'You'd better hurry,' Ganymede Central had advised, 'The next conjunction will be a bad one - we'll be triggering quakes as
well as Io. And we don't want to scare you - but unless our radar's gone crazy, your
mountain's sunk another hundred metres since the last check.'
At that rate, thought van der Berg, Europa will be flat again in ten years. How much faster things
happened here than on Earth; which was one reason why the place was so popular with geologists.
Now that he was strapped into the number two position immediately behind Floyd, and virtually
surrounded by consoles of his own equipment, he felt a curious mixture of excitement and regret. In a
few hours, the great intellectual adventure of his life would be over - one way or the other. Nothing that
would ever happen again could possibly match it.
He did not have the slightest trace of fear; his confidence in both man and machine was complete. One
unexpected emotion was a wry sense of gratitude to the late Rose McCullen; without her, he would never
have had this opportunity, but might have gone, still uncertain, to his grave.
The heavily laden Bill Tee could barely manage one-tenth of a gravity at lift-off; it was not intended for
this sort of work, but would manage much better on the homeward journey when it had deposited its
cargo. It seemed to take ages to climb clear of Galaxy, and they had ample time to note the damage to
the hull as well as signs of corrosion from the occasional mildly acid rains. While Floyd concentrated on
the lift-off, van der Berg gave a quick report on the ship's condition from the viewpoint of a privileged
observer. It seemed the right thing to do - even though, with any luck, Galaxy's space-worthiness would
soon be of no further concern to anyone.
Now they could see the whole of Haven spread out beneath them, and van der Berg realized what a
brilliant job Acting Captain Lee had done when he beached the ship. There were only a few places where
it could have been safely grounded; although a good deal of luck had also been involved, Lee had used
wind and sea-anchor to the best possible advantage.
The mists closed around them; Bill Tee was rising on a semi-ballistic trajectory to minimize drag, and
there would be nothing to see except the clouds for twenty minutes. A pity, thought van der Berg; I'm
sure there must be some interesting creatures swimming around down there, and no-one else may have
a chance of seeing them.
'Coming up to engine cut-off,' said Floyd. 'Everything normal.'
'Very good, Bill Tee. No report of traffic at your altitude. You're still number one on the runway to
land.'
'Who's that joker?' asked van der Berg.
'Ronnie Lim. Believe it or not, that "number one on the runway" goes back to Apollo.'
Van der Berg could understand why. There was nothing like the occasional touch of humour - providing
it was not overdone - to relieve the strain when men were involved in some complex and possibly
hazardous enterprise.
'Fifteen minutes before we start braking,' said Floyd. 'Let's see who else is on the air.'
He started the autoscan, and a succession of beeps and whistles, separated by short silences as the
tuner rejected them one by one in its swift climb up the radio spectrum, echoed round the little cabin.
'Your local beacons and data transmissions,' said Floyd. 'I was hoping - ah, here we are!'
It was only a faint musical tone, warbling rapidly up and down like a demented soprano. Floyd glanced
at the frequency meter.
'Doppler shift almost gone - she's slowing fast.' 'What is it -text?'
'Slowscan video, I think. They're relaying a lot of material back to Earth through the big dish on
Ganymede, when it's in the right position. The networks are yelling for news.'
They listened to the hypnotic but meaningless sound for a few minutes; then Floyd switched it off.
Incomprehensible though the transmission from Universe was to their unaided senses, it conveyed the
only message that mattered. Help was on the way, and would soon be there.
Partly to fill the silence, but also because he was genuinely interested, van der Berg remarked casually:
'Have you talked to your grandfather lately?'
'Talked', of course, was a misnomer where interplanetary distances were concerned, but no-one had
come up with an acceptable alternative. 'Voicegram', 'audiomail' and 'vocard' had all flourished briefly,
then vanished into limbo. Even now, most of the human race probably did not believe that realtime
conversation was impossible in the Solar System's wide, open spaces, and from time to time indignant
protests were heard: 'Why can't you scientists do something about it?'
'Yes,' said Floyd. 'He's in fine shape, and I look forward to meeting him.'
There was a slight strain in his voice. I wonder, thought van der Berg, when they last met; but he
realized that it would be tactless to ask. Instead, he spent the next ten minutes rehearsing the off-loading
and setting-up procedures with Floyd, so there would be no unnecessary confusion when they touched
down.
The COMMENCE BRAKING alarm went off just a fraction of a second after Floyd had already started the
program sequencer. I'm in good hands, thought van der Berg: I can relax and concentrate on my job.
Where's that camera - don't say it's floated away again.
The clouds were clearing. Even though the radar had shown exactly what was beneath them, in a
display as good as normal vision could provide, it was still a shock to see the face of the mountain rearing
up only a few kilometres ahead.
'Look!' cried Floyd suddenly. 'Over to the left -by that double peak - give you one guess!'
'I'm sure you're right - I don't think we did any damage - it just splattered - wonder where the other
one hit-'
'Altitude one thousand. Which landing site? Alpha doesn't look so good from here.'
'You're right - try Gamma - closer to the mountain, anyway.'
'Five hundred. Gamma it is. I'll hover for twenty secs - if you don't like it, we'll switch to Beta. Four
hundred... Three hundred... Two hundred. ('Good luck, Bill Tee,' said Galaxy briefly). Thanks, Ronnie...
One hundred and fifty... One hundred... Fifty... How about it? Just a few small rocks, and - that's peculiar -
what looks like broken glass all over the place - someone's had a wild party here... Fifty... Fifty... Still
OK?'
'Perfect. Go down.'
'Forty... thirty... twenty... Sure you don't want to change your mind?... Ten... Kicking up a little dust,
as Neil said once - or was it Buzz?... Five... Contact! Easy, wasn't it? Don't know why they bother to pay
me.'
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