“That’s right, ma’am,” Grant replied. “But I wanted Dr. Pascal to know about last night’s work with Sheena.”
“That is of no relevance to this mission,” Krebs snapped, her voice sharp as a whipstroke. “Get to your post immediately.”
“Yes’m.”
It was tense in the control center. Even Dr. Wo, sitting in the center of the crowded, overheated chamber, looked coiled tight with tension.
This is the last simulation, Grant knew. If there are no slip-ups today, tomorrow they practice in the sub itself.
Krebs floated above the four crew members, snapping commands, hovering over their shoulders as they stood at their positions, held down to the deck by foot loops, and went through the procedures for separating the ship from the station and launching it into an independent orbit around Jupiter.
O’Hara, Pascal, Karlstad, and Muzorawa worked together like a smooth, well-oiled machine. They barely had to touch the manual controls. Even Krebs’s snarls toned down almost to a purring satisfaction with their performance.
Grant watched, fascinated, as the simulator’s equipment responded to their control, untouched. It’s like magic, he said to himself, awed even though he knew the biochips were transmitting control signals to receiving electrodes in the ship systems.
Out of the corner of his eye, Grant could see Dr. Wo studying the displays on his console. He wasn’t watching the wallscreens at all, so intent was he on the readouts that showed the simulated ship’s systems and the medical monitors of the five people in the aquarium tank.
Grant concentrated on his own display screens. He was responsible for the propulsion and electrical power systems, which were running just a shade below design optimum. He could goose either one for more power if necessary, but the simulation did not require it unless there was an emergency.
Which Dr. Wo suddenly provided.
In the simulation, the crew had successfully separated the submersible from the station. They were on their own now, as far as the sim was concerned, running on the ship’s internal power.
Wo tapped a single button on the console keyboard before him and abruptly half of the lights on Grant’s console turned a baleful red.
“Power outage!” Grant yelled, just as Muzorawa said exactly the same words—but in a much calmer tone.
“Switch to auxiliary power,” Krebs called out.
Grant knew that he was supposed to keep his hands off the controls in front of him and let the crew work out the problem. But the temptation to cancel the outage and return the simulator to full power made him twitch with anticipation.
“Auxiliary power,” Muzorawa announced.
Glancing up at the wallscreen, Grant saw that the simulator was now dimly lit, and red lights glared across half the consoles in there.
“Life support decaying,” O’Hara said, her voice tight, pained. “The circulation pumps need more power.”
“Return to the station,” Krebs commanded. It was standard operating procedure. This soon after separation, the safest thing to do was to return and hook up with the station’s power supply. If they lost power later in the mission they would have to solve the problem on their own, Grant knew.
His fingers still itching to correct the damage that Dr. Wo had deliberately inflicted, Grant watched passively as the crew simulated their return and remating to the station’s docking module. It was all done with smooth efficiency. They hardly had to touch a keypad or a switch. It’s only a simulation, Grant reminded himself, but he still found that he was soaked in perspiration by the time Krebs announced their successful redocking.
“Very well,” Wo said into his microphone. “Take a break. But do not leave the simulator. Next we will see what you do when you have an emergency after you have entered the clouds.”
All of the crew members groaned. All except Krebs, Grant noticed. She actually smiled.
He turned to Frankovich, crammed in at the next console with barely enough room for his legs.
“Captain Krebs is enjoying herself,” Frankovich said. Then, leaning closer to Grant, he whispered, “But Dr. Wo takes this all very seriously.”
Grant glanced over at Wo. The director’s face looked grim, baleful. With an inward nod, Grant said to himself, Yes, Dr. Wo takes all this very seriously indeed.
BREAKDOWN
Bone weary from the long day’s simulator runs, Grant picked up his dinner in the conference room, stopped by the cafeteria for a bowl of fruits for Sheena, then trudged alone down to the aquarium with two sets of neural nets stuffed into his trouser pockets.
He passed the rows of fish tanks, their underwater lights glimmering against the solid bulkhead on his left. The dolphins were swimming lazily in their big tank, sleek and silent. Grant stopped for a moment at the tank that held the simulator. It was empty now. Technicians would start dismantling the hardware after the ship actually left on its mission. Grant wondered if they would store it in anticipation of future missions. Most likely so, he guessed.
He felt slightly uneasy that Sheena was not out in the corridor to meet him. Usually she was prowling along the fish tanks, waiting for him with the eagerness of a two-year-old child. On the other hand, it gave him the opportunity to power up the monitoring console in the corridor outside her pen. Grant saw that it was working properly and receiving a steady flat signal from the net in his left pocket. The one in his right was deactivated, a dummy whose only purpose was to deceive Sheena into thinking that he was wearing the same “hat” that she was.
When he came to Sheena’s pen he saw that the gorilla was sitting on her haunches, bent over a large wooden jigsaw puzzle. She had filled in eight of the ten big pieces.
She looked up as Grant stepped in.
“Food!” she said in her rasping voice, and scrambled up onto all fours. Grant knew she couldn’t smile, but he thought she was glad to see him—and the bowl he had brought for her.
“Fruit,” he said, placing the tray on the floor.
“Fruit,” echoed Sheena. “And Grant food.”
He nodded. “I’ve got a soyburger and salad and ice cream for dessert.”
Sheena picked up the bowl of fruit but stared hard at the ice cream. Then she looked up at Grant. “Grant ice cream?”
“Would you like some ice cream, Sheena?”
“Yes,” came the immediate answer.
“Okay.” Grant handed the small dish to her. Tucking the fruit bowl under one arm, Sheena grabbed for the ice cream with her free hand.
Grant laughed at her unabashed greed. “Save some ice cream for me.”
“Yes,” Sheena replied. But within less than a minute the ice cream was gone, except for a few smears around her muzzle. Then she started in on the fruit.
Grant wolfed down his burger, surprised at how hungry he suddenly felt. He offered Sheena a few leaves of his salad, but she sniffed at the dressing and refused them.
Once the fruit was gone Sheena asked, “Grant bring hat?”
He pulled the neural nets from his pockets. “Here they are, Sheena. One for you and one for me.”
She leaned toward him and allowed him to place the net over her head and tie it under her chin. Then he did the same for his own.
“Let’s finish the puzzle,” Grant said, once he had both nets in place.
“Grant do.”
