"Watch." Choi held Lucy out over the chair and placed her on the seat. Lucy sat still for a moment, her tiny chest rising and falling quickly. Then the chair began to move. "Lucy has been through this several times, so she knows not to run or panic," Choi said.

The seat of the chair became like liquid, oozing toward and around Lucy's body. It covered her back, torso and eventually head, until all that was left was a lump in the chair's seat-a lump that was breathing.

Willard's mouth dropped open. "The chair ate Lucy."

"Lucy's just fine," Harris said.

Peterson stepped forward. "I'm sorry. I don't understand. How is it breathing in there?"

"Breathing tubes inserted through the nose," Choi explained. "You'll receive nutrients intravenously. Microshocks will keep your muscles from atrophying. A gel will be secreted between you and the liquid metal, creating a buffer that will minimize the effects of intense acceleration and deceleration on your body."

"You mean the effects of a series of nuclear explosions," Willard muttered.

Harris spoke over him. "On board the Surveyor, each of you will have your own quarters. The rooms on board are very similar to what we have here in the training facility. You'll have your own bed, your own private bathroom and an impact chair. But unlike the bed and bath, you will not be using these chairs while we are in orbit. They are only to be used in transit...for the duration of transit."

Peterson raised his eyebrows. "We're going to be in the impact chairs for three months?"

Harris nodded. "Three months, two days and three hours. Unconscious for the duration. When you wake up you might feel a bit weary and slimy, but otherwise you'll be fine. Not quite the stasis chambers you see in science fiction movies, but they get the job done."

"Will we age?" Robert asked.

"Sure will," Harris said. "Three months out and three months back. We're all about to have six months shaved off our lives. But honestly, anyone who doesn't think loosing six months of their life to get a front row seat of Jupiter is crazy."

Striding quickly, Choi walked to the door, opened it and motioned for the others to leave. "If you don't mind," she said, "we have much more to cover today and a very tight schedule."

Harris headed for the door, followed by Willard and Peterson. Robert lingered behind with Connelly. They looked back at the chair.

"Unbelievable," Robert said before the left.

Sitting alone at the center of the room was the impact chair. A silver hump at the center of the chair continued to rise and fall as Lucy continued to breathe in her liquid metal womb.

Beads of sweat rolled down Connelly's forehead and stung her eyes. She'd been pounding the punching bag for fifteen minutes-her daily routine-and was only now beginning to tire. Her white tank top was wet around the collar and her grey sweatpants clung uncomfortably to the slick skin of her legs.

She'd taken up slugging a punching bag fourteen years ago as a way to relieve stress and anxiety. It made her feel strong, and when she was done, strangely enough, it made her feel more feminine. At the end of every session, Connelly would build her intensity, swinging harder and faster, unleashing tension she wasn't even aware existed. She was surprised that today's workout was one of her fiercest ever. She wasn't sure why.

The day had been normal enough, as normal as possible. The morning was filled with classes on subjects ranging from astrophysics, to space flight, to preparing space meals. She'd had a quick lunch with Peterson, which was pleasant, and then went through several last minute physicals.

Connelly's punches grew stronger. The bag swung wildly with each hit and her knuckles began to burn. Maybe it was that in two days she was going to be launched into space, travel across the solar system in search of life on a moon where risks were high and chance of a rescue, if something should go wrong, was nil. That would make sense, but Connelly knew something else was eating at her.

With a mighty punch, Connelly hammered the bag, sending it in a long swinging arc. Then the bag stopped in midair-caught. Peterson stepped out from behind the bag. He was shirtless, glistening with sweat and smiling his Michael Peterson smile. "Whoa there, killer. Working out some frustrations?"

"A girl can't stay in shape?"

"You're pretty fierce is all I'm saying. Wouldn't want to be on the receiving end of one of those punches. Can't say I mind your shape though."

Connelly did her best not to smirk. "Keep talking like that and you'll find out what one of my punches feels like." Connelly looked at Peterson's slick torso and chuckled. "You get all oiled up to come talk to me?"

Peterson smiled. "I was running. But you're right, the sweat does bring out some of my better features." Peterson jokingly hung on the punching bag so that the majority of muscles in his upper body flexed.

Connelly raised an eyebrow and smiled.

"So I've been meaning to ask you something."

Connelly tensed at the new tone in his voice.

"Call it a hunch, but I've got the impression you don't necessarily want to be here."

"Good hunch," Connelly said. " Can I be honest with you?"

"I won't tell a soul."

"We're going to a moon, in space, with no atmosphere. The chance of us finding life-forms beyond microbes is remote in the grandest sense. And the chance of any microbes we do find being beneficial to the human race is even slimmer. We should be putting our money and interest into understanding our own planet before going to this moon, simply to satisfy our curiosity."

"You know," Peterson said, "we could have just as easily said that about Antarctica. No one lives there. What could we possibly learn about life as we know it today. What good is biological history anyway?"

Connelly's lips curled up. "Ahh, but you're wrong. Life discovered in Antarctica may be completely foreign to us currently, but they are still Earth organisms. They'd provide a glimpse of how life evolved on our planet perhaps millions of years ago. Even if we do find life on Europa, it will have evolved under completely different environmental influences. The chances that alien life will have any positive, tangible ramifications on humanity is near impossible. In fact, the true effects may be entirely negative. Sure everyone will be excited that we've discovered alien life. But what if we bring it back, expose people, and later find out that we've brought back the plague of the twenty-first century?"

Peterson's eyes froze for a split second. It was almost imperceptible, but Connelly noticed. He was afraid of that, too. But why? She continued with her speech, not wanting him to know she noticed. "You see? There is no real benefit."

"That was a mouthful," he said.

"I just don't want this to end up being a big waste of time."

Peterson relaxed his body. "Somehow, I think you might change your mind when we get out there. Do you know much about our solar system? About Jupiter?"

Connelly shook her head, no. "Only what I learned in high school astronomy, but that was long, long ago."

"Why don't I fill you in over dinner? Maybe we can work on some of that skepticism?"

"I had lunch with you during a break. That was lunch. Between co-workers. What you're asking now is more than that, correct?"

"Yes, Dr. Spock. I do believe it is."

Connelly smiled. "Sorry, not on this trip, Romeo."

With that, Connelly, turned and headed for the women's locker room door. Why had she said no? Despite his arrogance, he was smart, funny and attractive-a rare combination to find in the sciences. But this mission was big. Too big for romance, and she would continue to push her feelings to the wayside, at least until they were all back on Earth.

She could almost feel Peterson's gaze lingering on her back, probably on her butt. She could feel the fabric of her sweatpants riding up, but didn't dare adjust it while he was watching. With a quick turn of the head, Connelly gave one last look back. Peterson waved with a smile and she felt a tightness in her chest, but this wasn't anxiety.

Connelly laughed to herself as she came to a realization. The punching bag wasn't Peterson, but her tension was caused by him. The energy she felt now, after speaking to the man for only a few minutes, wasn't going where she wanted it to go. So she was beating the hell out of a punching bag instead.

CHAPTER 6 -- GOING UP.

Rubbing his eyes in the morning sun, Willard looked at the incredible view of the Pacific Ocean. The crew had been flown from the GEC training facility to San Diego where they boarded a GEC research vessel and headed out to sea. By nightfall they were all situated in cramped quarters within the walls of the Naval Auxiliary Landing Facility on San Clemente Island. Sleep came quickly to all, as it had throughout the duration of their grueling training, but an early start was on the schedule for today.

It was seven o'clock in the morning and the CH-46 Sea Knight helicopter's tandem blades sliced loudly through the air. Loud snoring from across the helicopter's interior rumbled along with the chopping blades. Willard frowned and shook his head. Captain Harris sat across from him, sleeping as soundly as a dead man in the grave. Willard wasn't bothered by the sound, just by the fact that Harris could sleep at all.

Willard blinked and felt heavy weights dangling form his eyelids. He turned his attention back out the window to distract himself from his slumber lust. The water of the Pacific was deep blue and the millions of tiny waves reflected glints of yellow from the sun.

But then, something far below caught his eye. A grey shape cut across the ocean. He recognized the shape. "There's an aircraft carrier down there," he said to no one in particular.

Connelly, Robert and Peterson, who had been involved in a scientific discussion of no interest to Willard, immediately moved to the windows adjacent to Willard's, peering down at the ocean. Choi made no move and looked disinterested. Harris remained asleep.

"Is that where we're going?" Robert asked.

"I don't know," Connelly said. She looked at Choi. "Are we landing on the aircraft carrier?"

Choi shook her head, no.

Willard took his eyes off the carrier and looked further out, towards the horizon, where he saw another vessel, and another, and another. He quickly counted fifteen in all, of various shapes and sizes. "Looks like they have a whole fleet out here."

Robert pushed his glasses higher onto his nose and looked at Choi. "Are we launching from sea? Are these ships for our protection?"

Choi rolled her head on her shoulders. "In response to your first question..." As Choi spoke, a loud and constant rumbling grew quickly from behind the helicopter. "The ships below are not for our protection."

The rumbling grew to a deafening level, and then roared past. Willard snapped his head toward the window in time to see three fighter jets.

"Those are for our protection." Choi stood and moved to the central window, through which Willard had been gazing. "The ships are protecting that."

Willard looked out the window and followed Choi's pointed finger to what looked like an oil platform. Then he saw several more. At the center of the conglomeration of platforms was a massive construction that looked like a floating city. But he knew this was no ordinary city. It had all the bells and whistles of a scientific facility; satellite dishes, multiple antennae, generators, solar panels, and more than anything else, it was clean-gleaming white.

But what stood out most about the gigantic platform was a shimmering blue streak that rose up out of the center and disappeared into the sky. Willard lost view of the line several times as it would momentarily blend in with the blue sky or ocean, but a reflection of sunlight or a white cloud would reveal the line rising into the sky, beyond Willard's vertical view.

Brow furrowed, Willard said, "What the hell is that?"

"I don't understand," Robert said, "Where are we launching from? I don't see a shuttle or a launch pad and I sure haven't heard of a space launch from sea."

"Is that what I think it is?" Peterson said.

"What do you think it is?" Robert asked.

Peterson stepped away from the window and locked his eyes onto Choi. "Is that the space elevator?"

"One of them, yes."

"Space elevator?" Connelly said. "They're for bringing equipment into space, not people. Why are we here? TES is already in orbit."

"OK, now I'm nervous," Robert said. "So let me ask my first question again.... Where are we launching from?"

"We're not launching," Choi said.

Connelly's eyebrows shot to the top of her forehead and her voice became defiant. "What?"

"Your anxiety is misplaced. The mission is continuing as planned."

Connelly's shoulders dropped.

"Tell me we're not taking the space elevator...into space," Robert said.

"I'm afraid I must disappoint you, Dr. Samuels."

Robert sat back, looking pale. "You okay, man?"

"I don't like elevators," Robert replied.

"It will be a quick ride, I'm sure," Willard said.

"This elevator is sixty-two thousand miles high," Choi said.

Willard's face fell flat. "Oh."

Robert lowered his head. Connelly rubbed his back.

"Something going on?" Harris said as he stretched his face and blinked his tired eyes.

Choi turned to him and said, "We're there."

Willard looked back out the window and followed the blue streak from the platform and into the sky. This tiny blue streak would bring them to space, and hopefully, back. Willard smiled. "Intense."

Robert stood at the base of the world's tallest structure and did his best not to throw up. His eyes followed the blue, micron thin ribbon skyward until his neck couldn't bend any further back. The ribbon disappeared into the sky with no end in sight. Since landing he had learned that this recently constructed space elevator had yet to be revealed to the world. There were three others around the globe, but none as massive as this.

The first three had been built five years ago and were widely publicized. Everyone knew about them. They had been shipping satellites, space station modules, even small spacecraft into space with never an incident and at extremely low costs. The success of the space elevators had single handedly saved the globe's space programs.

But the one thing the elevators couldn't transport was people. Equipment designed for space could be brought into space without survivability concerns. People were a different matter. For years, the Institute for Scientific Research (ISR) had sought to create an elevator that could safely transport human beings into space, to a small space station at the end, where they could dock with spacecraft built in space with parts the other elevators transported.

Robert swallowed with a gulp. They had apparently succeeded.

The behemoth of human engineering he now stood on rose out of the middle of the Pacific Ocean. The original elevators had a three foot wide ribbon that was just a few microns thick and sixty-two thousand miles long. Robert had learned that this ribbon was identical to the other in construction except for being six feet wide. The extra width gave this elevator the ability to lift 110 tons. The added lifting capability allowed the ISR to construct a module capable of sustaining human life, quite comfortably, during transport to and from space. It was complete with plush chairs, grand windows, refreshment bar and all the necessary facilities for keeping a crew of astronauts relatively comfortable while they were transported into space.

But Robert knew that no matter how comfortable the ride was, he'd be a nervous wreck the whole way up; in part because of his fears, but also because he'd managed to hide that fear during his psychological evaluation. He'd prefer being launched in a shuttle with an exploding rocket beneath him over riding for hours in a glorified elevator. The inner workings of the space elevator had been explained to him; the ribbon, constructed of a super strong carbon nanotube composite was held aloft by centrifugal force-it's why all four space elevators were built at the equator where the earth spins fastest. The station at the end of the ribbon served as a counter weight and was held in a perfect geosynchronous orbit. The module clung to the ribbon with a set of rollers which were powered from the ground by a free-electron laser, and could move up the ribbon at a steady pace. All this technology made Robert excited and intrigued, but his old fears were coming back to haunt him.

When Robert was a child, he avoided elevators at all cost. He'd sooner take thirty flights of stairs then ride in an elevator. Things had changed for him ten years ago when he went on a date in Seattle-the first in two years-with a stunning woman who seemed more interested in his mind than in his body, which was a good thing...a very good thing. They had a wonderful dinner-lobster with shrimp cocktail. For him it was one of those nights you never forget.

To his never ending surprise, she had called him the next day, and invited him out for a surprise. He happily accepted. For twenty minutes they drove around the city, him blindfolded, her behind the wheel. When she parked the car, Robert felt an excitement he had never felt before. His throat was parched. His heart was racing. When she took off the blindfold, all that disappeared. He stood at the base of the Seattle Space Needle and looked up. The blood fled from his face and his mouth dropped open. He began to sweat at the base of his back and felt a pain in his knees.

Mind spinning, he tried to think of an excuse to use the stairs, but couldn't conceive of a way to justify climbing fifty-two stories. Dumbfounded, he couldn't react. She had grabbed him and dragged him forward, racing toward the elevator. He was still looking up when the elevator doors closed behind him and the doorman said, "Next stop, observation deck, five hundred and twenty feet up."