Leviathans of Jupiter

Westfall caught the hint of sullen resentment in his tone. And ignored it.

Johansen clicked the remote controller in his bony hand and the screens went dead gray. Westfall blinked as the overhead lights glowed to life.

“I appreciate your taking the time to show me all this work your people have been doing,” Westfall said as Johansen slid back the partition that had screened this corner of the fluid dynamics laboratory from the rest of the lab. He was so tall that she had to crane her neck when he was standing beside her.

“I hope it’s been helpful to you,” he said, pouting like a little boy who was disappointed with his birthday present.

Westfall allowed the scientist to lead her through the laboratory, past workbenches where younger men and women stood bent over their instruments, past apparatuses that were entirely meaningless to her, and out into the wheel’s circumferential passageway, where two of her aides were waiting for her.

“No need to escort me,” she said to Johansen. “I know you’re very busy and I can find my way. Thank you very much for such an interesting presentation.”

“You’re entirely welcome,” Johansen said, weakly.

With her two dark-suited young men dutifully trailing after her, Westfall headed briskly for the elevator that would take her back to the first wheel, where Archer’s offices were housed. She glanced back over her shoulder and saw Johansen ducking back inside the laboratory.

He’s going to call Archer, she thought, and warn him that I’m on the loose.

* * *

In the conference room, Archer’s pocketphone buzzed softly. Deirdre was glad of the interruption. They want me to go down into the ocean, she was thinking. They want me to ride in Max’s vehicle, to live in that high-pressure liquid for days on end.

Looking across the table to the weary-eyed, unshaven Yeager, Deirdre asked, “Max, if you can’t find the leviathans, do you still intend to send a human crew down into the ocean?”

Yeager shrugged his husky shoulders. “That’s up to him,” he said, tilting his shaggy head toward Archer. “I’m just the guy who designed the ship.”

Archer snapped his phone shut and tucked it back into his tunic pocket. “Mrs. Westfall’s left the third wheel. She’ll probably burst in here in a few minutes.”

“Goodie,” said Andy, mirthlessly.

“All right,” Archer said, “we’d better wrap this up. What are our conclusions?”

“The whales have moved away from their usual feeding grounds,” Yeager said.

“And the sharks have gotten together in a bigger gang than we’ve ever seen before,” Vishnevskaya added.

“Could those two things be related?” Deirdre asked.

“Got to be,” Corvus said.

“There’s something else,” said Archer. “Maybe it’s just a coincidence, but two and a half weeks ago a sizeable comet smacked into Jupiter.”

“In the leviathans’ feeding grounds?” Corvus asked.

Shaking his head, Archer replied, “No, it was several thousand kilometers north of that area. And it never reached the ocean, it exploded in the clouds.”

“So?” Yeager asked.

“It disrupted the flow of organic particles out of the clouds at that latitude,” Archer said. “We sent a pair of small probes to map the changes in the flow pattern, but they didn’t get very much data before they were crushed by the pressure.”

Deirdre saw where he was heading. “You think that the flow of organics was disturbed so much that it forced the leviathans to leave their normal feeding grounds?”

“It’s a possibility,” Archer said.

“Then where the hell are they?” Yeager demanded.

Archer merely shook his head.

“How do we find them again?” Corvus wondered.

“Follow the sharks,” said Deirdre. “Let the sharks find them for us.”

Yeager shot a disapproving frown across the table. “The sharks don’t like having Faraday around them. They butted her until she left their area, remember?”

“Trail them at a distance,” Corvus said. “Keep Faraday as far away from the sharks as her sensors will allow.”

“Will that be far enough away so that the sharks won’t turn back and attack her?” Vishnevskaya asked.

Archer puffed out a sigh. “We’ll have to try it and see.”

Yeager’s chin sank down into his chest. He obviously did not like the idea of risking his vessel against the Jovian sharks.

At that moment the conference room door slid open and Katherine Westfall stepped in, smiling sweetly.

“Ah, this is where you are, Dr. Archer,” she said. “None of your aides seemed to know your whereabouts. You really should be more careful about keeping them informed.”

Archer shot to his feet. “Mrs. Westfall! Finished with your tour of the fluid dynamics lab already?”

She stood by the doorway, eying the four others seated around the conference table.

“Yes. It was very interesting, but much more than I could digest in one sitting.”

Archer walked around the table toward her. “Sensory overload. I’m afraid Dr. Johansen sometimes pours it on too heavily.”

“Indeed,” Westfall agreed thinly.

Extending his arm to her, Archer said, “We’ve just finished up here. Let me take you up to my office and we can discuss what you’d like to see next.”

Westfall took his offered arm. As she turned to allow Archer to lead her out of the conference room she said sweetly to Deirdre, “Oh, Ms. Ambrose. I’m looking forward to seeing you later this afternoon. Why don’t you pop over to my suite and have tea with me. Around fourish?”

Deirdre nodded dumbly, knowing it was not an invitation but a command.

IMMERSION CENTER

Dorn, meanwhile, was sitting on the bottom of the immersion center’s tank, breathing high-pressure perfluorocarbon liquid while he attempted to pilot a simulated spacecraft. The technicians had set up a simplified control console for him to operate. It was more like playing a child’s game than a really demanding simulation, Dorn thought, but he went through the motions without complaint.

“Rendezvous and docking maneuver,” the console’s speaker called out, its synthesized voice ominously deep in the thick liquid environment.

“Rendezvous and docking,” Dorn acknowledged.

A different voice said, “Notching up the pressure ten percent.”

“Ten percent,” Dorn said. Not that there’s anything I can do about it, he thought. Unless I want to stop this exercise altogether.

The pressure was bearable, so far. And Dorn was pleased that his skills as a spacecraft pilot returned to the forefront of his mind so easily.

“You’re doing fine, Dorn.” That was Dahlia’s voice. Even through the distortion caused by the high-pressure liquid Dorn recognized her easily. “All your readouts are well within normal range: respiration, heart rate, everything.”

All to the good, he thought. I’m showing them that I can pilot Max’s submersible when they’re ready to send in a crewed mission.

“Upping the pressure another five percent,” said the technician’s distorted voice.