Odissey Three
Hazardous Cargo
It is not easy to run a shipping line between destinations which not only change their positions by millions of kilometres every few days, but also swing through a velocity range of tens of kilometres a second. Anything like a regular schedule is out of the question; there are times when one must forget the whole idea and stay in port - or at least in orbit - waiting for the Solar System to rearrange itself for the greater convenience of mankind.
Fortunately, these periods are known years in advance, so it is possible to make the best use of them for overhauls, retrofits, and planet leave for the crew. And occasionally, by good luck and aggressive salesmanship, one can arrange some local chartering, even if only the equivalent of the old-time ‘Once around the Bay’ boat-ride.
Captain Eric Laplace was delighted that the three-month stayover off Ganymede would not be a complete loss. An anonymous and unexpected grant to the Planetary Science Foundation would finance a reconnaissance of the Jovian (even now, no-one ever called it Luciferian) satellite system, paying particular attention to a dozen of the neglected smaller moons. Some of these had never even been properly surveyed, much less visited.
As soon as he heard of the mission, Rolf van der Berg called the Tsung shipping agent and made some discreet enquiries.
‘Yes, first we’ll head in towards Io - then do a flyby of Europa -’
‘Only a flyby? How close?’
‘Just a moment - odd, the flight plan doesn’t give details. But of course she won’t go inside the Interdiction Zone.’
‘Which was down to ten thousand kilometres at the last ruling… fifteen years ago. Anyway, I’d like to volunteer as Mission Planetologist. I’ll send across my qualifications -’
‘No need to do so, Dr van der Berg. They’ve already asked for you.’
It is always easy to be wise after the event, and when he cast his mind back (he had plenty of time for it later) Captain Laplace recalled a number of curious aspects of the charter. Two crew members were taken suddenly sick, and were replaced at short notice; he was so glad to have substitutes that he did not check their papers as closely as he might have done. (And even if he had, he would have discovered that they were perfectly in order.)
Then there was the trouble with the cargo. As captain, he was entitled to inspect anything that went aboard the ship. Of course, it was impossible to do this for every item, but he never hesitated to investigate if he had good reason. Space crews were, on the whole, a highly responsible body of men; but long missions could be boring, and there were tedium-relieving chemicals which - though perfectly legal on Earth - should be discouraged off it.
When Second Officer Chris Floyd reported his suspicions, the Captain assumed that the ship’s chromatographic ’sniffer’ had detected another cache of the high-grade opium which his largely Chinese crew occasionally patronized. This time, however, the matter was serious - very serious.
‘Cargo Hold Three, Item 2/456, Captain. The manifest says “Scientific apparatus”. It contains explosives.’
‘What!’
‘Definitely, Sir. Here’s the electrogram.’
‘I’ll take your word for it, Mr Floyd. Have you inspected the item?’
‘No, Sir. It’s in a sealed crew case, half a metre by one metre by five metres, approximately. One of the largest packages the science team brought aboard. It’s labelled FRAGILE - HANDLE WITH CARE. But so is everything, of course.’
Captain Laplace drummed his fingers thoughtfully on the grained plastic ‘wood’ of his desk. (He hated the pattern, and intended to get rid of it on the next refit.) Even that slight action started him rising out of his seat, and he automatically anchored himself by wrapping his foot around the pillar of the chair.
Though he did not for a moment doubt Floyd’s report - his new Second Officer was very competent, and the Captain was
Hazardous Cargo
It is not easy to run a shipping line between destinations which not only change their positions by millions of kilometres every few days, but also swing through a velocity range of tens of kilometres a second. Anything like a regular schedule is out of the question; there are times when one must forget the whole idea and stay in port - or at least in orbit - waiting for the Solar System to rearrange itself for the greater convenience of mankind.
Fortunately, these periods are known years in advance, so it is possible to make the best use of them for overhauls, retrofits, and planet leave for the crew. And occasionally, by good luck and aggressive salesmanship, one can arrange some local chartering, even if only the equivalent of the old-time ‘Once around the Bay’ boat-ride.
Captain Eric Laplace was delighted that the three-month stayover off Ganymede would not be a complete loss. An anonymous and unexpected grant to the Planetary Science Foundation would finance a reconnaissance of the Jovian (even now, no-one ever called it Luciferian) satellite system, paying particular attention to a dozen of the neglected smaller moons. Some of these had never even been properly surveyed, much less visited.
As soon as he heard of the mission, Rolf van der Berg called the Tsung shipping agent and made some discreet enquiries.
‘Yes, first we’ll head in towards Io - then do a flyby of Europa -’
‘Only a flyby? How close?’
‘Just a moment - odd, the flight plan doesn’t give details. But of course she won’t go inside the Interdiction Zone.’
‘Which was down to ten thousand kilometres at the last ruling… fifteen years ago. Anyway, I’d like to volunteer as Mission Planetologist. I’ll send across my qualifications -’
‘No need to do so, Dr van der Berg. They’ve already asked for you.’
It is always easy to be wise after the event, and when he cast his mind back (he had plenty of time for it later) Captain Laplace recalled a number of curious aspects of the charter. Two crew members were taken suddenly sick, and were replaced at short notice; he was so glad to have substitutes that he did not check their papers as closely as he might have done. (And even if he had, he would have discovered that they were perfectly in order.)
Then there was the trouble with the cargo. As captain, he was entitled to inspect anything that went aboard the ship. Of course, it was impossible to do this for every item, but he never hesitated to investigate if he had good reason. Space crews were, on the whole, a highly responsible body of men; but long missions could be boring, and there were tedium-relieving chemicals which - though perfectly legal on Earth - should be discouraged off it.
When Second Officer Chris Floyd reported his suspicions, the Captain assumed that the ship’s chromatographic ’sniffer’ had detected another cache of the high-grade opium which his largely Chinese crew occasionally patronized. This time, however, the matter was serious - very serious.
‘Cargo Hold Three, Item 2/456, Captain. The manifest says “Scientific apparatus”. It contains explosives.’
‘What!’
‘Definitely, Sir. Here’s the electrogram.’
‘I’ll take your word for it, Mr Floyd. Have you inspected the item?’
‘No, Sir. It’s in a sealed crew case, half a metre by one metre by five metres, approximately. One of the largest packages the science team brought aboard. It’s labelled FRAGILE - HANDLE WITH CARE. But so is everything, of course.’
Captain Laplace drummed his fingers thoughtfully on the grained plastic ‘wood’ of his desk. (He hated the pattern, and intended to get rid of it on the next refit.) Even that slight action started him rising out of his seat, and he automatically anchored himself by wrapping his foot around the pillar of the chair.
Though he did not for a moment doubt Floyd’s report - his new Second Officer was very competent, and the Captain was
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