Pluto's Ghost- Encounter Edition

by B. C. CHASE

  “Okay,” I faintly say.

  “I’m probably going to need to use metal plates and drill holes in your bones. Is that all right?”

  “Whatever you say, doc. Just make the pain go away.”

  She smiles, “You’re okay.” She places a mask over my mouth and nose and tells Tim to hold it, which he does. She fastens a glass vial to a nozzle and twists some knobs on the panel above where I am lying. I hear a hissing sound. “Katia, look in that locker for a pouch with a TraumaDex label.” It doesn’t take long for me to start to black out.

  ∆v∆v∆v∆v∆

  I wake up to a searing pain. I am still strapped to the table, but my arm is in a cast and a sling holds it in place above my chest. It is dark in the European Module, but there is light in Node 2 and I hear Shelby saying, “It will probably take his bones twice as long to heal in space. The transcranial Doppler came out okay, but that doesn’t mean he’s out of the woods. He could be hemorrhaging and I just can’t see it.”

  “At least the Russians are okay,” Commander Sykes says. “They were smart enough to sit in the Soyuz.”

  My head starts to throb with a headache. I close my eyes.

  Commander Tomlinson says, “Listen, the station was designed to support seven people and now we have thirteen. What are we supposed to do about that? Even if we eat like mice, there won’t be enough food. We won’t have enough water, we’ll have too much waste, the oxygen will run out, carbon dioxide will pile up, there will be problems we haven’t even thought of yet. Can you take the extra crew on the shuttle and jettison back to Earth?”

  Commander Sykes replies, “Are you kidding? We’re already 120,000 kilometers from Earth and we’d have to overcome 40,000 kilometers per hour of velocity the wrong direction. It’s not an option.”

  Commander Tomlinson asks, “What about Soyuz?”

  “Same difference. And that would only get you three people, even if it had the fuel.”

  Commander Tomlinson: “You sound like you don’t want to try to solve this problem. Sometimes a really tough problem requires a really tough solution.”

  “What are you saying?”

  “I’m saying that we might need to put everything on the table. I’m saying that sacrifices might have to be made. We could jettison the Soyuz if we have to.”

  “And what would that achieve?”

  “I’m saying we might have to take the chance that it might not make it back to Earth.”

  There is a pause. Then Commander Sykes says, “I hope you aren’t suggesting we send the Russians off the station without a prayer that they’ll actually make it to Earth.”

  “I’m trying to do the right thing. I’m doing my best to be as dispassionate as I can be. People are going to die, no matter what we do. It would be better for us to control the situation than allow the situation to control us.”

  Commander Sykes growls, “Well you’re dead wrong, this time. Don’t ever let me hear you suggest something like that again.”

  “Okay, maybe I am wrong. But you’re not even supposed to be here, and it sounds to me like you don’t even want to find a way to get home.”

  “Trust me, I want to get home.”

  “So what do we do to get you there?”

  “We pull an Oberth maneuver at Venus that points us back towards Earth and we abort the mission.”

  There is silence for a moment. Commander Tomlinson says, “Abort the mission? Are you freaking insane? We can’t do that.”

  “Why not?” Commander Sykes says. “At this point, the mission is a failure. Like you said, we will run out of food and oxygen. Showing up to the meeting as a bunch of corpses would be a definite failure of interstellar diplomacy.”

  “It should be acceptable to you. I didn’t hear you calling for an abort of this program when Discovery was lost. There was a pretty high body count under your watch, Commander Sykes.”

  “Everyone who flew on the shuttles knew the risks, including me.”

  “The shuttles never should have flown again,” Commander Tomlinson murmurs. “Listen, they’re expecting us on Pluto on November the 30th, 2021, and if we’re not there, we won’t have another chance to meet them.”

  “If they want to meet us, they’ll wait. It would be a delay of 150 days, max. When the station reaches Earth, it can resume LEO and NASA can resupply it. We just have to consider this a trial. A successful trial.”

  Commander Tomlinson states, “We can’t abort the mission. Not on my watch.”

  “This isn’t your call. We need to ask Houston.”

  “As you know, talking to Houston is a bit of a problem right now.”

  “We have forty-nine days between now and our Venus encounter. That should be enough time to fix communications.”

  Close by, Shelby’s voice suddenly says, “Jim, can you hear me?”

  I open my eyes to see her standing over me in the darkness. I smile, “I’m awake. Arm hurts, head hurts, but I’m awake.”

  “I’ll give you some more Percocet.”

  “Will that make me sleep?”

  “It might make you sleepy, but it won’t necessarily put you out.”

  While she’s fiddling with the IV, I ask, “What happened? Why did we launch early?”

  “When the Dragon capsule was separating from the station, Dragon exploded on the side. It sent the station on a spin. As it ripped off the station, Dragon hit Sanjiv and Maria and snapped their tethers.”

  Commander Tomlinson saunters in with his hands in his pockets and says, “I guess you’re not going to be able to do your chores. I’ll have Katia pick up your slack.”

  “I still have my right arm. I can do at least some of them.”

  Commander Tomlinson asks Shelby, “When can he get off this cot?”

  “I don’t want him doing much of anything except the BDM.” The BDM (Bone Density Maintainer) is a vibration machine we get to stand on for twenty minutes every day. Some researchers found out that vibration does wonders for keeping astronauts’ bones strong in microgravity. It’s even better than exercise.

  “Jimmy!” Katia says as she floats into the module. “How are you feeling?”

  “I think I’m ready for my first round of space golf,” I smile.

  Katia asks Shelby, “Can he come with me? I want him to see something.”

  Shelby replies, “That’s okay. But no space golf.”

  Katia and I are looking out a window at the Earth. I am astounded by how far we have come and how small our home already looks. It’s about the same size as a ping pong ball held at arm’s length. I can make out Australia on the lower left side of the globe, with China, Japan, and the rest of east Asia rimming the edge.

  Katia remarks, “We are half the distance of the moon to the Earth. Really puts things in perspective, doesn’t it?”

  “Yes,” I say, “Space is pretty darn big.” That’s one of my comments that would go nicely on a plaque with Armstrong’s “One small step for a man...”

  “This is your last chance to see it this close before we go to Pluto,” Katia says.

  “Last chance? Sykes says we’ll probably turn around at Venus and go back.”

  Katia raises her eyebrows. “Why? Commander Tomlinson told me everyone is on board.”

  “Commander Sykes certainly isn’t.”

  We are all in Node 2 because Commander Tomlinson has called a meeting. He says, “I know things are much different than we planned and trained for. Our biggest hurdle at this point is that we can’t reach NASA. I have spoken with each of you and I know most of you want to proceed with the mission. Anyone here who thinks we should abort at Venus, raise your hand.”

  Commander Filipchenko immediately raises his hand. Valentin and Yury quickly follow. Filipchenko says, “I cannot go to Pluto. I’ve been in space six months already, and now my mother has cancer.”

  Commander Sykes says, “I want to get a directive from Houston. If we can’t get the antenna array back up, we must abort the mission.”

&n
bsp; Commander Tomlinson says, “To do that, we need to fix the communications array. That means an EVA. We still have four EMUs (Extravehicular Mobility Units) from the station, is that right, Eric?”

  “Yes.”

  “Good. And we have the shuttle EMUs as spares, correct?”

  “Yep.”

  “Okay. The obvious person to do the EVA is Tim since he is our tech guy. I also nominate Filipchenko because he has done more EVA’s than anyone here. Does that sound like a plan?”

  Commander Sykes says, “Sounds good to me.”

  Everyone nods in agreement.

  “Good. It’s now almost 2200 hours. With the exception of Jim, who took a senior siesta earlier today, the rest of us have been awake for at least forty hours. How about we call it a day and start things up again in the morning at 0700? Filipchenko and Tim, you’ll need to freshen up, eat, and get on the bike with your oxygen as soon as possible in the morning. Sarah can lead the rest of us in our horticulture activities so we can start getting in the swing of things right away. Those plants are our lifeblood. Does anyone have anything else?”

  “Shouldn’t we do a campout?”

  “Normally I’d say ‘yes,’ but in this case, I want you to have as much sleep as possible, given the circumstances. You’ll sleep in your quarters tonight with the oxygen.”

  “Where should Viktor’s and my crews sleep?” asks Commander Sykes.

  Commander Tomlinson replies, “How many can sleep in the Russian Service Module?”

  “Two.”

  “Okay, two of the Russians can sleep in there. Everyone else will need to share CQs in the habitation module, for now.”

  Everyone seems eager to get to bed and, without much else said, drifts back toward the crew quarters.

  I, on the other hand, don’t feel much like going to my quarters. Having taken advantage of a “senior siesta” (as Tomlinson so eloquently called it), and also having slept for three hours during and after surgery, you wouldn’t say I have a major sleep deficit. On top of that, the last time I was in my quarters, Sanjiv’s corpse was floating outside the window, so I don’t have very homey feelings about the place. Commander Tomlinson extinguishes the lights so that only dim, blinking, green equipment lights illuminate the passages.

  I do, however, want to catch another glimpse outside the big windows in the lounge, so I follow everybody else through the American Science Lab, Node 1, the Russian Storage Module, and into the cramped Russian node with cone-shaped hatches obstructing easy passage. From there, it’s down and to port where the Habitation Module is at the end of the tunnel.

  In the Habitation Module, I wish everyone goodnight as they enter their own hatches. Then I focus my attention outside the windows, where the starry view is spectacular, with the Milky Way diagonally crossing the upper right in resplendent glory like I’ve never seen it before, not even way out in the remotest nighttime fields of wind-swept Kansas wheat. The universe is at my fingertips, and yet as it’s as far as it’s ever been. I forget to breathe as I stare at it.

  I see three very bright stars dotting the center of the view. The one on the left is very clearly orange. The other two, close together, are also orange, but not nearly as colorful. I’m pretty sure the one on the left is Mars. As bright as they are, the other two must be Jupiter and Saturn. It is almost unthinkable to believe that, if Houston orders us to continue the mission, we will be passing by both of those distant, giant planets. Boggling my mind further is the thought that each of the little dots of light I see in the vast distance represents a star with its own cast of orbiting planets. How could it be all the beauty that’s out there to be experienced will never actually be seen by anyone at all? I’d wager our alien hosts have seen some of those star systems. Lucky sons-of-guns.

  Suddenly, a noise from one of the hatches catches my attention. Commander Tomlinson is emerging. He spots me and immediately floats down. As if we are the best of buds, he says, “Quite a view, Jim, isn’t it?”

  “Yes,” I agree. “It is.”

  “Makes you hope the mission doesn’t end,” he muses. “See those two bright lights to the right? They are Jupiter and Saturn.”

  “Hey, bingo! That’s what I thought. Guess I might make a decent astronaut, after all.”

  He grins. “We will be the first people to see them with our own eyes that closely. Saturn has always been my favorite planet. I can’t imagine what it will be like to see it in person. We’re the luckiest people on Earth, to be on this mission.”

  I point out, “But we’re not on Earth anymore.”

  “No, we’re not. If I had it my way, we never would be, again. It’s way past time that humans conquered the solar system. We will be interstellar beings, some day. It’s inevitable.” He clears his throat. “Listen, I want you to know I have a newfound respect for you. Two broken bones and you didn’t even flinch. You’re a pretty tough old-timer, aren’t you?”

  I shrug, “A man’s bones don’t make him tough. It’s what he does when the going gets tough that shows what he’s made of.”

  “I like that!” He smiles, and gives my back a slap, “Make sure you rest up. If I were you, I’d be wishing I could head home.”

  “Head home?” I say, touching the window to stop myself from hitting it after the force of the back slap sent me towards it. “Why?”

  “Shelby says it could take you nine to twelve months to heal.”

  “Nine to twelve months?” I say, stunned. I thought she said six months.

  “No,” he asserts. “She says bones take twice as long to heal in space. And, with your age…it just won’t be an easy process.” He places a hand on my shoulder, sending me down towards the floor, “But don’t worry. We’ve got your back. We will pick up your slack.”

  “I’ll manage,” I say.

  He nods, “I appreciate your enthusiasm. Now get some sleep, Old-Timer. It should be easy because you don’t even have a roommate. Yury was snoring like a rocket; that’s why I’m out here. You have a good night.”

  “You, too,” I say.

  He drifts away into the tunnel. Before he proceeds, he glances back at me, his eyes glowing fluorescent green in the ethereal dim light and then pulls himself out of view.

  Nine

  While Tim and Filipchenko are breathing pure oxygen in preparation for their EVA, the rest of us are getting more acquainted with our Horticulture Modules. I was raised on a dairy farm, but in adulthood I was away from home too much to devote my time to the tender loving care that plants need. Now gardening will be my opus primum.

  Sarah is excited to show us that some of the seedlings she brought have already sprouted. Which of our eager little contenders were the first off the launchpad, I wonder, as I look where Sarah points. I recognize them, at once. It’s the beans, of course. Even though we’ve been away from Earth for merely a day, it’s nice to see something green sticking out of the soil. You might think we would be doing hydroponics, but water has a tendency to seep in all directions in microgravity, so that really isn’t an option. Instead, we have compost, and it stinks. This is kept in buckets that fortunately have lids. We have a supply of worms that are supposed to breed and last us the entire journey, but if they happen to die, we also have a stash of frozen worms that we can reanimate. Yes, apparently some worms can come back to life after they’ve been frozen. Scientists woke up some nematodes that were frozen for 42,000 years a few years back. Our worms on the station are annelids, but some scientists at NASA stole the nematodes’ genes and stuck ‘em in the annelids so we could have the backup supply of frozen worms. I suppose I should take pride in the fact that, as the station maid, one of my chief duties will be to supply everyone’s compost barrels with sanitized nourishment from the station’s toilets. There’s no more important work than playing a pivotal part of the food chain. (Just ask a prairie dog.) And if a man can’t feel pride in his work, why work? Here I’m as highly motivated as I’ve ever been.

  We also have bees. Lots of bees. They buzz ar
ound the horticulture modules freely and, remarkably, appear to have little trouble getting around despite the zero gravity. Apparently, European scientists performed some crop cultivation experiments in Antarctica over several years using self-contained, closed modules. The biggest problem they had was pollination. The bees will solve that problem for us and, as a plus, might actually provide us with some honey.

  With the exception of me, because I was so late to the party, those of us who were selected to go on the mission to Pluto have already had a lot of farmer practice in training. But now we have six crew members who need to be brought up to speed. One of them is preparing for his EVA, but the other five listen attentively to Sarah as she shows us around.

  She explains that the Horticulture Modules, despite their reliance upon the age-old techniques of composting, planting, and watering, are technologically advanced, as are the plants themselves. The plants are part of what Sarah calls a “Transgenic Arabidopsis Gene Expression System.” She points to a monitor where a series of trailing, white lines appear in green boxes, each with a label. The labels read:

  SOL-LYC-A0101

  SOL-LYC-A0102

  LAC-SAT-A0101

  LAC-SAT-A0102

  SOL-TUB-A0101

  SOL-TUB-A0102

  PHA-VUL-A0101

  PHA-VUL-A0102

  “The labels refer to the name of the plant, its berth location, and its vector coordinates within the berth. So ‘SOL-LYC’ is Solanum lycopersicum, ‘LAC-SAT’ is Lactuca sativa, SOL-TUB is Solanum tuberosum, and ‘PHA-VUL’ is Phaseolus vulgaris and they are located in berth A. What you see on the screen is each plant’s roots. We added a protein called GFP to their genes. Cameras with fluorescent lights will make the roots glow so you can monitor them on the computers. A plant that is underperforming can be quickly replaced to save precious growth space from waste.”