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the main plan, was not supposed to happen until ground laboratories had been
built.
Pain made the decision.
Belvew reboarded his own jet and lifted off, after spending some reaction mass
to swivel
Theta far enough to point her nose to one side of the ice cliff; he could not
possibly have climbed fast enough to clear the elevation. Ginger took control
of
Crius and did the same without the preliminary, since it already had a safe
heading. Maria guided them to different cumulus clouds to tank up. This was
the first time two of the jets had been in the same airspace at the same time,
and some of the group wondered whether Status would have done anything about
traffic control if Maria hadn't. No one but Belvew was moved to ask, and he
restrained himself.
Tanks full, Crius headed eastward and upward, climbing back toward orbit.
Theta turned south to resume the air-current study; there was no hurry for
Belvew to get back personally to the station, since his suit was well charged,
and he could stand missing an occasional real-surroundings interruption for
the next few hours. It would be nice to have the sight of his real
surroundings continuous and relevant.
The station's mausoleum, a fifty-meter cube of emptiness among the roughly
welded ice chunks that was separated from the living space inside the original
hull, already held twenty-six occupants. G000dall offered to remove Inger's
remains from the docked jet and convey them through the passages to join the
others. Not even Yakama, officially in charge of such station maintenance as
could not be handled by
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Status, objected. Contagion-fear was realism, not paranoia, and no one had the
slightest idea that the old man might have any ulterior motive.
Actually, the motive was now a little shaken; the sight of his frozen friend
brought forcefully to Goodall the fact that one aspect of his plan was now
superfluous.
But there was another facet. He did what he had to do, returned to his
quarters, and reported to the others that his quarters were prion-tight once
more.
Gene Belvew conducted the memorial. He had been the most closely associated
with Inger, and knew more and could say more about him than anyone else.
He couldn't remember afterward just what he had said, but he knew he had meant
it.
The job left unfinished by Inger's death still had to be done somehow. Just
how was a subject of intense discussion, but no one seriously advised that
drilling with the present equipment be tried again, or that anyone should be
present physically no matter what was attempted. Common sense overrode
heroism.
Thermite was suggested, with the admission that this might be risky for the
root being checked. The risk was, after some argument, accepted; then was
realized that while oxygen was plentiful and aluminum it at least available in
the silicate dust of Titanian soil, there was probably not enough iron,
oxidized or otherwise, accessible on any square kilometer of Titan's surface
to make a child's horseshoe magnet.
There might be lots of heavy elements in the satellite's core, and tectonics
plainly did occur; but how much core material had ever been brought to the
surface was still an open question. One which had low priority on the basic
plan, and which the present situation wouldn't change.
Goodall surprised himself, though not the others, by coming up with a workable
suggestion inspired by this general line of thought. The gel of the patch
could be analyzed for trace elements and the input from the various roots
could be monitored thereafter for a statistical match. This should eventually
identify the north root. He did not mention that this might also furnish a
chance to check for carbon-carbon double bonds in this batch of tar.
He was delighted at the opportunity, but deeply worried by the immediate and
uncritical acceptance of his suggestion by the others. They shouldn't be that
dependent on him.
And if they were, should he carry out his plan?
Of course. What else would cure them?
Yes, this provided another justification for what he was going to do soon now,
he had to admit. No research group could ever function effectively staffed
exclusively or even largely by Arthur Goodall fundamentalists, and this one
had to function. He had no living children, but he did want the human
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file:///K|/eMule/Incoming/Hal%20Clement%20-%20Half-Life.htm species to go on.
It might still accomplish something if it got itself past this crisis, and in
any case it could certainly enjoy itself. He had been able to do that himself,
once.
Arthur Goodall would have to keep his mind on his own problems for just a [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]