The Sentinel Part 16

"I've not finished yet," the Russian answered. "There's an old winter's tale in my country about a sleigh being chased by wolves. To save himself, the driver has to throw off the pa.s.sengers one by one. Do you see the a.n.a.logy?"

Merton did, all too well. On this final straight lap, Dimitri no longer needed his copilot. Lebedev Lebedev could really be stripped down for action. could really be stripped down for action.

"Alexis won't be very happy about this," Merton replied. "Besides, it's against the rules."

"Alexis isn't happy, but I'm the captain. He'll just have to wait around for ten minutes until the Commodore picks him up. And the regulations say nothing about the size of the crew-you should know that." should know that."

Merton did not answer; he was too busy doing some hurried calculations, based on what he knew of Lebedev Lebedev's design. By the time he had finished, he knew that the race was still in doubt. Lebedev Lebedev would be catching up with him at just about the time he hoped to pa.s.s the Moon. would be catching up with him at just about the time he hoped to pa.s.s the Moon.

But the outcome of the race was already being decided, ninety-two million miles away.

On Solar Observatory Three, far inside the orbit of Mercury, the automatic instruments recorded the whole history of the flare. A hundred million square miles of the Sun's surface exploded in such blue-white fury that, by comparison, the rest of the disc paled to a dull glow. Out of that seething inferno, twisting and turning like a living creature in the magnetic fields of its own creation, soared the electrified plasma of the great flare. Ahead of it, moving at the speed of light, went the warning flash of ultraviolet and X rays. That would reach Earth in eight minutes, and was relatively harmless. Not so the charged atoms that were following behind at their leisurely four million miles an hour-and which, in just over a day, would engulf Diana, Lebedev Diana, Lebedev, and their accompanying little fleet in a cloud of lethal radiation.

The Commodore left his decision to the last possible minute. Even when the jet of plasma had been tracked past the orbit of Venus, there was a chance that it might miss the Earth. But when it was less than four hours away, and had already been picked up by the Moon-based radar network, he knew that there was no hope. All solar sailing was over, for the next five or six years-until the Sun was quiet again.

A great sigh of disappointment swept across the solar system. Diana Diana and and Lebedev Lebedev were halfway between Earth and Moon, running neck and neck-and now no one would ever know which was the better boat. The enthusiasts would argue the result for years; history would merely record: "Race canceled owing to solar storm." were halfway between Earth and Moon, running neck and neck-and now no one would ever know which was the better boat. The enthusiasts would argue the result for years; history would merely record: "Race canceled owing to solar storm."

When John Merton received the order, he felt a bitterness he had not known since childhood. Across the years, sharp and clear, came the memory of his tenth birthday. He had been promised an exact scale model of the famous s.p.a.ces.h.i.+p Morning Star Morning Star, and for weeks had been planning how he would a.s.semble it, where he would hang it in his bedroom. And then, at the last moment, his father had broken the news. "I'm sorry, John-it cost too much money. Maybe next year..."

Half a century and a successful lifetime later, he was a heartbroken boy again.

For a moment, he thought of disobeying the Commodore. Suppose he sailed on, ignoring the warning? Even if the race was abandoned, he could make a crossing to the Moon that would stand in the record books for generations.

But that would be worse than stupidity; it would be suicide-and a very unpleasant form of suicide. He had seen men die of radiation poisoning, when the magnetic s.h.i.+elding of their s.h.i.+ps had failed in deep s.p.a.ce. No-nothing was worth that...

He felt as sorry for Dimitri Markoff as for himself. They had both deserved to win, and now victory would go to neither. No man could argue with the Sun in one of its rages, even though he might ride upon its beams to the edge of s.p.a.ce.

Only fifty miles astern now, the Commodore's launch was drawing alongside Lebedev Lebedev, preparing to take off her skipper. There went the silver sail, as Dimitri-with feelings that he would share-cut the rigging. The tiny capsule would be taken back to Earth, perhaps to be used again; but a sail was spread for one voyage only.

He could press the jettison b.u.t.ton now, and save his rescuers a few minutes of time. But he could not do it; he wanted to stay aboard to the very end, on the little boat that had been for so long a part of his dreams and his life. The great sail was spread now at right angles to the Sun, exerting its utmost thrust. Long ago, it had torn him clear of Earth, and Diana Diana was still gaining speed. was still gaining speed.

Then, out of nowhere, beyond all doubt or hesitation, he knew what must be done. For the last time, he sat down before the computer that had navigated him halfway to the Moon.

When he had finished, he packed the log and his few personal belongings. Clumsily, for he was out of practice, and it was not an easy job to do by oneself, he climbed into the emergency survival suit. He was just sealing the helmet when the Commodore's voice called over the radio.

"We'll be alongside in five minutes, Captain. Please cut your sail, so we won't foul it."

John Merton, first and last skipper of the sun yacht Diana Diana, hesitated a moment. He looked for the last time around the tiny cabin, with its s.h.i.+ning instruments and its neatly arranged controls, now all locked in their final positions. Then he said into the microphone: "I'm abandoning s.h.i.+p. Take your time to pick me up. Diana Diana can look after herself." can look after herself."

There was no reply from the Commodore, and for that he was grateful. Professor van Stratten would have guessed what was happening-and would know that, in these final moments, he wished to be left alone.

He did not bother to exhaust the air lock, and the rush of escaping gas blew him gently out into s.p.a.ce. The thrust he gave her then was his last gift to Diana Diana. She dwindled away from him, sail glittering splendidly in the sunlight that would be hers for centuries to come. Two days from now she would flash past the Moon; but the Moon, like the Earth, could never catch her. Without his ma.s.s to slow her down, she would gain two thousand miles an hour in every day of sailing. In a month, she would be traveling faster than any s.h.i.+p that man had ever built.

As the Sun's rays weakened with distance, so her acceleration would fall. But even at the orbit of Mars, she would be gaining a thousand miles an hour in every day. Long before then, she would be moving too swiftly for the Sun itself to hold her. Faster than a comet had ever streaked in from the stars, she would be heading out into the abyss.

The glare of rockets, only a few miles away, caught Merton's eye. The launch was approaching to pick him up-at thousands of times the acceleration that Diana Diana could ever attain. But its engines could burn for a few minutes only, before they exhausted their fuel-while could ever attain. But its engines could burn for a few minutes only, before they exhausted their fuel-while Diana Diana would still be gaining speed, driven outward by the Sun's eternal fires, for ages yet to come. would still be gaining speed, driven outward by the Sun's eternal fires, for ages yet to come.

"Goodbye, little s.h.i.+p," said John Merton. "I wonder what eyes will see you next, how many thousand years from now?"

At last he felt at peace, as the blunt torpedo of the launch nosed up beside him. He would never win the race to the Moon; but his would be the first of all man's s.h.i.+ps to set sail on the long journey to the stars.

A MEETING.

WITH MEDUSA.

"A Meeting with Medusa" was written in January 1971 for one specific purpose. Over the previous decade I had acc.u.mulated some 50,000 words of short stories, and needed another 15,000 to make up a complete volume. So I sat down at the typewriter (I still have one gathering dust somewhere, but if this word processor breaks down I'm going back to pen and paper...) and "Medusa" was the result. It was as simple as that.

Well, not really. I had been thinking about Jupiter for a long time; witness the final sequence in the movie 2001: A s.p.a.ce Odyssey. 2001: A s.p.a.ce Odyssey. And in some ways the sequel And in some ways the sequel 2010: Odyssey Two 2010: Odyssey Two is also a sequel to is also a sequel to this this story; I had room there to develop in more detail some of the concepts I had first worked out in "Medusa." story; I had room there to develop in more detail some of the concepts I had first worked out in "Medusa."

And by then, of course, our knowledge of Jupiter had been enormously increased, thanks to the marvelous Pioneer and Voyager missions. None of this new information, I am happy to say, has invalidated any of these earlier ideas. On the contrary: there are some very suspicious, sharp-edged blobs floating around in the Jovian atmosphere...

"A Meeting with Medusa" was the last story I ever wrote, before concentrating entirely on novels. It won a Playboy Playboy editorial award and the Science Fiction Writers of America's annual Nebula, so I am proud to have made it my swan song...for the present, at any rate. editorial award and the Science Fiction Writers of America's annual Nebula, so I am proud to have made it my swan song...for the present, at any rate.

And here's a very strange coincidence. Until I started to write this note, I'd completely forgotten that I used the name "Kon-Tiki" for the exploring vehicle. And so I was able to autograph a copy of "Medusa" for Thor Heyerdahl-when I met him this morning, right here in Colombo...

1. A Day to remember THE Queen Elizabeth Queen Elizabeth was over three miles above the Grand Canyon, dawdling along at a comfortable hundred and eighty, when Howard Falcon spotted the camera platform closing in from the right. He had been expecting it-nothing else was cleared to fly at this alt.i.tude-but he was not too happy to have company. Although he welcomed any signs of public interest, he also wanted as much empty sky as he could get. After all, he was the first man in history to navigate a s.h.i.+p three-tenths of a mile long... was over three miles above the Grand Canyon, dawdling along at a comfortable hundred and eighty, when Howard Falcon spotted the camera platform closing in from the right. He had been expecting it-nothing else was cleared to fly at this alt.i.tude-but he was not too happy to have company. Although he welcomed any signs of public interest, he also wanted as much empty sky as he could get. After all, he was the first man in history to navigate a s.h.i.+p three-tenths of a mile long...

So far, this first test flight had gone perfectly; ironically enough, the only problem had been the century-old aircraft carrier Chairman Mao Chairman Mao, borrowed from the San Diego Naval Museum for support operations. Only one of Mao Mao's four nuclear reactors was still operating, and the old battle-wagon's top speed was barely thirty knots. Luckily, wind speed at sea level had been less than half this, so it had not been too difficult to maintain still air on the flight deck. Though there had been a few anxious moments during gusts, when the mooring lines had been dropped, the great dirigible had risen smoothly, straight up into the sky, as if on an invisible elevator. If all went well, Queen Elizabeth IV Queen Elizabeth IV would not meet would not meet Chairman Mao Chairman Mao again for another week. again for another week.

Everything was under control; all test instruments gave normal readings. Commander Falcon decided to go upstairs and watch the rendezvous. He handed over to his second officer, and walked out into the transparent tubeway that led through the heart of the s.h.i.+p. There, as always, he was overwhelmed by the spectacle of the largest single s.p.a.ce ever enclosed by man.

The ten spherical gas cells, each more than a hundred feet across, were ranged one behind the other like a line of gigantic soap bubbles. The tough plastic was so clear that he could see through the whole length of the array, and make out details of the elevator mechanism, more than a third of a mile from his vantage point. All around him, like a three-dimensional maze, was the structural framework of the s.h.i.+p-the great longitudinal girders running from nose to tail, the fifteen hoops that were the circular ribs of this sky-borne colossus, and whose varying sizes defined its graceful, streamlined profile.

At this low speed, there was little sound-merely the soft rush of wind over the envelope and an occasional creak of metal as the pattern of stresses changed. The shadowless light from the rows of lamps far overhead gave the whole scene a curiously submarine quality, and to Falcon this was enhanced by the spectacle of the translucent gasbags. He had once encountered a squadron of large but harmless jellyfish, pulsing their mindless way above a shallow tropical reef, and the plastic bubbles that gave Queen Elizabeth Queen Elizabeth her lift often reminded him of these-especially when changing pressures made them crinkle and scatter new patterns of reflected light. her lift often reminded him of these-especially when changing pressures made them crinkle and scatter new patterns of reflected light.

He walked down the axis of the s.h.i.+p until he came to the forward elevator, between gas cells one and two. Riding up to the Observation Deck, he noticed that it was uncomfortably hot, and dictated a brief memo to himself on his pocket recorder. The Queen Queen obtained almost a quarter of her buoyancy from the unlimited amounts of waste heat produced by her fusion power plant. On this lightly loaded flight, indeed, only six of the ten gas cells contained helium; the remaining four were full of air. Yet she still carried two hundred tons of water as ballast. However, running the cells at high temperatures did produce problems in refrigerating the access ways; it was obvious that a little more work would have to be done there. obtained almost a quarter of her buoyancy from the unlimited amounts of waste heat produced by her fusion power plant. On this lightly loaded flight, indeed, only six of the ten gas cells contained helium; the remaining four were full of air. Yet she still carried two hundred tons of water as ballast. However, running the cells at high temperatures did produce problems in refrigerating the access ways; it was obvious that a little more work would have to be done there.

A refres.h.i.+ng blast of cooler air hit him in the face when he stepped out onto the Observation Deck and into the dazzling sunlight streaming through the plexigla.s.s roof. Half a dozen workmen, with an equal number of superchimp a.s.sistants, were busily laying the partly completed dance floor, while others were installing electric wiring and fixing furniture. It was a scene of controlled chaos, and Falcon found it hard to believe that everything would be ready for the maiden voyage, only four weeks ahead. Well, that was not his his problem, thank goodness. He was merely the Captain, not the Cruise Director. problem, thank goodness. He was merely the Captain, not the Cruise Director.

The human workers waved to him, and the "simps" flashed toothy smiles, as he walked through the confusion, into the already completed Skylounge. This was his favorite place in the whole s.h.i.+p, and he knew that once she was operating he would never again have it all to himself. He would allow himself just five minutes of private enjoyment.

He called the bridge, checked that everything was still in order, and relaxed into one of the comfortable swivel chairs. Below, in a curve that delighted the eye, was the unbroken silver sweep of the s.h.i.+p's envelope. He was perched at the highest point, surveying the whole immensity of the largest vehicle ever built. And when he had tired of that-all the way out to the horizon was the fantastic wilderness carved by the Colorado River in half a billion years of time.

Apart from the camera platform (it had now fallen back and was filming from amids.h.i.+ps) he had the sky to himself. It was blue and empty, clear down to the horizon. In his grandfather's day, Falcon knew, it would have been streaked with vapor trails and stained with smoke. Both had gone: the aerial garbage had vanished with the primitive technologies that sp.a.w.ned it, and the long-distance transportation of this age arced too far beyond the stratosphere for any sight or sound of it to reach Earth. Once again, the lower atmosphere belonged to the birds and the clouds-and now to Queen Elizabeth IV Queen Elizabeth IV.

It was true, as the old pioneers had said at the beginning of the twentieth century: this was the only way to travel-in silence and luxury, breathing the air around you and not cut off from it, near enough to the surface to watch the everchanging beauty of land and sea. The subsonic jets of the 1980s, packed with hundreds of pa.s.sengers seated ten abreast, could not even begin to match such comfort and s.p.a.ciousness.

Of course, the Queen Queen would never be an economic proposition, and even if her projected sister s.h.i.+ps were built, only a few of the world's quarter of a billion inhabitants would ever enjoy this silent gliding through the sky. But a secure and prosperous global society could afford such follies and indeed needed them for their novelty and entertainment. There were at least a million men on Earth whose discretionary income exceeded a thousand new dollars a year, so the would never be an economic proposition, and even if her projected sister s.h.i.+ps were built, only a few of the world's quarter of a billion inhabitants would ever enjoy this silent gliding through the sky. But a secure and prosperous global society could afford such follies and indeed needed them for their novelty and entertainment. There were at least a million men on Earth whose discretionary income exceeded a thousand new dollars a year, so the Queen Queen would not lack for pa.s.sengers. would not lack for pa.s.sengers.

Falcon's pocket communicator beeped. The copilot was calling from the bridge.

"O.K. for rendezvous, Captain? We've got all the data we need from this run, and the TV people are getting impatient."

Falcon glanced at the camera platform, now matching his speed a tenth of a mile away.

"O.K.," he replied. "Proceed as arranged. I'll watch from here."

He walked back through the busy chaos of the Observation Deck so that he could have a better view amids.h.i.+ps. As he did so, he could feel the change of vibration underfoot; by the time he had reached the rear of the lounge, the s.h.i.+p had come to rest. Using his master key, he let himself out onto the small external platform flaring from the end of the deck; half a dozen people could stand here, with only low guardrails separating them from the vast sweep of the envelope-and from the ground, thousands of feet below. It was an exciting place to be, and perfectly safe even when the s.h.i.+p was traveling at speed, for it was in the dead air behind the huge dorsal blister of the Observation Deck. Nevertheless, it was not intended that the pa.s.sengers would have access to it; the view was a little too vertiginous.

The covers of the forward cargo hatch had already opened like giant trap doors, and the camera platform was hovering above them, preparing to descend. Along this route, in the years to come, would travel thousands of pa.s.sengers and tons of supplies. Only on rare occasions would the Queen Queen drop down to sea level and dock with her floating base. drop down to sea level and dock with her floating base.

A sudden gust of cross wind slapped Falcon's cheek, and he tightened his grip on the guardrail. The Grand Canyon was a bad place for turbulence, though he did not expect much at this alt.i.tude. Without any real anxiety, he focused his attention on the descending platform, now about a hundred and fifty feet above the s.h.i.+p. He knew that the highly skilled operator who was flying the remotely controlled vehicle had performed this simple maneuver a dozen times already; it was inconceivable that he would have any difficulties.

Yet he seemed to be reacting rather sluggishly. That last gust had drifted the platform almost to the edge of the open hatchway. Surely the pilot could have corrected before this...Did he have a control problem? It was very unlikely; these remotes had multiple-redundancy, fail-safe takeovers, and any number of backup systems. Accidents were almost unheard of.

But there he went again, off to the left. Could the pilot be drunk? drunk? Improbable though that seemed, Falcon considered it seriously for a moment. Then he reached for his microphone switch. Improbable though that seemed, Falcon considered it seriously for a moment. Then he reached for his microphone switch.

Once again, without warning, he was slapped violently in the face. He hardly felt it, for he was staring in horror at the camera platform. The distant operator was fighting for control, trying to balance the craft on its jets-but he was only making matters worse. The oscillations increased-twenty degrees, forty, sixty, ninety...

"Switch to automatic, you fool!" Falcon shouted uselessly into his microphone. "Your manual control's not working!"

The platform flipped over on its back. The jets no longer supported it, but drove it swiftly downward. They had suddenly become allies of the gravity they had fought until this moment.

Falcon never heard the crash, though he felt it; he was already inside the Observation Deck, racing for the elevator that would take him down to the bridge. Workmen shouted at him anxiously, asking what had happened. It would be many months before he knew the answer to that question.

Just as he was stepping into the elevator cage, he changed his mind. What if there was a power failure? Better be on the safe side, even if it took longer and time was the essence. He began to run down the spiral stairway enclosing the shaft.

Halfway down he paused for a second to inspect the damage. That d.a.m.ned platform had gone clear through the s.h.i.+p, rupturing two of the gas cells as it did so. They were still collapsing slowly, in great falling veils of plastic. He was not worried about the loss of lift-the ballast could easily take care of that, as long as eight cells remained intact. Far more serious was the possibility of structural damage. Already he could hear the great latticework around him groaning and protesting under its abnormal loads. It was not enough to have sufficient lift; unless it was properly distributed, the s.h.i.+p would break her back.

He was just resuming his descent when a superchimp, shrieking with fright, came racing down the elevator shaft, moving with incredible speed, hand over hand, along the outside outside of the latticework. In its terror, the poor beast had torn off its company uniform, perhaps in an unconscious attempt to regain the freedom of its ancestors. of the latticework. In its terror, the poor beast had torn off its company uniform, perhaps in an unconscious attempt to regain the freedom of its ancestors.

Falcon, still descending as swiftly as he could, watched its approach with some alarm. A distraught simp was a powerful and potentially dangerous animal, especially if fear overcame its conditioning. As it overtook him, it started to call out a string of words, but they were all jumbled together, and the only one he could recognize was a plaintive, frequently repeated "boss." Even now, Falcon realized, it looked toward humans for guidance. He felt sorry for the creature, involved in a man-made disaster beyond its comprehension, and for which it bore no responsibility.

It stopped opposite him, on the other side of the lattice; there was nothing to prevent it from coming through the open framework if it wished. Now its face was only inches from his, and he was looking straight into the terrified eyes. Never before had he been so close to a simp, and able to study its features in such detail. He felt that strange mingling of kins.h.i.+p and discomfort that all men experience when they gaze thus into the mirror of time.

His presence seemed to have calmed the creature. Falcon pointed up the shaft, back toward the Observation Deck, and said very clearly and precisely: "Boss-boss-go." To his relief, the simp understood; it gave him a grimace that might have been a smile, and at once started to race back the way it had come. Falcon had given it the best advice he could. If any safety remained aboard the Queen Queen, it was in that direction. But his duty lay in the other.

He had almost completed his descent when, with a sound of rending metal, the vessel pitched nose down, and the lights went out. But he could still see quite well, for a shaft of sunlight streamed through the open hatch and the huge tear in the envelope. Many years ago he had stood in a great cathedral nave watching the light pouring through the stained-gla.s.s windows and forming pools of multicolored radiance on the ancient flagstones. The dazzling shaft of sunlight through the ruined fabric high above reminded him of that moment. He was in a cathedral of metal, falling down the sky.

When he reached the bridge, and was able for the first time to look outside, he was horrified to see how close the s.h.i.+p was to the ground. Only three thousand feet below were the beautiful and deadly pinnacles of rock and the red rivers of mud that were still carving their way down into the past. There was no level area anywhere in sight where a s.h.i.+p as large as the Queen Queen could come to rest on an even keel. could come to rest on an even keel.

A glance at the display board told him that all the ballast had gone. However, rate of descent had been reduced to a few yards a second; they still had a fighting chance.

Without a word, Falcon eased himself into the pilot's seat and took over such control as still remained. The instrument board showed him everything he wished to know; speech was superfluous. In the background, he could hear the Communications Officer giving a running report over the radio. By this time, all the news channels of Earth would have been preempted, and he could imagine the utter frustration of the program controllers. One of the most spectacular wrecks in history was occurring-without a single camera to record it. The last moments of the Queen Queen would never fill millions with awe and terror, as had those of the would never fill millions with awe and terror, as had those of the Hindenburg Hindenburg, a century and a half before.

Now the ground was only about seventeen hundred feet away, still coming up slowly. Though he had full thrust, he had not dared to use it, lest the weakened structure collapse; but now he realized that he had no choice. The wind was taking them toward a fork in the canyon, where the river was split by a wedge of rock like the prow of some gigantic, fossilized s.h.i.+p of stone. If she continued on her present course, the Queen Queen would straddle that triangular plateau and come to rest with at least a third of her length jutting out over nothingness; she would snap like a rotten stick. would straddle that triangular plateau and come to rest with at least a third of her length jutting out over nothingness; she would snap like a rotten stick.

Far away, above the sound of straining metal and escaping gas, came the familiar whistle of the jets as Falcon opened up the lateral thrusters. The s.h.i.+p staggered, and began to slew to port. The shriek of tearing metal was now almost continuous-and the rate of descent had started to increase ominously. A glance at the damage-control board showed that cell number five had just gone.

The ground was only yards away. Even now, he could not tell whether his maneuver would succeed or fail. He switched the thrust vectors over to vertical, giving maximum lift to reduce the force of impact.

The crash seemed to last forever. It was not violent-merely prolonged, and irresistible. It seemed that the whole universe was falling about them.

The sound of crunching metal came nearer, as if some great beast were eating its way through the dying s.h.i.+p.

Then floor and ceiling closed upon him like a vise.

2. "Because it's there"

"Why do you want to go to Jupiter?"

"As Springer said when he lifted for Pluto-'because it's there.' "

"Thanks. Now we've got that that out of the way-the real reason." out of the way-the real reason."

Howard Falcon smiled, though only those who knew him well could have interpreted the slight, leathery grimace. Webster was one of them; for more than twenty years they had shared triumphs and disasters-including the greatest disaster of all.

"Well, Springer's cliche is still valid. We've landed on all the terrestrial planets, but none of the gas giants. They are the only real challenge left in the solar system."

"An expensive one. Have you worked out the cost?"

"As well as I can; here are the estimates. Remember, though-this isn't a one-shot mission, but a transportation system. Once it's proved out, it can be used over and over again. And it will open up not merely Jupiter, but all all the giants." the giants."

Webster looked at the figures, and whistled.

"Why not start with an easier planet-Ura.n.u.s, for example? Half the gravity, and less than half the escape velocity. Quieter weather, too-if that's the right word for it."

Webster had certainly done his homework. But that, of course, was why he was head of Long-Range Planning.

"There's very little saving-when you allow for the extra distance and the logistics problems. For Jupiter, we can use the facilities of Ganymede. Beyond Saturn, we'd have to establish a new supply base."

Logical, thought Webster; but he was sure that it was not the important reason. Jupiter was lord of the solar system; Falcon would be interested in no lesser challenge.

"Besides," Falcon continued, "Jupiter is a major scientific scandal. It's more than a hundred years since its radio storms were discovered, but we still don't know what causes them-and the Great Red Spot is as big a mystery as ever. That's why I can get matching funds from the Bureau of Astronautics. Do you know how many probes they have dropped into that atmosphere?"

"A couple of hundred, I believe."

"Three hundred and twenty-six, over the last fifty years-about a quarter of them total failures. Of course, they've learned a h.e.l.l of a lot, but they've barely scratched the planet. Do you realize how hundred and twenty-six, over the last fifty years-about a quarter of them total failures. Of course, they've learned a h.e.l.l of a lot, but they've barely scratched the planet. Do you realize how big big it is?" it is?"

"More than ten times the size of Earth."

"Yes, yes-but do you know what that really means?"