Connelly felt her face flush. Robert said he'd watched the tape several times, close up and frame by frame. How many times had he seen her closing her eyes and reaching out for Peterson? She didn't mind Robert knowing the truth, but it was damned embarrassing. Connelly pushed the topic from her mind and kept to the more urgent, and honestly, more interesting subject at hand. "If the Europhid had a true understanding of human physiology, which would have to be in depth if it really knew when to strike, why did it inject Michael with a poison that had no effect other than to produce a slight infection?"

Robert leaned back in his chair. "Now it's our turn to attempt understanding the actions of an alien creature. We assumed the substance was a poison simply on the basis that on Earth, organisms that inject anything almost always inject toxins or poisons with the intent of paralyzing or outright killing their enemies."

As Robert pursed his lips tightly, they turned. "This is an alien species. The injection could be anything. A pheromone for instance. It could be used to track his movements or attract something to him. Or maybe it's a slow acting poison, meant to kill over time. It could do nothing at all. Or it could just affect his mind, cause him to act irrationally and put the rest of us in danger."

"He was acting irrational when he put the Europhid in the incubator," Connelly said with a grimace.

"Your affections can do that to a man."

Connelly shot a fiery stare in to Robert that threatened to broil his brains inside his skull.

"Sorry," he said quickly. Robert regained his composure and continued. "But it's most likely something we haven't even conceived of yet. We have to remember that these are alien organisms. They may not have arms, legs or even mouths, but we know by observing the environment they live in, they're survivors. Of course, I'll be damned before I let a one foot tall, red eggplant outsmart me. If the Europhids can understand the human eye, I'll have them figured out soon enough."

Robert played with his beard for a moment. "The real question is, for what other reason could Peterson have been stung?"

Peterson stood before the Med-lab doors, pushing the button to open them over and over. But the doors were locked. He turned to the security panel and accessed the door mechanism. The lock was password protected.

His head shook. Drool collected at the corner of his mouth. He stared blankly while twitching, his voice making a scratchy click with each breath. Then he typed: Quaren104-the password known only to Harris and Choi.

Stumbling like a stiff legged man in the middle of a grand mal seizure, Peterson made his way through the halls of the Surveyor. He bumped loudly in the walls and nearly tumbled over with each step. What was left of his personality and consciousness was tucked away in the far reaches of his mind, like watching a baseball game from the nose bleed section. His eyes, once deep and brown, were now glazed over with a dark crimson haze.

After a skin-bruising five minute stroll, Peterson's movements became smoother. Along with an increase in balance, his steps became even and quick. With a quick jerk of the head, he stopped moving in the center of the hallway. Twisting with a robot-like rigidity, he looked back over his shoulder, back the way he came, toward a dimly lit hallway.

Peterson's red eyes glowed with recognition. He spun on his heels and pounded toward the hallway. Rounding the corner at top speed, he tipped over. His shoulder hit the smooth wall and his tilted body slid as he continued walking forward. A moment later he sprung back up into a vertical position. With each step, his feet hit the floor harder and harder. His knees began bending and he broke into a sprint.

Three more turns and two long stretches later, Peterson skidded to a stop and peered at a labeled doorway. His lips mouthed the words three times before his lungs provided the air to give them voice. "Bio-lab."

Looking at the doorway, he scanned up and down and eventually turning his red eyes to the button next to the door. He pushed the button and door whooshed open. A crooked, unattractive grin spread on his face. With a wrinkled brow, Peterson lifted his hand and rubbed his mouth, inspecting the smile.

Interest in facial expressions quickly waned as he stepped into the Bio-lab, taking in the scenery. Trees, flowers and plants filled every nook and cranny of the room, except for the research area closest to the door. This is the section that attracted his attention. He stepped forward and bent down to the shielded plant incubator still containing the Europhid. He felt the broken glass on the floor with his finger tips, rubbing back and forth. He smiled again, this time, with more control.

Peterson stood up and turned his head to a yellow closet marked, "Supplies." He shuffled forward, dodging incubators and work benches, but never took his eyes off the double-door closet. Taking the closet door handles in both hands, he threw the doors open, revealing an array of metal gardening tools. Shovels, hoes, trowels, even a pitchfork.

Reaching forward, Peterson took hold of a spiked, metal rake. He brought it out and admired it briefly before tapping his hand on the sharp spikes. He winced and pulled his hand back. A trickle of foamy blood slid out from a fresh wound on the palm of his bandage-free hand. He watched as the blood slowly trickled down his thumb and began dripping onto the floor.

A perfect Michael Peterson grin flashed onto his face and he chuckled lightly. The chuckle grew in fervor, becoming a manic laugh. He stopped suddenly and turned toward the exit.

OCEAN.

CHAPTER 16 -- THE DEEP.

Dim light from the sphere's interior dome lamp filtered out through the glass, past the water surrounding the sphere and reflected off the smooth ice walls outside. Variations in the color and texture of the ice revealed millions of years of Europian history. But now, instead of taking core samples by drilling into the ice, Robert and Connelly were gliding straight to the bottom.

Robert had been silent for the past twenty minutes. Connelly could tell he was concentrating on his counting. Elevators alone were enough to throw him, but this was a fully enclosed system with water on all sides, and there would be no sedative to knock him out this time. At least the water dulled the feeling of downward motion. If not for the layers of ice sliding past, she wouldn't even know they were moving.

Seeing Robert had calmed, she decided it was time to conclude their previous conversation. It had been left open ended. It wasn't that she needed a detailed battle plan, just a feeling of where they stood. Would they report their findings and recommend keeping Peterson under quarantine? Would they put Peterson to sleep in one of the impact chairs until they went back home? Several worst case scenarios plowed through her mind and the nervousness began to build inside her stomach like an expanding elastic ball.

"So..." Connelly started.

Robert jolted slightly and then turned to Connelly, his lips still mouthing numbers. Connelly quickly read his lips, "Two thousand fifty-three."

Geez.

"What do you recommend we do about Michael?" Connelly asked.

Robert ran his lower lip beneath his teeth. "Not much we can do aside from wait and see what, if anything, happens to him."

Connelly frowned. "So he's a guinea pig?"

"Of his own design," Robert said. "May I remind you that the experiment involving the Europhid and plant incubator didn't exactly conform to the rules of good science? Sorry if I sound callous, but he brought it on himself."

Connelly felt a surge of embarrassment, knowing that she had played some part in the scientific debacle Robert was referring to. The incident in the bio-lab was not one of her finer moments and had convinced her to put her feelings for Michael on hold. Indefinitely. "You're right," she said.

Robert sighed, relieved she didn't argue the point.

"So," Connelly said, "We wait and see if he grows a third arm. If nothing happens, we'll keep this half-assed theory about little red Jell-O molds having brains to ourselves."

Connelly flashed a smile at Robert and he returned it.

The sphere jerked to a stop and swayed gently in the water.

Robert gripped his knees. "What's happening?"

Connelly leaned forward and flipped on the com system.

"H-e-l-l-o! Can you guys hear me?" Willard's voice boomed loudly from the sphere's interior speakers. "If you don't respond in thirty seconds, I'm pulling you up."

Connelly turned down the volume. "We hear you."

"About time," Willard said, sounding truly annoyed. "You've reached the bottom."

Jerking her head up, Connelly looked through the glass and was surprised to see the ice walls were now gone. They hadn't even noticed the transition from light grey to pitch black. "It's a little dark down here. Hit the exteriors."

After a moment, a dozen lights embedded around the outer circumference of the sphere's glass top blazed into the water. The liquid glowed eerily white, like over-aerated water. The bottom of the ice shelf hung above them, smoothed into swirling rises and falls, like an upside down Zen garden.

Robert was on his feet, staring at the watery haze. "Sure is cloudy."

Connelly joined him by the glass and furrowed her brow. "Could they be microbes? Europian phytoplankton maybe?"

"There would have to be bazillions of them," Robert said.

Connelly smirked. "Bazillions?"

Robert pointed to the com systems microphone. "Don't make me tell Willard about the video," he whispered.

Connelly's smirk disappeared. "See anything yet?"

Robert shook his head, no. There was nothing out there.

Nothing at all.

Five minutes of silent staring was all Robert could take. His disappointment grew with every passing second and the swaying created by sub ice currents began to turn his stomach. "This is hopeless."

Connelly shook her head, conceding, "I thought there would be more. I don't know. I guess we were expecting too much."

Something began to tickle at Robert's memory, something he had forgotten. Robert ignored Connelly and focused on recalling the faded memory...of what?

"This is like trying to explore the United States by looking through a straw," Connelly said. "We need to get a better view somehow; find out what's going on out there beyond the few feet we can see."

"That's it!" Robert shouted, startling Connelly back into one of the seats.

"God, Robert, what's it?"

A smile was stretching on Robert's face. "I just remembered the tech that landed me this gig."

Connelly's eyes widened, remembering Robert's ultra sensitive microphone system. "BUD."

"Ethan, you still listening?" Robert asked.

"Voyeuristic as ever."

"Do me a favor," Robert said, "Run power to the onboard BUD systems and switch control over to the sphere."

"You got it."

"Once BUD is online, we'll lose topside com," Robert said.

"Copy that," Willard said, "Just check back in fifteen. Here come your ears."

Willard's voice cut off and the speakers went silent for a moment. A light static hiss filled the cabin of the sphere as the speakers began receiving data from the onboard BUD system, which was listening to the entire Europian ocean.

Connelly leaned towards the nearest speaker, face to face with Robert. "I don't hear anything."

Robert bent down to the control panel and played with some knobs. "We're taking in too much. It can't process that much in real time. I'm going to reduce the range. How's a one mile radius sound?"

"Let's hear it."

Robert made the adjustments. As he hit the final key, initiating the changes, the cabin filled with a swirl of sounds that hurt their ears. Robert clamped his hands over his ears and could only see Connelly's lips moving, but he knew she was shouting. He quickly removed a hand from his head and flipped the BUD system off.

"What the hell was that?" Connelly asked.

"I, uh, I have no idea." Robert scratched his head. "It was as though the ocean was full of sound. On earth you might expect something like this only in highly dense populations of vocal mammals, whales, dolphins, seals, what have you."

"Could BUD be malfunctioning?"

Robert's aghast expression said it all.

"OK, if BUD is working, what was that?"

Robert's hand froze on his chin as he rubbed his scruffy beard. He began making adjustments to the BUD system.

"What are you doing?"

"Reducing the radius."

"To what?"

"One hundred yards."

Robert knew it was a long shot, and he could feel Kathy's incredulous look on the back of his neck. If something were within one hundred yards, they should have seen at least a hint of it before. But as far as their eyes could see, nothing was there. Robert reminded himself: this is an alien world. It will be nothing like my preconceptions.

Or perhaps they were overlooking the obvious. The sounds could be coming from several sources. Water flowing through the tubes of ice above them, pushing pockets of gas toward the surface. The ice itself, pulled by the gravitational force of Jupiter, could be scraping as massive shelves of ice flexed. Thermal vents from the stone core could be spewing fluids and gases noisily into the ocean. All three scenarios fit the bill and all were more plausible than alien life forms.

Still, he couldn't keep himself from hoping.

After making the final adjustments to BUD, Robert looked back at Kathy. She wrung her hands together and nodded. Robert pushed the final key.

The sound was crystal clear, but in contrast to their last experience, dead silent. Robert and Connelly stood quiet and still, as though they had just turned to stone under Medusa's gaze.

Click, click, click.

The noise was faint, but clear and crisp. Three clicks that sounded like cupped hands clapping.

Connelly shot Robert a glance. He could read the expression on her face. What was that?

Robert had no answer and chose to remain silent in case it repeated.

Ten seconds passed.

A vibration filled the inside of the sphere that began at the lowest pitch the human ear could perceive and built higher and higher. It passed in and through their bodies, shaking their very bones. But it wasn't painful. The experience was almost pleasant.

The low tone was followed by four more clicks, three base thumps and another, less powerful tone, which sounded as though it origins differed from the first.

"I can't believe I'm hearing this," Robert said Connelly pressed herself against the glass wall and tried desperately to see through the murky water. "Dammit! I can't see a thing!"

Three high pitched squeaks zipped through the sphere, followed by two thumps and another deep tone, which lingered and faded peacefully. Robert felt his body relax as the tone faded, taking his tension with it.