The Sentinel - Arthur C. Clarke [93]
Well, not really. I had been thinking about Jupiter for a long time; witness the final sequence in the movie 2001: A Space Odyssey. And in some ways the sequel 2010: Odyssey Two is also a sequel to this story; I had room there to develop in more detail some of the concepts I had first worked out in “Medusa.”
And by then, of course, our knowledge of Jupiter had been enormously increased, thanks to the marvelous Pioneer and Voyager missions. None of this new information, I am happy to say, has invalidated any of these earlier ideas. On the contrary: there are some very suspicious, sharp-edged blobs floating around in the Jovian atmosphere . . .
“A Meeting with Medusa” was the last story I ever wrote, before concentrating entirely on novels. It won a Playboy editorial award and the Science Fiction Writers of America’s annual Nebula, so I am proud to have made it my swan song . . . for the present, at any rate.
And here’s a very strange coincidence. Until I started to write this note, I’d completely forgotten that I used the name “Kon-Tiki” for the exploring vehicle. And so I was able to autograph a copy of “Medusa” for Thor Heyerdahl—when I met him this morning, right here in Colombo . . .
1. A Day to remember
THE Queen Elizabeth was over three miles above the Grand Canyon, dawdling along at a comfortable hundred and eighty, when Howard Falcon spotted the camera platform closing in from the right. He had been expecting it—nothing else was cleared to fly at this altitude—but he was not too happy to have company. Although he welcomed any signs of public interest, he also wanted as much empty sky as he could get. After all, he was the first man in history to navigate a ship three-tenths of a mile long . . .
So far, this first test flight had gone perfectly; ironically enough, the only problem had been the century-old aircraft carrier Chairman Mao, borrowed from the San Diego Naval Museum for support operations. Only one of Mao’s four nuclear reactors was still operating, and the old battle-wagon’s top speed was barely thirty knots. Luckily, wind speed at sea level had been less than half this, so it had not been too difficult to maintain still air on the flight deck. Though there had been a few anxious moments during gusts, when the mooring lines had been dropped, the great dirigible had risen smoothly, straight up into the sky, as if on an invisible elevator. If all went well, Queen Elizabeth IV would not meet Chairman Mao again for another week.
Everything was under control; all test instruments gave normal readings. Commander Falcon decided to go upstairs and watch the rendezvous. He handed over to his second officer, and walked out into the transparent tubeway that led through the heart of the ship. There, as always, he was overwhelmed by the spectacle of the largest single space ever enclosed by man.
The ten spherical gas cells, each more than a hundred feet across, were ranged one behind the other like a line of gigantic soap bubbles. The tough plastic was so clear that he could see through the whole length of the array, and make out details of the elevator mechanism, more than a third of a mile from his vantage point. All around him, like a three-dimensional maze, was the structural framework of the ship—the great longitudinal girders running from nose to tail, the fifteen hoops that were the circular ribs of this sky-borne colossus, and whose varying sizes defined its graceful, streamlined profile.
At this low speed, there was little sound—merely the soft rush of wind over the envelope and an occasional creak of metal as the pattern of stresses changed. The shadowless light from the rows of lamps far overhead gave the whole scene a curiously submarine quality, and to Falcon this was enhanced by the spectacle of the translucent gasbags. He had once encountered a squadron of large but harmless jellyfish, pulsing their mindless way above