Arthur C. Clarke's Venus Prime 5_The Diamond Moon by Paul Preuss

Author:Paul Preuss [Preuss, Paul]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Outer Space, Science Fiction, Fiction, Jupiter (Planet), General
ISBN: 9780380753499
Publisher: Avon Books
Published: 1990-10-01T03:33:30+00:00

XVII

“Manta, come in please.”

The Manta had disappeared from the bright screens on the flight deck of the Michael Ventris. The sonar channels gave out nothing but the deep throbbing of the core, underscoring the watery sounds the crew had grown used to.

“Professor Forster. Blake. Please respond.” When there was no reply, Josepha Walsh turned to the others and said, almost casually, “We’ve lost them in the thermal turbulence. Not unexpected.” The tension in her voice was barely a notch above business-as-usual.

Tony Groves was sitting in at McNeil’s engineering console; McNeil and Hawkins had come into the flight deck still in their spacesuits, helmets loose, to follow the progress of the Manta on the high resolution screens. They matched the captain’s mood—alert, serious, but not alarmed. They’d heard Blake’s and the professor’s descriptions as they dove, seen the fitfully transmitted images from the old sub, read the sonar data. They knew the core was shielded from their sonar probing, and that at any rate communication with the Manta might be difficult in the vicinity of its boiling surface. There seemed no good reason to fear mishap.

“At any rate, the last message was they were coming up. Angus, you and Bill might as well head for the lock; it can’t be long before . . .”

A sudden loud wailing from the radiolink interrupted her. We are receiving an emergency signal. A space vessel is in distress, the ship’s urgent, dispassionate computer voice announced. Repeat. We are receiving an emergency signal. A space vessel is in distress.

“Acknowledged,” Jo Walsh told the computer. “Vector coordinates on graphics, please.”

The big video screen switched to a map of near space. The distressed craft was seen creeping in from screen left, on a projected course that was bringing it into the lee of Amalthea—where, it appeared, it was on a collision course with the moon.

“I’d give it three hours to get here,” said Groves.

“And who the hell would that be?” demanded McNeil. “Nobody could have got this close without sector I.D.”

“Computer, can you identify the distressed vessel?” Walsh asked calmly. The vessel is an automated tour capsule, registry AMT 476, Rising Moon Enterprises, Ganymede Base, presently off its pre-set course . . .

“You don’t say,” Groves muttered.

The vessel does not respond to attempted radio contact, said the computer.

“Silly question perhaps, but are we sure it’s occupied?” Blake demanded.

“Computer, can you confirm that the capsule is occupied?”

According to manifest the vessel is occupied by two pas sengers: Mitchell, Marianne; Mays, Randolph.

McNeil looked at Groves and before he could help himself, he laughed a half-embarrassed laugh. Groves nodded knowingly.

Bill Hawkins looked at him in shocked disapproval. “They’ve been in the radiation belt for hours! In a minimally shielded . . . canister. We’ll be lucky to reach them alive!”

“My apologies,” McNeil said. “But Mays—what an extraordinary man! What gall!”

“What the hell are you going on about, McNeil?” Hawkins yelled at him.

“Later, gentlemen,” said Walsh. “We’ll have to see to them.”

“What do you want to do, Jo?” asked Groves.

“You guys jettison the hold, along with everything loose.

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