“And would you have refused, Captain?”
Jordan pouted. “I am very glad that I didn’t have to make that decision.” He never would, because Golden Hind carried only one shuttle.
“But if you did?”
“I think I would have let him try, probably.”
“Course you would,” the commodore said. “But Galactic’s crews are paid wages. They’re not motivated to hazard their pretty necks the way we are, as shareholders.”
Some necks were motivated a lot more than others, in Seth’s opinion, but that had sounded like a faint offer to renegotiate a vertebra or two. It was also a flat contradiction of what JC had said a few days ago, when he had accused Galactic of recklessly risking the lives of its employees.
Reese said, “It’s a two-headed tiger now, sir. First the weather and now this mysterious poison or infection.”
“Don’t eat that stuff. Infection will be no problem as long as you observe standard rules, like over-pressuring, and maintain asepsis. The damage to the shuttle exposed them to infection.”
Maria said, “Sounds like they had no time to analyze anything. Even the drones brought back no samples.”
“Maybe not,” JC said. He was angry and defensive. “Or maybe. The downside lab could have reported more than we were told. A really deadly airborne poison would be a big seller back home. Governments—”
“No!” Jordan snapped. “Let’s not descend to peddling death.”
Surprise gave way to amusement at his returned assertiveness. JC’s shrug conveyed indifference. He knew, as they all did, that the contract did not distinguish between ethical and unethical discoveries. Only very rarely could wildcatters be sure what they had found until it had been analyzed in terrestrial laboratories. Almost anything could be turned into a weapon.
After a moment Reese said, “Galactic is rarely troubled by scruples. Even if they knew there was a bio-weapon there for the taking, they haven’t staked the planet.”
“They couldn’t! That’s obvious!” JC barked. “No footprint, no claim.”
“They scared off very easily,” Hanna said. “They may not have told us the whole story.”
“Of course they didn’t. Galactic never does. Well, Captain? So they lost three hands. Tragic. ISLA will review their records and hold an inquest. But who’s to say they don’t plan to build a tougher shuttle and come back? Technically it wouldn’t be difficult. Galactic can afford it.”
That made sense. Seth wondered how the story recorded on the beacon would relate to what was reported to ISLA. He even had a far-out idea of what might have killed off the Galactic people so rapidly, but it was a theory that ought to have occurred to either Reese or possibly Maria, and he wasn’t about to throw it out in public yet. They might be deliberately not mentioning it.
There had been some very odd things in Madison Duddridge’s story. The shuttle was damaged. De Soto sent down another. It crashed. A storm blew in… and that was that. How long did the storm last? Closer to hours than weeks, because those mothers were ripping around the planet like swallows in mosquito season. Galactic must have instruments that could see through rain, that could certainly identify the shuttle and probably even individual people. So why not send down a second rescue mission? The storm might have wrecked the shuttle’s antennae, but why abandon two people who might still be alive? The thought made him boil.
Jordan called for more suggestions and no one spoke. “Very well. The question is whether we stay to explore this planet from orbit, with no obvious way to attempt a landing, or whether we proceed to Armada. By law, the final decision must be mine. I am strongly leaning to the Armada answer, but I invite comments.”
“I think the decision should be the prospector’s,” JC said. Eyebrows rose all around the table. “If he isn’t willing to go downside under any circumstances, we can do no more good here than Galactic has already done. If he thinks there’s a chance, then we owe it to ourselves and his courage to spend a week or two here.”
Seth also heard, And we might be willing to bribe him a little.
The captain looked along the table to Seth. “Prospector? At the least your voice must carry more weight than anyone’s.”
“Sir, I’m not quite ready to say it’s hopeless,” Seth said. “We’ve spent fourteen months getting here. Captain, I agree with Commodore Lecanard that another weekend won’t hurt.”
Jordan studied him suspiciously. “You’d make a landing against those odds you gave us?”
“No, but I think I can cut those odds now, sir. Control, report the results of the last thirty simulated landings.”
—Most recent thirty landing simulations, twenty-three successful, seventy-seven percent.
“Well that settles it!” Jordan said. “Those odds are not—”
Seth had raised a hand to stop him. “Control, report the results of the last twenty simulated landings.”
—Most recent twenty landing simulations, eighteen successful, or ninety percent.
JC was starting to smirk. Not much got by him.
“Report the results of the last ten simulated landings.”
—Last ten landing simulations, one hundred percent successful.
JC roared in triumph and beat his fists on the table.
Jordan’s eyes burned like blue lasers; he was angry at being tricked. “How did you manage that, Prospector?”
“I cheated, sir. I need more time to make sure the cheat will work in practice.”
“I’ll accept that. You’re due on watch in a few hours and you look like you haven’t slept in a week. The rest of us aren’t helping you enough.”
Seth just shrugged.
“From now on you are relieved of all scheduled duties. I’ll post a new roster for the rest of us. You concentrate on the prospector duties. Control, enter orbit as proposed. Reese, clear away the dishes, please. Seth, I want a word with you.”
Jordan strode down the corridor to his cabin. Seth followed him in and closed the door.
“Sit!” Jordan pointed to the only chair, vaulted backwards on to a bed, and crossed his legs. Seth sat and laid one ankle on the other. His eyelids weighed tons. He had been working fifteen hours a day and not sleeping well the other nine.
“I can guess what you’re up to,” the captain said, “but it won’t work unless you promise him you’ll try a landing.”
“That’s what I’m working on, sir.”
“Can you drop any hints?”
“No, sir. I won’t know until Control can tell us more about conditions downside.”
With obvious disapproval, Jordan said, “Ok. But I warn you, if I think a landing looks too risky, I won’t allow it, no matter how much JC screams and yells. Now, listen. What I want to talk about… I know you desperately need to go and exercise your snoring muscles, but what I really need to discuss is you and Reese. You’re snapping at each other again.”
“I’m sorry. I—”
“No, it’s understandable. They call you dirty names and put you down every chance they get, whichever gender they are. It’s worse when you have to share a cabin. Do you know why they changed back to female again this time?”
“In case I do take the shuttle down. So you won’t make her ladyship risk her pretty little ass.”
Jordan smiled and shook his head. “No. She’s probably risked it in worse situations. Down, boy. I need to tell you a few things about Astrobiologist Platte.”
Seth crossed his ankles again. He didn’t need sex at the moment, or even talk about sex, just sleep. Hours and hours of sleep. He worried about letting the others down, letting himself down, muffing the only big chance he would ever get. If he went back home without trying the Cacafuego landing, his prospecting career would be over. No other expedition would ever hire a proven quitter, and he would never forgive himself. But he mustn’t let wishful thinking lull him into stupidity. If he tried and failed he would leave Golden Hind without a shuttle, so the others would have no choice but to head home again, with their hopes in tatters. What was the question again?