The Ouroboros Wave (23 page)

Kameda didn’t seem inclined to explain further. It was obvious he thought I wouldn’t understand. “
Remora
uses closed-cycle, air-independent propulsion. With only three crew, we’ve got enough liquid oxygen to cruise for a week.”

“Hey, Kameda, instead of shooting the breeze with the professor, how about monitoring your console? You’re supposed to be watching my back.”

“Can’t I monitor on my web?”

“I don’t care, just do it!” In fact, all three of us were using our webs, even though the consoles displayed the same information.

“Commencing insertion.” Kameda monitored the console intently as
Remora
slowly entered the hundred-meter circle of water. Energy transmitted from the artificial accretion disk—now in orbit around Uranus—had carved a gateway through 250 meters of solid ice.

Dagon III
was a modified bulk carrier, piloted by AADD’s Special Equipment Team. The ship was equipped with optical sensors along its hull. We could use these sensors to view 3-D computer-enhanced images from any angle. I selected a portside CG view of
Remora.
The mother ship was using its twenty-meter manipulator arm to lower us into the water.
Remora
was about ten meters long. Cradled beneath it was a submersible robot named Salmon. There was nothing for us to do—
Dagon
’s manipulator arm handled the insertion.

Europa’s surface gravity was only 0.135 G. Even though we were undoubtedly descending slowly, I still sensed the motion in the pit of my stomach. And then my body felt slightly heavier as
Remora
floated in Europa’s ocean.

“Commence dive.”

“Aye aye, commencing dive.”

I heard the faint sound of the pumps starting up. Water flooded the ballast tanks. We bid farewell to space and dived.

EUROPA,
smallest of the four Galilean satellites of Jupiter. Since the twentieth century, scientists had speculated that it might harbor life. Data from unmanned missions suggested the presence of liquid water under the moon’s mantle of ice. Given its orbit and the tidal forces from Jupiter and Io, it was reasoned that there might well be active volcanoes at the bottom of Europa’s ocean. In that case, there would also be hydrothermal vents, like those on Earth. It would not be surprising for unique life-forms to have arisen and evolved in that environment. Subsequent observations refined and adjusted this initial impression, and most scientists continued to
believe that life might be present.

Of course, this view was based mostly on hope rather than fact. Angular mass data sent back by unmanned probes suggested that the depth of Europa’s surface ice and the underlying ocean was around 150 kilometers. Long-term investigation using synthetic aperture radar and other technologies indicated that the depth of the ice layer, though irregular, averaged around ten kilometers. To investigate the possibility of life on Europa, a hole would have to be opened in the ice; however, mechanical drilling required a huge investment in equipment, time, and people. Of course, ice samples recovered during drilling would be of great scientific value—the few ice cores taken from the surface had already yielded telltale traces of life. But the cores told a limited story. Only access to the
ocean beneath the ice would yield definitive answers.

Did this sheltered sea really harbor life? By chance an opportunity to test this hypothesis presented itself. Satellites detected icequakes caused by tidal forces and convective movements in the ice. These quakes created subsurface fissures where the ice was as
thin as 250 meters.

Energy transmitted from the accretion disk via laser and microwave melted a hundred-meter access hole in the ice. This feat also helped prove that Kali’s energy could be focused into a tight beam over millions of miles. To prevent a steam explosion, the ice was thinned gradually. After weeks of careful work the layer was
breached.

The first ship assigned the mission to search for signs of life—the submarine
Swordfish
—was quickly dispatched to Europa. Two things happened in quick succession: traces of life were discovered and the submarine disappeared for reasons unknown. Our mission was to confirm the existence of life on this moon and discover the whereabouts of the submarine.

MY WEB
showed a depth of 150 meters. We weren’t even below the ice layer yet.

“Captain,” said Kameda, “I think you should know that according to my web the influence of Mars and Uranus is very strong today.”

“Kameda, this is a moon of Jupiter. How could the influence of Mars and Uranus be strong here? What do you think, Dr. Kurokawa?”

“I think the forecast might be right.”

“Really? Why?” The captain seemed surprised that I’d suggest astrology could affect our fate.

“It’s the reason we’re here now, aboard
Remora.
Terraforming on Mars and Kali orbiting Uranus—that’s how we ended up on Europa.”

“See, Kameda? Pros don’t actually believe in astrology.”

“Did I say I believed in it? Fortune-telling is all about interpretation. You look at a lot of methods for telling the future and pick the one that suits you best. The important thing is to make the right choice.”

The banter abruptly stopped. Both men peered carefully at their consoles. The ship’s rate of descent slowed.

“Are we coming into a dangerous area?” I asked.

“Yes, soon now. But
Swordfish
got past it okay and
Remora
is a smaller ship. Nothing to worry about.” The captain sent a 3-D profile of the access hole to my web. A simple tube a hundred meters in diameter extended deep into the ice. But for its last few tens of meters, the hole shrank from a cylinder to a long, narrow fissure. This section had been cleared by pumping high-pressure water into the hole. The inner surface was rough and irregular. To keep the hole from freezing from the bottom up while we were under the ice, powerful heat pumps around the edge circulated water from the surface into the depths. Only Kali’s unlimited energy made
this possible.

“Ready to fire her up, Cap’n?” said Kameda.

“You may proceed.”

Kameda activated the sonar and the laser radar developed specifically for deep-sea use. Thousands of high-efficiency semiconductor laser devices, shielded by pressure-resistant glass, were arrayed along
Remora
’s hull. Within a limited range their wavelength could be tuned. Electronically switching the array made it possible to judge the density and composition of objects within a certain range of
the hull.

At least that was the theory. In practice, making it work was extremely difficult. Deploying laser radar in the vacuum of space was one thing, trying to get it to work underwater was something different. AADD’s Special Equipment Team had solved the problem by combining sonar and laser radar into one integrated system.
Remora
’s sonar was a parametric array able to measure the density of the water with precision. In effect, subtracting the sonar data from the radar data—handled by a specialized processing unit—yielded sharp, three-dimensional images of anything outside the hull. We could see fractures in the ice as clearly as if they had been optically imaged. It must have had something to do with the enhancement algorithms—I could even see the way the fractures were arranged in layers. I couldn’t help but admire the sheer artistry of it. “The
resolution on this radar is amazing.”

“The team put a lot of time into it. I don’t like to brag, but what can I say—they’re the best in the solar system at this work.” The captain’s pride in his team’s accomplishment was obvious. Others might not be as impressed, but as a scientist I envied their willingness to accept challenges. I started to wonder—what had I been
doing for the last twenty years?

Suddenly the ice disappeared from the monitor. “We’re in the clear,” said Kameda. We were below 250 meters. Around us stretched an ocean the size of Earth’s moon.

“Is this where
Swordfish
was lost?”

“If you believe the data from the ultrasonic relay buoy,” said Kohara, “it was about twenty kilometers from here.”

“How long before we arrive?”

“Oh, I’d say about four hours at our current speed. No point in getting anxious now. Hey, Kameda, I’m starting to feel cold. Maybe it’s the depth. Make us some coffee.”

“Aye aye, sir. Join us, Doctor? How do you take it?”

“With milk, if you’ve got any.” The tension eased. Passing safely through the last section of the gateway seemed to have relieved my shipmates.

“Coffee’s on.” Kameda produced ceramic—in fact they were real porcelain—coffee cups seemingly out of nowhere and filled them with coffee, first mine, then the captain’s. As he poured his own he asked casually, “That’s right, Dr. Kurokawa—I was meaning to ask you. As a scientist, what do you think of all this talk about dragons on Europa?”

SWORDFISH
had been built by AADD’s spacecraft manufacturing group, the giant Ferry Nakaya Ltd., using a typical spacecraft design. The basic assumption was that a submarine was simply a spacecraft with a pressure hull.
Swordfish
was a shark-shaped vessel fifty meters long—in effect, a submersible spaceship—with propulsion via proton/antiproton annihilation, the same approach used in the latest AADD ships.

The accretion disk at the center of the Milky Way galaxy was known to produce vertical gas jets. Kali displayed the same phenomenon, and AADD succeeded in using these jets to mass-produce antiprotons. These particles were better suited to energy production than antimatter—that is, antihydrogen—though AADD could produce that as well. Of course, antiprotons were carefully rationed.
Output was still limited to a few grams a day.

The heat produced by the annihilation of protons and antiprotons drove a Sterling-type heat engine that in turn propelled
Swordfish
through the water. Even in their upper strata, Europa’s waters were close to freezing. This cooling potential boosted the efficiency of
the power plant.

But although
Swordfish
was advanced as a vehicle, Ferry Nakaya faced a difficult challenge when it came to the ship’s sensing systems. FN’s sensing technology was impressive, but it was designed for outer space, not the deep waters of an icebound ocean. FN was aware of its limitations. The system it developed for
Swordfish
was designed to function under conditions expected on Europa. Its engineers had access to more than enough data to make the
required modifications—or so they thought.