the control panel. She pushed the button to lift the suction tube. As the tube rose and methane stopped flowing upward, the tube became transparent.
"Jettisoning waste gases," said Mark. "Full thrusters. Computer, how full are we?"
"18%," said the computer.
There was a slight vibration.
"Storm?" asked Michele.
Mark adjusted two exterior monitors that showed a violent methane storm as the Sojourner expelled a stream of waste gases. The waste gases froze as they left the Sojourner and reliquified on hitting the upper atmosphere.
"Computer," asked Mark. "How long until all waste gases are jettisoned?"
"Two hours, eleven minutes."
"And how much longer before the storm subsides?"
"That question is outside of my design parameters."
"At least we're out of range of those gas jets from the storm," said Mark. "I'm cutting back on the thrusters."
"How high are we?" asked Michele.
"We're thirty-two kilometers higher. The computer said that storms only reach out about 20 kilometers."
"Now it's my turn," said Michele. "I'm getting some sleep."
"I'm taking us up another twenty kilometers or so. I'll check on the garden after that," said Mark.
"The pole beans on the forty-second row and the peas on the hundred and tenth row should be ready for dinner. Leave the bees alone. The honey won't be ready until sometime on the return trip. Oh, the soy processor is low on spices. That last batch of bacon bits didn't taste quite right."
"And we need to make at least a video inspection of everything before we go down again. We've got to bring some help along next trip." Mark sat down as he spoke and stared at the monitor. All indicators turned green as the Sojourner settled into her new orbit.
"And one more thing," said Michele. Her blouse landed in Mark's lap. "Please don't forget to wash my clothes." He turned and her skirt hit him in the face. He chased her to the bedroom, leaving all of their clothing in the control room.
Mark and Michele sat together in the control room staring at the same monitor.
"OK," asked Michele. "So what does that mean?"
"That we've almost run out of room for the short term storage of the waste gases," explained Mark. "On this trip down we will only be able to stay down twenty minutes. The next trip will be ten, then nine, then eight, then seven, then six, then several trips of around five minutes duration."
The suction tube came into contact with the upper atmosphere. Once more gaseous methane flowed up the transparent tube to the Sojourner.
"So how close to capacity can we come?" asked Michele.
"We're at 89% now. We can get another 4 to 6%. After that we will only be able to stay down for a few seconds at a time. We'll have to wait at least three hours before we can descend after that. With the increased mass, it's getting more difficult to control. We can't cut things as close."
"Could we jettison the waste away from us and maybe buy a few more minutes?"
"Maybe," answered Mark. "But we've increased our mass so much that we won't respond very quickly. It's too dangerous."
"So we go home with only 95% capacity."
"Agreed. That's going to really cut into our money."
"Our profits," said Michele.
"It will be several trips before we will have anything that we can remotely call 'profits,'" said Mark.
Michele and Mark dozed in their seats at the main control panel. A buzzer sounded and yellow warning light went off, rousing them.
"I have never seen the righteous forsaken or His seed begging bread," said Mark. "Pull it up."
He pushed a series of buttons and the suction tube pulled away from the atmosphere. Yellow lights flashed and a warning buzzer sounded as the tube became transparent.
"That's it," said Michele. "We're going home. Pull it in; lock it in place. Computer, how much methane do we have?"
"93.8% of capacity," it responded.
"Could we refine what we have and get more capacity that way?" asked Michele.
Mark shook his head. "We could, but it would take weeks. Our garden won't last that long. Besides, we have some notes due."
"Computer," asked Michele. "Please plot a course to Mars."
"That will require verification with Mars," said the computer. "We are unable to contact them without leaving our parking orbit around Titan and moving to the other side of Saturn."
Mark smiled at Michele. "We're on our way home." He touched a few buttons. The lifepod area vibrated slightly from grinding metal and the distant thrusters.
"What's frozen this time?" asked Michele.
Mark switched the monitors over to search mode. "Let's find out."
"Course verification received," said the computer.
The lights came up in the bedroom, but neither Michele nor Mark moved.
"How long have we been asleep?" asked Michele.
Mark rolled over and looked at the chronometer. "Less than 5 hours."
"Ooooooooooooh!" Michele rolled over and covered her head.
"Computer," said Mark. "Store new course and implement." He punched a series of buttons on the wall and the room shifted with the sound of grinding metal. As the room tilted, they rolled out of bed.
"New course changed and implemented," said the computer. Red lights and warning buzzers replaced the white lights and silence.
"Now what?" asked Michele.
Mark hit several computer keys and came up empty. "Computer," asked Mark. "Why the warning buzzers?"
"Frozen oxygen at main thruster," said the computer.
"You're not going out there to thaw that one," said
"Don't need to," said Mark. "Just rotate the entire balloon 180%." He programmed the operation and the Sojourner began slowly turning with a low grinding sound.
"Why didn't the computer do that automatically?" demanded Michele. "And why did it know what the problem was this time?"
"'Outside of design parameters,'" mimicked Mark. "Computers are stupid! Oh, there are sensors at the thrusters."
The grinding sound grew louder and the room tilted back and forth several times before stabilizing. The grinding softened, ceased.
"Can we go back to sleep now?" asked Michele.
"In a few minutes," said Mark. He approached the bed.
"No!" Michele lay back down and pulled the covers over her head.
Four
"These peas have some sort of blight on them," said Michele as she walked into the control room. "They're not going to mature."
"Last week it was the grapefruit and the week before the carrots."
"It's getting worse," said Michele. "We're going to be living completely on synthfood the last week."
"At least we have the synthfood."
"I don't trust it," said Michele. "Keep inspecting the garden carefully. 'Though the fig tree does not bud and there are no grapes on the vines, though the olive crop fails and the fields produce no food, though there are no sheep in the pen and no cattle in the stalls, yet I will rejoice in the LORD, I will be joyful in God my Savior'...You said there was a message?"
"I've got some more bad news. Have a seat."
Michele sat down on her seat at the control panel.
"Your Mom just went home to be with the Lord. The funeral will be next week. She didn't know that she was ill until last month and she didn't want to worry us."
Michele didn't move. "Will we be close enough for a video link?"
Mark nodded and said, "There is still about a four and a half minute delay, but you should be able to watch the service without any interruptions. They won't be able to see us, however."
"It's probably best this way." She grabbed her husband and began to cry.
Mark walked into the bedroom and looked at Michele. "Are you all right?"
She sat up in bed and said, "It was a beautiful service. Dad read some of her first letters to him. I didn't know that he still had them. I wi
sh I'd been half as intelligent and mature as she was as a teenager. Several friends spoke. And Ron -- my brother Ron -- the man who never wanted anything to do with Mom's religion. He testified of her love for the Lord without being pretentious. It's been so long since I've seen Ron sober. I'll miss her, but she's much better off with the Lord. She's been in a lot of pain, but she never let anyone know it. If only I can have the testimony she has."
"That's wonderful," said Mark. "Would you like some good news?"
"The shock of something new and different might kill me. You know that new things always take some getting used to. Don't you care about the health of your poor wife? I might just keel over from shock. Why …"
". . . Don't you come over here and look at this and stop talking?"
Michele got out of bed and walked across the room to the monitor. She didn't read it correctly the first time, so she adjusted the screen and blinked at it for a few seconds.
Michele squealed and hugged Mark. "You sold it! The entire load to one buyer?"
"And this is to a wholesaler," said Mark. "It's a locked floor price. It could be more when we dock."
"Why? How come? I mean . . . what would justify this?"
"That bothers me too," said Mark. "We've neglected the news. We haven't even bothered to store the free stuff."
"How much will we have to pay for oxygen for the next trip? How about a new garden? And another suction tube?"
"Victor didn't have prices for all that, but he said that he could get them for us for less than we paid going out."
Michele put both of her hands on Mark's shoulders and said, "Victor? Victor Lattimore?"
Mark nodded and they both fell silent for several seconds.
Michele found her voice first. "Victor Latimore is our jobber? Why do the royals want to buy our methane? And why are they willing to sell to us?"
"Maybe it's nothing