Jupiter Project

against a wall. They were elaborately casual, chewing gum, sneaking amused looks at each other.

“Smart kid. aren’t ya?” the biggest one said. He put his hand on my chest and gave me a light shove. I stepped back to keep my balance.

My lip trembled. “I’m not slow, if that’s what you mean.”

The big one looked over at his friend. “They always got somethin’ ta say. Little smartasses.”

The second kid punched me in the shoulder. I moved back and felt the rough brick wall behind me. There were more Chicano kids behind these two now; a crowd was gathering.

“He’s gonna fly off into space, too,” the big one said to the crowd. “Too good for us compres down here in the mud.”

“I don’t see any mud here.” I said, my voice sounded weak and distant. “Just dust.”

The big one whirled around, fists clenched, face reddening. “You’re always right, ain’t cha, kid? Mebbe you oughtta taste dust.”

He hit me in the face. I felt something break in my nose. Somebody punched me in the side. Suddenly everybody was shouting. I tried to take a swing at someone, anyone. The big kid cuffed my fist aside and slapped me again, laughing. There was a buzzing in my ears.

I tried to run. Something struck me in the stomach and I stumbled, reaching out. The crowd was all around me. They were thick and close and everywhere I turned arms pushed me away. They spun me around in a circle, taunting me, calling names.

I struck out blindly. I was crying, begging them, throwing punches in a red mist that smothered me. I heard them jeering. Something smashed me hard in the stomach. I went down.

The noise washed over me. Somebody kicked me and I felt a sudden stab of pain in my ribs. The dust clogged my nose. I choked.

The world seemed to blur and drift away. I grunted, clawing at the dirt, and rolled over. The jeering was a hollow echo, an animal chorus.

I felt a wetness on my lips. I licked at it, thinking my nose was bleeding. I felt a spattering on my face. Somewhere kids were laughing, jeering.

I licked my broken lips again. Then I caught it: the warm, acrid smell. The stench of urine…

“Matt! Hey, what’s the matter?” Zak was shaking me.

I realized I must have been moaning, half-awake. I gulped and deliberately slowed my breathing. “An old nightmare.”

“Must be pretty bad,” Zak said sympathetically.

At that moment I really needed a friend. So I told him about it. I’d never mentioned it before, even to my parents. But this time it was worse than ever before. I felt as if I had to tell somebody.

“Wow,” Zak said when I was finished. “That happened just before your family was selected for the Project?”

“It’s my last clear memory of Earth. I was eight.”

“The nightmare keeps coming back, huh? That explains a lot.”

“Explains what?”

“You’re known all over the Can as a monomaniac, a hustler. Working is your life, Matt. The psychers make you take time off, like the rest of us, sure. But even here on Ganymede—you were the one who got me into the Walker business, check? You’re always looking for a job, some way to distinguish yourself.”

“Well, of course,” I said irritably. “What’s wrong with that?”

“Nothing, nothing at all. But with you it’s a mania. You’ve got to succeed.”

“Uh, maybe…” I began to feel uncomfortable.

“Because if you don’t, you won’t become a JABOL staff member.” Zak paused, thoughtful. “You’ll be shipped Earthside. Back into that schoolyard in—southern California, wasn’t it?—with that zoo of welfare refugees. The heat, the dust, big guys picking on you…”

“Aw, crap. Stop playing Young Freud.”

“You don’t see it, do you? Ever wonder why you get so tense and irritable with Yuri?”

“Because he’s a bastard!”

Zak stared at me. “A big bastard, too, isn’t he? Lots bigger than you. A big kid,” he mused.

“Get this.” I said intensely, “that guy doesn’t scare me. It’s only, sometimes…sometimes I get mad.” I paused for a moment. I didn’t want to talk about this any more.

“Look. I’ve got to get some sleep.” I mumbled.

“Okay,” Zak said noncommittally.

I rolled over, face down into my pillow. Zak clicked off the light.

But I didn’t get much sleep that night.

The next morning I suited up and walked through the scattered buildings that make up the Ganymede base. The Walker was parked at the edge of the base: its mate was off on some other task.

It stood on six legs and was six meters tall. The living quarters were in the bubble set on top. The bubble had big, curved windows facing in all directions, with an extra large one set in front of the driver’s seat. Beneath it, almost lost in a jumble of hydraulic valves and rocker arms, was the entrance ladder.

The Walker was painted bright blue for contrast against the reddish-brown dirty ice of Ganymede. The antenna on top was green, for some reason I have never understood. Underneath the forward antenna snout was neatly printed Perambulatin’ Puss. Everybody called her the Cat.

“Morning!” I recognized Captain Vandez’s voice even over suit radio. He and Yuri walked up to the Cat from the other side of the base. I said hello. Yuri made a little mock salute at me.

“Well, you boys should be able to handle her,” Captain Vandez said. He slapped the side of the Cat. “The ole Puss will take good care of you as long as you treat her right. Replenish your air and water reserves at every way station—do not try to skip one and push on to the next, because you won’t make it. If you fill up at a station and then go to sleep, be sure to top off the tanks before you leave; even sleeping uses up air. And no funny business—stick to the route and make your radio contacts back here sharp on the hour.”

“Sir?”

“Yes, Bohles?”

“It seems to me I’ve had more experience with the Walker than Yuri, here, so—”

“Well, more experience, yes. You have taken her out before. But Sagdaeff practiced all yesterday afternoon with her and I have been quite impressed with his ability. He is older than you, Bohles. I think you should follow his advice when any question comes up,” he said impatiently.

I didn’t say anything. I didn’t like it, but I didn’t say anything.

Captain Vandez didn’t notice my deliberate silence. He clapped us both on the back, in turn, and handed Yuri a sealed case. “Here are your marching orders. Follow the maps and keep your eyes open. Good luck!”

With that he turned and hurried back toward the base. He was a busy man with a lot to do. I supposed I shouldn’t be too mad if he relied on the older of us two—usually, the kid who has been around a while longer can handle himself better. It was just that in this case I disagreed.

“Let’s move it,” Yuri said, and led the way to the ladder. We climbed up and I sealed the hatch behind us.

I was standing in the room that would be home for the next five days. It was crammed with instruments and storage lockers, except where the windows—ports, to use the right technical term—were. There were fiber optics in the floor so we could check on the legs. The sunlight streaming in lit up the cabin and paled the phosphor panels in the ceiling.

Yuri and I shucked our suits and laid out the maps on the chart table. I took the driver’s seat and quickly went through the board check. The lightweight nuclear engine mounted below our deck was fully charged; it would run for years without anything more than an occasional replacement of the circulating fluid elements.

“Why don’t you start her off?” Yuri said. “I want to study the maps.”

I nodded and slid over to the driver’s place. I clicked a few switches and the board in front of me came alive. Red lights winked to green and I revved up the engine. I made the Walker “kneel down” a few times—that is, lowered the bubble—to warm up the hydraulic fluids. It’s hard to remember that the legs of the Cat are working at