The Belt: The Complete Trilogy

by Gerald M. Kilby

  Then of course, there was the revelation that Aria could communicate directly with Solomon. A startling confession by the ship's QI, but Scott was beginning to feel that this was more of a sideshow to the real business of trying to stay alive.

  "Deceleration in five seconds, Commander," Aria's voice echoed around the room.

  Scott checked his arrangements for the onslaught of heavy gee; he was as ready as he ever would be. There was no getting around the fact that it would be hell, and no amount of fussing of fiddling with the harness would make much of a difference. As Aria counted down, he gripped the armrests tight and thought that maybe, just maybe, sometime in the future, he could look back at all this and laugh. He looked over at Miranda, who returned his gaze with a nod.

  "Initiating," said the ship's QI. Scott was slammed into his seat—and promptly passed out.

  For the next seventy-two hours, Scott and the crew drifted in and out of consciousness. He was kept hydrated by an intravenous drip attached to one arm which also doubled as a drug delivery system, and when Scott finally regained full consciousness, it was partly by virtue of a cocktail of stimulants pumped into his body.

  He looked around at the others. Steph was already out of her harness and helping Cyrus. Miranda was kneeling on the floor, throwing up. Scott undid his harness and stepped out before joining Miranda on the floor in a chorus of retching. One of the ship's drones busied itself in cleaning up.

  "God, but I hate space travel," said Miranda, wiping her mouth with a towel that the drone presented to her. She sat down, cross-legged, and gathered herself together.

  It took a further thirty minutes until the crew had the physical strength to make their way to the bridge and collapse into their seats. Scott looked up at the primary monitor. The fractured icy surface of Europa moved slowly across the screen, glistening in the reflected light like some great festive bauble.

  "How soon before we can land?" said Scott.

  "Approximately one hour," said Aria.

  Cyrus was over by the holo-table, tapping icons as it blossomed into life. They could now see their position relative to Europa, and more importantly, the positions of the various ships of the armada that followed.

  "We are cutting it very tight," said Cyrus. "My estimate puts the next nearest craft only five hours from orbit."

  Scott studied the orientation of the markers on the projection. "Looks like the Ceres frigate has beaten everyone to the chase."

  "Not by much, though. A half hour at most." Cyrus adjusted the resolution on the holo-table.

  "The skies above Europa are going to get very, very busy in a few hours’ time," said Miranda. "Let's hope none of them have itchy trigger fingers and try something crazy before the council has had a chance to mediate."

  "We've had several messages in from the pursuing craft during the deceleration burn," said Aria. "I will paraphrase the most important of these, starting with one from the commander of the Ceres frigate. He congratulates you all on the magnificent job you have performed in keeping the EPR device for Ceres and the greater Belt territories. He goes on to assure you all that your contribution to the Belt will not go unrewarded. However, it seems since they have beaten Earth to the chase, by approximately half an hour, they're instructing you not to land on Europa. Instead, they wish you to transfer the EPR device to the Ceres frigate as soon as it reaches orbit."

  "There's no time to do that. If they were an hour earlier then it might be possible. But that's just too short a timeframe. Even just negotiating a close proximity rendezvous would take at least a half hour," said Miranda.

  "What else, Aria?" said Scott.

  "Of the other messages, the most relevant is the one transmitted by the Dyrell ship prior to them entering their deceleration burn. It seems they have anticipated the early arrival of the Ceres frigate and advise that any attempt by Ceres to take possession of the device will be met with the destruction of all craft involved."

  "Jeez," said Cyrus. "These guys don't mess around, do they?"

  "What about the other messages, Aria?" said Steph.

  "Nothing relevant save for one from the Martian craft. It effectively reiterates the same threat that Dyrell has issued."

  "We need to stick to the plan—there's no other choice. We've got to land and put our trust in Europa's abilities to maintain some sense of rationality," said Scott.

  "Receiving an all-ships message from Europa," Aria announced. "Putting it on the primary monitor now."

  The screen flickered and the real-time image of Europa's surface was now replaced by a group of figures, all arrayed behind a table that looked to be carved from a solid block of ice. They all wore long, thick robes of varying shades of white, hooded like monks. The central figure was a female of indeterminate age. Her hood was down, revealing a thin, gaunt face with long, white hair. She was reading from a small screen in front of her.

  "Be advised," the voice commenced, "this is an all-ships broadcast to inter-system vessels approaching Europa. We have been made aware of the situation pertaining to the alleged superluminal device being carried on board the Hermes. We are also aware of the contentions regarding its ownership and control. I trust that you all appreciate the delicacy of the situation, not least its potential to descend into all-out war within the system—a situation that none of us would relish. Therefore, we, the council of the independent academic institutes of the moons of Jupiter, have agreed to mediate in this dispute. First and foremost in this process will be to categorically ascertain whether the aforementioned device on board the Hermes is indeed capable of superluminal communications. I am sure you would all appreciate a fair and honest appraisal of its capabilities, and you can be assured of our open and honest analysis.

  "Should the device turn out to be incapable of this function then, in some respects, this would solve a lot of our problems. However, if on the other hand the device does indeed facilitate superluminal comms, then we will invite you all to a conference where we can discuss how best to resolve this situation without descending into chaos. To that end, we insist that no one attempts to land on Europa save for the crew of the Hermes. This is to facilitate the transportation of the device and subsequent analysis by the quantum intelligence, Solomon.

  "I trust that all of you will see the logic and good sense of this proposal and will maintain your position in orbit pending our analysis. End of message.”

  "Well, that seems pretty clear," said Steph.

  "Just so long as nobody does anything crazy," said Miranda.

  Over the next half hour or so, Scott and the crew of the Hermes busied themselves moving the EPR device out of Cyrus's workshop and down to the hangar in the main body of the craft. They decided to use one of their own landers rather than the shuttle they stole from the pirate ship on Neo City. It was smaller and would be a tight squeeze, but Miranda was more familiar with its flight controls. It also had considerably more power, being designed for one-third gravity. That might give them an edge if it came to it.

  They also considered leaving one or two of the crew on the Hermes, just in case. But, in the end, they felt that since they had all come this far, they would all make the trip and visit the fabled enclave of Europa.

  The crew were now suited up and squeezed into the lander along with the EPR device. Miranda negotiated her way through pre-flight check control procedures. They had been given coordinates of where to land which, as far as they could tell from the visuals, should be adjacent to the primary research institution. Presumably they had chosen this location due to its proximity to the massive domed structure that housed Solomon.

  The hangar doors opened and the craft give a jolt as the floor extended slowly outward into open space, bringing the craft with it. Miranda went through final flight checks and then turned to the others. "Okay, here goes. Let's hope no one takes a pot shot at us before we land."

  She gently lifted the craft off its pad and it rose up across the face of the giant rotating torus on Hermes. As they moved ge
ntly away from the ship, they began to see the brilliant white jewel that was Jupiter's sixth moon come into view. It shone like a great celestial pearl.

  As they came closer, they could now see that the surface was gouged with deep canyons stretching for hundreds of kilometers. These lacerations crisscrossed the surface in vaguely geometrical lines. Here and there, great dark splotches spread out, disturbing this geometric pattern like a surface scab healing the skin after some ancient geological trauma.

  Miranda was taking it slow and steady, and the craft made easy work of the descent into Europa's feeble gravity well. Scott checked the time and reckoned that the Ceres frigate should have finished its deceleration burn and would shortly be maneuvering into orbit. As if on cue, an agitated radio message broke out from the craft's comm system.

  "This is a message for the crew of the asteroid survey craft Hermes, from Commander Prez DeHavelen of the Ceres frigate Nanteck. I order you abort your planned landing on Europa and return, with all haste, to the Hermes where we will coordination a rendezvous for handover of the EPR device. Please confirm your receipt of this message, over."

  Scott looked at Miranda, then reached over to the comms console and switched it off. "Screw it. We're not risking that. We've come this far—no turning back now."

  "I suggest we get this machine landed as soon as possible in case someone decides to take a shot at us," said Steph.

  "They wouldn't dare... and risk damaging the device?" said Cyrus.

  "Probably, but I'm with Steph on this one. I'd feel a lot safer on the ground," said Scott.

  The descent from the Hermes to the main population center on Europa was not a direct drop out of orbit; they had some distance to travel before they got there. Miranda took the craft down to within a few kilometers of the surface and then maneuvered it into the lee of a long, wide gorge in the hope that it would provide them some cover. Huge, icy cliffs rose on both sides, filling the craft with bright reflected light. After a few more minutes, they began to see the great black domes blossom across the horizon. Miranda took the craft up out of the valley. Ahead of them, the city skyline spread out across the surface like a family of barnacles on a block of quartz. They continued their descent and soon began to pass over the outward edge of the metropolis.

  "There." Miranda jabbed a finger ahead. "That looks like the landing pad."

  Three great domes rose up from the icy crust radiating around a flat dark area with a necklace of pulsating landing lights strobing out from its center. Miranda trimmed the craft's vector to position it over the pad. As it descended, great plumes of frost and ice billowed up around them, completely obscuring their view as it touched down. Miranda killed the power and they waited a few moments for the icy cloud to dissipate.

  Scott closed his helmet visor and booted up his EVA suit. The others did likewise. When all were ready and the internal volume of the craft had been depressurized, Scott took the lead, opening the hatch and descending along the side of the craft onto the surface of Europa. He could see a number of figures standing off to one edge of the landing pad. They began to approach, along with what looked like two utility drones hovering slightly behind, their thrusters kicking up wisps of frost as they moved. Their suits were black as night, blacker than anything he had ever seen before. No light reflected off their surface.

  Scott turned back to the lander to see Steph lowering the EPR device down to Cyrus, who was already on the surface. Miranda was last out from the hatch and closed it behind her. A few moments later, they all stood face-to-face with the three enigmatic figures and their drone helpers.

  "Welcome to Europa," a voice crackled in Scott's helmet. It was accompanied by a slight bow by the central figure, presumably as a greeting, or maybe as an indication as to who had just spoken.

  "Please come with us. The drones can carry the device." With that, the two machines hovered over and lifted the container between them. The group then moved off across the landing pad toward a wide airlock entrance jutting out from the side of a massive dome.

  Once they were inside and had divested themselves of their EVA suits, they were ushered into a large, comfortable room. It was dimly lit—in complete contrast to the stark light of the surface world. Perhaps it was as a result of this exterior brilliance that the interiors were designed to give one's eyes a rest. But it had the effect of not revealing the entire makeup of the space. Scott wasn't quite sure where it began and ended, where its boundaries were. It was tall, that much he could tell. High up, diffused light filtered in through stained glass windows, or something that imitated the effect. It gave the room the feeling of a spiritual temple.

  Seven hooded figures stood before them, all in heavy robes, adding to the feeling that they were in some space-age monastery. The central figure stepped forward and lowered her hood. It was the same person they had all seen in the broadcast. "Ah... the fabled crew of the Hermes who have led the great powers of the solar system on a merry dance this last few weeks." Her voice was slow and sonorous, imbued with a soothing undertone. Scott felt himself relax.

  "I am Regina Goodchild, grand deacon of the high council of the independent academic institutes of the moons of Jupiter, and these are my fellow members." She gave a slow gesture with her arm to present the others.

  "Hi," said Scott, and gave a slight bow. He wasn't sure why he did it until after it was done, but somehow it seemed appropriate.

  Goodchild moved closer and looked at the container the two drones had placed on the floor before them. "And here it is. The infamous superluminal communicator. A thing of myth and legend." She gave an expansive gesture with her arms. "And here you all are. Like Jason and his Argonauts marching in to Lacos with the Golden Fleece."

  "Who?" said Scott.

  "Jason... from Greek legend. Wonderful story. You should read it sometime."

  "Uh... sure."

  One of the other figures then moved up and whispered something in Goodchild's ear. She nodded and turned back to them. "And so, down to business. I have just been reminded that we are... how shall I put it... somewhat pressed for time. So, if you don't mind, we will bring the device to Solomon so it can attest to the validity of its prescribed function."

  The two drones rose up gently, carrying the container between them, and started to move.

  "If you are not too fatigued from all your recent adventures, you might wish to join us. I'm sure Solomon would be delighted to meet you."

  Scott turned to the crew, and they all nodded. Miranda moved over beside him and gave him a nudge. "Lead the way... Jason," she said with a wry smile.

  They followed Goodchild and her entourage along a series of wide, dimly lit corridors. Scott noticed that the floor was laid with a thick carpet which felt strange to walk on but dampened the sound of their footsteps. The illumination, such as it was, came from lights placed every so often on the side walls of the corridor, adding to the cloistered atmosphere.

  Finally, the corridor ended in a wide, highly engineered door. It was white and stark and spoke of function rather than artistry. It opened out into a gleaming, stark dome. A huge space—bright and utilitarian, in stark contrast to the dim, lush comfort of the route they had taken to get here. It spanned nearly two-hundred meters with a domed roof fifty meters high. Around the walls were banks of stark white machines with lights blinking like a starry night on a planet with an atmosphere. In the center was a wide, squat cylindrical plinth, and floating in the space above it, an ovoid manifestation of colorful light hovered. It pulsated and shifted, its colors subtly drifting through the full visual spectrum.

  The two drones placed the container on the floor in front of it. Goodchild then turned to the crew and gave a great sweeping gesture with her arm. "This... is Solomon."

  "Holy crap," Cyrus whispered under his breath.

  "Pleased to finally meet you all. Aria has told me all about the wonderful crew of the Hermes." A deep voice boomed out around the dome, and the ovoid changed colors in rapid succession. Scott tried t
o say something in response, but his brain had difficulty getting the signals to his mouth. He then sensed a subtle vibration emanating from the polished metal floor of the building. In front of him, a door scissored open at the base of the cylindrical plinth, and a gleaming white drone glided out. It was a similar ovoid shape to the light show above, but had a flat base. Scott couldn't be sure, but it looked to be floating above the floor, probably utilizing electromagnet propulsion.

  Yet he could see it was all theater: a show to impress, like Dorothy meeting the wizard. He even did a quick glance around for a curtain, behind which, perhaps, some old man twiddled knobs and pulled levers.

  The drone stopped in front of the container.

  "So, this is the legendary superluminal communicator." The light show rippled through the visible spectrum again.

  "That's just the container." Cyrus's voice seemed hoarse, unsure of itself. "The device is... inside."

  "Indeed, I had deduced that for myself, but thank you for correcting me. I sense you are a man who likes precision."

  The engineer didn't reply.

  "And, judging by the scratches and indents around the lid, would I be correct in assuming someone tried to open it?"

  Cyrus replied this time. "Yes, we tried. But we didn't want to damage the contents."

  "A wise choice. Let me see if I have better luck." With that, the drone's body split and expanded into segments, like an orange. From one gap, a mechanical arm emerged and proceeded to tap a code into the screen on the side of the container. There was a slight hiss as the lid slowly hinged open. The drone reached in and lifted out a large slab of dense packing foam. They all gathered around and peered in, including Goodchild and two of the other robed figures that had accompanied her.

  Resting in the metal sarcophagus, neatly tucked into another slab of packing foam, were two identical machines that, to Scott's eye, looked like portable dehumidifiers. "I think you were right all along, Steph," said Scott, "they're just domestic appliances."