The metropolis of the Machines still hung below the slowly falling Kon-Tiki, but everything had changed. Now they were committed.
Falcon’s resolve was as fragile as the cabin walls holding back Jupiter’s vengeful, jealous crush. But he did not fear death so much as making the wrong decision.
“So here’s my plan,” he said, forcing himself to sound confident. “We’ll use the asymptotic drive to dive as quickly as we can. But first we have to find a way through your world city. Those gaps—access shafts, whatever they are. How far down do they go?”
“A few hundred kilometres.”
“And then what?”
“Nothing. We would exit the lower levels and continue into the void.”
“Like a rat falling out of a drain-pipe.” Falcon smiled. “Fine, that’s how we’ll do it. But the timing has to be precise. If we get it wrong, if we look like we’re trying to dive-bomb the city, your friends will surely destroy us.”
Adam closed avatars of eyes. “I have already downloaded our course into the gondola’s systems. I must not communicate with my fellows, but when they track our trajectory the weapon port below us will be opened to allow us to pass. I will allow no doubt in the minds of my fellows that we merely intend to fall through the city, never to return. The timing needs to be precise, of course . . .” Adam turned his face to Falcon. “The logical agent is proving a worthy adversary, Falcon. I do not have limitless resources. Everything aside from the inner struggle is an effort.”
“Do what you can.”
Adam settled his golden hand over the drive control. “May I? . . . But are you quite sure of this?”
“I’ve never been less sure of anything. Incidentally, why do you call it a weapon port? It’s too deep to be useful in any human incursion . . .”
“It’s a long story. Come now . . .”
Adam squeezed Falcon’s hand. And Falcon’s hand activated the asymptotic drive, directing its thrust to drive the gondola down, rather than up. It cut against every human instinct to go deeper when escape lay above—but then, he recalled, it was only an echo of the manoeuvre that had saved his life during his first encounter with the medusae, when he had dived down into the Jovian air. Second time lucky? He doubted it. But they were committed anyhow.
The shaft came up below them. It was a square aperture, a dozen or so kilometres across on each side, with red-gridded walls leading down.
“So,” Falcon said. “Still alive!”
“I must temper your elation. Our life expectancy is, after all, rather limited. And in the meantime, of course, in the wider picture, the Springers’ logical attack has been contained. Once they realise this, they must proceed with the Io weapon. Given warning of the drop, our weapons stand a fair chance of shattering the moon . . . The ecology may not endure, but we shall. But then what? More war, another escalation?”
“Maybe the Springer-Soames will have a change of heart.”
“Do you think that likely?”
Falcon didn’t bother to reply.
They were deep into the shaft now, driven by the smooth thrust of the asymptotic drive. Most of the gondola’s instruments were still working, to a degree. According to the radar the bottom of the shaft was coming up quickly . . .
Falcon turned the sensors back on the underside of the city. The flicker of the asymptotic drive illuminated a configuration very much like the upper side, an arrangement of planes and blocks. He supposed the near-symmetry was to be expected: when you had conquered the pressure and heat of these iron depths, even Jovian gravity was barely a detail.
And they were already more than five hundred kilometres deep into Jupiter.
Falcon directed the main sweep of the sensors ahead, down along their descent path—and allowed himself a twitch of surprise, for there were more objects floating below them. “What are they?”
“Similar to what you saw above. Another weapons garden, as you called it.”
Falcon thought back. “That shaft we passed through. You said that was a weapons port.”
“Indeed. And it was symmetrical, you’ll have noted.”
“Fires both ways . . .”
“Yes. And when we reach the second weapons garden you’ll notice a significant difference.”
“Will I?”
“These guns are pointed down, not up.”