Jupiter Project

Chapter 13

There was a third man I vaguely recognized, wearing African robes.

“Matt, this is Dr. Kadin. He is the Laboratory Science Director.” Dr. Kadin bowed slightly and smiled. I remembered that he was Dad’s boss: in fact, he was the head of all the scientific research done in the Can and on Ganymede. I made the appropriate introductory noises while I tried to figure out why he was here.

“There are large storms brewing at Jupiter’s poles.” Dr. Kadin said to me. “Over the last few weeks I have been working with the astrophysicists to find an explanation. We have had little success. We do, however, think the storms may be throwing great swarms of electrons and other particles completely out of the Jovian atmosphere. Once above the ammonia cloud layer, they may become caught in Jupiter’s magnetic fields and funneled into the Van Allen belts. It is, of course, only a hypothesis.” He smiled again, showing incredibly white teeth.

“It’s a good thing you installed those new cups,” Mr. Jablons put in. “They’ll give us much better resolution of the electron concentration around Satellites Seventeen and Fourteen.”

“Because Seventeen and Fourteen pass close over the poles?” I said.

“Correct,” Dr. Kadin said precisely. “If your design can function under high particle flux, we may be able to record some highly significant data. There are some theoretical reasons to believe these particles originated deep in the Jovian atmosphere, perhaps deeper than we have ever been able to probe before.”

“When does it happen?” I said.

Dad glanced at a clock. “About now. I’ve been trying to reach you at home and down at the Student Center, with no luck. Thought you might want to watch. Satellite Seventeen should enter the polar region any moment.”

Dad thumbed the panel on his desk and his viewscreen began registering a readout from the Hole. The watch officer had set up a simple moving graph to show the particle flux that Satellite Seventeen was registering. The black line had already started a gradual climb. We all crowded around the screen, just about filling Dad’s office.

“That is an expected result,” Dr. Kadin said after a moment. He poked a finger at the rising line. “We can correlate this data with information from other equatorial satellites, to find the energy and other characteristics of the particles. The important point is how high this line can go.”

Mr. Jablons shuffled nervously. We waited, watching the line climb faster and faster. The only sound was a background whirr of air circulation.

The line rose, rose—and then dropped. It fell straight down to zero.

Dr. Kadin frowned. “It should not do that.”

We waited.

My face began to feel hot.

The line didn’t move.

“The Faraday cup may have shorted out,” Mr. Jablons said finally.

“Yes. It would seem so.” Dr. Kadin glanced at me, then looked quickly away. “Unfortunate.”

My father cleared his throat. “If the instrument has failed there is nothing to be done.”

“But it couldn’t fail!” I said.

“Quiet, son. Remember, Dr. Kadin, Satellite Fourteen crosses the same region above the pole in—” a look at the display screen—“three hours. We can get some data then.”

“Yes. Good.” He looked at me, not smiling. “The old Faraday cup would have given at least some information throughout the satellite’s passage over the pole. Hummm. Well—I shall return in three hours.”

With that he swept from the office, red robes fluttering.

Dad and Mr. Jablons tried to cheer me up but I wasn’t having any. We all knew that design worked. I must have installed it wrong. Maybe the job on Fourteen, with Jenny helping, was okay. Maybe.

One thing was clear; the radiation level in the Van Allen belts was rising fast. Dad made a note to advise the bridge and recommend that no men or craft be allowed outside the Can for the duration of the storm. I fooled around in the Hole, keeping tabs on Satellite Fourteen while it orbited up from the equator toward Jupiter’s north pole, toward the splotchy indigo storms.

After a while I took a break and wandered down to the Center. I was feeling pretty rotten. I ran into Jenny and she told me about a square dance that evening. That cheered me up; it would take my mind off everything that was going wrong with my life. Normally I dance as if someone was firing pistols at my feet, but with Jenny…

That’s when I got an idea. I looked around for an intercom phone and asked Jenny to wait a minute.

“Bridge.” a flat voice answered.

“This is Bohles. I’d like a provisional trajectory computed for rendezvous of shuttle Roadhog with Satellite Fourteen. Departure in, umm, two hours fifty minutes from now.”

“Well, okay, but we’re expecting to close down external operations any minute now. Background count is too high.”

“Transmit it to Roadhog’s computer anyway, will you? I can clear the computer tomorrow if the program is invalidated.”

“Okay, if you just want to make work for yourself. I’ll beam it over in a couple of minutes.”

“Right, thanks.”

I hung up and went back to Jenny.

“What’s up?”

“Oh, nothing.” I said. “Had lunch yet?” I kept my voice cool and casual. Inside I was tense, calculating, making plans.

“Yes, I ate earlier…” Jenny peered at me, looking puzzled. I avoided her eyes.

“Uh, okay, I… I think I’ll go get something.” I waved good-bye and moved off.

I got a snack. Then I went for a walk, alone. I didn’t really want to talk to Jenny, or anybody else. Things were boiling up in me, things I couldn’t explain.

I watched the faces in the curving corridors. Tight faces, sad ones. Frowns. Scowls. Distracted looks. Dazed expressions. People who seemed like they’d just come from a really terrible argument. Usually you see smiles. But now…

The spirit we once had was seeping away. I could feel it. We’d all been special out here. A pocket of light and air, bathed in hard radiation and unbearable cold. An outpost.

But now… They all knew we were going back. Crawling back home, defeated by the mysteries of Jupiter and the blindness of Earth…

Ignorant bastards, I thought moodily. People passing by glanced at me. I realized I must have said it out loud.

I leaned against a bulkhead, feeling suddenly dizzy. Christ, what was happening to me? I was wandering at random, talking to myself.

Things were moving too fast. Problems were coming up and nobody was solving them. Dr. Matonin went around with her oh-so-concerned smile, but that did no good. And Commander Aarons had already written off any chance of a kid staying here. The plain truth of the matter was that, to them, kids were just kids. In a tight situation, it was the adults who counted. Adults knew best. Kids only thought they had problems…try to tell an adult what was really eating at you, and you’d get the old chuckle and a nod of the head, and then a piece of warmed-over advice. They didn’t really see us as equals, as people, at all…

I marched through the decks, muttering to myself, hands clenching and unclenching.

Dr. Kadin arrived a few minutes after I got back to Monitoring. I studied the reports from equatorial satellites. The radiation being fed into the belts had dropped in the last hour, almost down to the permissible level for shuttlecraft operation.

“Do you suppose the storm is dying out?” I asked Dad. He peered at his viewscreen, which at the moment was focused on a gigantic orange whirlpool in the ammonia clouds. “There isn’t any way to tell. The storm activity seems to be related to the number of vortex formations in the atmosphere, and there aren’t any new ones building up right now.”

“There may be a relatively quiet time coming up.” Dr. Kadin put in, “much like the eye of a hurricane. I must say this is all very queer and extraordinary. There has been nothing like it in the nine years we’ve been here. I hope Satellite Fourteen will give us the data we need.”

“Where is Fourteen?” Mr. Jablons asked.

Dad switched to another input and reported. “Two minutes until anything significant could register.”

Dr. Kadin got a distant look in his eye. “You know,” he said, “so many curious things are happening at once, it is enough to make one wonder. We have recorded massive thunderstorm activity deep in the atmosphere. Great bolts of lightning.”

“The formation of living cells requires lightning, doesn’t it?” I asked. “Electricity can energize the manufacture of molecules—like the ones we know are down there in the clouds—to produce living compounds.”

“So experiments on Earth have shown,” Dr. Kadin agreed, raising his eyebrows and sighing. “But we have never found such things in Jupiter. Perhaps lightning is not all that is needed.”

“What about those meteor swarms?” Mr. Jablons put in. “What’s the explanation for them?”

“I am afraid today is not a bright one for the scientists. Our expert on the asteroid belt says they may come from there. Another says the orbits trace back to Jupiter’s own moon system. There remain many questions; we do not have sufficient data. The odd thing is that the swarms strike Jupiter near the poles, not the equator. Very unusual—”

“The Faraday cup on Satellite Fourteen is beginning to register an increase,” Dad said.

We all crowded around his desk. Dr. Kadin fidgeted at his robes. Mr. Jablons tapped a pencil on his knee. Distant murmurs from the Can underlined the silence between us.

The black line rose again. I clenched my fists, watching it, not daring to move. The only sound was the pinging of a recorder.

“Looks good,” Mr. Jablons said hopefully.

Dr. Kadin said nothing.

The line shot up, climbing to nearly the same level Seventeen had registered. It held there, steady, steady, holding—

And fell.

In a moment, the readings dropped to zero. The Faraday cup wasn’t working.

“Well.” Dr. Kadin said. “I had hoped—”

I couldn’t listen to it. I turned and bolted from the room.

“Matt!” my father called after me. I didn’t look back.

I ran down the corridor, blinking back tears of anger. That cup couldn’t fail, I just knew it!

I took an express elevator inward, toward the center of the Can. The tube that led to the air lock was deserted. Nobody was going outside now, during the storm.

I forced myself to calm down a little once I was in the suiting-up bay. It wouldn’t be smart to foul up an air hose and find out about it in the middle of decompression.

I left the bay, carrying my helmet under my arm, and stepped into the short passageway that led to the main air lock. It would be a good idea to cycle the lock manually; the bridge might notice it on their board if I put the lock on automatic. I put a hand on the hatch wheel.

“Hey, shrimp, what’re you doing?”

I didn’t say anything. I turned the wheel faster. I heard Yuri’s steps behind me.

A hand landed on my shoulder and spun me around.

“There’s a storm, kid. Nobody goes outside.”

“I’ve got permission.”

“Oh? From who?”

“Commander Aarons. Ask him.”

“A likely story.”

“It’s true. Go on, ask him. He’s right over there.” I pointed down the corridor.

Yuri turned his head, following my finger. My heart was beating furiously. The cold fear began to seep into me again and I hesitated. I knew this was it. I would get only one chance.

Yuri frowned in disgust and started to turn back toward me.

I slammed my fist into his stomach.

“Hey!” He staggered back.

I jabbed at his chin. Yuri blocked and hit me in the shoulder. I backed off. He came crowding in on me, fast. I swung and missed. Yuri brushed my arm aside and landed a solid punch in my stomach, knocking the wind out of me.

The world turned purple. I jabbed and caught him weakly on the chest. Something slammed into my face. I reeled back, gasping. He hit me twice more and I went down.

“Dumb, really dumb.” He prodded me with a toe.

I lay face down on the polished deck. The dust, the goddamned yellow dust. The crowd heckling, laughing. Coward, weakling…the spattering sound…

I was down, but I wasn’t really badly hurt.

I blinked and the drifting purple mist faded away. I breathed deeply.

And I reached inside myself, deep, into the cold ball of fear at the center of me. I saw it for what it was. And I smothered it, pushed it away.

I forced myself up onto my hands and knees.

Yuri smirked at me. “Come on, I think I will take you to see the officer of the watch. He should be most interested in—”

I brought my thigh up and shot my leg out in a frontal kick, the way I’d seen it done on 3D. Yuri started to turn. The kick caught him in the side. He staggered, off balance. “Wha—”

I leaped at him. I gave him two quick jabs in the side of the head. He whirled and hit me in the stomach. Pain lanced through me. I gritted my teeth and stood my ground. I landed three punches on his chest. Yuri slowed. I slammed my fists into him again and again and again and suddenly he wasn’t there anymore.

I looked down. He was lying on the deck. He didn’t move but he was breathing. I didn’t think he was hurt. At the moment I didn’t care much one way or the other. Yuri had been dishing out a lot of crap lately. I figured he could take his chances.

I left him there. Sure, I could tie him up, but what if somebody else came along while I was doing it?

I cycled out of the lock, breaking the hatch open before the red light winked green. A burst of air blew me away from the lock, tumbling. I sucked in a sour breath of suit air. Time, time…

I leveled off using attitude jets and picked out the Roadhog’s berth. I cruised over to it. I felt lightheaded; I automatically checked my oxygen level to see if I was hyperventilating. The meter didn’t say so; the effect was probably from adrenaline. I could hear my pulse tripping in my ears.

I coasted into the seat after clearing the mooring lines. I backed Roadhog out of her berth in one burst. I set a beeline course for the mouth of the Can and thumbed on the autopilot. Good; the course for Satellite Fourteen was logged in. Departure time in five minutes. Well, that would have to be close enough: I couldn’t hang around waiting, and Roadhog would clear the Can in less than two.

I ran a quick check on the shuttle. One of the forward lines had vapor-locked, but I overloaded the pressure and blew it open. It would probably be okay for the trip. I told myself.

We passed pretty close to the Sagan going out. It was eerie, being alone in the bay. There were no work lamps, no other moving craft, only the pinwheeling lights of the Can.

We had just cleared the Can. I slammed on the drive. The boost pushed me back in my seat with a gratifying weight. We went hell for leather out the top, burning fuel extravagantly. I wanted to get away, and fast. I’d use up some of my safety reserve, but it was worth it. Ten minutes out, I switched in the computer orbit. Roadhog stirred under me. She pointed her nose at the glowing crescent of Jupiter and I felt the ion engine kick in on a new vector. We were off.

Roadhog ran steadily for a few minutes before the radio came alive.

“Bohles! This is the bridge. We have just picked you up on radar. Turn around. Radiation levels—”

I switched it off. After I had given the Roadhog a thorough check I clicked it back on again.

“—mander Aarons speaking. I order you to return to the Laboratory. You can accomplish nothing this way.”

“I don’t think he’s listening, sir. We haven’t had a peep out of him.”

“Hmmmm. Can someone go out and get him?”

“Not too easily. Those shuttles have big engines on them, for their weight. He’s already moving pretty fast.”

“How long to pick him up?”

“Two hours, minimum.”

“Not good enough. I can’t ask someone to risk his life—”

“Don’t bother,” I said. “I’ll take all the risks.”

There was a pause. Then: “Bohles, this is a very foolish thing to do. There is no need—”

“Listen, I’d like to talk to my father.”

Faintly: “Where’s his father? On intercom? Patch him in.”

“Hello, Matt?”

“Hi, Dad.” My voice seemed thin, weak. I swallowed.

“This isn’t very smart.”

“I’ve got to do something. I don’t want to go Earthside, Dad. You said yourself that we’ve got to justify keeping the Lab out here by solid results. Well, maybe it’s too late, but I’m going to try.”

“Son…”

“What is the radiation level along my orbit?”

A pause. “Well, you are a little lucky there. The background count seems to be falling off. Maybe there is going to be a lull in the storm, but you are taking a chance.”

“Anybody who keeps breathing takes a chance.”

“Matt, your mother would like—”

“No, no.” I didn’t think I could take that. “Don’t put her on.”

In the background: “If the pattern holds, sir, the radiation levels will be acceptable.” “Hmmmm. Cancel that order to intercept.” “I think he has a good chance to come out of it all right, sir.” “But you don’t know, do you?” “Uh, nossir.”

“Dad?”

“Yes, Matt. Your mother—”

“No. I’m signing off. I’ll let you know if anything changes. I’m not eager to get a radiation burn out here, either. But I believe this is worth the risk.”

“I think Yuri will be around to look you up when you get back, too.” I could imagine him smiling as he said it.

“Tell him I’ll be receiving visitors. And don’t worry. I’ll be okay. I want to think things over out here. Alone.”

“I hope—”

“Good-bye.” I switched off.

Loneliness is a sad word; solitude is more dignified. But loneliness is just solitude you don’t want, and there were times in the hours ahead when I would have given anything if Jenny or Zak or anyone had been there.

For a while I watched the radiation gauge every two minutes. It dropped a little but not much. My radio emergency light blinked a few times; I ignored it.

The journey became almost hypnotic. Jupiter was a thin crescent sliced by the familiar bands. I could make out some of the outer moons: Ganymede was a faint blue disc, Io trailed behind me, an orange-red ball that fell below as I moved toward Jupiter’s north pole. Satellite Fourteen was coming down to meet me.

I watched the huge whirlpools catch up and pass below me. At their centers I could see dark blotches—methane? frozen water?—swirling in a grand, lazy dance. It was hard to believe those blemishes were larger than the Pacific Ocean.

Jupiter filled the sky. This close it is more like an infinite plain than a planet and you can’t really be convinced that you aren’t going to fall into it. Beyond the terminator, in what should have been blackness, I could see thin fingers of yellow lightning playing in cloud banks.

Perhaps Jupiter was the home of the gods and the storms were merely giant tournaments; Jove throwing his thunderbolts…

I caught myself right there. Men have been hypnotized by Jupiter’s vastness before me and I recognized the symptoms.

I gave myself some rations, savored them to stretch out the time, and busied myself by climbing around the Roadhog and looking her over. The superconductor fields were working okay. Because of them I couldn’t climb over the side and inspect the undercarriage. I called the Can a few times. After a few tries at persuading me to come back, the bridge officer gave me radiation level readings. They matched pretty closely to mine.

I didn’t think very much about the radiation. I was getting a little more than the “acceptable” dose, but that was just an average worked out for people in all sorts of jobs. If I got a lot there were treatments that would help.

Even if I didn’t make it—so what? Nobody lived forever. I wouldn’t live to see the first star ship leave; I’d never know if there were intelligent life forms living near the Centauri system, or Tau Ceti, or…

I caught myself again. No use getting morbid.

Minutes crawled by, then hours. I dozed.

My radio emergency light was blinking an angry red when I woke up. I ignored it and checked the time. Rendezvous should be coming up.

I looked around to orient myself. Jupiter was still a striped custard below; now I could see a purple darkening toward the pole.

In a few minutes I picked out a white dot that seemed a likely candidate. It grew. I matched velocity and watched Satellite Fourteen resolve itself into an overweight basketball.

I coasted over. The Faraday cup didn’t show any damage; everything looked just the way I had left it.

I disconnected it from the satellite’s electrical system and checked carefully over the outside. Nothing wrong. The heart of a Faraday cup is the grid trapping mechanism. I would have to open it up to get a look at that.

I unclipped a no-torque screwdriver from my suit belt and took the cover off the cup. Everything still looked okay. I removed the backup shields and slid the center of the cup out. It was just big enough to hold in one hand.

The final cover came off easily. Then I saw what was wrong.

The space between anode and cathode was filled with some sort of oil.

I thought back. Oil? That didn’t make sense. I was sure it wasn’t there when I installed the cup. It wasn’t oil, anyway. It was more like sticky dust. I poked a finger into the gap. Some of the stuff stayed on my glove; some more drifted away into space.

I swore. An electrical failure I could understand, but this was out of my department.

What about that old Faraday cup I’d replaced? I hadn’t even looked at it. I’d just let it drift away from the satellite, since I didn’t have any further use for it. Maybe that one had this gunk in it, too.

One thing was certain: I wasn’t going to fix it out here. I took out a plastic sheet and wrapped up the part, dust and all.

I got back in the Roadhog, waved good-bye to Fourteen and fired the ion engine.

The work had made me hungry again. I ate some rations and then finally answered my radio.

“Matt?” It was Mr. Jablons.

“Who else?”

“I thought you might like to know that Satellite Seventeen’s cup cleared up a while ago. There appears to be some saturation phenomenon operating.”

“Oh, great. You mean if I’d left the cup on Fourteen alone it would fix itself?”

“Probably. Are you bringing it in?”

“Yes.”

“We’ll need a look at it anyway. A device that fails only when you need it isn’t much use. I’ll meet you at the lock and get right on the problem.”

“Fine.”

After some chatter about the radiation, which was rising again, I switched over to the bridge. They estimated that if the storm followed the same pattern as it had earlier, I wouldn’t get too much of a dosage.

It was a race to get me back to the Can as soon as possible. I was in the fastest possible orbit right now, so there wasn’t much to be done.

“Connect me with Zak Palonski, would you?” I said. While I waited, my headphones beeping and clicking, I reviewed what I’d been thinking about the last few hours. This wasn’t going to be easy to say.

“Matt? Boy, when you go overboard you do it in a big way.”

I grimaced. “Yeah. I—I went crazy back there, Zak. Once I got away from the Can and cooled off, I could see that. And why. It’s related to something you told me, once.”

“You mean about that fight back when you were a kid? And Yuri?”

“Right. I’ve gotten them all scrambled up, Zak. That eight-year-old Matt Bohles got so damned scared he was frantically glad to get away from Earth. I mean, I must’ve identified those bullies with the way all Earthside was going to be. I cried every night for weeks after that fight, you know.”

“So the little kid thought all the rest of life was going to be getting pushed around, bullied.”

“Yeah.” I smiled to myself, thinking back. “Yeah, I can still remember some of those feelings, now that I understand. When we got out to the Can it was—wow!—like being reborn. Everybody was nice. The bigger kids didn’t gang up on me.”

“You could be the smart guy without getting punished for showing off. You didn’t have to be a phony tough guy.”

“Yeah—say! How come you know all that?”

“Hell, you think you’re so different? We’re all kids from pretty highbrow families. We all had those fears.”

“Then why—?” I sputtered.

“I noticed some funny symptoms when Yuri started hassling you. I mean, I figured we kids were all over that stuff by now—but you didn’t seem to be. The way I see it, something about Yuri—his size, maybe—made you regress, go back to the behavior pattern you had in that Earthside playground. You couldn’t deal with him. You retreated into—”

“Dammit! Why didn’t you tell me? I—”

“I didn’t know. It was just a hunch. Young Freud, remember? I had to give you a chance to work it out yourself, even though I could see something was bothering you, and it was getting worse. Just telling you wouldn’t have worked either. You had to come on it yourself or it wouldn’t ring true. Remember when you had that dream on Ganymede and I started in on you?”

“Zak the head-shrinker, yeah.”

“You brushed me off.”

“Yeah.” I said quietly.

We were silent for a moment. I could hear Zak breathing into his mike. “Hey, look,” he said awkwardly. “What was it some philosopher said?—‘Self knowledge is usually bad news.’ But that’s not necessarily so.”

I nodded. “Right. Right. Now that I see it. I think I can deal with it. I’m scared of going Earthside. I like it out here. It’s safe.” I laughed recklessly. “No schoolyards for the big kids to beat me up in.”

“I figure you’ll make it, Matt,” Zak said warmly. “I really do.”

“I’d better.” My sudden elation fizzled out. “Aarons will ship me Earthside for sure.”

“Huh? Why?”

“I went berserk. Zak. Crazy. Unstable. I swiped this shuttle, risked my life, broke regs, beat up Yuri… God, that felt good…”

“I see your point.” Zak said sadly. “I know you’ll be okay now, but Aarons doesn’t have any choice.”

“Yeah,” I said. I looked down at Jupiter, endlessly spinning, and felt a bone-deep weariness. “I’m washed up, Zak. This time I’m really finished.”

“Matt?”

“Huh?” I felt drowsy. “Yes?”

“We’ve got trouble.” It was Dad.

“I’m only thirty-three minutes from ETA. What could—”

“That’s the point. We’ve just picked up a big flare on the south pole. Some extraordinary activity.”

“Meaning—?”

“Looks like a burst of high energy stuff, headed out along the magnetic field lines. The whole Jovian magnetosphere is alive with radio noise. And higher than the normal radiation flux, of course.”

“Will it catch me?”

“Looks like it.”

“Damn.” I bit my lip.

“Your fuel is—”

“I’ve already checked. Just enough to brake, maybe a fraction over.”

“I see.” A silence.

I frowned, calculating. I gave the idea about five seconds of solid thought, and then I knew: “Give me a new orbit, Dad. I’m firing along my present trajectory, as of—” I punched the stud—“now.”

A solid kick in the small of my back.

“Wait, Matt, we haven’t computed—”

“Doesn’t matter. Sooner I get going, the more seconds I’ll shave off my arrival time.”

“Well…yes.” Dad said slowly.

I held my thumb on the button, eyeing my fuel tank. Burn, baby. Go! But not too much—

I raised my thumb. The pressure at my back abruptly lifted. “What’s my mid-course correction?” I barked.

“We—we plot you into a delta-vee of zero point three seven at five minutes, forty-three seconds from now.” Dad’s voice was clipped and official. “Transmitting to your inboard on the signal.”

I heard the beep a second later. I was on my way. The new course correction would bring me into the Can with minimum time.

“How much did I pick up?”

“I make it seven, no, seven point four minutes.”

“That enough?”

“It’s close. Damned close.”

“Better than frying.”

“Yes, but…”

“Yeah. I know. What’s my reserve?”

“None.”

“What?”

“None. It will take just about every gram of fuel to get you to the top of the Can, instead of flying by at several klicks further out. You may have a few seconds of juice left at the bottom of the tank, but it can’t be more than a small fraction of what you need.”

“Geez.”

“Son. you’ll come into the top pancake.”

“With no brakes.”

“Right.”

“Damned magnetosphere. What’s causing all this, Dad? I mean—” I pounded my gloves on the steering column—“why in hell does the solar flux have to stack up on us just when Jupiter is throwing out this crap? What’s happening at the poles?”

“I don’t know. We’ve never seen—”

“I know that. But, but—” Then I shut up. I was just whining, and I knew it. The universe plays for keeps. It doesn’t give a damn if you’re a screwed-up kid who has gone off on a dumb stunt. Whining wouldn’t help.

The minutes crawled by I made the course correction and watched the Can grow from a bright dot into a slowly spinning target. I fidgeted. I planned. I talked to Dad, but there wasn’t much to say.

I had somewhere between zero and maybe ten seconds of burn time left. Not enough to slow me down much.

I climbed over the rig, detaching every unit and pouch and box that I could shove overboard. The less mass I had, the more braking I could get out of those few seconds of impulse.

I took the Faraday cup and put it in my carry-bag, tucked on the inside of my left leg so nothing could easily bump it. They’re mechanically pretty strong, anyway.

Then I looked at the stars for a moment, trying to think. I had to stay calm and I would have to move fast. I kept thinking that there had to be some way out of this.

The bridge was sending a team out to help. There wasn’t much they could do, of course. There wasn’t much time to deploy a shuttle and boost it out to meet me, match velocities and make a pickup.

The Can arced across from my left, swelling. I swung my scope forward. I could make out the pancake. I was coming in almost edge-on. Were those specks moving? Maybe they were the team that was waiting for me. Or maybe just my imagination.

“Thirty seconds.” Dad’s voice was stiff, tight.

The silvery skin of the Can looked like a Christmas tree ornament. Funny, how I’d never noticed that before. The big cylinder grew and grew against the flat black of space. Stars beamed silently at me. The pancake was spinning serenely, faster than the Can. It was just a big bag of water, but at these speeds—

I saw the idea at the last possible moment. If I ran into the right side of the pancake, its spin angular momentum would be directed against me. But on the left side, the spin would be with me. The relative velocity between Roadhog and the pancake would be less. So if I could—

I spun the attitude jets to the right. The pancake was growing, dead ahead. How much should I give it?

Too much and I’d miss entirely. Miss, and shoot past the Can. And the radiation would fry me. When they finally fetched me back home and cracked my suit, I’d look like a potato chip.

But if I gave it too little, the shock of impact would shatter Roadhog and me along with it.

I fired the jets. One second, two, three—

I cut it off. We glided leftward. The pancake was a huge spinning sack of water, and I was flying toward it and now laterally across it, closing fast—

—too fast—

I saw specks of light. People. Waving. The pancake became a vast spinning plain. I came shooting toward the edge of it. I could see the thick organiform skin sliding away below me, moving the same direction as Roadhog, but slower. We were vectoring down into the plane, like a needle falling toward a spinning record—

There was shouting in my suit phones. I ignored it. I had been so worried about hitting the pancake, but now I wanted to hit it, wanted it so bad I could taste it.

I had the engine into braking mode already. But when should I fire? Distances were hard to judge. I could see stenciling on the pancake’s skin now, numbers shooting by below. Closer. Closer—

I jammed a thumb down on the firing stud. One, two…five seconds. The silvery wall of the pancake edge rose up before me. blotting out the stars. Seven—Eight—

Dead. The engine gurgled to a stop.

The pancake was turning, sliding away. But I was catching up with it. And suddenly I saw that the physics wasn’t as simple as I thought. Once I hit the organiform, what would keep me there? There was no gravity. I would rebound from the pancake and go tumbling off into—

But I could use the friction of the grainy organiform. And maybe grab a handhold. Maybe—

My adhesive patch. It would help hold me to the rough surface. I reached up toward my neck and yanked down. Then I slapped my knee with the tab and—

We hit.

The forward strut caught the pancake skin. It dug in.

I ducked my head and wrapped my arms over my neck. Standard position. A shock ran through Roadhog. I felt a grinding tremor—

A pipe smacked me in the ribs. I slammed into something that gave slightly. All around me bright, glittering debris was tumbling, like a luminous shower. Sparkling bits of Roadhog plunged by me. Soundless. Soundless, and tumbling.

I rolled over and over, along the face of the pancake. My adhesive patch caught, gave way, caught, gave way, making a small ripping sound inside my suit. It kept me on the pancake, reduced the recoil momentum, but it wasn’t slowing me down much.

I snatched at a handhold. Caught it. Lost the grip. The organiform is rough but flexible. I rolled, arms curled over my head, legs out straight. A waterfall of junk was tumbling with me. My right side and arm hurt, but there was no jabbing pain. Maybe the organiform had cushioned me enough; maybe nothing was broken.

The adhesive patch was snatching at the organiform, holding me to it. But I wasn’t stopping. I was rolling in a soundless shower. Outside my helmet was a blur of gray organiform, then a blur of black sweeping by, then organiform again. If it went on I would roll off the top of the pancake and out into space.

I brought my arms down, dug in with my elbows. At once I got a jarring and my arm twisted painfully. I tried again. Another wrenching jolt, a flash of pain in my shoulder.

If I wasn’t careful, I’d push too much against the pancake and knock myself off entirely, out into space. I fought against the sickening revolution and tried to scan the pancake skin ahead. I was near the edge. Friction with the pancake was trying to swing me around, give me some angular deflection. But ahead of me I could see pieces of Roadhog flying off into the blackness.

Ahead, something—A blur. No, a bump. A set of handholds in the plastiform.

It came looming up. I thrashed toward it. The white bumps shot toward me. I kicked in their direction without thinking. I began to rise off the pancake. I was rebounding off. I snatched—Missed. Another handhold came gliding by below. I windmilled my arms, bringing my head toward the pancake. I snatched downward. Grabbed it. Held on for the jolt—

When my arms felt like a bundle of knots, I knew I had it. I flailed wildly and got my other hand onto it. My arm was numb. I dumbly watched pieces of Roadhog disappear over the side, spinning away into the darkness.

“Matt! You okay?”

“I… I think so.”

“Don’t waste time! Get over to the lock!”

“Yeah…sure… Maybe the team can…”

“It’s faster if you follow the emergency line to the ten-A lock.”

“Oh…okay.”

I started hand over fist along the skin of the pancake, working my way toward the bright blue emergency line twenty meters away.

Inside Lock ten-A I sagged against the bulkhead and listened to the hiss of air flooding in around me. I looked down. My adhesive patch looked like somebody had been trying to snatch it bald. There were cuts and nicks all over my suit. I still had the goddam Faraday cup sealed in the carry-bag on my left leg. My leg ached there; it must have banged against me. But through the clear plastic the cup didn’t look damaged. I thought. Well, that’s what this was about, right? It looked like pretty small stuff.

I waited for the lock to cycle. I was wrung out, depressed. I half expected to be met by the ship’s officer who would put me in handcuffs.

But then the lock swung open. The tube outside looked like a subway car. People were jammed in. They waved and beamed as I stepped forward. I popped my helmet and a warm rush of noise poured in.

“Matt!” My mother wrapped her arms around me and cried.

Dad was there, smiling and frowning at the same time, shaking hands with me.

People were swarming around, touching me, helping me off with my suit.

Mr. Jablons appeared at my elbow, “Welcome back.” He took the Faraday cup in its wrapper. “Good luck with the boss, too.” His eyes twinkled and he gestured with his head at Commander Aarons, who was talking to an officer down the corridor.

“How do you feel, Matt?” I turned the other way and saw Jenny.

“Great.”

“I hope you—”

“Forget it. I’m immortal,” I said gruffly. I didn’t mention that for some reason my knees felt weak. And nobody commented on what a dumb fool stunt I’d pulled.

Commander Aarons scowled over at me. “No,” I heard him say. “I will talk to him later. Let the doctors have a look first.”

A hand took my elbow roughly and guided me through the crowd. I winked at Jenny, hoping I looked self-confident.

There were two medical attendants with me. They hustled me into an elevator and we zipped inward five levels. I was in a daze. A doctor in a white coat poked at me, took a blood sample, urinanalysis, skin sections—and then ordered me into a ’fresher.

I got a new set of standard ship work clothes when I came out, and a light supper. My time sense was all fouled up; it was early morning, ship’s time, but my stomach thought it was lunch. And I felt like I was a million years old.

After that they left me alone.

Finally someone stuck his head in a door and motioned me into the next room. The doctor was in there, reading a chart.

“Young man,” he said slowly, “you have given me and your parents and a lot of other people a great deal of trouble. That was an extremely foolish gesture to make. These past few days have been hard on all of us, but such heroics are not to be excused.”

He looked at me sternly. “I imagine the Commander will have more to say to you. I hope he disciplines you well. By freak chance, you seem to have avoided getting a serious dosage of radiation. Your blood count is nearly normal. I expect it will reach equilibrium again within a few hours.”

“I’m okay?”

“That is what I said. Your—”

There was a knock at the door. It opened and a bridge officer looked in. “Finished. Doctor?”

“Nearly.” He turned to me. “I want you to know that you came very close to killing yourself, young man. The background level out there is rising rapidly; it very nearly boiled you alive. Commander Aarons will make an example of you—”

“No doubt.” I got up. The Doctor pressed his lips together into a thin line, then nodded reluctantly to the officer. We left.

“What now?” I said in the tube outside. “The Commander’s office?”

“Nope. Mr. Jablons’.”

“Why?”

They don’t let me in on their secrets. The Commander is there now. He sent me for you. If it was up to me I’d have you thrashed, kid.”

I didn’t say anything more until we reached the electronics lab. There weren’t any more convenient excuses. No dodges, no explanations. I had pulled off a dumb stunt and saved my neck only by smashing up Roadhog.

I slumped as I walked beside the bridge officer, my shoulders sagging forward. My conversation with Zak drifted through my head. Self-knowledge is usually bad news. Yeah. I thought back over what had been happening to me, the way one moment I’d act reasonably mature, and then the next minute I’d come on like some twelve-year-old. I hadn’t dealt with Yuri. I hadn’t straightened out my feelings about women, I hadn’t even been able to take looking like a failure in Mr. Jablons’ eyes…

Fuzzy thoughts floated by. The corridor seemed to ripple as I followed the bridge officer. I felt like some Earthside dope-o on mindwipe.

I took a deep breath and my head cleared a little. The bridge officer scowled at me. I tried to give him a smile with some bravado in it. It didn’t work. We reached the electronics lab.

The Commander himself opened the door and waved the bridge officer away. He didn’t look angry. In fact, he hardly saw me as I came in and closed the door. He was gazing off into space, thinking.

Dad and Mr. Jablons were sitting at one of the work benches. Dr. Kadin was working at a high-vacuum tank in the middle of the room. His hands were inserted in the waldoes and he was moving something inside the tank.

Dad looked up when I came in. “Ah, there you are, Mr. Lucky.”

“Huh?”

“Look in the tank.”

I walked over and looked through the glass. The Faraday cup was inside. Some of the sticky dust had been taken out with the waldo arms and scattered over a series of pyrex plates. The plates were spotted with green and blue chemicals and one of the plates was fixed under a viewing microscope.

“That contaminant you found inside the cup wasn’t dust, Matt,” my father said. “It is a colony of—well, something like spores. They are still active, as far as we can tell.”

Dr. Kadin turned and looked at me. “Quite so. It would seem, young Mr. Bohles, that you have discovered life on Jupiter.”