THE ARGUS PROJECT
Argus's ship flew out of the Red Spot.
The flagship bent in the middle, deformed by wind, pressure and gravity. Its nuclear-powered booster rockets shut down automatically - and the flagship dropped into the hotter depths of Jupiter.
No one was there to hear the strange whistling noise of the falling behemoth, mixed with the wail of bent beams and armor plating, and the hiss of melting metal...
Seconds later, at a pressure of over 300 atmospheres and winds hot enough to melt any known metal, the ship's protective plasma-field ceased to function.
The full weight of the gas masses above and below it were unleashed in a tenth of a millisecond, squeezing the giant ship into a superheated clump of metal - and vaporized the magnetic globules that isolated the anti-matter fuel stored in the ship's center.
When stored antiprotons met superheated metal, matter and antimatter instantly turned into sub-microscopic novas of gamma-ray energy - photons in their purest, most uncontrollable energy state.
Gamma rays split more atoms around them, which in turn split into energy fragments and multiplied the atomic fission. Mass turned into its equivalent energy - equal to the mass multiplied by 300,000 KMPS squared, plus the momentum of the clump's enormous mass and velocity.
The hydrogen atmosphere surrounding the fireball began to ignite.
For just a ten-millionth of a second, there was a slight chance that Jupiter's liquid-hydrogen ocean would explode in a nuclear chain-reaction.
But the force of the atmosphere's momentum was infinitely stronger, the chain-reaction too weak to overcome it. The winds pushed with the full force of Jupiter, dispersed the short-lived chain-reaction upward, to the colder outer layers... where it could erupt freely.
The Red Spot bulged out into space, a glowing orange bubble of gas fighting to escape Jupiter's gravitational field. Argus was already on his way into orbit, and could admire the awesome sight from a safe distance.
His ship had taken a few scratches, but he could fix it up; the tools existed, and he had the capacity to do it. There was plenty of time to do some painting and bodywork on his way to Mars.
But then he remembered something:
"Islington. Damn."
***
Caver Pi watched the big explosion on the screens. And he recalled Slush Delta's words from what seemed an age ago: The Nipple is rising. Then he thought: This is for you, Slush.
Caver Pi didn't bother with speculations about an afterlife, but he found himself hoping that somehow, somewhere, Slush Delta could see this - and laugh at the Kansler's insane power grab dissolved into a rude cosmic joke.
"The Nipple's rising!" Caver shouted out loud - astonishing himself, and the colonists around him cheered and laughed.
Intelligence reports appeared on the big screens around the assembled Jovians, with fresh statistics from Jupiter.
In the list of casualties was listed one Boulder Pi, last detected on his way to the Fleet flagship, now dead with it - or rather likely dead, at an estimated 90% probability.
Caver's grin shrank away, and he felt as if a ghost had passed through him.
He crouched down on his knees, too much the dwarf to hang his head like a Terran, and his head shook up and down in spasms, his fists shaking as he held them out, shaking imaginary prison bars.
Strata knelt before her husband and took his hands in silence. He embraced her and cried openly, oblivious to the people who looked on in shock and dismay.
Not only did Jovians consider it wasteful to show emotions in public places; it was the first time any of them including Strata had seen Caver Pi shed tears.
"My brother," he sobbed into the hollow of her neck. "My dear brother."
46: K-O
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THE ARGUS PROJECT INTERNET EDITION (c)A.R.Yngve 1999, 2000, 2004. All rights reserved. May not be copied without permission.
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