Krebs opened her eyes, but they stared blankly. “Very well,” she said reluctantly. “O’Hara, reduce speed to minimum cruise. Archer, shut down number-two thruster for repair.”
As Grant began to bubble out a sigh of relief, Krebs added, “And get the repair finished in thirty minutes! Not one second more!”
“Yes, Captain!”
Twenty-eight minutes later Grant surveyed the relined plasma tube. Through his implanted chips he felt the ceramic lining as if he were caressing it, running his hands along its smooth length, still warm from the star-hot stream of ionized gas that had been flowing through it. Yes, he told himself, it’s the proper thickness and surface smoothness. All within the specifications. The liquid nitrogen coolant was refrigerating the superconducting coils on the other side of the tube. The coils were well below their critical temperature.
“Well?” Krebs demanded. “Are you finished?”
With a single small nod, Grant said, “Yes, Dr. Krebs.
Thruster number two is ready to go back on-line.”
“Good,” she said, and Grant realized that this would be as close to a pat on the back as he would ever get from this dour, hard-driven woman.
As the thrusters roared up to full power, Grant fought to pull his attention away from the impulses his chips were sending through his nervous system. It took an effort, but through clenched teeth he asked Muzorawa, standing next to him: “Have we lost them?”
The wallscreen showed nothing but empty darkness.
It took a moment for Zeb to reply. “They’ve moved off beyond our sensor range,” he answered, rubbing his eyes, “but if they are still following the organics, we should intercept them in about one hour.”
And if they’ve changed course we’ve probably lost them forever, Grant thought. And it will be my fault. At least Krebs will blame me for it.
Then he asked himself, Are there other herds in the ocean? There must be. There couldn’t be just one group of a few dozen of these creatures. There must be others of their kind… and other kinds of creatures in the sea, as well. We have a whole world to explore, a whole ecology, an ocean thousands of times bigger than Earth.
If the thrusters hold out, he reminded himself. They’re working fine now, but you’ve used up all the reserve ceramic. If anything goes wrong again, we either head back for the station or die here. There’s nothing left to repair them with. And we’re running them full-out. If one of them fails, we’re gone.
Grant glanced at Muzorawa, then at O’Hara and Karlstad, all at their consoles, all straining their senses to find the herd of Jovian whales. They’re not whales, Grant chided himself. They’re nothing like whales. They make whales look like minnows, for God’s sake.
None of the others seemed to know that the thrusters were in critical condition. Looking over his shoulder at Krebs, though, Grant felt that she knew. Those blind eyes notwithstanding, she knows that the thrusters are on the knife-edge of breakdown. And she doesn’t care. She’d rather die than give up this quest.
“I see one!” Muzorawa sang out. It reminded Grant of old stories about whalers, iron men in wooden ships, and their cry of “Thar she blows! ”
Everyone tried to tap into the sensor data at once. Grant got a sensation of a faint, trembling touch along his arms, as if someone were stroking his skin, gently, very gently.
“Give me visual imagery,” Krebs snapped.
“It’s too far off for anything but sonar right now,” Zeb replied.
“Let me see it!” Krebs demanded.
“In a few minutes,” Muzorawa said. “Ah! It’s lighting up the water! Can you see the glow?”
Grant saw a faint deep red shimmering in the otherwise black visual imagery.
“It seems to be alone,” Muzorawa said, sounding puzzled. “I can’t detect any other creatures near it.”
O’Hara chimed in, “It’s not on the same course that the herd should be following. And it’s moving at much greater speed.”
“It’s an intercept course,” Krebs said. “But it’s coming from a different direction than we are.”
“I’m starting to get visual imagery,” Muzorawa said.
“Yes, I see,” said Krebs.
“It’s alone,” Karlstad said.
“Yes,” Muzorawa agreed. Then: “No, I don’t think it is—there are others coming with it. Two… six … ten and more! They’re smaller, though. Different in shape.”
Grant saw them, faint and fuzzy at this distance. But the scene made a dreadful kind of sense to him.
“They’re chasing him!” Grant yelped. “The smaller ones are chasing the big one.”
“The smaller ones are five times the size of this ship,” Karlstad pointed out.
“Predators,” said Krebs. “Archer is right. They are chasing the whale. We’re seeing a hunt in progress.”
“What can we do?” O’Hara asked.
“Get closer,” Krebs snapped.
“Closer?”
“Yes! Before it runs away from us.”
The thrusters were running at full power, straining to cut across the Jovian’s path and close the gap between them. Grant felt as if he were running a marathon; every muscle in his body ached.
“It’s going too fast,” O’Hara shouted. “We’ll never catch up with it.”
Tapping into the sensor net, Grant saw the mammoth Jovian streaking through the depths, pursued by the ten smaller beasts.
“Get closer!” Krebs demanded. “Muzorawa, are the sensors getting all this?”
Zeb did not reply immediately.
“Muzorawa!”
“Yes, Captain,” Zeb said, his voice shaking. “The sensors … I…”
Grant pulled out of the sensor imagery and turned toward Zeb. Muzorawa just stood blankly at his console, his legs bent slightly at the knees, his feet held down by the floor loops, his arms floating chest-high, his head lolling to one side.
“I… can’t… breathe …” he gasped. “Pressure …”
“We’re too deep!” Karlstad yelled.
“What’s wrong with him?” Krebs demanded.
Karlstad stared frantically at his console. Grant could see a string of baleful red lights glowering along its screens. “His breathing rate’s gone sky-high. Something wrong with his lungs. Capacity is down, still sinking—”
“Archer,” Krebs ordered, “disengage Dr. Muzorawa and get him back to his berth.”
Grant quickly began to yank the optic fibers loose from Zeb’s legs.
“I’m sorry …” Muzorawa panted. “Too much … can’t…”
“Don’t talk,” Grant said, trying to sound soothing. “Save your strength.”
Muzorawa’s eyes closed. His head rolled slightly, then slumped down, chin on chest. He’s unconscious, Grant realized. Or dead.
“You’re the life-support specialist,” Krebs was snarling at Karlstad. “What should we do?”
“Get the hell out of this pressure!” Egon snapped.
“No!” she shot back. “Not yet. Not now, with those animals so close.”
“You’ll kill him!” Karlstad insisted. “You’ll kill us all!”
Turning back toward Grant, Krebs said, “Take him back to his berth. Lower the pressure in the chamber there.”
Feeling helpless, confused, Grant began to ask, “How do I lower—”
Krebs said, “Seal the hatch once you get him into his berth. I’ll take care of depressurizing.”
“You can’t depressurize it enough to help him,” Karlstad wailed. “Not unless we go back up toward the surface.”
Krebs turned toward him, looking as if she were ready to commit murder.
“I make the decisions here,” she said to Karlstad, her voice venomously low. Turning back to Grant: “Get him back to his berth! Now!”