Titan

12 April 2096: Encounter

“Here we go,” said Pancho, trying consciously to keep her tongue from between her teeth. She’d lacerated her tongue badly once in the crash landing of a Clippership, back in her early astronaut days. For years afterward she’d carried a protective mouthpiece with her when she flew, but seldom remembered to put it in place when she needed it.

Now she stood at the controls of the transfer craft and watched through the observation port in front of her as she dived the little vehicle through the Cassini gap between the A and B rings.

She could see glittering bits of ice racing toward her, pinging the craft’s hull, hitting the port’s transparent glassteel.

“Some gap,” she said. “Lots of crap in here.”

Wanamaker, standing beside her, paid no attention. He was in contact with Gaeta, who was just entering the B ring.

“Starting to ice up,” Gaeta was saying. “It’s getting tough to move my arms and legs.”

Wanamaker glanced at the readouts on the panel at his side. “Internal temperature holding okay,” he said.

“So far,” answered Gaeta.

Pancho wished she had viewports on the sides of the cramped cockpit, or cameras out there, at least. She wanted to see more than just the straight-ahead view. She wanted to see the rings and their ragged edges as she dove the spacecraft in between them. She wanted to be able to yell “Yahoo” as she dived through the plane of the rings. As it was, she couldn’t see the rings, couldn’t even see the huge glowing curve of Saturn’s massive bulk. Nothing but star-flecked darkness out there and swarms of ice particles zooming at her. It was like driving in the dark of night through a raging blizzard.

Gaeta had two contradictory worries wrestling in the back of his head. Will I be in the ring long enough to get a decent sampling for Nadia? Will I be in the ring so long that these fregado ring particles will cover me with ice the way they did last time? Damned near killed me.

The icy ring was spread out before him now, like a vast field of glittering snow stretching as far as he could see. Off in the distance to his right was a smear of darker stuff, like dust or carbon soot. Coming up fast, in spite of the retro burn. Glancing at the displays splashed in color along the bottom of his visor, he saw that all the suit’s functions were still in the green, except that when he tried to move his arms or legs the servomotors went into the red. Encased in ice, he realized.

Then he saw a rime of ice along the edge of his visor. And it was growing visibly.

“Visor’s getting coated,” he said into his helmet microphone.

Wanamaker immediately replied, “Life support functions still in the green.”

Gaeta nodded inside the helmet. “So far.”

“Antennas still functioning.”

“Hey, Jake, you trying to cheer me up?”

“Just doing my job, buddy.”

“The suit’s external temperature is dropping,” Gaeta reported.

“Copy. It’s within allowable limits.”

“So far.”

“You’ll only be in the ring for three minutes.”

“Gotta get there first.” He saw that his visor was almost completely covered with ice now.

“Hang tight, buddy. We’re on course to pick you up at the rendezvous point.”

“Right.”

“You should be entering the ring’s main body now.”

A flash of light startled Gaeta. “What the hell was that?”

Pancho called out, “Hey, we got a power surge here. Auxiliary power’s on—wait, hang on, main power’s back on line.”

“You okay, Manny?” Wanamaker asked.

“Got a flash, like all my displays flared up at once.”

“Now?”

“Looks normal now. Everything in here looks normal. But life support’s on battery instead of the main power bus.”

“What the hell happened?” Wanamaker groused.

“I’m entering the ring.”

Squinting through the ice that now covered almost his entire visor, Gaeta saw nothing but glittering, swirling ice particles. It was like being in a blizzard, alone in an overpowering storm of gleaming white. Except that there was no wind, no noise at all.

With a sudden clutch of fear he realized that the air fans inside his suit had gone silent.

Wanamaker saw the red light glare on his display panel.

“Air circulation system,” he muttered.

Pancho glanced over. “He can live without ’em.”

“For how long?” Wanamaker challenged.

“Long enough,” said Pancho, pecking at her master keypad.

“My air fans are down.” Gaeta’s voice sounded calm, but both Pancho and Wanamaker knew this was trouble.

“Try restarting them,” Wanamaker said.

“Did that. No joy.”

“Hang tight,” Pancho called out. “I’m adjusting our pickup point. We’ll fish you out in eight minutes …” She looked at the readout on the control panel. “Make that seven minutes, forty seconds.”

“You’ll be getting too close to the ring,” Gaeta objected.

“Shut up and save your air,” said Pancho. “We’ll getcha before you even start to cough.”

“What could make the air fans go out?” Wanamaker asked her.

Pancho shrugged. “Murphy’s Law.”

“Maybe that power surge?”

“How can he have a power surge the same instant that we do?” Pancho demanded. “Besides, it was all over in a second or two. No damage.”

“No damage to us,” Wanamaker corrected.

When in trouble, check all systems, Gaeta told himself. Life support is on battery backup, and the chingado fans have crapped out. No air circulation means the oxygen level drops and cee-oh-two builds up.

Power failure? Everything else is working okay. He felt beads of perspiration dotting his upper lip. The suit’s master computer has a decision tree, Gaeta reminded himself. When electrical power goes critical it starts to shut down systems in order of their importance. I can get along without the fans for ten, maybe twenty minutes. Next thing the computer’ll shut down is the exterior sensors. If the power system’s failing.

His visor was completely caked with ice now. And, sure enough, the displays from the suit’s exterior sensors went dark. Mierda, Gaeta grumbled to himself. Now I’m flying blind.

“Don’t fire up your propulsion jets,” Pancho’s voice warned. “Your beacon just went out so we hafta track you by dead reckoning.”

“Okay. No jets,” Gaeta confirmed, glad that the comm system was still working. Stay off my antennas, little guys, he said silently to the ring creatures. Gremlins, he thought. Little beasties that screw up your machinery.

The clock display still worked, he saw. The green LCD numerals showed that he should be in the midst of the ring. Two more minutes, at most, and I’ll be out. Then Pancho can pick me up. If she can find me.

Holly pushed through the crowd of well-wishers who gathered around her after the debate closed. Mostly women. Almost entirely women, except for Wilmot and a roundish, unhappy-looking man standing beside Mrs. Yañez: her husband, Holly recalled. A much bigger throng was swarming about Eberly, including Dr. Urbain and his wife. Eberly basked in their approval, smiling warmly, shaking hands.

The lights flickered briefly; everyone looked up to the ceiling, but before anyone could say a word the lights steadied again.

Eberly waved a hand. “We’re working on these power flips,” he said in a strong, authoritarian voice. “I’ve just replaced the chief of maintenance and put a new man on the job. He’ll get to the bottom of the problem.”

The people around him nodded, but several glanced toward the ceiling uneasily.

“Excuse me,” Holly said over and over as she wormed through the crowd. “I’ve got to see Dr. Wunderly.”

Breaking free of the pack at last, Holly sprinted up the auditorium’s central aisle and raced outside, then headed toward Wunderly’s office.

Nadia’s got to know how Eberly’s skunked us, she told herself. She must be in her office, monitoring Manny’s mission into the rings.

The office building was dark but unlocked. Holly raced up the stairs to the second floor and saw a glimmer of light down a corridor of shoulder-high partitions. Yep, she said to herself, that’s Nadia’s rabbit hole.

Wunderly was staring at her desktop screen so intently she jumped halfway out of her chair when Holly came into her cubicle, saying, “They want to mine the rings, Nadia!”

“Manny’s in trouble,” Wunderly said. “Pancho’s got to fish him out of there as soon as she can.”