IGMS Issue 18 by IGMS Read Free Book Online
Authors: IGMS
every square inch. I raced to stay ahead of them, my excursions taking me farther and farther from the colony. Shelley chafed at my extended absences, the long periods of silence. Her demeanor grew bitter, demanding.
Through my contacts at MME, I learned they were building a new base on Ganymede, in the Jovian system. They needed a scout, someone comfortable in the lunar gravities of the Galilean moons. They promised there would be no exploration bots, at least for a few years. I signed on. I sent Shelley a short note from the transport craft, after we'd cleared the orbit of Mars.
By the time we left the canyon's fifth ledge, halfway down, we were back on schedule. Shelley had taken dozens of samples from the first five ledges, muttering that the rocks were still uniform, that she needed more data, but she kept her promise not to stop. Wil and Katherine had stayed dutifully up rope, behind Shelley, remaining silent.
Somewhere between the fifth and sixth ledges, my radio clicked on. It was Shelley, on the private frequency. "You know, Lance, I've tracked your career all these years, since that night you left Mars. Penetrating those caves on Ganymede, the ice cliffs on Europa, that Io volcano thing."
I can't say I'd followed Shelley's career, but I did look her up after getting her message about the canyon. After Mars, she'd returned to Earth, where she'd become a professor. She'd published dozens of papers about the geology of the Martian chasmas, then a few about the Galilean moons of Jupiter and Saturn's Enceladus. Recently, she'd entered the Great Debate about Miranda. Married once, briefly, no children.
"I heard," she went on, "that MME fired you for hiding deposits from them."
That was true. Even now, their bots had only found a fraction of the caves I discovered on Ganymede and Amalthea.
"Are you still in the Saturn system?" she asked. "Living with those crazy homesteaders in Herschel crater?"
"They give me space," I said. "And Saturn has dozens of moons to explore."
"So what will you do when the miners settle Saturn? Move out here? To the Kuiper belt? Sail off to interstellar space?"
I pointed my helmet light straight down and narrowed the beam. I could see only the rope, undulating from side to side like a dancing snake. At the limit of my headlamp, it disappeared into inky abyss. The canyon's floor was still too distant to see. I increased speed to three meters per second.
Shelley's laugh broke the silence. "Don't you get it, Lance? You're not exploring, you never have been. You're running. You've always been running."
After I'd left Mars, Shelley had sent me a series of letters. The first were pleas to join her, back on Earth. When I didn't respond, the letters turned angry, analytical. I was a junky, she said, hooked on exploration, too selfish to care about anything or anyone else. There were more choice words, but I stopped reading the letters, and after a few months, she stopped sending them. But now, to my annoyance, she was at it again.
"You know how this ends, don't you? This running of yours? It ends with you dead, alone, buried in some hidden cave, or on the bottom of some frozen canyon."
I clicked on my radio, to tell her that I could think of worse fates, but Wil cut in on the common frequency.
"Uh, boss, your girlfriend has stopped again. She's got her chisel out. We don't have unlimited air, you know."
I clicked back to Shelley's private frequency. "Dammit, Shelley, we had an agreement."
"Climb back up here, Lance. You have to see this." She sounded out of breath.
I squeezed the rope until my downward progress stopped, then pulled gently, floating back up toward the others.
She had her headlamp trained on a small rock in the wall. It was smooth and black, about the size of her hand. And reflective, which seemed impossible on this cold, dusty world. It was beautiful, I realized. Like a gem.
"What is it?" I asked.
"No idea. It's got carbon in it. And some silica, maybe, but my sensors
Through my contacts at MME, I learned they were building a new base on Ganymede, in the Jovian system. They needed a scout, someone comfortable in the lunar gravities of the Galilean moons. They promised there would be no exploration bots, at least for a few years. I signed on. I sent Shelley a short note from the transport craft, after we'd cleared the orbit of Mars.
By the time we left the canyon's fifth ledge, halfway down, we were back on schedule. Shelley had taken dozens of samples from the first five ledges, muttering that the rocks were still uniform, that she needed more data, but she kept her promise not to stop. Wil and Katherine had stayed dutifully up rope, behind Shelley, remaining silent.
Somewhere between the fifth and sixth ledges, my radio clicked on. It was Shelley, on the private frequency. "You know, Lance, I've tracked your career all these years, since that night you left Mars. Penetrating those caves on Ganymede, the ice cliffs on Europa, that Io volcano thing."
I can't say I'd followed Shelley's career, but I did look her up after getting her message about the canyon. After Mars, she'd returned to Earth, where she'd become a professor. She'd published dozens of papers about the geology of the Martian chasmas, then a few about the Galilean moons of Jupiter and Saturn's Enceladus. Recently, she'd entered the Great Debate about Miranda. Married once, briefly, no children.
"I heard," she went on, "that MME fired you for hiding deposits from them."
That was true. Even now, their bots had only found a fraction of the caves I discovered on Ganymede and Amalthea.
"Are you still in the Saturn system?" she asked. "Living with those crazy homesteaders in Herschel crater?"
"They give me space," I said. "And Saturn has dozens of moons to explore."
"So what will you do when the miners settle Saturn? Move out here? To the Kuiper belt? Sail off to interstellar space?"
I pointed my helmet light straight down and narrowed the beam. I could see only the rope, undulating from side to side like a dancing snake. At the limit of my headlamp, it disappeared into inky abyss. The canyon's floor was still too distant to see. I increased speed to three meters per second.
Shelley's laugh broke the silence. "Don't you get it, Lance? You're not exploring, you never have been. You're running. You've always been running."
After I'd left Mars, Shelley had sent me a series of letters. The first were pleas to join her, back on Earth. When I didn't respond, the letters turned angry, analytical. I was a junky, she said, hooked on exploration, too selfish to care about anything or anyone else. There were more choice words, but I stopped reading the letters, and after a few months, she stopped sending them. But now, to my annoyance, she was at it again.
"You know how this ends, don't you? This running of yours? It ends with you dead, alone, buried in some hidden cave, or on the bottom of some frozen canyon."
I clicked on my radio, to tell her that I could think of worse fates, but Wil cut in on the common frequency.
"Uh, boss, your girlfriend has stopped again. She's got her chisel out. We don't have unlimited air, you know."
I clicked back to Shelley's private frequency. "Dammit, Shelley, we had an agreement."
"Climb back up here, Lance. You have to see this." She sounded out of breath.
I squeezed the rope until my downward progress stopped, then pulled gently, floating back up toward the others.
She had her headlamp trained on a small rock in the wall. It was smooth and black, about the size of her hand. And reflective, which seemed impossible on this cold, dusty world. It was beautiful, I realized. Like a gem.
"What is it?" I asked.
"No idea. It's got carbon in it. And some silica, maybe, but my sensors