just a game. Jupiter’s atmospheric depth profile is mapped to six figures. The atmospheric swingby is a tradition and a good excuse for a party, but it is absolutely and totally unnecessary.”
“Like crossing the line.” She saw Paul’s forehead wrinkle. After sex he always seemed a little bit brain-dead. “In the old days of Earth-sailing ships, crossing the equator was a bit dodgy. The region around the equator was called the Doldrums, where the winds would fall away to nothing for days or weeks at a time. The ship would sit becalmed, in extreme heat, with no one aboard knowing if they would live long enough to catch a saving wind. Then steamships came along, and crossing the equator offered no special danger. But a ceremony called ‘Crossing the Line’ lived on. There were high jinks on board the cruise ships; parties and ritual shaving — not just of people’s heads, either — and silly ceremonies involving King Neptune.”
“It’s King Jove on the Jupiter flyby, but the rest of it sounds much the same.” Paul turned to look at Jan. “Look, I know it sounds stupid and it really is stupid, but as first officer I’m stuck with it. You don’t have to go along.”
“Are you kidding? Paul, there’s no way I’d miss this. If I had been there in the old days crossing the equator, I’d have been whooping it up like nobody’s business. My question is, can you as first officer take part in all the fun, or is it considered too undignified?”
“Define ‘too undignified.’ I suppose there are limits, but they’re pretty broad. On the last Jupiter atmospheric flyby, two months ago, the chief engineer dressed himself in a baboon suit. He had cut a piece out of the back. His ass was bare, and painted blue, and he said he was selling kisses. But I didn’t hear of any takers.”
“Captain Kondo permitted this?” Jan had trouble imagining the captain, short, stocky, and immensely dignified, participating in the brawl that Paul was describing — or even allowing it.
“Captain Kondo remained in his quarters throughout the party. He does that on every Jupiter swingby. His view is that what he does not see, he is not obliged to report.”
“And you? What did you do?”
“Last time? I was lucky enough to be on duty, running the ship — someone has to. Officers on duty are not permitted to join in the general wildness. This time, no such luck. I’ll be assigned to passenger service. My official responsibility — as stated in ships’ orders — is ‘to offer and provide to passengers any form of legal pleasure that they desire.’ You have no idea what some people ask for.”
“I’ll tell you what they’d better not ask for. When does this party start?”
“Not for awhile.”
“But when?”
“We’re lying here nice and cozy, and you want to worry about time? Ten hours from now, give or take. Is that close enough?”
Jan snuggled closer and blew across his chest. She liked to watch the fair hair stir and his nipples tighten. “It will do. Ten hours should be more than enough to think of something to do. Something legal. Something you’re not allowed to refuse…”
As the time drew nearer, Jan wasn’t so sure. She knew what she wanted, but Paul had a certain native prudishness and delicacy. He liked to wash at once after lovemaking, while Jan preferred, as she had told him to his mild disgust, “to wallow and steep in it for hours and hours.” Afterplay, with the smell and feel of male sexuality, had not lost its novelty and appeal, and Jan was not sure that it ever, would.
Would Paul cooperate? He would certainly have no chance to wash for awhile if he did. On the other hand, Jan was hearing more and more talk of previous swingby parties and they sounded like a case of anything goes. Paul might have trouble holding onto his dignity, even if Jan were not around.
Meanwhile, preparations for the party were in full swing. The point of closest approach to Jupiter, when the Achilles would make its deepest penetration into the Jovian atmosphere before racing out again for its rendezvous with Ganymede, would take place in a little more than three hours. Before that, an early dinner must be served and done with, so that the big dining room could be emptied and decorated for the party. So far as Jan could tell, the dining room would merely serve as a focal point for festivities — passengers and crew would be living it up in every part of the ship, except for the prohibited area aft that contained the crew quarters and the drives.
The little service robots had been allowed to make a jump-start on their duties. When the gong for dinner sounded over the ship’s general communications system, Jan went along to the dining room and found it already half full and the tables decorated. Fresh flowers, somehow preserved since the Achilles left Earth orbit, perfumed each table, and each place-setting contained some special item chosen to match the background of whoever sat there. Jan looked for her own place, and found on the table a small replica of the Global Minerals’ platform on which she had worked for more than ten years.
She went quickly around the room, searching for Sebastian’s name card, and found a similar replica on the table in front of his seat. He also had something extra. At the place where he would, be sitting Jan saw a small globe on a support stand. It was maybe five centimeters across, and when Jan looked closely she realized that it was not, as she had assumed, an Earth globe. The little sphere was Saturn, and as she watched -the cloud patterns moved across the planet’s face. This, for a guess, was a special present to Sebastian from Valnia Bloom.
Jan returned to her own table. As she was sitting down she saw Sebastian and Valnia enter together. Valnia looked worried — did she ever look anything different? — but Sebastian gave Jan a smile and a wave. He seemed different, older and more poised. His face was thinner and his expression more focused, and for the first time in her life Jan saw a mature man of thirty-five. Whatever Valnia Bloom was doing certainly appeared to be working. Jan smiled back and gave Sebastian a thumbs-up. They were less than a day away from Ganymede, and only a few weeks from their final destination at the weather station on Saturn’s minor moon, Atlas.
She stood up, with the idea of going across to talk to Sebastian, but at the same moment Captain Kondo arrived at her table. He gave a nod of greeting and waved his hand to indicate that she should not stand up on his behalf.
That had not been Jan’s intention, but rather than explaining she sat down again. “I’m a little surprised to see you here, Captain,” she said. “I rather thought that you would — well…”
“Would certainly not be present?” Captain Kondo did not smile, but there was a definite twinkle in his eye. “Have no fear, Ms. Jannex, as soon as dinner is over, and well before flyby, I will be on my way out of here.”
“I gather you do not enjoy such things.”
“I would not say that. Perhaps I worry that my somber presence would dampen the gaiety of others. Or, who knows? Perhaps I might find myself carried away, and indulge in activities which I would later regret.”
The captain was in a more playful mood than Jan had ever seen him. Apparently no one onboard was immune to the party atmosphere. It gave Jan hope that Paul would go along with what she had in mind. She saw him at the far side of the room, preparing to sit down at a table distant from hers.
No matter. She did not propose to make her suggestion during dinner, with other passengers around, and certainly not in the presence of Captain Kondo.
The dining room filled early, without any of the usual late stragglers. The food was exceptional in both its quality and its variety. Jan saw some from Earth, some from the Ganymede and Callisto deep farms, and even a few exotics from Mars. One item she did not recognize at all, but suspected it had been grown on the warm-blooded vegetation lattices of Saturn’s moon, Tethys. The diners, dressed except for the crew in their elaborate party best, paid little attention to the food. Their minds were already moving on past dinner. The instant of closest approach to Jupiter would be signaled by bells all over the ship’s communication outlets. That moment lay less than two hours away.
As the final course was being served, Captain Kondo stood up. Crew members, scattered around the room, had obviously been waiting for this moment. They hushed their neighbors as the captain turned, so that he could take in everyone in the crowded dining room.
He raised his glass, and tiny bubbles glistened and winked in the bright overhead lights. “To all of you,” he said, “and to your new and successful life as part of the Outer System. Ladies and gentlemen, you are the future. Work hard, live well, be happy and fertile, and I hope that someday I will meet each of you again.”
Glasses were raised, the toast was echoed and drunk. Moments later, as conversation around the room resumed, Captain Kondo nodded to his table companions and quietly left. Jan felt the subtle change in atmosphere. It said, “Captain’s gone. Party time!”
She had been careful not to eat too much. She hoped that Paul had done the same. For what she had in mind, she did not want an overstuffed and lethargic companion.
