No response from the central computer.
“Humans are a source of contamination, right?”
YES.
“And your logic tells you that if you uplink the data you’ve taken in from the sensors, more humans will come and contaminate the area.”
MORE HUMANS OR THEIR MACHINES.
“All right.” Gaeta coughed. “Now listen. No humans will be sent to Titan. None. I’m leaving and no humans will come here after I leave. Understand?”
For a heartbeat Gaeta thought the computer would not respond. But then its synthesized voice said flatly:
UNDERSTOOD.
The snow was falling thickly now. Gaeta felt as if he were inside an inkwell.
Brushing black flakes from his visor, he turned on his helmet lights. “And no machines will be sent to Titan either,” he said to the computer. “There will be no more contamination. Understand that? You will be the only machine on Titan and no humans will come after I leave.”
Again the computer was silent. Then:
UNDERSTOOD.
“So you can uplink the sensor data and reopen your downlink antennas. There won’t be any other sources of contamination coming here.”
The yellow message light was blinking frantically. Gaeta ignored it.
Well, I’ve done the best I could, he said to himself. Now it’s up to this bucket of chips to figure out what to do. He pulled the line from the computer’s access panel and stuffed it into a pouch at his waist, then reopened his comm link.
Gaeta clicked to his other frequency. “Fritz, it’s darker than the bottom of hell down here. You gotta talk me to the return pod.”
And then he climbed to his feet and stood erect on the edge of Alpha’s roof, waiting for Fritz to direct him back to safety.
28 May 2096: Death
Geata wiped at his visor again; his glove left a black smear acoss the glassteel. C’mon Fritz, he urged silently. I’m leakin’ air down here. His life-support displays were all in the red now.
“Air supply critical,” came the suit’s computer voice. “At present loss rate, air supply will be exhausted in twelve minutes.”
There’s air in the suit, Gaeta told himself. Suit’s full of air. Even if the tank goes dry I can last another ten-fifteen minutes on the air inside the suit before I use up all the oxygen in it.
He peered out into the swirling dark flakes. The return pod’s out there, off to my right somewhere. Seventy-two meters away. I could throw a football that far, almost. It’s covered with this black crap by now, but if I get close enough I’ll see it sticking up like a fat phone booth.
“The escape pod is thirty-four degrees from your position,” Fritz said, his voice brittle with tension. “If you are facing the rear of the lander the pod is on your right in the two o’clock direction.”
“Two o’clock, copy.” Gaeta knew there were ladders built into both sides of Alpha. He got down onto his knees again, servos groaning, and looked up and down the lander’s flat metal flank.
“I see the rungs. Starting for the ladder.” It was easier to crawl. “Got the ladder. I’m going down now.”
Wondering how much the audience could see in this black blizzard, Gaeta felt his way cautiously down the metal rungs.
“I’m on the ground now,” he said, turning around. Then it hit him. “I’m standing on the surface of Titan!” he exulted. “My boots are on the methane snow!”
Fritz must have already been speaking to him, because his voice came through immediately: “ … on the ground with your back to the lander, the escape pod is seventy-two meters from you. Your heading should now be ten o’clock.”
“Gotcha,” Gaeta replied. He started walking. “Ground’s kinda mushy, like slogging through wet snow, maybe ankle deep. Not easy going.”
“Air supply critical,” the computer reminded calmly. “At present loss rate, air supply will be exhausted in ten minutes.”
Cardenas stood frozen behind Fritz’s seated form. Ten minutes’ worth of air! Manny’s going to die down there!
As if he could hear her thoughts, von Helmholtz turned in his wheeled chair and looked up at her. “He’ll make it,” he said flatly. “There’s enough air inside the suit itself for him to make the rendezvous in orbit.”
“You’re sure?” She could feel her pulse machine-gunning through her chest.
Fritz pointed at the display screen. “The numbers show that he’ll make it.” But she noticed that his extended finger was trembling. And then he added, “If he doesn’t stumble into any obstacles before he gets to the escape pod.”
Timoshenko floated serenely at the end of the tether that connected him to the airlock. Saturn sank behind the habitat’s dark bulk, a spectacular sight with its saffron clouds and glittering rings disappearing behind the knife edge of Goddard’s flank.
I can’t kill them, Timoshenko told himself. I’m not a murderer. Eberly, yes. I’d throttle him with my bare hands if I could. He deserves it, the lying bastard. But not the others. Not ten thousand people. I can’t.
Then what can you do, idiot? snarled a savage voice in his head. Here you are hanging onto the end of a rope and thinking about life and death. Whose life? Whose death?
Gaeta slogged across the mushy ground, his boots sinking into the black mud. With each squelching step he had to pull his feet out of the mire; the boots came loose with an obscene sucking sound.
“Air supply critical,” the computer chanted. “At present loss rate, air supply will be exhausted in seven minutes.”
“You are within fifty meters of the escape pod,” Fritz said. “Can you see it?”
“Can’t see much in this muck,” Gaeta answered, staring out ahead. He saw a tall, bulky shape sticking up out of the black ooze. “Hey, yeah, I see it!”
It was impossible to run in the goo, but Gaeta redoubled his efforts. His visor seemed clearer, and the darkness around him was lifting somewhat.
“The snow’s changing to rain,” he said, puffing as he worked his way toward the return pod. “Must be a warm front comin’ through.” He laughed at his own joke: warm on Titan would mean anything higher than a hundred seventy-five below.
Fat drops splattered against his visor and he could hear them pattering against his suit’s outer shell.
“The rain consists of a mixture of ethane and water droplets,” said Fritz.
“Makes it easier to see,” Gaeta replied, “but it’s turning the ground into real soup. Tough going.”
“Air supply critical,” the computer said again. “At present loss rate—”
Gaeta cut off the voice. I don’t need to be reminded, he said to himself. Aloud, he asked, “Hey, is that monster back there uplinking the sensor data?”
More than twelve seconds’ wait. Then Habib’s voice came on. “Yes! The data is streaming in. It’s wonderful! How did you get the computer to do it?”
Gaeta was puffing with the exertion of slogging through the sticky, clinging mud. “My father,” he said.
Christ, he thought as he plodded ahead, I wanted to be the first man on Titan but I wanted to be able to get back home, too. The way this mud’s sucking me down, looks like Titan wants me to stay here.
“Your father?”
“Yeah …” Another step. “When we were kids … and we asked him for something … he didn’t have the money for … he would tell us he’d get it … . But he never would.”
Another squelching stride into the gooey mud.
“What’s that got to do with getting the computer back on line?”
“He lied to us,” Gaeta explained. “He’d lie … with a smile … and we’d believe him … . Suckered us … every time.”