The Enceladus Crisis

by Michael J. Martinez

  More lights winked out. There were precious few left on the globe. “All right, that should be everything. It looks like we’ve got a hit in Bolivia, another in the Congo, two in China, one in Russia and one in the middle of the Egyptian desert.”

  The holoimager collated the material into a readout on the far wall of the conference room. “Let’s see,” Diaz said, walking over to it. “Bolivia and the Congo . . . plenty of crap going on both those places. Figure some portables? Jimmy, let’s get some intel on those places.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” Coogan said briskly. “Shall I also try for the Chinese and Russian sites? We’ve nothing at all there.”

  Diaz smiled grimly. “You can try. If you get anything, I’m transferring your ass to CIA. They could use the help.”

  “Very good, ma’am, though I’d prefer double-oh status with MI6 if you don’t mind,” Coogan said. “What about Egypt? Looks like it’s some kind of misread on an existing site?”

  Diaz used her fingers to expand the view on the Egyptian site. The hit was on a power plant along the newly-created Siwa Bay in the middle of the Egypt-Libyan desert. It was supposed to anchor an effort by the Egyptian government to create a new resort city, much like Dubai or Abu Dhabi before they fell under the rising oceans—the same rising oceans that created Siwa Bay in the middle of the desert.

  “Jimmy? This data fresh?” Diaz asked. “Says here they’re not up and running yet.”

  The operations officer checked his readout. “Latest reports are in this morning. They’re still months away, but I suppose they could be testing.”

  “Who’s they?” the general asked.

  “It’s a contract player,” Coogan responded. “They have a license from the Islamic League government to set it up. Financing from the Chinese, apparently. Any more than that and we run up against the Corporate Protection act. That means we have to ask directly. And nicely.”

  That prompted a deep frown from the general. “Corporate Protection Act, my ass,” she groused. “Fine, go ask. And give me some creativity on the alternatives. I want to know more about it.”

  Coogan smiled. “Creativity” and “alternatives” had quickly become DAEDALUS codewords for a great deal of chicanery and shenanigans, so long as they were ultimately plausibly denied. Being a multinational task force made such things modestly easier, given the different laws and ethics of the countries involved. “Yes, ma’am,” Coogan said primly.

  “And same goes for the other sites,” Diaz said. “Everything and anything we can find out, we find out. Better safe than scaly.” She turned to gaze at the holoimage of the Earth and Moon again. The unknown blue lights remained; no others appeared. “All right, then. Nice job, everyone. Observers, thanks for being online. Seeing as you’re cleared for this, you’re probably cleared for whatever we find via BlueNet, so we’ll keep you posted should anything come up. I feel confident that if there is an incursion, we’ll be able to respond to it quickly and effectively. Thanks for your support. Diaz out.”

  The general strode out of the command center and made for her office, just around the corner, but she noticed Greene quick on her heels. “Maria?”

  Diaz let herself enjoy a small grim smile before turning on her heel and reassuming her command demeanor. “Yes, Evan?”

  Greene looked both embarrassed and slightly excited. “We got one.”

  “One what?”

  At this, Greene looked genuinely perplexed. “Your database. We got a hit on one of the anomalous sites you logged in.”

  In all the excitement, Diaz had forgotten about that. She had Huntington link all her favorite ancient-astronaut sites into BlueNet’s filtering systems, so that any Cherenkov radiation detected there would immediately be upgraded to the next level of scrutiny. In all honesty, despite all she had seen on Mars, she really hadn’t believed they’d get a hit—but she ordered everyone on the DAEDALUS project to leave the database out of their presentation to their backers . . . just in case.

  “No shit? Where’s the hit?” Diaz said.

  “Teotihuacan.”

  “You mean to tell me there’s a potential Cherenkov hit in the middle of suburban Mexico City?”

  “Well, there is a rather large Aztec temple complex there,” Greene said, calling up the data on his pad. “Looks like . . . huh, interesting. It’s a pretty old ruin, and the walls include substantial amounts of mica. The ancient-astronaut nuts think it could’ve served as both heat and radiation shielding.”

  Diaz couldn’t help but raise an eyebrow at this. She’d read up on enough ancient-astronaut theories to know that whatever the question was, the answer was aliens. She took Greene’s datapad and scanned it quickly. There was just enough Cherenkov radiation there to warrant an investigation. “Well, I’ll be damned,” she said, handing it back. “Well, I suppose we should check it out.”

  Greene grimaced. “I was afraid you’d say that. I was hoping to grab a few weeks off after the BlueNet launch, recharge after Mars.”

  Diaz smiled, knowing full well she was taking a crap all over Greene’s day. Again. “I know, but I need you to track this down first. Take Huntington with you. Chances are, there’s a plausible explanation for it, so let’s not start with the human sacrifices, got it?”

  “Yes, ma’am,” Greene said curtly before retreating, likely afraid Diaz would add something more unpalatable to the mix. She felt bad about riding herd on him—he’d been talking about getting some R&R ever since he left Mars—but she figured he’d enjoy debunking whatever pseudoscience he came across. And if there was something there, he’d be the right one to identify it.

  Diaz scribbled an order into her datapad and sent it along to Coogan. He’d set up their flights and gear, and let Huntington know she was signed onto the goose chase. As soon as she sent off the message, a chime went off on her pad. There was a new message waiting for her.

  “ARMSTRONG IN TROUBLE. CHINESE ARRIVED WHEN THEY DID. WILL KEEP YOU POSTED. –GERLICH”

  Diaz swore under her breath. She immediately accessed all the data she could on Armstrong. They had last heard from the ship more than twenty minutes ago.

  There had been nothing since.

  * * *

  “Communications are down. Repeat, link with Earth is lost,” Hall reported as the Armstrong dove nose-first toward the salmon atmosphere of Saturn. “Telemetry is down. We’re cut off.”

  Shaila nodded reflexively, concentrating fully on the ship’s controls. She barely noticed the Chinese ship zip by at a distance of 127 kilometers—close enough for it to be seen as a shooting star off the port side. In the grand scale of spaceflight, with ships traveling at thousands of kilometers per hour, it was nothing short of a near-collision.

  “I need a heading, Archie,” she snapped as her HUD popped up with multiple warnings. “We’re forty-five seconds from atmospheric entry.”

  “Well, then pull the hell up!” Archie groused from below. “Get us into some kind of orbit, then we’ll figure out the damned heading.”

  Shaila had already began to arrest the ship’s dive, but it would be close—they’d skirt the outer reaches of the planet’s atmosphere, putting further drag on the ship. Not to mention the potential friction.

  Nilssen saw it too. “Prepare to deploy heat shield,” he ordered. Immediately, the ship’s computer produced a small set of holocontrols off to Shaila’s right. The inflatable heat shielding was more a precaution at this stage, but had been included in the Armstrong’s construction for other types of missions. “Chart possible headings for deployment.”

  A pair of lines entered into Shaila’s view. One put the Armstrong a little deeper into the atmosphere, while the other would require a steep climb—now. Shaila jerked the controls upward, sending all aboard sinking into their seats as a temporary bout of gravity took hold. If she could avoid the atmosphere, she would.

  She heard metal groan as the thrusters fired, testing the structural integrity of the ship. Swearing under her breath, she pivoted the Armstrong
to put as much of the planet under her as possible. Looking up for a moment, she saw Saturn’s rings neatly bisect the void above her. The ship was slowing considerably—too slow. Warnings started popping up in red in her HUD, followed by an alarm sound.

  “We need main engine burst ASAP,” she said. “Archie, help me out!”

  Moments passed in what seemed like eons before Archie’s voice came back on the comm. “Main engine burn in three . . . two . . . one. Go.”

  Shaila pushed the holographic throttle forward and the ship shuddered even more as it struggled to free itself of Saturn’s immense gravity. She looked down and saw the clouds begin to recede somewhat, though the planet still stretched off toward the horizon. “Heading?” she asked.

  A fuel warning added to the chaotic display before her. They had cut it too close, and they were burning far more of their reserves than they should. “A real close heading would be good,” she added, though Archie and the rest of the crew were seeing the same warnings she saw.

  “Come to heading 164 mark 8,” Archie replied. “If we’re lucky, we’ll make Enceladus.”

  And there goes Titan, Shaila said as she adjusted course. The ship rose up further as the navigation thrusters fired, and soon there was black sky and rings before her. “How much room we going to have over those rings?” she asked.

  “Enough. Quit your bitching,” Archie snapped.

  Nilssen was busy next to her doing his own calculations. “About 750 kilometers,” he said. “Don’t miss.”

  At this, she actually grinned. “Roger that. Heads up for rogues. I don’t want to get smacked with an ice cube.” As if on cue, the microwave emitter lashed out at an errant piece of Saturn’s rings, destroying a chunk of ice the size of a small car.

  “We’re out of Saturn’s gravity well,” Nilssen reported. “Engines stop.”

  The roar that filled the ship’s command center came to an abrupt halt, leaving everyone in a shaky, relieved silence. Shaila swatted away the various warnings in her holographic display until the ones she wanted remained. “We are on course for orbital insertion around Enceladus. ETA in 23.5 hours.”

  “Fuel status is iffy,” Nilssen said. “We’ll end up dipping into reserves to get into orbit. Hall, how are we on comm?”

  It took a moment before the exec came back. “We’ve reestablished contact with Earth. They’re going crazy looking for us.”

  Nilssen smiled. “Tell them we’re fine and send them the recordings and telemetry. I’ll file a full report later.” He turned to Shaila and gave her a pat on the shoulder. “Nice driving, kid.”

  Shaila gave him a nod, but wasn’t in the mood to say much more. She let go of the holocontrols and felt her hands cramp and tremble. There was no governor on the force-feedback gauntlets she wore, and she felt the effects of white-knuckling the yoke.

  “All hands, this is Nilssen,” the skipper said—unnecessary, since they were all on the same commlink, but to Shaila it seemed appropriate. “We’re on course for Enceladus. I know we were all excited about hitting Titan first, but it looks like our Chinese friends will get there ahead of us. That’s fine—Enceladus is just as interesting. Looks like we’re going need a refuel op when we get there to top up. Hall, ask Houston whether the depot ship has enough juice to break orbit and meet us there. If not, we’ll have to go on rations for a couple weeks. At least we’ll have plenty of water. Until then, let’s do a full ship diagnostic and get back to work. Nilssen out.”

  They were lucky. Enceladus was small, but it was perhaps the second-most interesting moon around Saturn. In orbit within the outermost of Saturn’s rings, the little moon was covered in a crust of ice—with an ocean of salty water just 40 kilometers below the surface that was rich in deuterium. Thankfully, they wouldn’t have to drill down that far—the moon’s southern hemisphere was a hotbed of cryovolcanism, spewing water from the oceans below into space on a regular basis. Their “refuel op,” designed for just such an emergency, basically entailed putting a hose up to one of the geysers and letting it flow through a filter to separate the deuterium. The deuterium would flow into a storage take in one of the landers, which would then be flown back up to Armstrong. It would take at least a dozen lander trips to make a meaningful dent in Armstrong’s fuel situation, but it was something. Actual hydrocarbon propellants would’ve been far more efficient—they had similar procedures in place for refueling from Titan’s hydrocarbon oceans—but deuterium would do the trick as well.

  Plus, they’d at least get some drinking water, once properly desalinated and purified. Half-rations would stretch out their remaining food stores for a month, which was probably a week more than they needed. Still, Shaila hoped Houston could maneuver the depot ship from Titan to Enceladus. She didn’t feel like dieting.

  Shaila peeled her visor and gauntlets off and slipped them into the pouch on her chair. The 360-degree view of space immediately winked out, replaced by the dull gray of the command center. She looked around to see the rest of the crew likewise powering down. Archie was frowning considerably, probably worried about how the new mission profile would affect his engines. And Nilssen . . . he looked pissed.

  “Durand, do we have a track on that Chinese ship?” he demanded.

  “Yes, sir. They’ve pulled out of Saturn’s gravity well and appear to be on course for Titan.”

  “Fuckers,” the marine spat. “Hall, aim a comm at them and remind them in no uncertain terms that the depot ship there is JSC property. If they approach it, we’ll consider it an act of piracy under the U.N. Space Charter.”

  Nilssen unbuckled his harness and floated out of the command center—likely heading to his quarters to begin filing what would be a lengthy report to Houston. Archie soon followed, muttering about his reactor and the stress on the ship, leaving Shaila to stare out the forward window, looking at the stars and the expanse of Saturn’s rings beneath the ships, stretching out toward the horizon. She let her mind shut down, instead losing herself in the scene before her. It may have been messy, but they arrived. Intact.

  “Next time I drive,” came a comforting Gallic voice from behind her.

  She turned and grinned up at Stephane. He looked pale; she knew from their mission training that he had something of a sensitive stomach, and the gyrations of their maneuvers probably had him reaching for the ubiquitous barf bag in the pouch on his chair. “Oh, please,” she teased. “Remember our trip to Paris? You nearly drove our damn scooter into the Seine.”

  Stephane floated above her chair, coming to rest upside down in front of her, his face even with hers. “And you nearly drove us into a planet.”

  “But I didn’t,” she said, the pride coming out. “I surfed those rings like a champ.”

  “You did,” he replied, kissing her gently. “You were amazing.”

  “Thanks,” she said, sheepish. “Now it’s your turn.”

  “I know. Enceladus,” he grinned as he righted himself and settled into the seat next to hers. “I admit, I was looking forward to Enceladus more than Titan. The geologic factors at play are far more interesting. And the water. The possibility of life! And we get to go first.”

  This had been a frequent topic of discussion late at night for the two of them. Titan was ExEn’s primary objective, the entire reason they helped finance the mission. A world larger than Mercury, with oceans of hydrocarbon fuels to make Earth’s dwindling resources look like a dripping faucet? Even if it took another century to fully exploit, it was a giant ball of cash floating in the heavens.

  But the scientists wanted a hard look at Enceladus. Europa, the icy moon of Jupiter, hadn’t yielded any signs of life yet, so Enceladus was the big hope for alien lifeforms in the Solar System. Well, this solar system, Shaila thought.

  “Liz is pissed?” Shaila asked.

  “She adjusted quickly,” Stephane allowed with a bemused grin. “She is already planning the details of her lawsuit against anyone who tries to claim Titan’s resources. Something about flight plan filings and
right of first intent. Honestly, it all seemed very legal-ish and silly, but she seems all right with it. Plus, if you claim water on Enceladus, you claim a lot of potential resources there, too.”

  “Let them fight it out,” Shaila said. “I’m just happy to be here.”

  “Yes,” he said quietly. “We did it. We made it to Saturn.”

  The two of them simply floated together in silence, holding hands, as the rings of Saturn passed below them.

  CHAPTER 5

  August 23, 1798

  Weatherby and Dr. Hawkins sat in the courtyard of a weathered hacienda, drinking thin wine and attempting to pass the time congenially. This was difficult, however, and not simply because of the wine’s poor quality. This was Venus, in the town of Esperanza, and in the intense heat and humidity of the cloudy afternoon, Weatherby felt that the town was poorly named indeed. His own despair, subtle and quiet and visible to only those who knew him well, may have further colored his impression of the town.

  His company was only slightly more agreeable, though not by much. Hawkins had traded his customary uniform for the garb of a respectable gentleman—as did Weatherby, a veteran of clandestine visits to the Green Planet—but the new, more comfortable attire did little to strip the alchemist of his anxious demeanor. Furthermore, the sweat upon his brow was even more prodigious now, and his face even more drawn and pallid than before, which was quite a feat of coloration indeed.

  “You are sure, sir, that your valet simply did not wish to be with his own kind, rather than continue in your service?” Hawkins asked, his mild presumption in the matter of Gar’uk’s absence an obvious sign of his discomfort with the heat and humidity of Venus, especially a settlement so close to the planet’s midsection. “I mean to say, sir, I have no doubt you have treated him most splendidly. But I can’t imagine these savages would prefer to remain with any but their fellows.”

  Weatherby raised an eyebrow at this before checking his pocketwatch; Gar’uk was indeed a bit late, but not unduly so, and it wasn’t as though the Venusian lizard-people could tell time adeptly to begin with. “What do you know of the Venusians, doctor?” the captain asked, trying not to make the question pointed.