mass.”

He said it casually, as though this was a routine operation that he did every day.

Jan said, “Suppose he won’t come?”

“I wasn’t proposing to give him an option.” Paul studied the sky ahead. “We have plenty of time. Let’s take ten minutes.”

“Why?” To Jan’s eye, Jupiter seemed awfully close.

“To be sure that you know how to fly this ship — just in case.”

“Paul, I’m the reason that Sebastian came to Ganymede. I must be the one who goes to him.”

“How many spacewalks have you done? That’s what I thought. And these scooters are designed to practically fly themselves. Let me squeeze past you. We have to change seats.”

The move was tricky, but within less than five minutes Jan was facing the bank of controls. After that… Maybe it was the sight of Jupiter, swelling ahead; maybe it was fatigue or nerves; maybe Paul was an optimist. For whatever reason, it seemed far longer than five minutes before Jan felt confident enough to say, “All right. I can handle simple maneuvers.”

“Good. If I don’t come back—”

“Don’t say that.” They had their suit helmets closed, and Jan stared at his face through the hard transparent visor. “You come back, Paul Marr. Do you hear?”

Then she had to say the hardest words ever. She gripped his arm, hard. “Whatever happens to Sebastian, don’t risk your own life. You come back with Sebastian or without him, but you come back to me.”

“I’ll come back, and I’ll have Sebastian with me. Remember, I still-need to get a portrait of you that I’m satisfied with.” He turned away and opened the hatch. He left it wide open as he left, and Jan had a clear view of Sebastian’s ship as Paul floated off toward it. The distance separating them was no more than fifteen meters. Surely she could have made that jump herself.

But Paul possessed information that Jan lacked. He used his suit’s controls to bring him close alongside the Mayfly, and gestured to Sebastian to open its hatch. When that produced no result — it seemed to Jan that Sebastian was not even aware of Paul’s presence — he moved backward along the ship’s hull, and ran his glove in a certain pattern over selected points.

The Mayfly hatch opened. Paul approached it slowly, easing his way along the hull. Jan saw Sebastian turn in his cramped seat, a puzzled look on his face.

“Emergency opening,” Paul said to Sebastian, and Jan added, “This is for your own good. We’re going to take you home.”

“Home?” The moon face showed a spark of interest, then settled back into indifference. “I can’t go home until I finish my job.”

“Sebastian, you’re imagining things. There is no ‘job’ that has to be done. Your job will be out on the Saturn orbiting weather station. Let Paul help you. He’ll bring you over to our ship, and we can all go back to Ganymede.”

To her surprise and huge relief, he nodded and said, “All right.” And to Paul, hovering outside the Mayfly cabin, “This is a tight fit. Help me.”

He reached out his left hand, and Jan saw Paul take it in both of his. Then she saw Sebastian’s right hand move upward, fast. He had his body braced in his seat, and he used that leverage to slam the hatch down. Its sharp edge smashed onto Paul’s forearms, just above the wrists. Jan heard a crunch of breaking bones, and Paul’s cry of agony over his suit radio.

The hatch sprang wide. Sebastian leaned out and pushed. Paul spun away, turning end over end. Jan could not tell if the tough material of the suit had been punctured, but his arms hung uselessly in front of him.

“Emergency opening, emergency closing,” Sebastian said calmly. “You don’t seem to understand, Jan. When a man has a job to do, he must do it. He cannot allow anyone to stop him.”

He closed the hatch. “Don’t bother me anymore with talking. We can talk when I’ve finished my task.”

The Mayfly and the Flyboy scooter moved on, side by side, but Paul was spiraling away from both with the momentum provided by Sebastian’s push.

Was he still alive? Jan sat rigid, until she heard harsh, pained breathing and the words, “Can’t — use hands. Can’t work suit controls.”

“It’s all right, Paul. I’m here. I’m coming to get you.”

If she was smart or lucky. She knew how to make large-scale maneuvers, but this called for delicacy. She edged the scooter slowly forward, then sideways. How was she going to bring Paul inside, when he could do nothing to help himself?

There would be no painless way to do it. The rotation of Paul’s body about its center of mass must be stopped. The only way she knew to cancel that rotation was by impact with the Flyboy. Already he must be suffering terribly, and she was going to make it worse.

“I’m sorry, Paul.” She felt like crying as the ship traveled the last twenty meters. The agony was her own, deep in her guts, as his shattered arms smacked into the edge of the scooter’s open hatch. He groaned at new and intolerable pain. But the collision had slowed his body’s rotation. She leaned across the seat, and at last she could reach out and pull him in.

She inspected his suit. The forearms showed deep cuts in the tough material, but they did not run all the way. Paul was going to be all right; rapid re-set and growth hormones would fix him, once they were back on Ganymede. He had to be all right.

She had a bizarre thought as she closed the hatch. Captain Kondo was going to kill her when he learned what she had done to his first officer. She repressed a hysterical laugh and looked outside the ship. Where was Sebastian?

While she had been occupied with Paul, the Mayfly had moved ahead of them. Free-falling under gravity it was heading for the exact center of Jupiter’s disk. The planet had swelled to fill the sky.

Jan set the scooter’s drive, hard enough to catch up with Sebastian’s ship but not enough to add crucifying weight to the pain in Paul’s arms. As she did so, a warning buzz sounded through the cabin.

“You can’t do that, Jan.” Paul was nursing his forearms, holding them across his chest. “That’s the autopilot. Trying to take over. Means we’re on a collision course.”

“With Sebastian’s ship?”

“With Jupiter.” Paul found the strength to nod his head forward, toward the giant planet. “Stop the override. You’ve got to give control to the autopilot.”

“But Sebastian.” The Mayfly was still in sight. “If we don’t go after him…”

Paul said nothing. After a long, miserable moment, Jan abandoned manual control. Immediately, the scooter fired its attitude control jets to turn them tangential to their previous path. A fraction of a second later, the main engines came on at maximum thrust.

The sudden weight was painful, even for Jan. For Paul it had to be indescribable. He said nothing, but as she turned she saw his white face behind the visor and the sweat on his forehead.

“Paul, I’m returning to manual.”

“Not unless you want to — kill both of us.” He spoke with difficulty, through hard-clenched teeth. “Trust the autopilot, Jan. It knows. Going to be touch and go, either way. We left it late.”

Glancing to the right she could see what he meant. The engines were thrusting them sideways, at two or three gees, but the ship was still falling toward Jupiter. There was infinite detail in those cloud layers — detail that Sebastian loved so much, and understood better than anyone else in the System; but entry into them meant death.

She looked up to the screen, changing its field of view to scan behind the scooter. A solitary red dot blinked its message. The Mayfly was still in free-fall, and already it had attained the outermost wisps of the Jovian atmosphere.

“Paul, we can’t just leave him there.”

“We have to — unless you know a way to change the laws of dynamics.” Paul straightened in his seat, groaning as the bones of his forearms grated to a new position. “You did your best, Jan, your very best. Everything that you possibly could do, you did. He wouldn’t let you save him. He didn’t want you to save him.”

“But why, Paul? What does he think he’s doing?”

It was a question for which Jan did not expect an answer; perhaps it would never have an answer. Their scooter, still descending, was racing along through the outermost layers of the atmosphere. A whistle of air sounded on the hull. Behind them, the view across the horizon revealed a tiny flicker of red, dropping into the towering mass of a thunderhead. Jan, forgetting their own situation, could not take her eyes off that point of light.

It fell and fell and fell; and then, suddenly, the Mayfly’s beacon signal was gone.

Jan caught her breath and closed her eyes. When she opened them again the control displays showed that the Fly-boy scooter was dangerously low. Drag on the ship was hindering the effectiveness of the engines in pulling them out of their descent.

“Paul.” She reached out, then had enough sense not to touch him. He had curled his body into its most comfortable position. “Paul, if we don’t make it I just want you to know. You couldn’t save Sebastian, but you saved me in all kinds of ways.”

“We’ll make it.” He was studying the control panel and the horizon ahead. “We’re holding our own in altitude. But I didn’t save you. You saved yourself.”

Jan felt warm all over. She pushed what she wanted to say into the back of her mind. It would keep. Instead she said, “If we’re going to make it, you need help. Tell me how to place a call for a medical vessel.”

As she followed his directions for an emergency call she saw that he was right. The scooter was slowly lifting away from Jupiter.’ She and Paul had begun a long journey, all the way around the body of the planet on a high swingby that would at last take them back toward Ganymede.

And then there would be a longer journey, one that three months ago she could not have imagined: a life without Sebastian. He was gone, gone forever. Life went on.