Leviathans of Jupiter

“Okay,” Yeager’s voice muttered in her ear. “Just a minute now while I power up the system…”

The world went blank for a moment; Deirdre could see nothing. Abruptly she was hanging in space between the station and the gigantic sphere of Faraday. She gasped with surprise.

“It’s huge! Almost as big as the station!”

She heard Yeager chuckle. “Yep.”

“What are all those fins sticking out from it?”

“Steering vanes,” Yeager answered. “For maneuvering, either in Jupiter’s atmosphere or its ocean.”

Deirdre nodded silently.

“Now we activate your propulsion unit,” Yeager said.

Although she felt no force upon her, Deirdre saw that she was moving through empty space toward the airlock hatch on Faraday’s curving surface. She saw a nine-unit keyboard on the hull next to the airlock.

“Combination’s one-two-three,” Yeager told her. “I like to keep things simple.”

Reaching out with her gloved hand, Deirdre tapped out the combination. She could feel the solidity of the keys against her fingertip. The hatch slid open silently.

“Go right in, kiddo.”

Somewhat hesitantly, Deirdre stepped into the airlock. She waited while the outer hatch closed, the chamber filled with air, and finally the inner door opened. She saw a long tunnel made of gleaming metal, a tube, with a six- seated cart waiting empty.

“Sit down and strap in,” Yeager instructed her. “This buggy goes fast.”

It felt odd: Deirdre knew she was still sitting at the console in the control center, but like a dreamer she climbed into the cart’s front seat and clicked the safety belt across her lap. Without warning the cart shot down the tunnel like a bullet. The curving walls blurred, but Deirdre felt no sense of motion at all.

“You’re diving through an even dozen layers of reinforced compression shells,” Yeager explained as she whizzed through the tunnel, “down to the crew station at the vessel’s center.”

The cart slowed, then stopped at another hatch. Following Yeager’s instructions, Deirdre got out of the cart, opened the hatch, and stepped into a small, cramped chamber, packed tight with consoles and sensor screens.

“This is it?” she asked, feeling disappointed. The place was so small. Barely room for five people, cheek by jowl. I’ve seen bathrooms bigger than this, she thought. People are supposed to live and work in here?

“That’s it,” Yeager’s voice told her. “That’s the bridge. The crew will work there for two weeks—if everything goes according to plan. Which it won’t.”

“Where do they sleep? Eat?”

Yeager guided her past a tall, square unit that he identified as the galley; it looked like an oversized snack dispenser to Deirdre. Then she went through another hatch into the sleeping quarters, even smaller and more compact than the bridge. The individual bunks were mere drawers set in a metal bulkhead. It reminded Deirdre of videos she had seen of morgues, on Earth.

“You’d better test your crew for claustrophobia before you let them in here,” she said.

She could sense Yeager nodding. “Yeah, it’s kinda tight, isn’t it?”

“Not much privacy.”

She heard Yeager grunt. Then he said, “Okay. Seen enough?”

Deirdre nodded. Abruptly her vision went black, but before she could utter a sound she saw the control center aboard the station again, still tinted slightly green.

She pulled the goggles off her head, brushed a hand through her hair. “The vessel’s so big and the crew area is so small.”

“Gotta be that way,” Yeager said, still sitting in the command chair. “Pressure. The ship’s got to be able to take enormous pressure.”

“The crew, too,” Deirdre said.

“Guess so,” said Yeager.

It was nearly 1000 hours, Deirdre saw.

“I’ve got to get back,” she said to Yeager. “My appointment at the clinic.”

Sitting in the command chair, the engineer nodded without looking up from the buttons he was pecking at. “Okay. You can find your way, can’t you? I’ve gotta double-check all these systems before Archer brings Westfall down here.”

Deirdre said, “I’ll be fine.” She started for the hatch, then turned back to Yeager and said, “Thanks for the tour.”

“Uh-huh,” he said absently, still fiddling with his controls.

Deirdre saw that his attention was on his work. He had shown off to her and now he was all business. With an understanding shrug she left the control center and headed for the elevators. Max is in his element, she told herself. He wanted to impress me, but he wants to play with his gadgets even more.

The elevator doors slid open even before she reached for the call button, and Dr. Archer stepped out, with Mrs. Westfall a step behind him. Deirdre marveled again at how diminutive Westfall was. Small physically, she thought, but that little body of hers carries enormous power.

“Hello!” Archer said, surprised. “I didn’t expect to see you here.”

“Dr. Yeager asked me here to see the vessel he’s designed. He’s inside, checking out its systems.”

Westfall said nothing, but she gave Deirdre the slightest of nods as she brushed past. As if she approves of my looking things over down here, Deirdre thought. As if she thinks I’m spying for her.

* * *

Deirdre felt nervous as she entered the clinic. It was much larger than the infirmary on Australia. Even the anteroom was bigger than Dr. Pohan’s cubbyhole of an office. A white-smocked receptionist sat at a desk that curved around her chair like the pseudopods of an amoeba reaching for its prey.The receptionist was a smiling, slightly overweight gray-haired woman. She glanced at her desktop screen and then looked up at Deirdre.

“Deirdre Ambrose. You’re scheduled to see Dr. Mandrill. Right on time. That’s good.”

Dr. Mandrill turned out to be a puffy-faced, laconic Kenyan. His office walls were covered with old-fashioned photographs of himself with adults and children whom Deirdre assumed were his family, back Earthside. His voice was a deep, rich baritone.

“Your condition is very serious,” he said, almost accusingly. Then he broke into a dazzling smile. “But we’ll take care of you, never fear.”

Deirdre expected to be put through more examinations and scans, but Dr. Mandrill apparently was satisfied with the file from Australia. He nodded and muttered to himself as he read Dr. Pohan’s report, then finally looked up at Deirdre.

“As long as your friend keeps volunteering his blood, you’ll be fine.”

“Dorn,” Deirdre breathed.

“Yes. He’s a cyborg, I understand. Interesting case.” Tapping his computer screen, the doctor added, “We’re running a series of experiments on him, I see.”

ULTRAHYPERBARIC CHAMBER

The pain was bearable. So far.

Dorn sat alone in the bare, metal-walled chamber. Benches ran along its curved walls, enough room to seat six people. But Dorn was in the chamber alone.

“How do you feel?” The technician’s voice coming through the speaker grill in the overhead sounded strangely deep, distorted. It must be the pressure, Dorn told himself.

Aloud, he reported, “Some discomfort in my chest and abdomen.”