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1986-10-29
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3KB
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96 lines
HOMER NARR2-T/PD/Ref@5464
It was never warm, not even in the long
Antarctic Day, but new tissue made cold
a distant memory. They wore only the
light dry pressure suits and breathing
masks as Thatcher led them down one day
to the filament farms under the ice.
The dark was as intense as the space
between the stars. Peter lay with his
back to the gravity well, looking up at
the frozen ceiling, and pushed himself
along with gentle motions of his feet.
Some of the others frolicked in the
hanging ice gardens of fold and crevasse
beneath the Ross Shelf. Their personal
lamps made them glow like the fireflies
Peter remembered from his childhood
topside in Illinois. Larin darted behind
Shem and poked him in the small of the
back. Shem flipped, and his light winked
with the motion, but already Larin was
gone, teasing someone else.
Beyond the small globe of light that was
each of his friends was the cold
undersea darkness. Overhead was the Ross
Ice Shelf, over a hundred meters of
solid freshwater ice. Ahead of them to
the south the sloping shelf of the
continent met the grinding ice
thickening to over seven hundred meters.
Here, tucked into the diminishing
crevasse, were the filament farms.
They drifted inward, and soon the waving
tops of the first filaments came into
view, reaching lazily toward them, long
quasi-organic tentacles that seemed to
hang, moving stiffly. Thatcher stopped,
and they gathered around.
He signed his lecture about the farms,
how the energy was supplied by mild
electric currents set up in the sea bed
and transmitted through the salt water,
how the filaments grew molecule by
molecule, precisely programmed to
provide everything from picoelectronic
circuitry to monofilament materials to
structural composites, how down here
beneath the ice sheet the farms were
concealed from satellite observation.
They watched the newly learned signing
attentively. He could have spoken, of
course; their masks provided for vocal
conversation, but signing was more
compact and energy efficient.
Thatcher led them to the breathing pods
affixed to the bottom of the ice where
the restructured Ross seals that helped
the farmers could take breath. He showed
them the airdomes where the farmers
could rest without returning to the
surface. Then he led them to a power
transmitter.
"We anticipate a landing overhead,
probably at night," he told them with
quick gestures.
Involuntarily they looked up at the dark
underside of the ice.
"That's where our launch facilities are
located. It's the only place suitable.
They're after PSYCHE and they won't like
the cold, so they'll land as close as
they can. There is little that we need
to do. We aren't far from open sea, and
we know the currents well. Besides, ice
is crystalline, and we understand
crystals."
He gestured at the power transmitter.
"When the time comes, they'll be in for
a surprise," he assured them.
Larin drifted up beside Peter and took
his hand. He nodded and smiled at her
through his mask, but he removed his
hand soon after.