Gregory Benford - A Worm in the Well

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A Worm in the Well

by Gregory Benford

She was about to get baked, and all because she wouldn't freeze a man.

"Optical," Claire called. Erma obliged.

The Sun spread around them, a bubbling plain. She had notched the air conditioning cooler

but it didn't help much.

Geysers burst in gaudy reds and actinic violets from the yellow-white froth. The solar coronal

arch was just peeking over the horizon, like a wedding ring stuck halfway into boiling white mud.

A monster, over two thousand kilometers long, sleek and slender and angry crimson.

She turned down the cabin lights. Somewhere she had read that people felt cooler in the dark.

The temperature in here was normal but she had started sweating.

Tuning the yellows and reds dimmer on the big screen before her made the white-hot storms

look more blue. Maybe that would trick her subconscious, too.

Claire swung her mirror to see the solar coronal arch. Its image was refracted around the rim

of the Sun, so she was getting a preview. Her orbit was on the descending slope of a long ellipse,

its lowest point calculated to be just at the peak of the arch. So far, the overlay orbit trajectory

was exactly on target.

Software didn't bother with the heat, of course; gravitation was cool, serene. Heat was for

engineers. And she was just a pilot.

In her immersion-work environment, the touch controls gave her an abstract distance from the

real physical surroundings—the plumes of virulent gas, the hammer of photons. She wasn't

handling the mirror, of course, but it felt that way. A light, feathery brush, at a crisp, bracing

room temperature.

The imaging assembly hung on its pivot high above her ship. It was far enough out from their

thermal shield to feel the full glare, so it was heating up fast. Pretty soon it would melt, despite its

cooling system.

Let it. She wouldn't need it then. She'd be out there in the sunlight herself.

She swiveled the mirror by reaching out and grabbing it, tugging it round. All virtual images

had a glossy sheen to them that even Erma, her simcomputer, couldn't erase. They looked too

good. The mirror was already pitted, you could see it on the picture of the arch itself, but the sim

kept showing the device as pristine.

"Color is a temperature indicator, right?" Claire asked.

RED DENOTES A LEVEL OF 7 MILLION DEGREES KELVIN.

Good ol' coquettish Erma, Claire thought. Never a direct answer unless you coax. "Close-up

the top of the arch."

In both her eyes the tortured sunscape shot by. The coronal loop was a shimmering, braided

family of magnetic flux tubes, as intricately woven as a Victorian doily. Its feet were anchored in

the photosphere below held by thick, sluggish plasma. Claire zoomed in on the arch. The hottest

reachable place in the entire Solar System, and her prey had to end up there.

TARGET ACQUIRED AND RESOLVED BY SOLWATCH SATELLITE. IT IS AT THE

VERY PEAK OF THE ARCH. ALSO, VERY DARK.

"Sure, dummy, it's a hole."

I AM ACCESSING MY ASTROPHYSICAL CONTEXT PROGRAM NOW.

Perfect Erma; primly change the subject. "Show me, with color coding."

Claire peered at the round black splotch. Like a fly caught in a spider web. Well, at least it

didn't squirm or have legs. Magnetic strands played and rippled like wheat blown by a summer's

breeze. The flux tubes were blue in this coding, and they looked eerie. But they were really just

ordinary magnetic fields, the sort she worked with every day. The dark sphere they held was the

strangeness here. And the blue strands had snared the black fly in a firm grip.

Good luck, that. Otherwise, Sol-Watch would never have seen it. In deep space there was

nothing harder to find than that ebony splotch. Which was why nobody ever had, until now.

OUR ORBIT NOW RISES ABOVE THE DENSE PLASMA LAYER. I CAN IMPROVE

RESOLUTION BY GOING TO X-RAY. SHOULD I?

"Do."

The splotch swelled. Claire squinted at the magnetic flux tubes in this ocher light. In the x-ray

they looked sharp and spindly. But near the splotch the field lines blurred. Maybe they were

tangled there, but more likely it was the splotch, warping the image.

"Coy, aren't we?" She close-upped the x-ray picture. Hard radiation was the best probe of the

hottest structures.

The splotch. Light there was crushed, curdled, stirred with a spoon.

A fly caught in a spider's web, then grilled over a campfire. And she had to lean in, singe her

hair, snap its picture. All because she wouldn't freeze a man.

She had been ambling along a corridor three hundred meters below Mercury's slag plains,

gazing down on the frothy water fountains in the foyer of her apartment complex. Paying no

attention to much except the clear scent of the splashing. The water was the very best, fresh from

the poles, not the recycled stuff she endured on her flights. She breathed in the spray. That was

when the man collared her.

"Claire Ambrase, I present formal secure-lock."

He stuck his third knuckle into Claire's elbow port and she felt a cold, brittle thunk. Her

systems froze. Before she could move, whole command linkages went dead in her inboards.

It was like having fingers amputated. Financial fingers.

In her shock she could only stare at him—mousy, the sort who blended into the background.

Perfect for the job. A nobody out of nowhere, complete surprise.

He stepped back. "Sorry. Isataku Incorporated ordered me to do it fast."

Claire resisted the impulse to deck him. He looked Lunar, thin and pale. Maybe with more

kilos than she carried, but a fair match. And it would feel good.

"I can pay them as soon as—"

"They want it now, they said." He shrugged apologetically, his jaw set. He was used to this all

the time. She vaguely recognized him, from some bar near the Apex. There weren't more than a

thousand people on Mercury, mostly like her, in mining.

"Isataku didn't have to cut off my credit." She rubbed her elbow. Injected programs shouldn't

hurt, but they always did. Something to do with the neuro-muscular intersection. "That'll make it

hard to even fly the Silver Metal Lugger back."

"Oh, they'll give you pass credit for ship's supplies. And, of course, for the ore load advance.

But nothing big."

"Nothing big enough to help me dig my way out of my debt hole."

" 'Fraid not."

"Mighty decent."

He let her sarcasm pass. "They want the ship Lunaside."

"Where they'll confiscate it."

She began walking toward her apartment. She had known it was coming but in the rush to get

ore consignments lined up for delivery, she had gotten careless. Agents like this Luny usually

nailed their prey at home, not in a hallway. She kept a stunner in the apartment, right beside the

door, convenient.

Distract him. "I want to file a protest."

"Take it to Isataku." Clipped, efficient, probably had a dozen other slices of bad news to

deliver today. Busy man.

"No, with your employer."

"Mine?" That got to him. His rock-steady jaw gaped in surprise.

"For—" she sharply turned the corner to her apartment, using the time to reach for some

mumbo-jumbo "—felonious interrogation of in-boards."

"Hey, I didn't touch your—"

"I felt it. Slimy little groups—yeccch!" Might as well ham it up a little, have some fun.

He looked offended. "I'm triple bonded. I'd never do a readout on a contract customer. You

can ask—"

"Can it." She hurried toward her apartment portal and popped it by an inboard command. As

she stepped through she felt him, three steps behind.

Here goes. One foot over the lip, turn to her right, snatch the stunner out of its grip mount,

turn and aim—and she couldn't fire.

"Damn!" she spat out.

He blinked and backed off, hands up, palms out, as if to block the shot. "What? You'd do a

knockover for a crummy ore-hauler?"

"It's my ship. Not Isataku's."

"Lady, I got no angle here. You knock me, you get maybe a day before the heavies come after

you."

"Not if I freeze you."

His mouth opened and started to form the f of a disbelieving freeze?—then he got angry.

"Stiff me till you shipped out? I'd sue you to your eyeballs and have 'em for hock."

"Yeah; yeah," Claire said wearily This guy was all clichés. "But I'd be orbiting Luna by the

time you got out, and with the right deal—"

"You'd maybe clear enough on the ore to pay me damages."

"And square with Isataku." She clipped the stunner back to the wall wearily.

"You'd never get that much."

"OK, it was a long shot idea."

"Lady, I was just delivering, right? Peaceable and friendly, right? And you pull—"

"Get out." She hated it when men went from afraid to angry to insulted, all in less than a split

minute.

He got. She sighed and zipped the portal closed.

Time for a drink, for sure. Because what really bothered her was not the Isataku foreclosure,

but her own gutlessness.

She couldn't bring herself to gong that guy, put him away for ten mega-seconds or so. That

would freeze him out of his ongoing life, slice into relationships, cut away days that could never

be replaced.

Hers was an abstract sort of inhibition, but earned. Her uncle had been ponged for over a year

and never did get his life back together. Claire had seen the wreckage up close, as a little girl.

Self-revelation was usually bad news. What a great time to discover that she had more

principles than she needed.

And how was she going to get out from under Isataku?

The arch loomed over the Sun's horizon now, a shimmering curve of blue-white, two

thousand kilometers tall.

Beautiful, seen in the shimmering x-ray—snaky strands purling, twinkling with scarlet

hotspots. Utterly lovely, utterly deadly. No place for an ore hauler to be.

"Time to get a divorce," Claire said.

YOU ARE SURPRISINGLY ACCURATE. SEPARATION FROM THE SLAG SHIELD IS

338 SECONDS AWAY.

"Don't patronize me, Erma."

I AM USING MY PERSONALITY SIMULATION PROGRAMS AS EXPERTLY AS MY

COMPUTATION SPACE ALLOWS.

"Don't waste your running time; it's not convincing. Pay attention to the survey, then the

separation."

THE ALL-SPECTRUM SURVEY IS COMPLETELY AUTOMATIC, AS DESIGNED BY

SOLWATCH.

"Double-check it."

I SHALL NO DOUBT BENEFIT FROM THIS ADVICE.

Deadpan sarcasm, she supposed. Erma's tinkling voice was inside her mind, impossible to

shut out. Erma herself was an interactive intelligence, partly inboard and partly shipwired.

Running the Silver Metal Lugger would be impossible without her and the bots.

Skimming over the Sun's seethe might be impossible even with them, too, Claire thought,

watching burnt oranges and scalded yellows flower ahead.

She turned the ship to keep it dead center in the shield's shadow. That jagged mound of slag

was starting to spin. Fused knobs came marching over the nearby horizon of it.

"Where'd that spin come from?" She had started their parabolic plunge sunward with

absolutely zero angular momentum in the shield.

TIDAL TORQUES ACTING ON THE ASYMMETRIC BODY OF THE SHIELD.

"I hadn't thought of that."

The idea was to keep the heated side of the slag shield Sunward. Now that heat was coming

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摘要：

AWormintheWellbyGregoryBenfordShewasabouttogetbaked,andallbecauseshewouldn'tfreezeaman."Optical,"Clairecalled.Ermaobliged.TheSunspreadaroundthem,abubblingplain.Shehadnotchedtheairconditioningcoolerbutitdidn'thelpmuch.Geysersburstingaudyredsandactinicvioletsfromtheyellow-whitefroth.Thesolarcoronalarc...

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Gregory Benford - A Worm in the Well

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