It was as if, as they moved closer, the strange world was becoming more aware of them. A silly notion, to be sure, but the newspaperman found himself unable to fully disregard it.
The approach was surprisingly quick. By early evening, the blue planet had come to dominate the panoramic frame of the command deck’s observation window. It loomed, giant and mesmerizing before the hull of the ship that stretched out overhead, bathing the crewmembers in cerulean light as they began to crowd the deck, looking for excuses to take in the view. Lamont, who needed no excuse, claimed a seat on the bench in front of the control panel and listened intently to the scattered bits of conversation on the deck while his eyes remained all but fixed on the planet before them. At a glance, it seemed to be a featureless expanse of deep blue; the blue of a clear sky on Earth just before nightfall. It occurred to Lamont upon reflection that the queer uniformity of the color was due to the fact that the gas giant was subtly self-illuminated. Westward had approached at an angle that now brought the planet directly between the ship and the system’s sun, and most planets from that angle would have simply looked like a black hole in the stars. But the chemical makeup of this world produced a dim luminescence that drew one’s eyes into the hazy depths of its bottomless surface. The elusive faintness of the cloud forms as they roiled across the deep blue canvas played tricks on the eyes, suggesting shapes and images where nothing existed.
As hours passed, another visual trick played out: The planet appeared to stay roughly the same size, while the moon that was their destination rapidly became larger. Set against the glowing surface of the planet, the dark side of the moon that faced them had the appearance of a black spot that steadily grew in size at its center—an effect that to Lamont looked eerily similar to the dilation of a pupil against an iris. It was as if, as they moved closer, the strange world was becoming more aware of them. A silly notion, to be sure, but the newspaperman found himself unable to fully disregard it. Glittering elusively in the center of that spot was the strange object that had attracted their attention. It caught light, but despite straining his eyes for long minutes at a time, he could not make out a shape.
As Lazarus concentrated on his work of bringing Westward into a close approach of the object, Abigail Bishop gazed with fixed attention at the instruments of her panel, one hand pressed to the earpiece of her headset, the other rapidly adjusting controls or picking up a pen to scribble hasty notes on a notepad to her side. Occasionally, Lamont would rise from his seat to peer over one of their shoulders, although the purpose of their busy movements at the instrument panels was opaque to him.
Next: Voices in the Night