"It sounds like they're right on top of us," Connelly said.

"They are," Robert said. "I, uh, I think they are."

With the quickness of a striking eagle, Connelly's hands lurched out and dug into Robert's arm. He flinched and choked back a shout. "What? What is it?"

Connelly smiled devilishly. Robert knew she had come up with the answer. "No sunlight. Extreme pressure. Sound familiar?"

Robert felt all the light switches in his mind being turned on simultaneously. In an instant he knew what Connelly suspected must be true. Robert jumped to the controls, turned off the BUD system and switch on the com. "Ethan, you read?"

"I'm here, but you didn't have to check in for another-"

"Not checking in. Ethan, kill the lights...all of them."

"Interior too?"

"All but the red light."

"OK, say goodnight."

Robert moved quickly, turning off the com and switching on the BUD system before the lights went out. He wanted to hear what he was seeing. Two seconds later they were plunged into near darkness. The only illumination came from the red overhead light, which allowed them to see, but didn't dilate their pupils or degrade their ability to see in the dark.

Through the dark, sounds continued to barrage their ears. Unworldly squeaks, drumming bass beats and powerful pulses of sound filled the interior of the sphere. The sound alone was enough to remind them they were on another world, but the complete darkness that now surrounded them made it all the more real.

Exploring the view from every inch of the sphere, Connelly and Robert looked more like hamsters in a ball than scientists. But Robert could feel his eyes adjusting to the dark. It wouldn't be long until...yes! A pinkish streak wiggled into and out of Robert's vision. It lasted only a second, but it was real.

He hadn't realized he had gasped, but Connelly suddenly appeared at his side.

"Did you see something?" Connelly asked, her voice rushed and breathy.

"Straight out," Robert said. "Don't blink."

The light came again, but this time a little closer and a little brighter. Robert wasn't sure if it was truly brighter or if his eyes were just growing accustomed to the dark, but it was there. Robert clasped his hand on Connelly's shoulder. "You were right," he said.

Connelly never took her eyes off the distant wriggling light. "Bioluminescence. It never occurred to me before. It makes sense, though. This environment closely resembles the deep oceans on earth. It's no surprise that life adapted similarly. But, it looks too small. The noise we heard was large, powerful. That couldn't be much bigger than a terrestrial sea snake."

"I, ah, I don't think it's small.... I think it's far away."

A deep thump pounded from the speakers, five times in a row, followed by a quick, sharp squeak that was louder than anything they had heard before.

Connelly held her fingers up and measured the colorful streak. Her lips moved as she whispered the calculations to herself. "Putting it at the farthest reaches of BUD, one hundred yards, that would make it..." Connelly's eyes widened. "...fifty feet long!"

Robert broke from Connelly's stare and continued watching the flowing creature, which he now knew could swallow them whole if it chose too...if it had a mouth at all. Robert began to laugh, but stopped suddenly as he noticed the streak was growing larger. Not only that, five more streaks, then seven more, twelve total joined the first. Thirteen streaks glided through the water, growing larger and heading straight for them.

Leaning back in his chair, Harris tried to relax. He gazed up at the clear ceiling of the control center and admired the view of Jupiter, watching as the largest planet's other moons slid past, casting dark spotted shadows on the gas giant's surface. It was a sight no other human beings, outside of this crew, had ever seen before.

He thought about how every landing, every discovery, every meal eaten from the time they arrived until the time they returned to Earth was history in the making. And what they had already discovered dwarfed all of the moon landings.

They had traveled further and had employed new technologies with a degree of success unheard of in any previous space mission. The moon missions had all been marked by near disasters. They were ultimately success stories, but the fates of their crews were often at risk.

Is that where we're headed? Harris thought. The attack on Peterson-and that's what it was, an attack-had him rattled. But Peterson was contained and the mission was back on track.

We're back on track. We'll stay on track.

He willed it to be true, but wasn't completely buying it.

Why?

He'd manned the control center for two landings now and on both occasions had little more to do than confirm the scheduled check-ins from the ground crews. He'd already heard from Choi, who was having great success at harvesting new Europhid samples, and Willard, who informed him that Dr. Connelly and Dr. Samuel's had reached the Europian ocean.

History in the making. And he was in charge.

Then why am I worrying?

Peterson.

It had been a little while since he'd checked on him. He brought up the security camera feed from the med-lab and gawked at the empty room. He checked to make sure the feed was live.

Is that vomit on the floor? he wondered.

It was.

Peterson who appeared to be ill, had somehow unlocked the doors and broken quarantine. "Great."

That's when he noticed the ceiling above him. The hull had turned solid again, the view of Jupiter gone.

"I hope you don't mind," Peterson said from the entrance of the control center. "The view was making me dizzy."

Harris felt his muscles tense and a tingle rose up his back from the base of his spine. "You're under quarantine. You better have a damn good reason for coming here."

As Peterson took a step forward, Harris could see he was hiding something behind his back.

"Oh, I do," Peterson said. "I have a very good reason."

CHAPTER 17 -- THE POD.

Connelly winced as Robert's grip on her wrist tightened. The group of shimmering lights warbled closer, expanding in size with every passing moment. Neither of them had acted or said a word since the lights headed in their direction, but now, the pain from her wrist reminded Connelly of her own mortality and that while scientifically wonderful, whatever was coming their way, may also be hungry.

Her imagination ran rampant. The sphere, with its silver bottom and clear top, lit from the inside by a red light looked uncannily like a fishing bobber, dangling at the surface, waiting for something to swim along and bite. Only these creatures, whatever they were, were large enough to eat the sphere whole and yank the bulk of TES, and Willard, down the melted hole they had created.

Her wrist throbbed again. "Robert, we need to do something."

"Not yet."

"What? Why?"

Robert starred out at the pink lights, which now looked closer to a deep maroon. "I want to see them up close."

"We're in danger here."

"Nonsense."

Connelly took hold of Robert's arm and turned him so they were face to face. She noticed how his normally wrinkled forehead was abnormally loose and relaxed. "Now who's being foolish?"

"Kathy, these are alien creatures. They have never, in their lives, seen anything created by human hands. There is no reason to suspect they will view us as a food source. At best they may express some curiosity as to what we are, but they are likely to be more afraid of us than we are of them."

"My mother used to say that about bees," Connelly said.

"And?"

"I got stung."

"Well," Robert said, "I'm smarter than your mother."

Connelly couldn't help but smile. Robert looked over his shoulder, back towards the lights. They had stopped. "Look. They're keeping a distance. We'll be fine."

The coloration of the creatures shimmered from maroon to deep blue, and then lightened. Coinciding with the color change came a whooping call followed by a series of clicks, claps and a long base tone. Connelly smiled. The sound reminded her of a perfectly tuned cello. It occurred to her then that these calls, which were reminiscent of whale calls, though much more complicated, were coming from multiple creatures.

They're communicating!

Just as Connelly's eyes fully adjusted to the darkness and she began to make out other shapes in the deep beyond, the interior of the sphere began to grow lighter. At first, she ignored the light, too captivated by strange creatures lurking in the distance. But as the illumination inside the sphere grew, the view of the watery apparitions began to dwindle. When she saw her reflection in the glass, she could no longer stand the distraction.

In a blur of motion, Connelly launched toward the controls and turned off the BUD system, which plunged the sphere into silence. She flipped on the com and shouted, "Ethan, keep the damn lights down!"

Willard's voice came back after a pause. "Say again? Did you say the lights are on?"

Connelly was fuming. Every second wasted talking was another second the creatures might swim away. Some oceanographers spend entire lifetimes searching vast oceans for creatures like Architeuthis, the giant squid, and never see it living in its natural habitat. Here they were, in an alien ocean, witnessing creatures never seen before and now they might miss out because Willard couldn't get the damn lights right!

"They're leaving!" Robert shouted. "I think they're leaving! But I can't really see them..."

"Ethan, turn off all the lights," Connelly said, her voice as cold as the ice above. "Turn them off, now."

"Boss," Willard said, his voiced forced into calmness, "I'm showing all lights off. If you want me to turn off the red light, I will, but if you're getting light down there, it's not anything I can control from up here."

"If it's not coming from the sphere," Connelly said, "where's it-"

Connelly's breath caught as she spoke the last words. She and Robert had been starring through the glass, out toward the pod of creatures. Not once had either of them turned around. Connelly became acutely aware that the shadows which played across the interior of the sphere revealed that the light source filling the cabin originated from behind them, outside the sphere.

With a gentle squeeze on Robert's arm, Connelly got his attention. He glanced at her and reacted to the terror-filled expression on her face by stiffening his entire body. His eyes widened. "Behind us?"

Connelly nodded.

The inside of the sphere filled with a baritone call that vibrated their eardrums and tickled their teeth. It was gentle, probing and lasted ten seconds. After it finished, the sphere filled with an eerie quiet.

It was broken by Willard's voice. "What the hell was that?"

Connelly fought to remain composed. The light was still bright within the sphere and she was too petrified to turn around.

"Creatures-bioluminescent-they're using calls for echolocation, maybe even communication." Connelly noticed how clinical her voice sounded. When faced with the unknown and terrifying, many scientists become detached observers, taking mental notes, instead of tackling the deadly situation head on. It was a defense mechanism that helped several of her colleagues survive the worst, but the same technique had dulled the senses of others, and led to their deaths.

"Are you in danger?" Willard asked. "They must be close for it to be so loud."

"They're still a ways off," Robert said. "We're receiving the sounds through BUD."

Willard's response was immediate and rushed. "The com system is active. BUD is off. The sound we just heard was not from BUD. I repeat, that sound was not from BUD. I'm pulling you up."

"No!" Connelly had to see this for herself. "Wait."

Click, click, click. The noises were loud. Tangibly close.

"Boss, I-"

"Just wait." Connelly turned her head to the side, looking at Robert. She could see the bright source of light in her periphery, just outside the sphere. "Ready?"

"On three," Robert said.

Connelly grasped Robert's hand. "One."

Robert bit his upper lip. "Two."

"Three."

Both turned at once, facing the light source.

Connelly fell back immediately, landing in one of the chairs with her hands clasped over her quivering lips. Connelly's muscles shook with energy. She decided that if this was it, if they died in the next few seconds, she wouldn't regret losing her life or never finishing her work. Just seeing the creature that floated two feet from the sphere's exterior was worth ten lifetimes, because in a thousand generations of humanity, no one had ever seen anything like this.

Brilliant light from Choi's 1000 watt head lamp reflected off the field of crimson Europhids and shimmered on the surrounding mounds of white ice. Choi noticed how, as she moved her head from side to side, passing the light across the field, the Europhids swayed with each pass, as though they were physically touched by the light.

Choi's knees began to ache after a half hour of scooping Europhid samples from the ice. Taking a break wasn't normally something she chose to do, but there was no rush on the sample gathering, and she enjoyed the solitude. After spending so much time with the crew, it was nice to have her thoughts to herself. She was almost glad Peterson got himself quarantined. If he hadn't, he'd be here with her, blathering on excitedly.

Leaning against the ATV's seat, Choi let her muscles relax. The stress brought on by the bio-lab incident had been enough to knot her back into a minefield of tension. She had begun to think that her expertise in rare diseases would be of little use on the mission, but with Peterson's infection, if that's what it truly was, her skills had been called unexpectedly to the forefront of the mission. She believed the alien substance would have no effect-it wasn't designed for human physiology. But if it did, his life would depend solely on her ability to fix whatever ailments the Europhid sting caused.

What bothered her most was the knowledge that only she possessed-if Peterson's infection became deadly, she doubted there was anything she could do to save him. The time it would take to understand and study what the alien substance was doing to his body could only be completed post mortem. Her only consolation was that the infection seemed localized. Chances of the substance infecting another crew member were slim to none. Peterson might die, but the rest of them, barring another accident, would survive.

Choi sighed and looked up at Jupiter, watching the pink lightening flash. Every streak lit up a portion of Jupiter's surface, each the size of Europa itself, maybe bigger. She marveled at the raw power of the planet. If she had been anymore entranced by the sight, she may not have noticed the flicker of motion at the edge of the Europhid field.

Whipping around toward the field, Choi's headlamp illuminated the area with a sudden brilliance that the Europhid's seemed to lean away from. But other than that, nothing appeared to be moving.