The slope left her enough space for about thirty steps. Francesca spread her arms and started running. She remained calm and decided to trust herself to this methane-laden, dense air. Her Batgirl cape was gradually lifted by the headwind. After eight steps she started moving her arms up and down and found the air resistance was quite strong. She sprinted breathlessly to reach 15 kilometers per hour. Now she felt it was too late to stop. She remembered to continue breathing, and at the same moment she lifted off.
Francesca was flying! She instinctively leaned forward, which increased her speed. Her heart was beating like crazy and she could hardly believe it. She was flying like a bird! Too bad she was a billion kilometers away from Earth. She would have liked to have shown those birds back home what she could do. Like a giant bird, she herself was gliding several hundred meters above the surface of Titan. Francesca looked around in all directions. The landscape did not look different from what she had seen through the cameras of the lander module, but it seemed more authentic. She was no longer an observer, she was right in the middle of it. She just needed to keep moving her arms. When she tilted her body in a specific direction, she flew in a curve. She pulled her arm closer for a moment and looked at the display indicating her direction. She was making good progress. About 30 or 40 kilometers per hour, I would say. She would gradually have to lower her altitude in order not to miss the lander. After all, she was only an absolute beginner when it came to flying like a bird. Better not dive down like a hawk, she thought. She started to circle, while slowly losing altitude. Then she realized what would come afterward—this was her first and last flight. She was never going to be a bird again.
The thought saddened her. She had to use her phenomenally rare chance as well as she could before it was over. The mission could wait for a few more minutes. Francesca flapped her wings faster. She gained altitude, kilometer by kilometer. The sky only grew brighter after she traversed a dense layer of haze. Then the sun rose. It was a sparkling star, by far the brightest in the sky. She felt the warmth of the sunlight on her face, even though it was so far away. It was the source of life, and Francesca felt happiness flowing through her entire body. She would have loved to have flown even higher, but she knew the story of Icarus, even though this sun would surely not be able to loosen her feathers. Marchenko, if you only could be here and experience this, she thought. Tears were streaming down her face, though she felt happy as never before, if only briefly.
Then she came back to her senses, and the grown-up Francesca took over. She made up for lost time by going into a dive. She flew headfirst toward the ground, going faster and faster. The wind was roaring so beautifully she did not want to stop, although something inside her issued a warning. She slowly opened her arms, noticed the difficulty in doing so, and was glad she had not waited any longer. In but a quarter of an hour she reached her destination. Even at an altitude of 500 meters she realized something was wrong. The lander was surrounded by an unnatural looking wall.
She would have to aim well during landing. Francesca was excited, this being her very first—her only—landing. She wouldn’t have time to practice. What should she do? She tried to remember old nature programs. How do birds land? Feet forward, wings lifted. Will it work as well here? Due to the thick atmosphere, it worked even better than on Earth. She had chosen the correct angle and easily raced toward the ground as if she had always been a bird. At the last moment she braked, landed smoothly, and compensated for the remaining momentum by raising her wings and taking a few steps. She went into a crouch due to the effort and folded her wings around her like a bat. For a second she blacked out, but then the moment of weakness was over. She stood up and walked toward the lander module. Francesca was sure Martin and Hayato were watching her.
“Guys, I am back and need someone to help me take off my wings,” she said into her radio.
January 1, 2047, Enceladus
For New Year’s Day Marchenko would have liked to have had a shot of liquor. He searched Valkyrie, looking in every compartment, and thought where Martin or Francesca might have hidden a secret stash, but unfortunately he found no alcoholic drinks anywhere.
One of the lockers that must have belonged to Francesca had a photo stuck to the inside of the door. She obviously had forgotten about it. He saw a younger version of his girlfriend, with very short hair, wearing a military pilot’s uniform. Behind her a young, good-looking man smiled into the camera. He was also a soldier. Was it a former lover? Marchenko felt a slight pain stab his heart, though it was not so much jealousy as the ache of loss. If he had only met Francesca earlier! He also knew this would have been completely impossible, and back then they probably would have fought each other rather than falling in love. Marchenko, who had always been a cynic, never really let women get too close to him. Francesca, on the other hand, seemed to be an open and honest person, who was also very optimistic. His cynicism would have probably made her livid, but this was the only way he could deal with the world. A witty, sarcastic reply and a shot of vodka were his secret weapons against the terror constantly threatening a cosmonaut in the vacuum of outer space. He knew colleagues who had no longer been able to stand the fear. Some instead descended into alcoholism, others left the Cosmonaut Corps and got desk jobs that made them even unhappier, so they also started drinking.
Marchenko sighed. Of course he was afraid right now. His fear never left him. He did not know why, but it did not feel as corrosive anymore as it used to. Earlier, his fear had been like a poison dripping onto his nerves and making him increasingly jumpy, until he had to down a shot of vodka or two as the only working remedy. Now his anxiety was softened. It made him sad, but not cynical, but this unhappiness seemed to fit him better, like being an aspect of his Russian identity. Maybe this was only another form of Romanticism, which he had always considered corny. He could blame Francesca for the fact he was definitely better off than he used to be. No. He must thank her for it. He was very grateful that something like this would have happened to him at his advanced age, and it filled him with warmth.
The reason he felt this fear more strongly today than yesterday was not only his failed attempt to establish radio connection with ILSE. While searching the compartment earlier, he noticed a light smell of urine, just faintly, like in a superficially cleaned men’s room. The life support system was trying its best to scrub the ammonia from the air, but it apparently was not being completely successful. He had wanted to postpone for as long as possible the moment when he needed to acknowledge this problem. Unfortunately the time had now come. He must check the hose feeding the gas from the supply tank into his improvised power plant.
The result was worse than he had feared, and he was surprised at how calmly he took it. The hose had decomposed so badly he had no choice but to close the valve. Otherwise he would die of ammonia poisoning within a few hours. From this moment on, his power plant would no longer generate energy. Marchenko used the computer to check on his reserves: 64 percent battery charge. It would not be enough for a second radio transmission, but it did not instantly condemn him to death. He could calmly decide how to take his exit. Marchenko felt an ice-cold film cover his skin, yet also felt relieved. Fear had turned into certainty.
He felt a new strength flowing through him, even though it was absurd and surprised even himself. Was it possible the subliminal fear had exerted such a paralyzing effect on him? What should he do with his last days? Should he go on a hike without a destination and follow the steps of Francesca across the surface of Enceladus? Should he try to use his last hours to see all the things only Francesca and Martin had witnessed? He did not have to decide right away. He knew one thing for certain—he would not sit down and wait for a rescue that would not arrive because it could not arrive.
At the computer, Marchenko called up the part of the log covering the submarine voyage of Francesca and Martin. He was already familiar with the surface, yet he did not know what was waiting for him in the ocean. The records were fascinating, and i
t was a story that gradually became more thrilling. First there were the failed attempts to find life, followed by the first indications of biology, although a rather alien one—the mysterious Forest of Columns created by someone or something at the bottom of this extraterrestrial ocean. Then they finally recognized they were dealing with a rational creature of almost incomprehensible intelligence. It was also a heartrending story. For the first time in a long while, Marchenko had to cry when he imagined how Francesca was suddenly cut off from humanity, expected her certain death, was written off by the AI algorithms, yet nevertheless survived. If only he was able to see her once more! Marchenko would have gladly traded his last days for the opportunity, but who was there to agree to such a deal?
It gradually became clear where his path would lead. Francesca and Martin had been unable to finish their mission. When the cable connecting Valkyrie to the outside world had been severed, they needed to focus on their own survival. There had no longer been time to find out what was really behind the Forest of Columns. Marchenko was going to complete the puzzle, leave the solution in the computers, and send it back to the surface with Valkyrie. He thought, It would be a wonderful legacy. And there are worse ways to die—like lonesome and forlorn on a sofa at home.
What did Valkyrie have to say about it? Marchenko used the computer to check the supplies aboard the vehicle. While the changes he had made would prevent Valkyrie from digging through the ice, it was not necessary to have this specific function operational. It was only a few days since Valkyrie, with Francesca and Martin on board, had managed to reach the surface through the fissures of the Tiger Stripes. So, during this short time, not much should have changed. Conveniently, the on-board computer had recorded everything, so he would just have to trace the previous route back to its origin. Marchenko could just sit back and relax while the automatic functions did all the work. The jets driving Valkyrie were powered by electricity from the batteries. The stored energy should last until the Forest of Columns. He appeared to have sufficient food and oxygen, at least for the week he estimated he had left to live. He was fully aware his planned voyage was one of no return for him. Marchenko did not believe in miracles, and he would need a big one to get out of here alive. His chief concern was he might take his discoveries to his watery grave. He had to leave Valkyrie enough energy so it could return to the surface in automatic mode, with the life support system turned off. According to the computer, twenty percent of the maximal charge should be sufficient. If Marchenko used the available energy sparingly, this ought to pose no problem.
There were a few imponderables, primarily because the return path might have closed, contrary to expectations. Marchenko did not want to imagine what this might mean for him. Depending on present geological activities, the upward currents might be significantly stronger than before. This could mean Valkyrie would need more energy for the descent than planned. The maximum activity of the Enceladus geysers happened during its orbit farthest away from Saturn, and the moon was currently leaving this point.
When should I start? Marchenko walked up and down inside the vehicle. Messages from Earth were not to be expected, since the antenna of Valkyrie was not designed for receiving them. It was entirely possible a message from ILSE might still arrive any second, though. Perhaps the spaceship was experiencing technical difficulties. He recalled the drive failure on their voyage here, when the entire energy supply failed, but this would be a strange coincidence. He could not imagine they would intentionally string him along. With a probability of 99.9 percent, the message simply had not reached ILSE. Things like this happened, and it probably wasn’t worthwhile to wait any longer for a reply because this would decrease the chances of completing his self-defined mission.
Nevertheless, something blocked Marchenko from ordering Valkyrie to begin the descent. It was irrational, as he himself knew, but he had to extinguish his last flicker of hope before taking this step. Thinking of this detail hurt him and tightened his throat. Where did all the strength he felt a just a while ago vanish to, and what had happened to his steely determination?
He remembered how he had once jumped into space from the cargo bay of a Russian space transporter, without a safety line or any hope for rescue. It had been a simple and logical decision, since the spaceship had been hit by space junk and was tumbling inexorably towards Earth. The Chinese then rescued him from their own space station.
Back then he traded a zero percent probability of survival against an unknown chance of being rescued. Now it was just the opposite, and he was knowingly moving toward his certain death. Maybe ILSE had been on the way for some time, was monitoring him from orbit, and Francesca had just sat down in the pilot’s seat of the lander module, but they could not reach him by radio? Marchenko shook his head. I should not tell myself fairy tales. The transmitters on ILSE were strong enough to be received by his helmet radio, and Valkyrie also had its own receiver. It was extremely improbable both systems would simultaneously fail, particularly since he could radio the drill vehicle without any problems.
Marchenko activated the computer screen and started typing, but still he hesitated before issuing the decisive command. He just could not do it. Life was holding him back. Or was it the fear of death? He was angry at himself, for he never used to have a problem with making decisions. When he saved the lives of Francesca and Martin a few days ago by means of his suicide mission, he had done so without hesitation, even though he was entirely aware of his probable impending death. What was really holding him back? He could only think of Francesca, and when he consciously focused on her, he realized she was the sole reason for his hesitation, something he did not want to admit. This did not fit his image of himself because he would have to admit to being more attached to this woman than to his own life. Could this really be the case, or was he only imagining it? What about his curiosity, his desire for the unknown? Would he really be able to deny this unique opportunity because he was afraid of losing something? Ultimately, this was why he had become a cosmonaut.
"Nyet, Mitya," he said to himself.
This is not who I am. Most of all, this is not what Francesca would do. If she was in my situation, she would definitely try to solve this mystery. I cannot imagine anything else from this strong woman. He needed to follow through with this decision because he owed it to her. After all, everything had already been prepared—the hoses had been taken off the jets and the path to the Forest of Columns was known. Okay, then.
Marchenko pressed the Enter button. The software acknowledged his command with a harmonious sound. He heard the jets being activated. They freed the vehicle from its armor of ice, and then let it slowly sink downward. He did not have to hurry—he had a leisurely trip ahead. Now, the decision made and enacted, he once more felt the strength he had been proud of all his life.
January 1, 2047, Titan
Martin nodded toward Hayato. The German astronaut was still wearing his LCVG, so it was quicker for him to step into his spacesuit than for his fellow astronaut to prepare for leaving the lander. How many times had he already done this today? He glanced at the screen while putting on the lower part of the suit.
Francesca looked strange, appearing as if she wore a bizarre Mardi Gras costume resembling a short, fat caterpillar with butterfly wings. Hayato checked to make sure Martin had not forgotten anything and gave him the ‘go’ command. Time to go out for some more fresh air... again, Martin thought, as he quickly headed to the airlock.
Francesca was leaning against the lander, trying somehow to get her Batgirl cape off her spacesuit.
“Careful,” Martin said. “The lander is only resting on a few blocks of ice. Better not shake it.”
Francesca flinched at hearing this.
“Nice to have you back here, though,” Martin said. “We missed you… and we should take off as fast as possible.”
“What is going on?”
“Let’s first solve your problem and then go back into the airlock. There I can explain the rest to yo
u.”
“Okay,” Francesca said, turning her back toward him. “I glued the tent poles to my suit and attached the tarp to them. As wings, you understand?”
“No, I don’t right now, but never mind,” Martin said. “We have to get them off or you won’t fit into the airlock.”
Martin shook the pole that appeared to be glued to Francesca’s left arm. How did she manage to do this? He did not succeed in getting it to come off.
“It’s totally stuck. I might rip a hole in your suit if I pull too strongly,” he said as he abruptly halted his unproductive effort.
“It’s a great adhesive, yes?” asked Francesca, with a touch of satisfaction. “I cut the tarp into a wing shape with the multitool.”
Martin reached into his tool bag and found the instrument.
“Well, then I am going to try to cut off the fabric now.”
He folded out the tip of the multitool, which looked like a pair of scissors, and placed it against the fabric. First the right arm, he thought. The material was tough, but he managed to get through it. The cut got larger.
“Damn,” Martin gasped, “with gloves on, it is hard to get my strength behind it. I wish I could take them off.”
“Not a good idea,” he heard Hayato say via the helmet radio. “I am sorry to tell you, but we really have to hurry.”
“I understand,” Martin said, “but I can’t work miracles here, either. The fabric is pretty tough.” Francesca used her left arm to get out her own multitool and tried to help him. Yet she could not reach the right wing without pulling the material away from Martin, and she could not work on the left side as long as she held the scissors in her left hand.
The Titan Probe Page 14