Alastair Reynolds and Stephen Baxter - The Medusa Chronicles

To the memory of

Sir Arthur C Clarke

GOLLANCZ

LONDON

Content

Arthur C Clarke, 1971.

In the 2080s Howard Falcon is left crippled by the crash of the dirigible Queen Elizabeth IV , of which he was Captain. His life is saved by experimental cyborg surgery.

In the 2090s Falcon pilots a solo mission in a balloon craft called Kon-Tiki into the upper clouds of Jupiter, where he encounters an exotic environment complete with an ecology dominated by immense herbivorous beasts he calls medusae, which are preyed on by mantas.

Falcons cybernetic surgery left him with superhuman capabilities but isolated from mankind, for there will be no more such experiments. But Falcon took sombre pride in his unique loneliness the first immortal, midway between two orders of creation. He would... be an ambassador... between the creatures of carbon and the creatures of metal who must one day supersede them. Both would have need of him in the troubled centuries that lay ahead.

This book is the story of those troubled centuries.

Falcon would always remember the day he had started to dream of escaping into the sky.

Commander Howard Falcon, World Navy, had been just Howard back then, eleven years old, living in the family home in Yorkshire, England, part of a Federated Zone of a newly united world. And it had snowed overnight.

He smeared his dressing gown sleeve across a cluster of panes in the window, wiping away the condensation. Each little square of glass had a precise L-shaped frosting of snow on the outside, where it had gathered on the lower edge and in one corner. There had been flurries of snow over the preceding days, but nothing as heavy as this overnight fall. And it had come in right on schedule, a seasonal gift from the Global Weather Secretariat.

The garden Howard knew was transformed. It seemed wider and longer, from the hedges on either side to the sawtooth fence at the end of the gently sloping lawn, and a ridge of snow lay on the fence, neat as the decoration on a birthday cake. It all looked so cold and still, so inviting and mysterious.

And the sky above the fence and hedges was clear, cloudless, shot through at this still-early hour with a delicate pale-rose pink. Howard looked at the sky for a long time, wondering what it would be like to be above the Earth, surrounded by nothing but air. It would be cold up there, but hed put up with that for the freedom of flight.

Yet here in the cottages parlour it was snug and warm. Howard had come down from his bedroom to find that his mother was up already, baking bread. She liked the old ways of doing things. His father had prepared the fire in the hearth and now it was crackling and hissing. On the mantle over the hearth was a collection of ornaments and souvenirs, including a clumsily assembled model on a clear plastic stand: a hot-air balloon with a gondola open to the air, a plastic envelope above.

Howard found his favourite toy and set it on the windowsill so it could see the snow too. The golden robot was a complicated thing, despite its antique radio-age appearance. It had been a gift on his eleventh birthday only a couple of months earlier. He knew that it had cost his parents dearly to buy it for him.

Its been snowing, Howard said to the toy.

The robot buzzed and rattled to show it was thinking. Somewhere in its maze of circuits and processors was a speech-recognition algorithm.

We could make a snowman, said the toy.

Yes, Howard agreed, with the tiniest flush of disappointment. At a given prompt the robot tended to come out with the same response, over and over; any mention of snow, and the robot would propose making a snowman. It never suggested a snowball fight, or making snow angels, or sledging. It didnt really think at all, he reflected with faint dismay. Yet he loved it.

Cmon, Adam, he said at last. He snatched the robot off the sill, tucking it under one arm.

He went to the cupboard under the stairs to fetch his scarf, being quiet so that his mother did not nag him to put on warmer clothes before leaving the cottage. Then he remembered a chore hed promised to do. Scarf around his neck, he returned to the parlour and used the poker to stir up the coals. For a moment, mesmerised, Howard stared into the depths of the fire, seeing shapes and phantoms in the dance of the flames.

Howard! his mother called from the kitchen. If youre thinking of going out, put your boots on...

Pretending not to hear her, Howard crept out of the cottage, closing the door quietly behind him. He crossed the unmarred whiteness of the snow-covered lawn. His slippers pressed imprints into the snow. The air was chilly enough as it was, but there was a damper, more determined cold already seeping through the soles of his footwear. He set Adam down on the stone plinth of a bird table, where he could overlook proceedings.

Howard began scooping up snow.

That is a good start, said Adam.

Yes, its coming along.

You will want a carrot for the nose and some buttons for the eyes.

He worked for a while longer. After a time, Adam encouraged him again. A very good snowman, Howard.

In truth, the snowman was a lumpy, misshapen form, more like an anthill than a person. Howard found some twigs and jammed them into the slumped white mass. He stood back, hands on his hips, as if the half-hearted effort was about to transform itself into something creditable.

But the snowman looked even sadder with the twigs.

Look, Adam said, raising a rigid arm, pointing into the sky.

Howard squinted, at first not seeing anything. But there it was. A tiny sphere, elongated at the base, moving through the air, with an even tinier basket suspended under it. A flame pulsed from the apparatus over the basket, a brief spark of brilliance against the brightening sky. The sun must have crept over the horizon, at least from the altitude of the balloon, for the side of its envelope was picked out as a crescent of gold.

Howard stared and stared. He loved balloons. He had seen them in books and in movies. Hed built models. He understood how they worked, sort of. But this was the first time hed ever seen one with his own eyes.

The balloon was passing out of sight, going around the back of the cottage. Howard had to keep tracking it. Barely looking down, he grabbed Adam and ran, scuffing his way through the failed snowman, sending it toppling to the ground.

I want to be up there, Howard said.

Yes, Howard, Adam said patiently, his head bumping along the ground.

Up there!

ENCOUNTER IN THE DEEP

2099

The waves of the midwinter ocean crashed against the hull and spat their foam over the railings around the bow. They might as well have been dashing against cliffs for all the difference it made to the great ship. On deck there was not a trace of the swell, not a trace of rocking. The Sam Shore felt as solid and still as if it were anchored to the seabed.

So what was wrong?

Falcons eyes swept to port and starboard.

Zoom and focus.

Machines frolicked in the grey waters, their pale white bodies easily mistaken for living things.

Track and enhance.

The sleek forms, each a few metres long and equipped with cameras, grabber arms and miniaturised sonar pods, swam gracefully alongside the tremendous hull. At times they came alarmingly close, and Falcon wondered how safe such activity could be, given the choppiness of the sea. What if they collided with the carriers hull? The safety of President Jayasuriya was at stake...