“I hate it when the ship shakes like that,” Will said. “Makes me feel like we’re going to be ripped apart.”
“She’ll hold up,” Rhea said. “The Molly Dook is a good ship.”
“Keep telling yourself that,” Will said. “I mean come on, it’s called the Molly Dook. That name doesn’t evoke the strong hull you’d associate with an Intrepid or Challenger.”
“For me,” Horatio said, “when I feel the hull shake, I always wonder if we’re under attack. But then I remind myself that if we were under attack, I wouldn’t feel a thing. None of us would. One moment we’d be alive inside this cargo hold, and the next our constituent parts would be floating aimlessly through the void of space, alongside the wreckage of the Molly Dook.”
They tried to play the usual VR games while passing over Jupiter. However, they all did poorly, even Targon: they were simply too distracted. Especially considering that the hull vibrations could be felt in the VR environment. Even so, they forced themselves to continue gaming, as some distraction was better than none at all.
Finally, Jupiter was well behind them, and Ganymede lay ahead. The hull stopped creaking, and the radiation levels dropped somewhat.
Will immediately opened his face plate. “Well, that’s a bit better. Slightly less stuffy. Though not by much.”
“What did you expect?” Rhea said, likewise opening her helmet. “You’ve gone from breathing the stale, recycled air of a spacesuit, to the stale, recycled air of a star craft. Not much difference there.”
“No, I suppose not,” Will agreed.
A few minutes later, Targon announced they were on final approach to Ganymede
“Still no sign of our trigger-happy friends,” Will said afterward. “Maybe it was pirates after all. They retreated to hunt easier prey after we dodged their railgun attack. After all, who’d want to follow someone into the hellish trajectory of a gas giant?”
Rhea nodded absently.
“You don’t really believe it, do you?” Will pressed. Softer, as if to himself: “Of course not. I don’t believe it.”
“If an assassin pursues, he won’t give up so easily,” Horatio agreed. “Unfortunately, there isn’t much we can do about it until he makes an appearance.”
“Well, either way, we’re almost there,” Will said. “I guess we’ll find out soon enough.”
Targon jetted into the cargo bay. He was wearing a spacesuit just like the others, but unlike them, his visor was currently sealed. His jetpack was strapped on to the upper back.
“Well, I did it.” Targon’s voice carried over the comm line. “Carried the Warden successfully to Ganymede, I did. We’ll be landing shortly.”
“Thank you,” Rhea said. “I truly appreciate this. Without you, I’d still be stuck on Earth.”
“That might have been for the best, considering what you’ll find here,” Targon said.
“And what is it you think I’ll find?” Rhea pressed.
In answer, Targon merely turned about and started to jet from the cargo bay. He paused to glance over his shoulder at her. “I’ll be back this way in a few weeks if you need a ride. I can’t really afford to expend the propellant to retrieve ye, but I’ll do it anyway out of the kindness of me heart.”
“That’s nice of you,” Rhea said. “To be honest, though, I’m not sure if I’ll take you up on the offer. I might want to stay longer than a few weeks.”
“Well, message me if you need me,” Targon said.
“I will,” she promised.
“Make sure you send the message before the twentieth,” Targon said. “After that, I’ll be well beyond Jupiter and on me way to Earth—me propellant levels will be far too low to turn back at that point.”
She nodded, making a mental note to send any message before the twentieth. If possible, it would be best to transmit well before that date: while it would only take a few hours to deliver her message via the Delay-tolerant network that spanned the planets, it was possible the emissions from Jupiter would interfere. She’d read that the radiation occasionally spiked, causing “storms” that lasted for days and which blacked out all communications across the Galilean moons. Hence, if she wanted to go, the sooner she could get in touch with Targon, the better.
Assuming I want to leave Ganymede.
Maybe she’d fall in love with the place. She couldn’t say, not yet.
“I don’t suppose we can remove these spacesuits?” Will transmitted.
Targon had already disappeared around the bend, but he peeked back inside at those words. “No, no, no, me boy. It’s standard protocol. They won’t let ye dock if you’re not suited up. I’ll be providing video evidence. Speaking of which, you’ll need to seal your faceplates. Go on now.”
“Video evidence can be faked…” Will said, but he closed his helmet.
Rhea sealed her own, as did Horatio.
Satisfied, Targon nodded to himself and then vanished from view around the bend.
“All these protocols for us to follow…” Will said.
“I’m sure they’ve instituted them for a reason.” Rhea glanced at the robot. “Even Horatio could be fined if he emerges from the ship without a sealed suit.”
“Yeah, I know,” Will said. “As little sense as that makes.”
“Apparently, it’s part of the decon procedure,” Rhea said. “They’ll scan us for contagions when we enter. And if any are detected, they’ll whisk us off to isolation. Robots included.”
“Sounds like fun,” Will said. “Though if you ask me, it’s a system ripe for abuse. They can pretend we’ve set off some contagion alarm and use that as an excuse to confine us indefinitely. If, for example, the United Settlements decided to radio Centaar, and tell them that it would be politically expedient to confine the Warden, for example…”
“Except the Europans have nothing to gain by confining me,” Rhea said. “And neither does the United Settlements. In fact, if United Settlements wanted me confined, they would have done so already, before I left Aradne in a shuttle bound for space.”
“Yes, but
