Ice Moon 4 Return to Enceladus

by Brandon Q Morris

  “If I may bother you, the system indicates two damaged areas here, the wastewater container, like in the other segment,” Marchenko said, “but also the shower drain.”

  More work was awaiting him, so Martin tore himself away and entered the WHC. He quickly closed the door behind him so the infernal stench would not enter the corridor. He started with the well-known part. This wastewater container also had a crack, though it extended across the front and side. Martin wondered what to do, but could not decide. Since there were no cameras inside the WHC, he photographed the damage and uploaded it into the system.

  “Marchenko, what do you think?”

  “I am afraid we will have to replace the container. We have just one spare container in storage.”

  “Okay, if you think so.” Martin hoped the container in WHC 1 could be fixed. Right now, he had to deal with the burst pipe, and luckily he had a spare piece with him. He opened a hatch in the shower floor and exchanged the entire pipe section between two connectors. His back was aching, because he had to bend down the whole time. When he exhaled, he issued small clouds due to the cold, but at least the work was warming him.

  Finished. Now only the third segment remained, and Martin had Marchenko open its door. This was where Amy and Hayato used to live. He glanced into Amy’s cabin. The crib Hayato had built for Sol still stood in the corner. There was bad news in the WHC—here the wastewater container had not just cracked, it had burst. A wide gap stared at him, like a huge mouth breathing a vile stench.

  “We will have to deactivate this WHC,” Marchenko said after Martin described the damage to him. “Maybe we can cobble together a replacement sometime.”

  “The four cabins in the other two segments should be enough for the five of us.” Martin was startled when he realized he had forgotten to add Marchenko, whom they were supposed to pick up on Enceladus.

  “It is okay, I can sleep in Francesca’s cabin then,” Marchenko said, sensing Martin’s hesitation.

  “That’s right,” Martin said, even though he was not quite convinced the mission would be successful. Does Marchenko really believe it?

  Part 2: Recovering

  February 3, 2049, ILSE

  Martin closed his eyes as warm water splashed against his back. Now, while a tropics-like shower massaged his skin, he could imagine being in Bali. He noticed the herbal scent of his shampoo. He washed himself and rinsed off the dirt and sweat of the past few days, during which he had worked harder than ever before. After Marchenko started the rotation of the habitat ring, the first things the entire crew cleaned were the cabins and the WHCs. Feeling the force of gravity once more created a bit of normalcy.

  At first they only used pure water. The dirty water was collected in buckets. It was a disgusting job, but they needed the feces. The filled buckets had received makeshift covers and stood in the CELSS, where they would be used to make the freeze-dried soil fertile again. If the crew was lucky, there would be garden-fresh food in two months.

  Afterward, the usual chemical cleaners and disinfectants had been employed. Fortuitously, they managed to remove the overwhelming stench of decay from the WHCs. Instead, they now reeked of cleaners worse than in a hospital, but that would fade in a few days. Martin let the warm water massage his arms, and his thighs would be next. His muscles ached after all the hard work. He had even promised Jiaying a massage and fetched some olive oil from the kitchen to use later. Who knew what this might lead to—it was their first night together since their stay in Hotel Amur with its hard, terribly uncomfortable beds.

  That’s enough. He turned off the water, opened the shower door, and reached for his towel. The feeling of freshly-laundered material on his back was delightful, and he slowly dried himself off, front and back, top and bottom. The best and most attractive aspect was not even the night awaiting him, but the sense of normalcy that was slowly returning. They would fly toward Saturn for nine or ten months. All of them had their places, and the days would be the same. This is what he imagined the future to be, and it was deeply reassuring to him.

  After rubbing his feet dry, Martin left the shower. Then he put on freshly-laundered pajamas, brushed his teeth, and walked in bare feet toward his cabin. Inside, the light was dimmed. Jiaying, who was already in bed, smiled as he entered the room. The sheet covered her up to the neck, while her nightie was draped over the chair.

  Martin lay on his back unable to sleep. Jiaying was turned on her side and breathing steadily. He still felt her warm skin against his hip. He carefully looked at the clock and saw it was 2:30 a.m. Until a few minutes ago he had slept like a log, but then something had startled him. Now his heart was beating fast and his mind was starting to race as well.

  The room was rather dark. A blue LED on the door provided enough light to barely see outlines. He was in bed and he was doing well. Tomorrow would be the first day of an uneventful flight to Saturn. They would reactivate the garden, refurbish what could be refurbished, and then gradually take care of the laser and the associated power plant they were supposed to place on Enceladus. Together with Marchenko they would come up with a plan to reach his body. Martin would spend some time with Jiaying and some without her. There was nothing to worry about. When was the last time I have experienced such a pleasant feeling of predictability?

  Weariness rose on the inside of his skull and pressed his eyes shut as Martin slowly slid back into sleep. He could not move, but not unpleasantly so. He was completely wrapped in a plushy cocoon of sleepiness. It was so soft he wanted to touch and caress it. Sleepiness embraced him, and he surrendered to it. Sleep pulled him down into the depths of his consciousness.

  The cotton cocoon slowly turned into water. Fizzy bubbles rose from the depths and tickled his back. It was a comforting touch, and he felt soothingly enveloped. Gradually he sank into the depths of a warm tropical sea, while at the same time all of his muscles completely relaxed. He simply kept breathing, even though he was underwater. The currents eventually pulled him deeper, and green turned first to light blue, then dark blue.

  He was sinking with his back first, pulled along by the flow. His arms and legs were raised loosely above him. He sank like a baby in the warm water which surrounded him and kept him alive. The dark blue turned black, and he could no longer see anything, yet he perceived everything. Stars flared. They did not flicker like in the night sky on Earth, but shone cold and steadily. He realized he was in space while sinking further into the depths of the ocean. Martin did not mind the contradiction. It did not matter—everything was fine, he felt warm and secure, and was overcome by gratitude.

  White stripes appeared to the left and right of him. He sank lower, and he recognized his surroundings without having to turn his head. He would soon reach the Forest of Columns, his home. This is where he came from and this is where he would return, after having been away for so long. This was the place where he belonged. It had created him billions of years ago, and at the same time he had created it. Martin was no longer a human being, but that did not bother him. He was everything, all-encompassing, and he was full of love.

  He sank deeper. The white columns of the forest were higher than he remembered them. They served as guideposts, but he realized there was more to them. He quickly was overcome by a feeling of loneliness that increased the deeper he sank. Gradually he became afraid of touching bottom, because he felt something waiting that he would not like. He tried to scull his arms and legs to stop his movement, but his limbs did not obey.

  He sank inexorably—no, he fell, and his impressions changed. The water became colder and the blackness more mysterious. It was no longer a bright black, but a dark one he was afraid of, not because it might be dangerous, but because he saw it as a warning against whatever waited for him down there.

  Then his back suddenly landed in the sand. His arms and legs floated downward, as if they did not even belong to him. From above his body must look like an X. Martin did not just feel this, but could see it. His eye floated far above and explore
d the area where he landed. Then it became clear what he saw—or rather did not see—because there was only nothingness.

  The feeling of loneliness became so overwhelming he awoke crying. A warm hand touched his shoulder, and he was no longer at the bottom of the sea. Jiaying spoke softly while her hand caressed him. “It’s okay. Everything is going to be fine,” she whispered, and he knew she was not telling the truth, but she was not lying to him, either.

  Age of Ascent, 27

  There was:

  The I. The we.

  Vibrations.

  Music.

  Connection.

  Water and

  Fire.

  There is:

  Striving.

  Desire.

  Knowledge.

  Uncertainty.

  Warmth.

  There will be:

  Movement.

  Flight.

  The not I.

  The not we.

  Question mark.

  Marking questions.

  Atonement.

  Forgiveness.

  February 4, 2049, ILSE

  Hold your breath, move quickly, and press the button. The door to the rest of the spaceship closed with a wheeze. In front of him Martin saw the CELSS module they referred to as the garden. Once he stopped pinching his nose it would greet him with its very special odor, particularly strong today. Martin had volunteered for the job—he probably had the least sensitive and most adaptable smell receptors among all of them. Valentina was already here to help him, since she had left breakfast early. He noticed it was warm, not only by the sweat quickly dripping down his back, but also by the Russian woman’s thin, form-fitting clothing, which he did not mind in the least. In his mind, he apologized to Jiaying.

  The duo had a tough job ahead of them. Valentina had already carried the first sack of soil she had taken out of the dry plant beds. While some of the plants were raised hydroponically, the others needed fertile soil. They would have to mix the now-dusty stuff with the sewage they had gotten from the wastewater containers. Martin brought a large mixer, and his idea was to make the solid particles a bit smaller before watering the soil.

  He looked for an outlet for the mixer. Then he took one of the twelve buckets, removed the cover, and tried to create a smooth emulsion. “Emulsion is a nice word for a mixture of excrement, urine, and water,” he told Valentina. She grimaced. “Somehow it sounds better than excrement, urine, and water, doesn’t it?” She still did not reply. He pressed the mixer down to reach all of the lumps.

  “Technically speaking it really is not an emulsion,” Valentina said after a while. She put down the sack of soil and was clearly thinking. “It is more of a solution, is it not?”

  “Hmm, that’s partially true,” Martin said. “You are certainly right concerning the urine. The uric acid is in a solution, and the urine is mixed with water. But excrement also contains fats that are not soluble in water. That would be an emulsion.”

  “But that is only a small part,” Valentina said, and Martin had to agree with her. Dietary fiber, dead cells from the intestinal walls, and the bacterial microflora—which they were most concerned with—dominated the composition of human excrement.

  For a while there was silence. Valentina crossed her arms and waited for him to finish his task. He crouched in front of her, mixing shit. What a life!

  “How are you getting along with the others?” It felt unusual to Martin to start a conversation.

  “Fine,” she said. “All of you are really like a family.”

  “With Amy as the father, perhaps?”

  “Yes, precisely. She would be the strict but good-hearted father of the family. I would have liked to have had one like that,” Valentina replied.

  “We all would, and very few of us did. And those who were so lucky probably didn’t appreciate it. You only value things when you miss out on them.”

  “You sound like an old man close to death. How old are you?”

  Martin had to think for a moment. When did he celebrate his last birthday? Could it be he completely forgot it? “Let’s see… 41,” he said. That sounded still rather young to him. He had not even reached half his lifespan.

  “That is about what I thought. I would have guessed 43.”

  “My hair, is that it?”

  “The lack of, yes, I suppose.” Valentina impudently stroked his thinning hair, and Martin blushed. “How cute,” she said. “Still blushing at 41, I hope I will still be able to do that when I’m older.”

  “What are you going to do once we get back?” he asked.

  “That is going to be in two years,” she replied. “I never think so far ahead.”

  “Don’t you have any plan for your life?”

  “I want to be as far away from my father as possible—but still have money.”

  “That’s pretty tough to accomplish, isn’t it?”

  “So far it has been. Yes, it is more comfortable to have access to a well-filled bank account. And what are you doing after the return?”

  “I still don’t know.” Two months ago he would have mentioned sitting in his office and checking the source code for errors. Right now, though, he did not feel as though that would ever happen again.

  February 27, 2049, ILSE

  Life on ILSE fell into a routine pattern, just as Martin had hoped it would. But with the passing of time, his dreams became increasingly vivid. Was this caused by the fact he experienced no adventures during the day? Or was it because they were gradually approaching their destination? Well, they really were not approaching it yet. They had very recently crossed the orbit of Mars. During the coming weeks they would be traversing the asteroid belt. Beyond that, things would get quiet, because Shostakovich’s asteroid-based network did not reach much farther into space.

  The next major destination could theoretically be Jupiter, except that when they reached its orbit, the planet would be at the other end of the solar system. So they would hurtle through empty space in utmost silence. During the last expedition Mission Control had watched over them, but now they were completely on their own.

  Martin often reviewed the day in his mind before falling asleep. Since she had an early shift tomorrow, Jiaying slept in her own room, which they had provided by co-opting the utility closet because the two cabins in the third habitat section still had no functioning WHC. During the coming week they would see little of each other. During the first voyage, two-person teams had been on duty, but now they dispensed with that routine, partially due to lack of manpower, and also because Marchenko was already keeping track of everything.

  Tomorrow they would decide what to do about Watson. The entire crew now knew the story, so Martin was curious what conclusions Amy, Francesca, Jiaying, and Valentina would draw from it. He himself had played at being a plumber again, spending the day repairing pipes in the garden module. They had already planted the first seedlings in the new soil. Soon there would be fresh garden cress, and in three or four weeks they would have lettuce.

  Martin adjusted his pillow as his mind wandered. He imagined leaving the garden by a back door. There he saw a path leading him into a bright, sun-drenched forest. He could smell the summer heat, the dry grass, and the moss under the trees. And the first mushrooms seemed to be already there. Walking along the path he noticed a bay bolete near the trunk of a pine tree. He stepped from the path onto the soft forest floor and observed this was not a solitary mushroom, but rather part of a whole circle of them that had grown around the tree. He carefully picked the bay bolete and was annoyed at himself since he had brought neither a knife nor a basket. Despite this, he simply could not ignore these tasty brown mushroom caps that were so delicious when pan fried with onions, pepper, and garlic. Martin started to salivate. If Jiaying were next to him, she could witness the thread of saliva running down his chin.

  He lay alone, breathing regularly, and his eyes were closed. He was asleep, still searching for more mushrooms in a forest that looked like those at home. There
was a tinge of autumn in the air, a golden leaf here and a surprisingly cool gust of wind there, but late summer still prevailed. While Martin followed his nose the forest was getting denser. His sense of smell, he knew, would lead him to more bay boletes, and perhaps to some chanterelles that often grew in the thin underbrush of young fir plantations. While he thought of it, he saw the densely-spaced trees, which forced him to duck down to a child’s height to avoid their prickly needles. It was darker here than in the high forest, but the scent was also ten times as intensive.

  The moss beckoned him to lie down on it, but there would be ants and spiders and other forest insects. His nose searched for mushrooms and his eyes followed. There they were. He carefully approached the spot, when suddenly a thin branch wrapped itself around his neck from behind. A gust of wind swept through the underbrush, blowing away last year’s leaves. Martin wondered how the dry leaves ended up among the young fir trees, and he was even more surprised about the branch tightening around his throat.

  This can’t be, he thought, I grew up here. It is my forest, but the branch was unrelenting and used more force, so he could not breathe. Martin felt the urge to cough, but could not. He could not inhale, his eyes were bulging, and his cheeks and his chest expanded. The branch let go. There was a short moment of relief, and then Martin noticed this did not help, because there simply was not any air. There was nothing he could breathe.

  He made a loud, rattling sound as his lungs desperately tried to inhale the nothingness. Yet you could not survive on nothingness—it killed. Horrified, Martin flailed with his arms, but he stood no chance. This is my forest, he thought, and he wanted to scream, but lacked the air. He thought he would die now. He was utterly, completely sure about it. But at that moment he awoke.