But she didn’t sound happy with the explanation. I didn’t like it either — I didn’t trust pat answers.
Li had said nothing through all this. His life force suggested he was trying to invent ways to turn this business to his advantage. "So what’s the decision on this?" he asked. "Go for a landing? Send more probes?"
"Don’t have more probes," Tut said. "Pistachio only stores four. We could manufacture new ones, but that’d take hours." He shook his head. "Can’t waste that kind of time on a Class One rescue mission."
Festina gave him a look. "A few hours building new probes is nothing compared to the time we might waste searching blindly on the ground." She sighed. "But if we sent more probes, they’d probably just get EMP’d again without telling anything new."
"So you’re landing?" Cohen asked.
Festina took a deep breath, then nodded. "I don’t see any alternative. If the problem is just some automated EMP system left over from the Fuentes, there’ll be survivors down there to be rescued. I doubt if it’s that simple…" She glanced in my direction — maybe thinking about the Balrog and why it wanted to hitchhike inside me to Muta. "…but we have no excuse to give up the rescue, and no way to see what’s going on without sending someone in the flesh."
"Once you’re down there," Ubatu said, "how do you get back up? Won’t your equipment get EMP’d too?"
"Presumably," Festina replied. "But we’ll go down by Sperm-tail, and that can’t be disrupted by EMPs. The Sperm-field is its own little universe, impervious to outside forces. Once it’s in place, a nuke couldn’t budge it."
Before Tut and I said anything, Festina gave us a warning look. What she’d told Ubatu was technically true — a Sperm-field like the one around Pistachio was indeed a pocket universe immune to electromagnetic pulses and most other natural energies. But Festina had skipped past an important step with the phrase "once it’s in place."
Here’s what she didn’t say. The Sperm-field around Pistachio had a long flapping tail — a very long tail, stretching as much as ten thousand kilometers. Pistachio could plant that tail in the middle of Camp Esteem, like the bottom of a long thin tornado. We Explorers could ride down inside the tail, sliding safely through the funnel cloud all the way to the ground. Just one problem: we needed to plant the tail where we wanted to go. We had to anchor the lower end at our desired destination… and the only way to do that was with a small electronic "anchor" that grabbed the tail like a magnet and locked the Sperm-field in place. Once the tail latched onto the anchor, the anchor became part of the pocket universe and therefore safe from EMPs… but until that time, the anchor device could easily have its innards turned to slag by a single modest-sized pulse.
How could we send down an anchor when we’d lost our four probe missiles? Each of the probes had carried an anchor that could be deposited where we wanted to land; but with the probes knocked out, and their anchors probably ruined, what did Festina think she was going to do?
The look on her face said she had a plan. I tried to read her life force, but couldn’t get anything definite. Either I didn’t have enough experience interpreting auras, or Festina was better at hiding her thoughts than people like Ubatu.
"Captain," Festina said, shutting down the Explorer console, "it’s time the landing party got suited up. Please prepare to drop the tail."
"And the anchor?" Cohen knew perfectly well there could be no landing till the tail was locked in place.
"I’ll notify you when it’s ready." Festina stood up. "Come on, Explorers. Let’s get this done."
CHAPTER 9
Dukkha [Pali]: Literally "out of kilter" like an unbalanced wheel, but used symbolically to describe "out of kilter" emotions: anything from acute suffering to persistent dissatisfaction to a vague but gnawing sense that things aren’t right. The Buddha’s first truth is that our lives are filled with dukkha. Even if we are sometimes happy, the state is only temporary — no one dodges dukkha forever.
I could say that getting into a tightsuit is a complicated process: the heavy fabric must be pulled into place, the seams must be sealed perfectly, the interior must be inflated to an exact pressure, seventeen tests must be performed on air supply, temperature regulation, comm units, heads-up displays…
Or I could say that getting into a tightsuit is a simple process: you stand on two raised foot blocks in a robing chamber while eight robotic limbs assemble the suit around you and perform diagnostics as they go along. Once that’s finished (including triple checks on known points of vulnerability), you get bombarded with selected wavelengths of radiation aimed at exterminating all terrestrial microbes on the suit’s exterior. This mass kill is important when visiting unexplored worlds, to avoid contaminating the biosphere with Earth-born bacteria. For landing on Muta, however, the sanitizing rad bath was superfluous — Unity humans had lived on the planet for years, and throughout that time they’d lived in direct contact with the environment. Muta was already irreparably tainted with whatever microorganisms the survey teams had carried on their skins, in their lungs, and along their digestive tracts.
So our suits would do nothing to keep Muta pristine — that was already a lost cause. The suits wouldn’t help us much either… not if they got EMP’d. One good pulse, and the suits’ electrical circuits would stop working. Would anything stay operational? Yes. The air tanks were purely mechanical, working with simple valves rather than sophisticated gadgetry; they’d be good for six hours, EMP or no EMP. All other systems depended on electronic controls. We might find ways to jury-rig workarounds, but that wasn’t something to count on. We had to expect a completely unpowered mission.
Then again, if losing our electronics was the only thing that went wrong, we’d be getting off lucky.
Pistachio had only two robing chambers. Therefore, Festina and I got suited up first. When we emerged, Tut had stripped down to his underwear and was attempting to dress a chair in his uniform. He asked, "Do either of you carry matches?"
As a matter of fact I did — I’d stuffed my belt pouches with every emergency supply I could think of. But I just said, "Get suited up, Tut."
"Yes’m, Mom." He slid off his shorts, laid them carefully on the seat of the chair, and walked naked into the robing chamber.
Festina watched him go. After he disappeared, she murmured, "It’s gold."
"Yes," I said. "I noticed in Zoonau."
"I made a point of not looking." Festina took a breath. "Gold is an excellent electrical conductor."
"True."
"If he goes down to Muta and gets hit with a big electromagnetic pulse… do you think…"
"Ooo. That’s a thought I didn’t need inside my head." For some reason I added, "I’m a virgin. I don’t think about such things."
"Oh. Sorry." Festina’s life force colored like a blush — the first time I’d seen anything in her aura except strength and composure. "Well, no point standing around. Let’s get ready."
She left the room almost at a run.
Usually, sperm-tail landings start in a ship’s rear transport bay. This time, however, Festina escorted me to the shuttle bay, where Li’s shuttlecraft had been rolled into takeoff position. A crew member was putting away a power cord she must have used to top up the shuttle’s batteries. "We’re going down in this?" I asked Festina.