Tales of the Grand Tour

by Ben Bova

  Weak, almost helpless, Leviathan studied the monster. Its main body was a broad flat sheet, undulating like jelly. That gaping mouth was on the underside; its top was studded with dome-like projections that must be sensory organs. Dozens of tentacles weaved and snaked all around the central body’s periphery. Two of them were much longer than the others, and ended in rounded knobs.

  Can all the tentacles cause pain when they touch? Leviathan wondered. Cautiously, it backed away from the creature. The monster followed at the same pace, keeping its distance, waiting patiently.

  A new thought arose in Leviathan’s mind. This monster could be food. The old legends pictured these beasts eating one another when they had no other food available. It wants to eat my members. Perhaps we could eat it.

  But first, Leviathan knew, it would have to kill the monster. And to do that, it would have to avoid those painful tentacles.

  If Leviathan had not been weakened and starving there would be no contest. Leviathan’s speed and strength would have made short work of this gossamer creature. Except for those pain-dealing tentacles. We must avoid them.

  Leviathan conceived a plan. It was part desperation, part cunning. It called for a sacrifice.

  Deliberately, Leviathan willed three more of its flagella members to dissociate. Faithful, mindless, they peeled away from Leviathan’s body and began propelling themselves down toward the warmer depths.

  The monster immediately dived after them, so fast that Leviathan realized his plan could not possibly work. But there was nothing else to do. He dived after the beast.

  The monster’s two longer tentacles touched the first of the flagella, instantly paralyzing it. They passed the immobilized member to the shorter tentacles so quickly that their motions seemed a blur to Leviathan. The tentacles, in turn, relayed the inert flagellum to that snapping, hideous mouth.

  The two other flagella were instinctively fleeing, diving blindly toward the warmth of the lower levels of the sea. The monster pursued them singlemindedly. Which gave Leviathan its opportunity.

  With its last reserves of strength Leviathan dove after the beast and rammed into it. Waves of concussion rippled through the jelly-like body of the monster; its tentacle writhed in pain.

  Quickly, Leviathan fastened as many of its mouth parts as possible onto that broad, flat body. The monster’s longer tentacles snaked back and stung Leviathan again and again, searching blindly for the parts where the armored hide members had dissociated and the more vulnerable inner organs were exposed.

  Despite the pain that flared through it, Leviathan tore through the monster’s body, its mouth parts crushing the beast’s flimsy body. The monster’s tentacles went limp at last and Leviathan fed on its dead body. It tasted awful, but it was food.

  Feeling stronger despite the strangely acid sensation simmering through its digestive organs, Leviathan resumed its course around the great storm, heading for the deeper waters where—it hoped—it would find plentiful food and others of its own kind.

  Leviathan had a tale to portray to them.

  AFTERWORD: THE ROADS AHEAD

  Obviously, the Grand Tour is far from finished.

  There is at least one more novel I need to write about Jamie Waterman, on Mars. At the conclusion of Return to Mars, Jamie and the woman he loves, Vijay Shektar, have decided to remain on Mars while the other members of the second expedition return to Earth. Jamie is determined to preserve Mars, its microscopic life forms and its ancient artifacts, from those who would despoil the planet and try to alter its environment to make it more Earthlike.

  Then there is Grant Archer in the research station orbiting Jupiter, and the giant creatures he discovered swimming in Jupiter’s planet-girdling ocean. Can humans and the utterly alien Leviathans make meaningful contact with one another? Are the Leviathans truly as intelligent as we are? Or more so?

  And of course, Lars Fuchs and Martin Humphries are still fighting their deadly war in the cold and dark depths of the Asteroid Belt. They hate each other, and they both love Amanda Cunningham.

  I do not intend to write a novel about each one of the solar system’s planets. Yet . . . what of the giant solar power stations to be built near the planet Mercury? Are the particles that make up Saturn’s beautiful rings actually alive? What is happening in the petrochemical sea that slithers across Titan like a living beast? Beneath the ice crust of Europa? In the frozen wastes of Pluto and the icebergs of the Kuiper Belt?

  Will we journey even farther, to the stars themselves?

  And what of the alien artifact discovered in “Sepulcher”? How recently were the aliens visiting our solar system? Are they still here? If so, what do they want of us?

  There is plenty more to write about!

  It makes me think of the rocket pioneer Robert Goddard, who, nearly a century ago, wrote to a friend: “There can be no thought of finishing, for ‘aiming at the stars,’ both literally and figuratively, is a problem to occupy generations, so that no matter how much progress one makes, there is always the thrill of just beginning.”