Leviathans of Jupiter

mission.

“Now we separate from the station and rendezvous with Faraday,” said Yeager, needlessly. They all knew the procedure. Max is talking because he’s nervous, she thought.

Indeed, Yeager chattered every step of the way, his voice basso deep in the perfluorocarbon, as the capsule left station Gold and glided the short distance to Faraday, co- orbiting with the station. While Yeager told them all how cleverly he had designed the system, the capsule locked onto Faraday’s main hatch. Led by Dorn, the four of them swam down the long metal- walled tunnel that penetrated through the twelve pressure spheres of the ship and ended at the ship’s bridge, in the vessel’s core.

Deirdre floated into the spherical chamber and looked around at the consoles and display screens studding the bulkheads. It was just like the simulators that they had trained on, back in the immersion center aboard Gold’s third wheel.

“Well,” said Yeager, “here we are.”

“Home sweet home,” Corvus said, with a lopsided grin. Even his voice sounded weirdly deep, distorted.

Then Yeager leaned toward her and said, in a near whisper, “By the way, you look sexier than ever in that buzz cut.”

Deirdre smiled with relief.

LAUNCH

Standing in Faraday’s cramped bridge with little to do while the ship swung in orbit around massive Jupiter, Deirdre felt a dull ache in her stomach, as if she had eaten something that disagreed with her. It’s the pressure, she thought. We’ll all have aches and pains from the pressure. They warned us about it, about how the diaphragm will feel sore from working in high pressure. But in the back of her mind she saw Katherine Westfall’s reptilian eyes glittering at her.

Deirdre’s assignment was to monitor the ship’s sensor displays—unless or until Corvus made contact with the leviathans. Her station was to the right of Dorn, who stood at the bridge’s central console and handled the ship’s controls. Dorn also stayed in contact with the mission controller. Sure enough, Deirdre saw on the display screen built into Dorn’s main console that the controller was the little blond Russian woman who had seemed so friendly with Max.

There were no chairs in the ship’s bridge: none were needed as they floated weightlessly in the perfluorocarbon liquid. Yeager had slid his feet into the restraining loops beside Dorn, and was busily tapping out commands on the auxiliary keyboard of the central control console, at the cyborg’s elbow. If Dorn was annoyed by the engineer’s behavior, he gave no sign of it.

Corvus’s job was devoted exclusively to the deep brain stimulation equipment. He had run his console, on Dorn’s left, through a perfunctory systems check as soon as they had departed from station Gold. Now, with nothing to do while Faraday orbited Jupiter, Andy had floated over to stand beside Deirdre.

“What’s Max doing?” Deirdre asked Corvus as he hovered beside her. She tried to whisper but her voice still sounded like a moaning foghorn.

“Checking out the ship’s systems, I guess,” Corvus answered. “He wants to make sure everything’s working right before we go diving into the clouds.”

Deirdre remembered that the mission control chief had teasingly called Max “little father” at the party. Now she saw how apt the label was. She watched as Yeager methodically called up every one of the ship’s systems and subsystems, ticking off the green lights with a tap of his finger against the console display’s touchscreen.

At last Yeager turned toward her with a half smile and said, “Everything’s in the green.”

“Isn’t that what you expected, Max?” she asked.

“Yeah. Sure.” His smile widened. “But it’s good to see my baby’s working the way she should.”

Dorn turned slightly from his post at the control console and announced, “Time line indicates we should take a meal.”

“Already?” Deirdre asked.

“We’ve been aboard for nearly eight hours,” said Dorn.

“That long?”

“Twelve hours since breakfast,” Corvus said.

“I don’t feel hungry,” said Yeager.

“That’s because your stomach is filled with perfluorocarbon,” Dorn said. “We won’t feel normal hunger pangs.”

Corvus said, “Yeah, the medics told us about that, didn’t they?”

“We must take meals on schedule,” Dorn said, very seriously. “Otherwise our performances will deteriorate.”

“Wouldn’t want to deteriorate,” Yeager said, heading for the food dispenser. Then he added, “Could be dangerous.”

Deirdre watched Max as he floated over to the dispenser. It looked like a tall, oblong vending machine, except that its face was blank metal with a single square display screen built into it, and it had a slim hose hooked to one side.

“I think I’ll have a filet mignon, medium rare, smothered with onions,” Yeager joked as he unlimbered the hose.

“And ketchup,” Corvus added.

Yeager shot him a disapproving glare.

Deirdre watched, half fascinated, half in dread, as Max clamped the end of the hose to the feeding port in the base of his neck. His expression was strange: He seemed to be trying to smile, but the revulsion he felt was clearly etched on his face.

The dispenser’s screen lit up briefly, showing what looked like a pie chart, all cherry red except for a tiny sliver of gray. That must represent Max’s meal, she thought.

Within a minute the dispenser gave out a tone that would have been a bell’s ding in normal air. In the perfluorocarbon it sounded more like a metallic clunk. Max disconnected the hose and held it out for Corvus.

“Delicious!” he announced. “The steak was a little underdone, though.”

Corvus took the hose from his hand. “What’s for dessert?” he wisecracked.

One by one the men went to the dispenser and hooked the feeding hose to their ports. Yeager took over at the control board when Dorn went for his meal. Deirdre hung back, wondering what it felt like.

Dorn held out the hose to her. “It’s your turn, Dee,” he said, almost solemnly.

Taking a deep breath, Deirdre accepted the hose from Dorn’s prosthetic hand.

“You need any help with that?” Yeager asked, with his old leer.

Deirdre felt grateful for it. Max breaks the tension, she thought.

Aloud, she replied, “Keep your distance, Max. I can do this for myself, thank you.”

She pushed the end of the hose against her feeding port and felt a sharp, brief sting as its hyperfine needle penetrated the port’s protruding shell. Her teeth clenched, Deirdre watched the dispenser’s display until it dinged and the screen said FEEDING COMPLETE.

She felt no different, but was glad when she disconnected the hose and hung it up in its slot on the dispenser’s side. What an awful way to have a meal, she thought.

Dorn, back at his control post, said into the built-in microphone, “Atmospheric entry retroburn in one minute.”

The blond woman’s image in his display screen nodded. “Retroburn in sixty seconds, on my mark.… Mark!”

Deirdre slid her feet into a pair of restraining loops set into the deck. We’re going into the clouds, she said to herself. We’re going into Jupiter.