"Space" - читать интересную книгу автора (Baxter Stephen)

Chapter 12 Sister Planet

Four hundred kilometers high, Carole was falling toward Venus. The lander had no windows; the conditions it had to survive were much too ferocious for that. But the inner walls were plastered with softscreens, to show Carole what lay beyond the honeycombed metal that cushioned her. Thus, the capsule was a fragile windowed cage, full of light, and her universe was divided into two: stars above, glowing planet below.

Her descent would be a thing of skips and hops and long glides as she shed her orbital energy. The sensation was so gentle, the panorama so elemental, that it was almost like a virtual simulation back on Earth. But this was no game, no simulation; she was really here, alone in this flimsy capsule, like a stone thrown into the immense air ocean of Venus, a hundred million kilometers from any helping hand.

Still she fell. The cloud decks below her remained featureless, but they were flattening to a perfect plain, like some geometric demonstration. Looking up, she could see a great cone of shining plasma trailing after her lander as it cut into the high air. She imagined seeing herself from space, a fake meteorite shining against the smooth face of Venus.

As her altitude unraveled the air thickened, and the bites of deceleration came hard and heavy, the buffeting more severe. Now the noise began; a thin screaming of tortured air, molecules broken apart by the heat of her descent, and there were flashes of plasma light at her virtual windows, like flashbulb pops. The temperature of the thin air outside rose to Earthlike levels, twenty or thirty centigrade.

But the air was not Earthlike. Sulphuric acid was already congealing around her, tiny droplets of it, acid formed by the action of sunlight on sulphur products and traces of oxygen that leaked up from the pool of air below.

At seventy kilometers she fell into the first clouds.

The stars winked out, and thick yellow mist closed around her. Soon even the Sun was perceptibly dimming, becoming washed out, as if seen through high winter clouds on Earth. Still the bulk of Venus’s air ocean lay beneath her. But she was already in the main cloud deck, twenty kilometers thick, the opaque blanket that had, until the age of space probes, hidden Venus’s surface from human eyes.

The buffeting became still more severe. But her capsule punched its way through this thin, angry air, and soon the battering of the high superstorms ceased.

Her main parachute blossomed open; she was briefly pushed back hard in her seat, and her descent slowed further. There was a rattle as small unmanned probes burst from the skin of her craft and arced away, seeking their own destiny.

The visibility was better than she had expected: perhaps she could see as far as one, even two kilometers. And she could make out layers in the cloud, sheets of stratumlike mist through which she fell, one by one.

Now came a patter against the hull: gentle, almost like hail, just audible under the moaning wind noise. She glimpsed particles slapping against the softscreen window: long crystals, like splinters of quartz. Were they crystals of solid sulphuric acid? Was that possible?

The hail soon disappeared. And, still fifty kilometers high, she dropped out of the cloud layer into clear air.

She looked up at the rigging, giant orange parachutes. The capsule was swaying, very slowly, suspended from the big parachute system. The clouds above were thick and solid, dense, with complex cumulus structures bulging below like misty chandeliers, almost like the clouds of Earth. The Sun was invisible, and the light was deeply tinged with yellow, fading to orange at the blurred horizon, as if she were falling into night. But there was still no sign of land below, only a dense, glowing haze.

With a clatter of explosive bolts her parachutes cut away, rippling like jellyfish, lost. She dropped further, descending into thickening haze. The lower air here was so dense it was more like falling into an ocean: Venus was not a place for parachutes.

The light was dimming, becoming increasingly more red.

Telltales lit up as her capsule’s protective systems came online. The temperature outside was rising ferociously, already far higher than the boiling point of water — though she was still twice as high as Earth’s highest cirrus clouds. The lander’s walls were a honeycomb, strong enough to withstand external pressures that could approach a hundred atmospheres. And the lander contained sinks, stores of chemicals like hydrates of lithium nitrate, which, evaporating, could absorb much of theferocious incoming heat energy. But the real heat dump was a refrigeration laser; every few minutes it fired horizontally, creating temperatures far higher even than those of Venus’s air.

I’m floating in a sea of acid, she thought, in a mobile refrigerator. It all seemed absurd, a system of clunky gadgetry. It was hard to believe the Gaijin would do it this way.

And yet it was all somehow wonderful.

Now there was a fresh pattering against the hull of the ship. More hail? No, rain — immense drops slamming against her virtual walls, streaking and quickly evaporating. This was true acid rain, she supposed, sulphuric acid droplets formed kilometers above. The rain grew ferocious, a sudden storm rattling against her walls, and the drops streaked and ran together, blurring her vision. For a brief moment she felt frightened, adrift in this stormy sky.

But, as quickly as it had begun, the rain tailed off. It was so hot now the rain was evaporating. A little deeper the intense heat would destroy the acid molecules themselves, leaving a mist of sulphur oxides and water.

Abruptly the haze cleared below her. As if she were peering down toward the bed of some orange sea, she made out structure below: looming forms, shadows, what looked like a river valley.

Land.

Suspended from a balloon, she drifted over a continent.

“This is Aphrodite,” Nemoto murmured from the distant Moon. “The size of Africa. Shaped like a scorpion — look at the map, Carole; see the claws in the west, the stinging tail to the east? But this is a scorpion fourteen thousand kilometers long, and stretching nearly halfway around the planet’s equator…”

Carole — in her refrigerated balloon-lifted lander, still very high — was drifting from the west, past the claws of the scorpion. She saw a monstrous plateau: nearly three thousand kilometers across, she learned, its surface some three kilometers above the surrounding plains, to which it descended sharply. But the surface of the plateau was far from smooth. She saw ridges, troughs, and domes, a bewildering variety of features, all crowded within a landscape that was blocky, jumbled, cut by intersecting ridges and gouges.

“The land looks as if it’s been cracked open,” she said. “And then reassembled. Like a parquet floor.”

“…Yes,” Nemoto whispered at last. “This is the oldest landscape on Venus. It shows a history of great heat, of cataclysm. We will see much geological violence here.”

Everywhere she looked the world was murky red, both sky and land, still, windless. The sky above was like an overcast Earth sky, the light a somber red, like a deep sunset — brighter than she had expected, but more Marslike, she thought, than Earthly. The Sun itself was invisible save for an ill-defined glare low on the horizon. The “day” here would last more than a hundred Earth days, a stately combination of Venus’s orbit around the Sun and its slow rotation — the “day” here was longer than Venus’s year, in fact.

Beyond the great plateau, she crossed a highland region that was riven by immense valleys — spectacular, stunning, and yet forever masked by the kilometers of cloud above, hidden away on this blasted planet where no eyes could see it. The easternmost part of Aphrodite was a broad, elongated dome, obviously volcanic, with rifts, domes, lava flows, and great shield volcanoes. But the most spectacular feature was a huge volcanic formation called Maat Mons: the largest volcano on Venus, three hundred kilometers wide and eight kilometers high. It was a twin to Mauna Loa, Earth’s largest volcano, stripped of concealing ocean.

This was a world of volcanism. The vast plains were covered by flood basalts — frozen lakes of lava, like the maria of the Moon — and punctured by thousands of small volcanoes, shield-shaped, built up by repeated outpourings of lava. But there were some shield structures — like the Hawaiian volcanoes, like Maat Mons — that towered five or eight kilometers above the plains, covered in repeated lava flows.

As she drifted farther east, away from Aphrodite and over a smooth basalt lowland, Carole learned to pick out features that had no counterparts on Earth. There were steep-sided, flat-topped domes formed by sticky lava welling up through flaws in the crust. There were volcanoes with their flanks gouged away by huge landslides that left ridges like protruding insect legs. There were domes surrounded by spiderweb patterns of fractures and ridges. There were volcanoes with flows that looked like petals, pushing out across the plains.

And, most spectacular, there were coronae: utterly unearthly, rings of ridges and fractures. Some of these were thousands of kilometers across, giant features each big enough to straddle much of the continental United States. Perhaps they were formed by blobs of upwelling magma that pushed up the crust and then spread out, allowing the center to implode, like a failed cake. To Carole the rings of swollen, distorted, and broken crust looked like the outbreak of some immense chthonic mold from Venus’s deep interior.

There were even rivers here.

Her balloon ship drifted over valleys kilometers wide and thousands of kilometers in length, unlikely Amazons complete with flood plains, deltas, meanders, and bars, here on a world where no liquid water could have flowed for billions of years — if ever. One of these, called Baltis Vallis, was longer than the Nile, and so it was the longest river valley in the Solar System. Perhaps the rivers had been cut by an exotic form of lava — for example, formed by a salty carbon-rich rock called carbonatite — that might have flowed in Venus’s still-hotter past.

Suspended from a balloon, Carole would drift over this naked world for a week while her eyes and the lander’s sensors probed at the strange landscapes below. And then, perhaps, she would land.

She was, despite herself, enchanted. Venus had no water, no life; and yet it was a garden, she saw: a garden of volcanism and sculptured rock. My mother would have understood all this, Carole thought with an echo of her old, lingering guilt. But my mother isn’t here. I’m here.

But Nemoto, coldly, told her to look for patterns. “You are not a tourist. Look beyond the spectacle, Carole. What do you see?”

What Carole saw was wrinkles and craters.

Wrinkles: the ground was covered with ridges and cracks, some of them running hundreds of kilometers, as if the whole planet were an apricot left too long in the Sun.

And craters: they were everywhere, hundreds of them, spread evenly over the whole of the planet’s surface. There were few very large craters — and few very small ones too; hardly any less than five or ten kilometers across.

“…Violence, you see,” Nemoto said. “Global violence. Those wrinkles in the lowlands, like the tesserae cracks of the highlands, are proof that the whole of the lithosphere, the outer crust of this planet, was stretched or compressed — all at the same time. What could do such a thing?

“And as for the craters, there is little wind erosion here, Carole; the air at the bottom of this turgid ocean of gas is very still, and so the craters have remained as fresh as when they were formed. Few are small, for that thick air screens out the smaller impactors, destroying them before they reach the ground. But, conversely, few of the craters are large. Certainly none of them compare with the giant basins of the Moon. But those immense lunar basins date back to the earliest days of the Solar System, when the sky was still full of giant rogue planetesimals. And so we can tell, you see—”

“ — that these craters are all young,” Carole said.

“ — that no crater is much older than eight hundred million years,” Nemoto said, not yet hearing her. “In fact, no feature on the surface of this planet appears older than that. Eight hundred million years: it might seem an immense age to you, but the planets are five times older still. Carole, eight hundred million years ago, something happened to Venus — something that distorted the entire surface, wiping it clean of older features, destroying four billion years of geologic heritage. We can never know what was lost, what traces of continents and seas were brutally melted…”

Eight hundred million years, Carole thought. The same age as the moonlet artifacts. That was the significance Nemoto saw. Her skin prickled.

What had been done to Venus, eight hundred million years ago?

She drifted into the planet’s long night. But there was no relief from the searing warmth, so effectively did the great blanket of air redistribute the heat; at midnight the air was only a few degrees cooler than at noon.

Nemoto’s automated probes, she learned, had found life on Venus, here on this baked, still planet.

Or rather, traces of life.

Like the heat-loving microbes of Earth’s deep ocean vents, these had been creatures that had once swum in a hot, salty ocean of water. Carole learned that human scientists had long expected to find such organisms here: organisms that must now be extinct everywhere, their potential lost forever, destroyed by the planet’s catastrophic heating. Nothing left but microscopic fossils in the oldest rocks…

The sky wound down through degrees of deepening crimson. As her eyes adapted to the dark, she saw that there was still light here — but no starlight could penetrate the immense column of air above. The ground itself was shining: she saw wrinkles and ridges and volcanic cones looming eerily from the dark.

On Venus, even at night, the rock was so hot it glowed.

But this faint illumination did not seem hellish. It was as if she were drifting over a fairyland, a land halfway to unreality; and the inversion of her perspective — darkness above, light below — seemed very strange.

When she reached the dawn terminator, there was a slow and subtle change, of ground glow to sky shine, and the world became normal once more.

Nemoto told her to prepare for landing. Nemoto’s agitated excitement was obvious. She directed Carole to head for the mountains. Through her automated probes, Nemoto had found something, a worthy target for their one-and-only attempt at landing.

Ishtar Terra was a continent the size of Australia, rising high above the global plains. Carole drifted in from the west, over a plateau called Lakshmi Planum: twice the size of Tibet, a place of huge volcanic outflows. The perimeter of the Planum was composed of rough mountain ranges — long, curved ridges with deep troughs between, terrain that reminded her of the Appalachians seen from the air. And its southern perimeter was a huge clifflike feature: three kilometers high, sloping at more than twenty degrees, its great flanks littered by landslides.

To the east the ground began to rise up toward the immense, towering mountain range called Maxwell Montes. She drifted south over one great summit. It was eleven kilometers tall, one and a half times as tall as Everest, and with a giant impact crater punched into its flank. She descended toward the southwestern corner of the massif.

The landing was gentle, flawless.

The first human on Venus. Mom, you should see me now.

Carole stepped forward, picking her way between loose plates of rock. There was no wind noise. But when her metal-booted feet crunched on loose rock, the noise was very sharp and piercing; sound, it seemed, would carry a long way in this dense, springy air.

The world was red.

The sky was tall above her, a vast diffuse dome of dull, oppressive red. The air was thick — it resisted her motions, like a fluid, as if she were immersed in some sea — but it was clear, and still. The rocks were crimson plates. There seemed to be some kind of frost on them; here and there they sparkled, dully. Now, how could that be?

She walked forward. She tried to describe the ground, to be a geologist.

“The plain has many fine features: honeycombs, small ridges, fissures. It is littered with flat plates of rock, one or two meters wide. It is like a flat, rocky desert on Earth.” She knelt to inspect a rock more closely; exoskeletal multipliers prodded her limbs, helping her position her heavy suit. “I can see strata in this rock. It looks like a terrestrial volcanic rock, perhaps a gabbro, but it seems to have been formed by multiple lava flows, over time. The rock is speckled by dark spots. They seem to be erosionpits. They are filled with soil. There is something like frost glittering, a very fine shimmer, clusters of crystals.” She had a lab unit. She pressed it against the surface of a rock, being sure she caught a little of that strange layer of frost.

Cautiously, with a hand encased in an articulated tungsten glove like a claw, she reached out to touch the rock. That frosty layer scraped away; it was clearly very thin. Of course it couldn’t be water-ice frost. What, then?

At her gentle prod, a section of the rock the size of her hand broke away along a plane and crumbled to dust and fragments that sank slowly to the ground.

She straightened up. Experimentally she raised one foot and stepped up onto a rock. It crumbled like a meringue, breaking along cracks that ran deep into the rock’s fabric.

This was chemical weathering. There was no water here to wash away the rocks, no rain to drench them, no frost to crack them, no strong winds to batter them with sand. But the dense, corrosive atmosphere worked its way into the fine structure of the rocks, eating them away from the inside. All over Venus, she thought, the rocks must simply be rotting in place, waiting for a nudge to crumble and fall.

She looked around.

She was standing on a plateau, here in the Maxwell Montes. To her south, no more than a kilometer away, a steep cliff led down to the deeper plains. To the north — beyond the squat lander on its sturdy legs — she could see the great shadowy bulks of the mountains, cones of a deeper crimson painted against the red sky.

She had landed some five kilometers above the mean level — there was no sea level on Venus, with no seas. Here, in the balmy heights of Ishtar Terra, it was some forty degrees cooler than on the great volcanic plains — though, at more than four hundred degrees centigrade, that was little help to her equipment — and the air pressure was only a third of its peak value, on the lowest plains. But this was nearly as deep into Venus’s air ocean as she could go.

Still, her suit was a monstrous shell of tungsten, more like a deep-sea diver’s suit than a space suit. On her back and chest she wore packs laden with consumables and heat exchangers, sufficient to keep her alive for a few hours. But, like her ship, her key piece of refrigeration technology was a set of lasers that periodically dumped her excess heat into the Venusian rock. The suit was ingenious, but hardly comfortable; Venus’s gravity was 90 percent of Earth’s, and the suit was heavy and confining.

She tilted back and looked up into the sky.

She couldn’t see the Sun; the dim, crimson light was uniform, thoroughly scattered, apparently without a source. But the sky was not featureless. She could see through the lower air and the haze to those great cloud decks, all of fifty kilometers above. There were holes in the clouds, patches of brighter sky, making it a great uneven sheet of light. And the patches were moving. The sky was full of giant shifting shapes of light and darkness, slowly forming and dissolving, like fragments of a nightmare. The flow was stately, silent, a sign of huge stratospheric violence far removed from the still, windless pool of air in which she stood.

Astonishing, beautiful. And nobody in all human history had seen this before her.

“I’ve analyzed your frost,” Nemoto said evenly. “It’s tellurium. Almost pure metal. On Venus, tellurium would vaporize at lower altitudes. So it has snowed out here, just as water snows out at the peaks of our own mountains.”

A snow of metal. How remarkable, Carole thought.

“Now,” Nemoto said slyly, “tellurium is rare. It makes up only one-billionth of one percent of our surface rocks, and we’ve no reason to believe the rocks of Venus differ so significantly. But tellurium, for a technological society, is useful stuff. We use it to improve stainless steel, and in electrolysis, and in electronics, and as a catalyst in refining petroleum. How did so much tellurium, such an exotic high-tech material, get deposited on Venus?”

Not by the natives, Carole thought, those wretched long-extinct bacteria. Visitors. Those who came here before us, before the Gaijin, long before. Perhaps they were the acid-breathers who built the moonlets. Perhaps they crashed here, and the tellurium was a relic of their ship: all that remains of them after eight hundred million years — a thin metallic frost on the mountains of Venus.

There was a sudden flash, far above. Many minutes later, she heard what sounded like thunder. Giant electrical storms raged in those high clouds. But there was no rain, of course.

She watched the clouds, entranced.

She walked steadily forward, heading southwest, away from the lander. Soon she was approaching the lip of the plateau. She could see no land beyond; evidently the drop-off was steep.

“Let me tell you what I believe,” Nemoto whispered. “When Venus formed, it was indeed a twin of Earth. I believe Venus rotated quickly, much as Earth does, as Mars does, taking no more than a few Earth days to spin on its axis; why should Venus have been different? I believe Venus was formed with a moon, like Earth’s. And I believe it had oceans, of liquid water. There is no reason why Venus should not have formed with as much water as Earth. There were oceans, and tides…”

With surprising suddenness, Carole came to the edge.

A cliff face fell away before her, marked here and there by the lobed flow of landslides. This great ridge ran for kilometers to either side, all the way to the horizon and beyond. And the slope continued down — on and on, down and down, as if she were looking over the edge of a continental shelf into some deeper ocean — until it merged with a plateau, far below, and then the planet-circling volcanic plain beyond that.

This was the edge of the Maxwell mountains region. This cliff descended six kilometers in just eight kilometers’ distance, an average slope of thirty-five degrees. There was nothing like it on Earth, anywhere.

She had to descend to the level of the Lakshmi Planum, six kilometers below, to study Nemoto’s puzzle. They hadn’t anticipated any surface journey of such length and difficulty; she hadn’t brought a surface vehicle, and the lander had neither the fuel nor the capability to fly her deeper into the ocean of air. And so she had to walk.

Nemoto had said she owed it to the human race to accept the risk, to complete her mission. Carole just thought she owed it to her mother, who would surely not have hesitated.

“Of course Venus is closer to the Sun; even wet, Venus was not an identical twin of Earth. The air was dominated by carbon dioxide. The oceans were hot — perhaps as hot as two hundred degrees — and the atmosphere humid, laden with clouds. But, thanks to the water, plate tectonics operated, and much of the carbon dioxide was kept locked up in the carbonate rocks, which were periodically subducted into the mantle, just as on Earth.

“Venus was a moist greenhouse, where life flourished…”

She found talus slopes, rubble left by crumbled rocks. It would require care, but this type of climb wasn’t so unfamiliar to Carole. She had hiked in places in the Rocky Mountains that were rather like this, places where chemical weathering seemed to dominate, even on Earth. But the depth would push the envelope of her suit’s design. And, of course, there was nobody here to help her up. So she took care not to fall.

After a couple of kilometers she paused for breath. She looked down, across kilometers of steeply sloping rock, to the Planum below.

She thought she could see something new, emerging from the murk: a long dark line, oddly straight, that disappeared here and there among folds in the rock, only to emerge once more farther along. As if somebody had reached down with a straightedge and scoured a deep dark cut into these hot rocks.

There was something beside the line, squat and dark, like a beetle. It seemed to her to be moving along the line. But perhaps that was her imagination.

She continued her careful climb downward.

“…But then the visitors came in their drifting interstellar moonlets,” Nemoto had said. “And they cared nothing for Venus or its life-forms. They just wanted to steal the moon, to propagate their rocky spore. So they stopped Venus spinning.”

At the base of the cliffs she paused for a few minutes, letting her heartbeat subside to something like normal, sipping water.

The black line was a cable. It was maybe two meters thick, featureless and black, and it was held a meter from the ground by crude, sturdy pylons of rock.

“How do you despin a planet?” Nemoto whispered. “We can think of a number of ways. You could bombard it with asteroids, for instance. But I think Venus was turned into a giant Dyson engine. Carole, I have observed cables like this all over the planet, wrapped east to west. They are fragmentary, broken — after all they are eight hundred million years old — but they still exist in stretches hundreds of kilometers long. Once, I would wager, the surface of Venus was wrapped in a cage of cables that followed the lines of latitude, like geographical markings on a schoolroom globe…”

She pressed her lab box against the cable. She even ran her hand along it, cautiously, but could feel nothing through the layers of her suit.

She began to walk alongside the cable. Some of the pylons were missing, others badly eroded. It was remarkable any of this stuff had lasted so long, she thought; it must be strongly resistant to Venus’s corrosive air.

“Electric currents would be passed through the cables,” Nemoto whispered. “The circulating currents would generate an intense magnetic field. This field would be used to couple the planet to its moon — perhaps the moon was dragged within its Roche limit, deliberately broken apart by tides.

“Thus they used the planet’s spin energy to break up its moon.

“They rebuilt the fragments into their habitats, their rocky bubbles. The moonlets would be hurled out of the system, each of them robbing Venus of a little more of its spin. I wonder how long it took — thousands, millions of years? And, as they worked, they waited for Venus to bake itself to death.

“The climate of Venus was destabilized by the spin-down, you see,” Nemoto said. “It got hotter. There must have been a paucity of rain, a terrible drought, at last no rain at all… And finally, the oceans themselves started to evaporate.

“When all the oceans were gone — life must already have been extinguished — the water in the air started to drift to the top of the atmosphere. There, it was broken up by sunlight. The hydrogen escaped to space, and the oxygen and remnant water made sulphuric acid in the clouds.

“And that was what the moonlet builders wanted, you see: the acid. They mined the acid out of the ruined air, perhaps with ships like our profac crawlers.

“It’s an efficient scheme, if you think it over. All you need is a fat, fast-spinning planet with a moon, and you get a source of moonlet ships, a way to launch them, and even a sulphuric acid mine. Venus, despun, was ruined. But they didn’t care. They had what they wanted.

“We are lucky they did not select Earth. Perhaps our Moon was too large, too distant; perhaps the Sun was too far away…”

But they didn’t finish the job, Carole thought. What great catastrophe, eight hundred million years ago, stopped them? Were some of Venus’s great impact craters the wounds left by remnants of that vanished moon falling from the sky, uncontrolled — or even the scars of some disastrous war?

For Venus, Nemoto said, things got worse still. When all its water was lost, plate tectonics halted. The shifting continents seized up, like an engine run out of oil. The planet’s interior heat was trapped, built up — until it was released catastrophically. “Mass volcanism erupted. There were immense lava floods, giant new volcanoes. Much of the surface fractured, crumpled, melted. And the carbon dioxide locked up in the rocks began to pump into the atmosphere, thickening it further…”

Something was moving, directly ahead of her.

It was the beetlelike thing that she had observed from the cliff. And it was working its way along the cable, gouging at it with complex tools she couldn’t make out, scoring it deeply.

It was a gray-black form the size of a small car. It was as tall as she was, its surface featureless, returning glinted highlights of Venus’s complex sky. And it was based on a dodecahedral core.

“Hello,” she said. “You haven’t been here for eight hundred million years.”

“Gaijin technology,” Nemoto whispered when she saw the image. “It is here to scavenge. Carole, this ancient cable is a superconductor, working at Venusian temperatures. Remarkable. Even the Gaijin have nothing like this. And what,” she hissed, “do they intend to do with it? Which of our planets or moons will they wrap up, like a Christmas parcel?”

An alarm chimed softly in Carole’s helmet. She must soon turn back, if she was to complete her long climb back to the lander in safety.

From here she could see the lower plains, the true floor of Venus, the great basalt ocean that covered the planet, still kilometers below her altitude. She longed to go farther, to climb down and explore. But she knew she must not. My mission is over, she realized. Here, at this moment; I have come as far as I can, and must turn back.

She was surprised how disappointed she felt. Earth would seem very confining after this, despite the wealth she expected to claw in from her celebrity. She glanced up at the twisting, pulsing clouds, fifty kilometers up. But no matter how far I travel, she thought, I will always remember this: Venus, where I was first to set foot.

This, and the immense crime I have witnessed here.

“If this happened once, it must have happened again and again,” Nemoto whispered. “A wave of colonists come to a star system like ours. They take what they want, ruinously mining out the resources, trashing what remains. And then they move on… or are somehow stopped. And then, later, when the planets have begun to heal, others follow, and the process begins again. Over and over.

“I predict we will find this everywhere. We can’t assume that anything in the Solar System is truly primordial. We don’t yet know how to look, and the scars will be buried deep in time. But here, it is unmistakable, the mark of their wasteful carelessness…”

Carole stepped carefully behind the blindly toiling Gaijin beetle machine and, peering patiently through the ruddy murk, sought scraps of superconductor.