way across the turbulent stream, the ship bucking and heaving as their instruments sucked in some of the particles for analysis.
“Jovian carbohydrates,” Karlstad announced, after testing the samples. “Good enough to eat—almost.”
But if the first mission had actually detected giant beasts deep down in the ocean, they certainly had not shown up here. Dr. Wo’s hypothesis that where there was food there must be eaters was proving to be nothing more than wishful thinking. Grant said to himself, Propter hoc ergo post hoc is just as fallacious as the other way around.
Although the fusion generator was performing well, as reliable as a tiny little star, the thrusters were showing signs of wear. Grant felt the erosion of their metal chambers as fatigue, a painful weariness in his bones atop the real pain and weariness of his true body. There was nothing he could do about it. All the diagnostics showed the metal was well within tolerable limits, it just felt so
He was also monitoring the sensors on this shift, striving consciously to avoid being hypnotized by the constant swirling stream of the organics flowing through the ocean. It was fascinating, soothing, lulling him into forgetting about the thrusters and the headache that throbbed behind his eyes and—
What was that?
A flashing glint of something. At first Grant thought he had imagined it, but then he saw it again through the sensors’ multispectral cameras. Something glittering in the stream of organic particles, smaller than the organics, reflecting the light from the ship’s forward spotlights.
Without saying a word, Grant opened the ports for the samplers to suck in some of the particles. Most of them were the organics that they’d been following all this time, but these new things … he wondered what they could be.
The samplers scooped in a batch of particles and automatically fed them to the gas chromatograph/mass spectrometer for analysis. The data flashed into his mind almost instantly. He saw graphs, diagrams, photomicrographs.
Carbon. Nothing but plain old carbon. Crystallized by the pressure, he saw. Then it hit him.
“Diamonds!” he blurted aloud.
O’Hara, standing beside him, turned toward him. “What did you say?”
“Those smaller particles … they’re tiny diamonds!”
“No!”
“Yes, really,” Grant said. “Tap into the analysis. They’re pure crystallized carbon. Diamonds.”
“Glory be,” said O’Hara.
Krebs, monitoring the analysis equipment along with everything else, said, “Congratulations, Mr. Archer, you have discovered a diamond mine.”
“We can bring some back with us,” Grant said, grinning for the first time in days.
“Ah, but they’re too small for jewelry,” said O’Hara sadly. “Microscopic, don’t you see.”
Krebs grunted behind them. “Considering the cost of this mission, they will be the most expensive diamonds ever found.”
That dampened Grant’s mood almost completely. He returned to monitoring the sensors. Still, he thought, rivers of diamonds flowing in the Jovian ocean. A snowfall of diamonds. I wonder if the Jovians appreciate what God’s giving them?
For nearly thirty-six hours they cruised at the ninety-kilometer level, the ship groaning and creaking, the crew in greater and greater discomfort. Karlstad grumbled constantly; even Muzorawa was clearly having a difficult time of it, despite his stoic refusal to complain. No sign of Jovians, nothing seemed to be moving in the ocean except the streams of particles constantly flowing past.
All that time Krebs remained on the bridge, fully linked to every one of the ship’s systems. Grant and the others took their rest periods, tried to get a couple of hours of sleep, injected analgesics into their neck ports to ease the constant pain and pressure. Yet Krebs remained awake and on duty.
“Captain,” said Karlstad at last, “as life-support specialist and the closest thing we have to a medical doctor, I must remind you that you’ve been on duty without relief for more than two days straight now.”
“Thank you, Dr. Karlstad,” Krebs replied, her voice heavy with irony. “You have reminded me. Now take your station and do
“It’s my duty to remind you that you must rest,” Karlstad said, looking worried.
“I am not ready for a rest period,” Krebs said firmly. “I do not need it.”
Grant and O’Hara were still linked to their consoles, ready to come off duty. Muzorawa was hovering by the hatch that led back to the berths.
Swimming over to the life-support console, Karlstad pointed at one of its display screens. “Captain, it’s not me. It’s the mission regulations. The medical monitors show a dangerous level of fatigue poisons in your blood. Your reflexes have slowed. Your pulse and respiration rates are approaching the redline.”
Krebs said nothing. She merely floated in the middle of the cramped bridge, glowering at Karlstad.
Muzorawa said reasonably, “Captain, if you don’t rest, your performance will deteriorate even more. The mission regulations
“I know the regulations!” Krebs snapped.
“You must rest, Captain,” Muzorawa said, even more gently. “Even if it’s only for an hour.”
Grant thought, She doesn’t want to disconnect from the ship. She’s hooked on being connected, like an addict.
To Grant’s surprise, though, Krebs’s baleful frown dissolved into a dejected mask of defeat. “Very well, if you insist.”
“It’s for the better, Captain,” said Muzorawa.
“Yes, I understand.” Krebs began disconnecting, slowly, begrudging every move, as far as Grant could see.
The bridge fell absolutely silent as she disconnected.
When at last she was free of the fiber-optic lines, she said sourly, “Very well. Dr. Muzorawa, I place you in charge. Dr. Karlstad, wake me in one hour.”
“In one hour,” said Karlstad. “Right.”
She pushed off the overhead with one hand and swam toward the hatch. Muzorawa was still hovering there, looking surprised as Krebs headed straight for him.
She banged into Muzorawa and bounced off, with a gasp of surprise, her eyes going wide.
“Pardon me, Captain,” Muzorawa said, also looking shocked.
“I-I didn’t notice you there,” Krebs stuttered. She reached gropingly for the edge of the hatch, gripped it in one chunky hand, pulled herself through and slid the hatch shut behind her with a bang.
For a long moment no one on the bridge said a word.
Then Karlstad whispered, “Jesus Christ, she’s blind!”
“No,” said O’Hara. “That can’t be.”
“You saw her,” Karlstad insisted. “She ran smack into Zeb. She didn’t see him! She said so herself.”
“That’s why she wants to remain linked with the ship,” Muzorawa said slowly. “She can see through the ship’s systems.”
Karlstad nodded grimly. “But when she disconnects she’s blind as a bat.”
CONFUSION
“Well, what are we going to do about it?” O’Hara asked.
“We can’t have a blind woman running the mission,” said Karlstad.
