He said, “Addictive.”
The next few days flashed by in a fog of too little sleep and far too much work: simulated landings, high-gravity exercise, and cleaning out hydroponic tanks to ensure that the system would survive his absence—provided that his absence was brief. If he did not survive, then dear Reese would have to take over the gardening. Seth also had to haul biological supplies up to the shuttle from refrigeration on the storage deck. Nobody offered to relieve him of any of his regular duties.
That evening, ship time, Jordan called yet another conference. The captain had completed their change, and was now back to being the slim golden-haired young man with blue eyes and a big friendly grin whom Seth had first met in La Paz. Their exceptional good looks were more noticeable when they were male, verging on the angelic, but it was impossible to dislike Jordan in either gender.
“Meeting come to order, please. In about three hours Control will stage a micro-jump to shed velocity and enter orbit, unless we decide that this world is hopeless. In which case we set course for Armada instead.” He shot an amused glance along the table to Seth. “Prospector, you have not reported on the results of your landing simulations. Not a peep.”
“No, sir. I lost track. Control has a better memory than I have.”
“Control, report.”
—Landing simulations directed by Prospector Broderick: twenty-four, with three, or twelve percent, successful. Simulations without human input, two hundred and five, with thirty-one successful, fifteen percent.
“Shit!” The vulgarity came from JC, predictably.
“I second that motion,” Jordan said. “Or do I mean movement? When does courage become insanity, Seth?”
“Somewhere between a barrel shop and Niagara Falls,” suggested Reese, looking relieved. To Seth’s astonishment, they were now female. Even sharing a cabin with them, he had been too exhausted to notice the switch. Was this just because they thought Jordan would consider it unchivalrous to order a mere woman to go downside? As a herm themself, Reese ought to know the captain better than that. So why?
“I will not allow Prospector Broderick to attempt a landing on this planet,” Jordan announced. He glanced at JC’s thunderous frown and then ignored it. “Under the circumstances, I see no need to continue radio silence. Control, have you found any evidence of Galactic’s fleet, or of any other ship in the vicinity of this planet?”
—None except the beacon, Captain. Its timer indicates it was activated eight terrestrial days ago.
That had been only four days before Golden Hind’s last jump. Activating the beacon would likely have been the last thing the Galactic fleet did before departing the system, so Golden Hind had probably not lost the race to Cacafuego by more than two or three weeks, and their time slips must have been roughly equal.
“Is the Galactic beacon emitting any verbal or visual message?”
—No, Captain, but its signal indicates that it will do so if queried.
Both hands on the table. “Overriding previous orders, break radio silence. Query the beacon for us.”
A man of lined face and graying hair appeared in head-and-shoulders holograph. He wore a blue shirt and a raddled expression. He looked steadily into Seth’s eyes, and into everyone else’s too.
“I am Madison Duddridge, commodore of Galactic Inc. expedition GH796 and captain of exploration vessel Bolivar.”
People called Madison were usually herms, but he had a bass-baritone voice and shaggy eyebrows.
“We are posting a warning beacon on this planet, ISLA reference GK79986B, provisionally named Hesperides by us. It is our sad experience that this world is too dangerous to explore. Surface temperature varies from above 50º Celsius to below minus 90. The weather is violent and beyond the ability of our computers to predict on the data presently available. We sent down many unmanned drones and all of them crashed in less than an hour.”
Golden Hind carried no atmospheric drones, only deep-space probes.
Duddridge still looked earnestly into Seth’s eyes: See how honest I am?
“In the belief that a larger craft would have a better chance of surviving, three very brave people agreed to go down for a brief reconnaissance. They were Prospector Meredith Tsukuba as master, Prospector Dylan Guinizelli, and Astrobiologist Mariko Seidel. Their chosen destination was a site we called Apple, on an island we named Sombrero, at latitude thirty-one north, counting north as magnetic north, in the approximate direction of the blue giant Bellatrix. The climate there appeared to be relatively benign.
“They landed safely. The two prospectors made a brief excursion, collecting preliminary samples in case they had to depart in a hurry. In the brief time they were absent, a stray gust of wind damaged their shuttle. Both Meredith and Dylan, caught out in the open, were thrown down and he broke his arm. Meredith helped him back to the shuttle, where Mariko tended him in quarantine, in case his suit had been compromised by the fall.
“Within hours, Dylan developed a high fever. He subsequently went into coma and died. Later the two women became sick, suffering fever, hallucinations, and intermittent coma. The unknown pathogen must be extremely virulent. Moreover, the women insisted that Dylan’s EVA suit had not been compromised, and he was kept in strict quarantine until Mariko also succumbed. The infective agent is thus capable of penetrating the best biosafety barriers modern science can provide.
“As soon as weather permitted, we sent down a second shuttle, unmanned. Again the weather foiled us, and it crashed about a kilometer away from the first.”
The speaker paused as an indication that the news was about to get worse.
“You certainly spotted the tiger in that jungle, Seth,” JC muttered, being unusually gracious.
“The first shuttle suffered additional damage by winds of major hurricane force, which rolled it. After that, no further signals were received from the ground party. I regretfully concluded that they had perished. Prospector Tony Violaceus, from the aptly named Courageous, very gallantly volunteered to take down a third shuttle in a rescue attempt. I refused his offer.
“We are therefore mourning all three of our comrades as lost, and posting this warning beacon. We expect that ISLA will declare Planet GK79986B off-limits, and you will find it so listed in the catalog. Of course, if this message is less than twenty years old when you receive it, we may not have returned to Earth in real time prior to your departure, and I can only urge you to heed our warning and learn by our tragic example.
“Again I honor the names of Dylan Guinizelli, Mariko Seidel, and Meredith Tsukuba.” The image disappeared.
The silence grew cold as everyone waited. Cue the violins.
At last JC said, “Tsukuba was our second choice for prospector after Broderick.”
Seth had not applied for the Galactic post. That would not have been him down there.
Jordan said, “Their story sounds pretty convincing to me, JC.”
Mr. Money was harder to convince. “Flaming pig shit, is what I’d call it, Captain. Galactic normally sends out a flotilla of three ships, which can hold twenty-four hour full-spectrum surveillance of any given location. Each ship carries at least one shuttle. Seth, lad, if you’d been there, would you have made the same offer that their Tony character made?”
“I hope I would, sir.” Seth kept his face dutifully serious, but he was amused. The campaign to win over the heart and mind of Prospector Broderick had begun.