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  He gulped once, wondering what he could say. When he found his voice, he replied, “I’m your friend, Sheena. You and I are friends.”

  “Friends.” Sheena seemed to think that over for a while. Then she said again, “Grant help Sheena.”

  “Yes,” he said. “I’ll help you all I can.”

  When the overhead lights went down to their nighttime level and Sheena lumbered into the corner of her pen where the plastic padding had been wadded up into a sleeping nest, Grant climbed wearily to his feet and stepped out into the narrow corridor.

  “Good night, Sheena,” he called.

  She must have already fallen asleep, because she did not reply. Grant tiptoed to the electronic console sitting a few meters up the corridor. Gingerly he flicked on the power and activated the scanners.

  Four small display screens along the top of the console lit up. Green worms of lines crawled across them. Squinting in the dim lighting, Grant checked to make certain that the equipment was recording Sheena’s brain waves. He nodded, satisfied, hoping that the data would cheer Pascal before she left on the deep mission. Maybe we’ll catch her dreaming, he hoped.

  The next morning he located Pascal in the lockers where the mission crew changed into their wetsuits. No one else was in the locker area. The others had already gone to the aquarium for the day’s simulation tasks.

  Pascal was pleased that they were getting data at last, but Grant could see that her mind was obviously focused on the mission.

  “By the time you get back,” he said, trying to sound cheerful, “you’ll have enough data to write a book.”

  “If we get back,” Pascal muttered.

  “If?”

  She zippered up the front of the suit, then reached for the plastic full-face mask on the shelf above the empty suit rack. Grant realized that her legs were bare. Glittery electrodes lined the outside of both legs from her hips to halfway down her calves. They looked like the ends of silver bullets embedded in her flesh. It took a conscious effort for Grant not to stare at them.

  “The closer we get to launch, the more fearful I become,” Pascal confessed.

  “That’s natural, I suppose,” said Grant. “Nerves.”

  “Yes,” she said bitterly. “Entirely natural. But not pleasant to experience.”

  Pascal headed for the doorway, her bare feet padding softly on the plastic tiles. Grant saw that she had forgotten her air tank. He picked it up from the floor of her locker, surprised at how heavy it was, and started after her.

  Christel Krebs appeared at the doorway, her bulky form effectively blocking it. Pascal stopped, holding her transparent mask in both hands in front of herself, as if for protection.

  Krebs stepped awkwardly toward her. Her thick legs were studded with electrodes, too, Grant saw.

  She seemed to peer at Pascal quizzically.

  “I’m sorry I’m running late, Dr. Krebs” Pascal began. “You see—”

  “Dr. Pascal,” said Krebs, as if recognizing her for the first time. She blinked, then went on, “The others are all waiting for you. We have no time to waste.”

  “Yes, I understand,” said Pascal.

  “Irene,” Grant called. He held out the air tank. “You’ll need this, won’t you?”

  Pascal hesitated, then put her mask down on the floor, and allowed Grant to help her slip the tank’s straps over her shoulders.

  “Archer, isn’t it?” Krebs said.

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “You should be at the control center, not here.”

  “That’s right, ma’am,” Grant replied. “But I wanted Dr. Pascal to know about last night’s work with Sheena.”

  “That is of no relevance to this mission,” Krebs snapped, her voice sharp as a whipstroke. “Get to your post immediately.”

  “Yes’m.”

  It was tense in the control center. Even Dr. Wo, sitting in the center of the crowded, overheated chamber, looked coiled tight with tension.

  This is the last simulation, Grant knew. If there are no slip-ups today, tomorrow they practice in the sub itself.

  Krebs floated above the four crew members, snapping commands, hovering over their shoulders as they stood at their positions, held down to the deck by foot loops, and went through the procedures for separating the ship from the station and launching it into an independent orbit around Jupiter.

  O’Hara, Pascal, Karlstad, and Muzorawa worked together like a smooth, well-oiled machine. They barely had to touch the manual controls. Even Krebs’s snarls toned down almost to a purring satisfaction with their performance.

  Grant watched, fascinated, as the simulator’s equipment responded to their control, untouched. It’s like magic, he said to himself, awed even though he knew the biochips were transmitting control signals to receiving electrodes in the ship systems.

  Out of the corner of his eye, Grant could see Dr. Wo studying the displays on his console. He wasn’t watching the wallscreens at all, so intent was he on the readouts that showed the simulated ship’s systems and the medical monitors of the five people in the aquarium tank.

  Grant concentrated on his own display screens. He was responsible for the propulsion and electrical power systems, which were running just a shade below design optimum. He could goose either one for more power if necessary, but the simulation did not require it unless there was an emergency.

  Which Dr. Wo suddenly provided.

  In the simulation, the crew had successfully separated the submersible from the station. They were on their own now, as far as the sim was concerned, running on the ship’s internal power.

  Wo tapped a single button on the console keyboard before him and abruptly half of the lights on Grant’s console turned a baleful red.

  “Power outage!” Grant yelled, just as Muzorawa said exactly the same words—but in a much calmer tone.

  “Switch to auxiliary power,” Krebs called out.

  Grant knew that he was supposed to keep his hands off the controls in front of him and let the crew work out the problem. But the temptation to cancel the outage and return the simulator to full power made him twitch with anticipation.

  “Auxiliary power,” Muzorawa announced.

  Glancing up at the wallscreen, Grant saw that the simulator was now dimly lit, and red lights glared across half the consoles in there.

  “Life support decaying,” O’Hara said, her voice tight, pained. “The circulation pumps need more power.”

  “Return to the station,” Krebs commanded. It was standard operating procedure. This soon after separation, the safest thing to do was to return and hook up with the station’s power supply. If they lost power later in the mission they would have to solve the problem on their own, Grant knew.

  His fingers still itching to correct the damage that Dr. Wo had deliberately inflicted, Grant watched passively as the crew simulated their return and remating to the station’s docking module. It was all done with smooth efficiency. They hardly had to touch a keypad or a switch. It’s only a simulation, Grant reminded himself, but he still found that he was soaked in perspiration by the time Krebs announced their successful redocking.

  “Very well,” Wo said into his microphone. “Take a break. But do not leave the simulator. Next we will see what you do when you have an emergency after you have entered the clouds.”

  All of the crew members groaned. All except Krebs, Grant noticed. She actually smiled.

  He turned to Frankovich, crammed in at the next console with barely enough room for his legs.

  “Captain Krebs is enjoying herself,” Frankovich said. Then, leaning closer to Grant, he whispered, “But Dr. Wo takes this all very seriously.”

  Grant glanced over at Wo. The director’s face looked grim, baleful. With an inward nod, Grant said to himself, Yes, Dr. Wo takes all this very seriously indeed.

  BREAKDOWN

  Bone weary from the long day’s simulator runs, Grant picked up his dinner in the conference room, stopped by the cafeteria for a bowl of frui
ts for Sheena, then trudged alone down to the aquarium with two sets of neural nets stuffed into his trouser pockets.

  He passed the rows of fish tanks, their underwater lights glimmering against the solid bulkhead on his left. The dolphins were swimming lazily in their big tank, sleek and silent. Grant stopped for a moment at the tank that held the simulator. It was empty now. Technicians would start dismantling the hardware after the ship actually left on its mission. Grant wondered if they would store it in anticipation of future missions. Most likely so, he guessed.

  He felt slightly uneasy that Sheena was not out in the corridor to meet him. Usually she was prowling along the fish tanks, waiting for him with the eagerness of a two-year-old child. On the other hand, it gave him the opportunity to power up the monitoring console in the corridor outside her pen. Grant saw that it was working properly and receiving a steady flat signal from the net in his left pocket. The one in his right was deactivated, a dummy whose only purpose was to deceive Sheena into thinking that he was wearing the same “hat” that she was.

  When he came to Sheena’s pen he saw that the gorilla was sitting on her haunches, bent over a large wooden jigsaw puzzle. She had filled in eight of the ten big pieces.

  She looked up as Grant stepped in.

  “Food!” she said in her rasping voice, and scrambled up onto all fours. Grant knew she couldn’t smile, but he thought she was glad to see him—and the bowl he had brought for her.

  “Fruit,” he said, placing the tray on the floor.

  “Fruit,” echoed Sheena. “And Grant food.”

  He nodded. “I’ve got a soyburger and salad and ice cream for dessert.”

  Sheena picked up the bowl of fruit but stared hard at the ice cream. Then she looked up at Grant. “Grant ice cream?”

  “Would you like some ice cream, Sheena?”

  “Yes,” came the immediate answer.

  “Okay.” Grant handed the small dish to her. Tucking the fruit bowl under one arm, Sheena grabbed for the ice cream with her free hand.

  Grant laughed at her unabashed greed. “Save some ice cream for me.”

  “Yes,” Sheena replied. But within less than a minute the ice cream was gone, except for a few smears around her muzzle. Then she started in on the fruit.

  Grant wolfed down his burger, surprised at how hungry he suddenly felt. He offered Sheena a few leaves of his salad, but she sniffed at the dressing and refused them.

  Once the fruit was gone Sheena asked, “Grant bring hat?”

  He pulled the neural nets from his pockets. “Here they are, Sheena. One for you and one for me.”

  She leaned toward him and allowed him to place the net over her head and tie it under her chin. Then he did the same for his own.

  “Let’s finish the puzzle,” Grant said, once he had both nets in place.

  “Grant do.”

  “No, no, Sheena. You’ve put most of the pieces together. There are only two left. You do them.”

  “Grant do first.”

  He nodded understanding. “You want me to do one piece?”

  Sheena said, “Yes.” And brought one big hand up to her skull.

  “No, no!” Grant blurted. “Don’t rub your head! You’ll mess up your hat.”

  “Hurts,” Sheena said.

  Grant forced a smile for her. “No, it doesn’t hurt, Sheena. My hat doesn’t hurt. Your hat doesn’t hurt.”

  She had knocked the net slightly askew. Grant got to his knees and straightened it out for her.

  “Hurts,” Sheena repeated.

  “It can’t hurt you,” Grant said. “Here, let’s finish the puzzle.”

  He picked up one of the two remaining pieces and put it in place. Sheena stared at the puzzle for a moment, then reached for the last piece.

  Suddenly she flung it away. “Hurts!” she growled, and reached up to yank at the neural net.

  Grant saw a tendril of smoke rising from one of the electrodes. My God, it’s burning her!

  Sheena ripped the net off her head and smashed it to the floor. She roared with pain and lurched up onto her hind legs.

  She’s going to kill me! Grant thought.

  The gorilla balled one mighty fist and smashed it against the steel wall of her pen. The metal buckled.

  Grant scrambled to his feet. Sheena towered over him, immense, fangs bared.

  “Grant hurt Sheena!” she rasped.

  “No, I didn’t mean to—”

  “Grant no friend!”

  He started to back away from her, toward the entrance to her pen. There was an emergency control outside that could slide a thickly barred gate across the entry.

  Sheena dropped down to all fours, and Grant could see a burned spot on her skull. She glowered at him as he backed away. Don’t turn your back to her! Grant remembered. Gorillas seldom attack a man who’s facing them. Seldom echoed in Grant’s mind.

  It all seemed to be happening in slow motion, as if in a nightmare. Grant edged toward the pen’s entrance, Sheena growled and glared at him, then took a knuckle-walking step toward him.

  Grant bolted through the doorway and banged the emergency gate control. The bars slid swiftly across the entrance and clanged shut. Sheena grasped one of the bars in a big, hairy hand. Grant thought she could have bent it if she’d wanted to.

  “I’m sorry, Sheena,” he babbled. “I didn’t mean to hurt you. One of the electrodes must’ve been defective. I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

  “Grant no friend,” the gorilla rasped again. Then she turned her back to him and shambled to the far corner of her pen.

  Grant stood there, heartbroken. You’re right, he admitted silently to the gorilla. I’m not your friend. I never was, even though I wanted to be.

  IMMERSION

  The following night the departing crew held a glum little farewell party for themselves in O’Hara’s quarters. Lane herself invited Grant to attend. Still miserable about Sheena, and afraid to get near the gorilla again, Grant accepted.

  He was the last one to arrive. O’Hara’s room was in its planetarium mode again as she admitted him and then slid the door shut behind him. Even the floor was speckled with stars. For a dizzying moment Grant felt as if the others were sitting in empty space, floating in the middle of the universe. The faint, ethereal music of a single keyboard floated through the shadows.

  “No stimulants, I’m afraid,” Lane said in a hushed voice. “The mission, you know.”

  Grant nodded his understanding, then padded across the starry floor to sit between Muzorawa and Pascal. Zeb’s beard was gone, Karlstad was totally bald. Pascal’s wig was slightly askew; not nearly as natural-looking as Lane’s. All the crew members have been depilated, Grant realized. Because of the immersion; it’s more sanitary.

  “I thought you would be with Sheena,” said Pascal.

  Grant felt his jaws clench. With an effort, he told her, “I had a problem with her last night.”

  “Oh?”

  He described the fiasco with the burned-out electrode.

  Instead of disappointment, Pascal immediately asked, “Did you get data?”

  He blinked at her. “I don’t know. I didn’t check. Everything was so—”

  “The other electrodes should have worked,” Pascal said. “You should have some data, at least. Anger. Pain. Such data is priceless!

  Betrayal, Grant thought. What kind of brain waves will show feelings of betrayal?

  “Do you blame yourself for what happened?” Muzorawa asked gently.

  Grant shrugged. “Who else was there?”

  “Sometimes experiments blow up on you,” he said. “Equipment can fail.”

  “That’s great to hear on the eve of our dunking,” Karlstad grumbled. He’d been sitting on Muzorawa’s other side.

  “Do you think Sheena will stay angry with you?” O’Hara asked.

  “I don’t know,” Grant said. “Right now, I’m kind of scared to go back and see her again.”

  “Lovers’ quarrel,” Karlstad said.<
br />
  Grant was in no mood for his quips. “Speaking of lovers, isn’t Dr. Krebs coming to this party?”

  Karlstad threw up his hands. “God forbid!”

  Muzorawa chuckled. “That’s right, Egon. She did specifically tap you for the mission. She must have a special place in her heart for you.”

  “That means she hates me, then,” Frankovich chimed in. “Thank goodness!”

  O’Hara said, “I didn’t think inviting Krebs here would be such a lovely idea.”

  “Why not?” Karlstad snapped. “Maybe she’d perk up this party. We could certainly use something to liven up the proceedings.”

  “D’you notice how she seems to stare at you when she talks to you?” O’Hara asked no one in particular. “It’s positively spooky, don’t you think?”

  “Yes,” Pascal said. “She never did that before the accident.”

  “It’s the evil eye,” said Karlstad. “She’s learned witchcraft.”

  “Whatever it is, it makes my blood run cold,” O’Hara said.

  “You think it runs cold when she gives you the fish-eye,” Karlstad said, almost smirking, “wait until you’re immersed in that PFCL gunk. That’ll chill your blood down to the marrow.”

  For a long moment no one spoke a word. Grant knew what they were facing and shuddered inwardly.

  “There’s an IAA inspection team on its way here,” Frankovich muttered.

  “I’d heard that,” said O’Hara. “It’s really true, then?”

  Karlstad grumbled, “That’s why our woeful leader wants to get this mission off so fast. He’s afraid the IAA officials will stop it, once they find out about it.”

  “Why would they stop it?”

  “Risking human lives.”

  “Finding things they don’t want to find,” Grant heard himself say.

  The others all turned to him.

  “They’ll be here in ten days,” Grant added. “You should be safely on your way by then.”

  “Safely?” Karlstad sneered. “I wish.”

  Muzorawa said, “Let us remember one thing: We will be exploring a region where no human has gone before. We will be searching for life on a world that is utterly alien to us. We will be seeking intelligent life, if it exists down in that sea. Those are good things to do, no matter how much discomfort we must endure.”