'We're landing on Europa. And if you want to take off again, don't try to stop me.'

'Her room's completely clean,' Second Officer Chris Floyd reported thirty minutes later, when the thrust had been cut to zero and Galaxy was falling along the ellipse which would soon graze the atmosphere of Europa. They were now committed; although it would now be possible to immobilize the engines, it would be suicide to do so. They would be needed again to make a landing – although that could be merely a more protracted form of suicide.

'Rosie McCullen! Who would have believed it! Do you suppose she's on drugs?'

'No,' said Floyd. 'This has been very carefully planned. She must have a radio hidden somewhere in the ship. We should search for it.'

'You sound like a damned cop.'

'That will do, gentlemen,' said the Captain. Tempers were getting frayed, largely through sheer frustration and the total failure to establish any further contact with the barricaded bridge. He glanced at his watch.

'Less than two hours before we enter atmosphere – what there is of it. I'll be in my cabin – it's just possible they may try to call me there. Mr Yu, please stand by the bridge and report any developments at once.'

He had never felt so helpless in his life, but there were times when doing nothing was the only thing to do. As he left the officers' wardroom, he heard someone say wistfully: 'I could do with a bulb of coffee. Rosie made the best I've ever tasted.'

Yes, thought the Captain grimly, she's certainly efficient. Whatever job she tackles, she'll do it thoroughly.

There was only one man aboard Galaxy who could regard the situation as anything but a total disaster. I may be about to die, Rolf van der Berg told himself; but at least I have a chance of scientific immortality. Though that might be poor consolation, it was more than anyone else on the ship could hope for.

That Galaxy was heading for Mount Zeus he did not doubt for a moment; there was nothing else on Europa of any significance. Indeed, there was nothing remotely comparable on any planet.

So his theory – and he had to admit that it was still a theory – was no longer a secret. How could it have leaked out?

He trusted Uncle Paul implicitly, but he might have been indiscreet. More likely, someone had monitored his computers, perhaps as a matter of routine. If so, the old scientist could well be in danger; Rolf wondered if he could – or should – get a warning to him. He knew that the communications officer was trying to contact Ganymede via one of the emergency transmitters; an automatic beacon alert had already gone out, and the news would be hitting Earth any minute now. It had been on its way now for almost an hour...

'Come in,' he said, at the quiet knock on his cabin door. 'Oh – hello, Chris. What can I do for you?'

He was surprised to see Second Officer Chris Floyd, whom he knew no better than any of his other colleagues. If they landed safely on Europa, he thought gloomily, they might get to know each other far better than they wished.

'Hello, Doctor. You're the only person who lives around here. I wondered if you could help me.'

'I'm not sure how anyone can help anyone at the moment. What's the latest from the bridge?'

'Nothing new: I've just left Yu and Gillings up there, trying to fix a mike on the door. But no-one inside seems to be talking; not surprising – Chang must have his hands full.'

'Can he get us down safely?'

'He's the best; if anyone can do it, he can. I'm more worried about getting off again.'

'God – I'd not been looking that far ahead. I assumed that was no problem.'

'It could be marginal. Remember, this ship is designed for orbital operations. We hadn't planned to put down on any major moon – though we had hoped to rendezvous with Ananke and Carme. So we could be stuck on Europa – especially if Chang has to waste propellant looking for a good landing site.'

'Do we know where he is trying to land?' Rolf asked, trying not to sound more interested than might be reasonably expected. He must have failed, because Chris looked at him sharply.

'There's no way we can tell at this stage, though we may get a better idea when he starts braking. But you know these moons; where do you think?'

'There's only one interesting place. Mount Zeus.'

'Why should anyone want to land there?'

RoIf shrugged.

'That was one of the things we'd hoped to find out. Cost us two expensive penetrometers.'

'And it looks like costing a great deal more. Haven't you any ideas?'

'You sound like a cop,' said van der Berg with a grin, not intending it in the least seriously.

'Funny – that's the second time I've been told that in the last hour.'

Instantly, there was a subtle change in the atmosphere of the cabin – almost as if the life-support system had readjusted itself.

'Oh – I was just joking – are you?'

'If I was, I wouldn't admit it, would I?'

That was no answer, thought van der Berg; but on second thoughts, perhaps it was.

He looked intently at the young officer, noticing – not for the first time – his striking resemblance to his famous grandfather. Someone had mentioned that Chris Floyd had only joined Galaxy on this mission, from another ship in the Tsung fleet – adding sarcastically that it was useful to have good connections in any business. But there had been no criticism of Floyd's ability; he was an excellent space officer. Those skills might qualify him for other part-time jobs as well; look at RosieMcCulIen – who had also, now he came to think of it, joined Galaxy just before this mission.

Rolf van der Berg felt that he had become enmeshed in some vast and tenuous web of interplanetary intrigue; as a scientist, accustomed to getting – usually – straightforward answers to the questions he put to nature, he did not enjoy the situation.

But he could hardly claim to be an innocent victim. He had tried to conceal the truth – or at least what he believed to be the truth. And now the consequences of that deceit had multiplied like the neutrons in a chain reaction; with results that might be equally disastrous.

Which side was Chris Floyd on? How many sides were there? The Bund would certainly be involved, once the secret had leaked out. But there were splinter groups within the Bund itself, and groups opposing them; it was like a hall of mirrors.

There was one point, however, on which he did feel reasonably certain. Chris Floyd, if only because of his connections, could be trusted. I'd put my money, thought van der Berg, on him being assigned to ASTROPOL for the duration of the mission – however long, or short, that might now be.

'I'd like to help you, Chris,' he said slowly. 'As you probably suspect, I do have some theories. But they may still be utter nonsense.

'In less than half an hour, we may know the truth. Until then, I prefer to say nothing.'

And this is not, he told himself, merely ingrained Boer stubbornness. If he had been mistaken, he would prefer not to die among men who knew that he was the fool who had brought them to their doom.