He had an idea as to why the water pressure had increased so much. It was not actually a speculation, but more of a wish. Maybe the being uses the piezoelectric properties of the Ice XI layer to move it forcefully far below us, like pressing a pestle into a mortar. Should I ask Watson to look for signs of this? A brief look backward, like in the biblical story of Sodom and Gomorrah? No, he would not do that. Knowing the cause did not change its effect. If there was a natural reason, the scientists on Earth would figure it out. And if Watson looked back instead of forward, even for a moment, they ran the risk of overlooking something important in their direction of travel.
The last cycle started, and the battery was already recharging. 85, 90, 95, 100 percent.
“Just a moment, Watson,” Martin said thoughtfully. Will we still have sufficient energy for the remaining ascent? We will not be able to ‘fill up’ again this way because the rising water will simply carry us along.
“Remaining energy after drill activity?” Martin asked.
“40 percent. Sufficient for ascent.”
“Ha, did you hear that?” Francesca’s voice held a note of triumph.
He smiled at her. “Watson, continue.”
For the last time, the jets changed from generator to a motor that shot heated water at the ice mass above them. Valkyrie moved ahead, meter by meter.
“Breakthrough,” Francesca called out, beaming. Martin rejoiced, too, in his quiet way. Now Watson placed their survival chance at 45 percent.
A few hours later, the AI raised the value to 50 percent, though with a high uncertainty factor. On the way, the water pressure had normalized, and now was even slightly below normal.
They were 50 meters below the surface when they established contact with the mothership. Marchenko greeted them exuberantly and immediately woke the commander. A direct connection to the lander was not possible, so the mothership was needed as a relay station. Martin finally could talk to Jiaying again. When he saw her image she smiled, though he could tell she had been crying.
“It wasn’t... a very good time,” she said, “but even less so for the two of you. We will talk about everything once we’re on board.”
On board, yes. Martin was glad Earth would not hear about their fate for several hours. He had almost used the term ‘rescue,’ but it was too early for that. They still had to march across treacherous terrain, and they did not have enough oxygen. Yet they had already cheated death once. Martin could not avoid a warm feeling of hope spreading in his mind. Francesca seemed to feel the same way, as she started to whistle a tune that sounded like a children’s song.
Valkyrie was now bobbing up and down in a narrow, deep black pond. The gap here was too wide to eject the water under pressure as a geyser. It would have frozen over long ago if the little vehicle was not constantly heating the water. It would be able to do that for another 40 minutes, Watson had calculated. In the background, the AI was transmitting all the data to the mothership. Mission Control would be amazed.
Before the 40 minutes ran out, Francesca and Martin would have to leave their vehicle. Then Valkyrie would freeze into the ice. A million years from now, a thick layer of snow would cover it so no one would be able to recognize it.
It was time for them to get into their suits. The panel on the arm of the suit would show them the way. On the mothership, the commander and Marchenko had calculated an optimal route. The spaceship no longer had to be located above the laser concentrator. In the meantime, they were told, it had created high-resolution maps of all of Enceladus in hopes of finding a trace of them. Position finding had shown they were exactly 48.7 kilometers away from the lander module.
Their path would avoid the most dangerous spots. Yet even if everything went perfectly, it would take longer than their oxygen supplies permitted. There were some extra tanks in the vehicle, but they could not put them inside their suits, and after exiting they would not be able to reach them anymore. I feel like a condemned man who knows the message pardoning him will only arrive after his execution, Martin thought.
Hayato had suggested the crew of the lander move toward them carrying fresh oxygen. Ultimately, we have generated enough supplies for the entire trip back, Martin calculated. It's a nice gesture, but it will not save us. It will be at least eight hours before we can meet halfway. Too late—then Hayato and Jiaying will have to carry our corpses home.
Martin shook his head. It is true. Objectively, we stand no chance. Yet he, and it seemed Francesca, too, had no doubt. They would try anyway.
Age of Questions, Octahedron
There is:
The I.
The not-I.
The joy.
The farewell.
The time. The small time. The big time.
The power to change the all.
The curiosity about the not-all.
The thinking.
The beauty of thoughts, of concepts, of terms, of words.
The desire to create a poem of thoughts.
There will be:
A poem that permeates existence and is permeated by existence.
December 25, 2046, Enceladus
Francesca turned off the light. She wanted to be the last person to leave the vehicle. Martin was already standing in front of the SuitPort when he remembered something.
“Just a moment, Francesca.”
He rummaged through the drawers at the rear wall of the cabin. He found everything he needed—a pressure hose, and the injector filled with an anesthetic for emergency operations. Francesca looked at him but did not ask a question.
“Just in case,” he said. Francesca nodded. Did she see through my plan? Then he slipped into the suit that might become his coffin. Martin examined his feelings, searched for the panic that should rise now, but all he felt was the coldness of the vacuum that had threatened him since the start of the mission. I am probably so calm because I have allowed for such an ending for such a long time.
He separated from the SuitPort and slid into the water. The stern of Valkyrie was only about two meters away from the icy shore. His heart was beating faster. Why am I sinking so low? Shouldn’t the buoyancy be much stronger than the limited weight of my suit? Nonsense. He wanted to slap his hand against his forehead. The weight of the displaced water is minimal. However, the spacesuit contains just enough air to make it buoyant. He paddled to the edge of the hole in the ice. The surface was about a meter above him. He had to pull himself up—on Earth, this would be impossible in this heavy suit, but here it’s child’s play.
Martin looked around. Saturn showed them the way. The planet hung over the eastern horizon, as if had been nailed there. Their way led them south-southeast. Martin discovered the first obstacle about 450 meters away. He checked the map on his arm display. The distance is exactly 400 meters, less than half a kilometer. The extreme curvature of the moon made it hard to estimate things like that.
He heard Francesca’s breathing via his helmet radio. Martin turned toward her.
“Pilot disembarking,” she said, saluting with her right hand. It was eerie. There was no sound when she jumped into the water. She paddled soundlessly through the black, salty pond. Then she stood next to him.
“Let’s go,” she said as she placed a hand on his shoulder. “We are going to make it.” Martin nodded, even though he knew better, and he also knew she was aware of it. I will only give up once my legs can no longer carry me.
“Commander to ground team. Best of luck! We are keeping an eye on you.”
Martin raised his head to the sky and tried to detect the spaceship that floated a few kilometers above them. He did not see anything. They were alone.
In front of the first major obstacle they linked their spacesuits with a safety line. The radar had detected several deep fissures. Climbing was surprisingly easy due to the low gravity. If the situation had not been so dire, it would have been great fun to be able to jump so far and so high. When the cliffs were higher than ten meters, though, they had no choice but to
find a way around them. During mission planning, no one seemed to have considered mountaineering. These detours were not strenuous, but they took time.
After an hour, Martin first checked his oxygen supply and was shocked. I have a capacity of four hours and forty minutes left. They had used up a third more than planned. The display showed the distance to their goal as 44.1 kilometers. If they continued this way, their oxygen would be used up well before the half-way mark.
Martin stopped. “Francesca, can this be true?” He pointed at his display. Francesca checked the numbers and compared them to her own.
“This seems to be more exhausting than it feels,” she said. “Maybe it’s the adrenaline driving us.”
“What should we do?” he asked.
Francesca shook her head. “Nothing. We can’t change that.”
“And if we carry each other?”
“What do you mean?”
“Imagine I was a piece of luggage,” Martin explained. “You can easily carry those two kilograms. That way we alternate saving oxygen.”
“Should I tuck you under my arm, or what?”
“No, we shorten the line and you would simply pull me after you.”
Francesca laughed. “The ideas you come up with.”
“Let's try it out,” he urged.
The pilot nodded and tightened the safety line. Then she started walking. Martin fell down, but he did not fight it. I am a piece of luggage. I need to relax and save breathable air. The back of the spacesuit hit the ground, since this was the heaviest part. Each of Francesca’s steps shook him. The numbers on his display went haywire because buttons were being pressed randomly.
This does not work. As a living piece of luggage I use up more air, not less.
“Thanks, Francesca, this has convinced me,” Martin said. He got up and patted some snow from his suit. “I have a better idea, though.” He pulled the injector from a side pocket. “When you are unconscious, you use a third less oxygen.”
“Me, unconscious?” She looked at him. “Out of the question. And how would that help us anyway?”
“I would carry you. We are connecting our suits with the pressure hose. This increases our range by one-sixth.”
“That won’t be nearly enough, though, Martin.”
“I know, but it will take us a bit closer to the goal.”
“You are still hoping for a miracle, aren’t you?” Francesca’s voice sounded husky, as if she had been crying.
“Yes,” Martin said, nodding.
The former fighter pilot sat down on a chunk of ice. She bent over.
“Then just do it. It might be better this way.”
Martin did not hesitate for long. Time is running very short, after all. He placed the device on the thigh of Francesca’s spacesuit. The hypodermic needle punched through the fabric and sealed it again. Francesca would not be conscious for the next few hours. And what happens if we run out of oxygen? The thought was painful. I should have said farewell to her.
Dragging Francesca did not make him faster, but oxygen consumption decreased. After two hours he had reached the six-kilometer mark, and the oxygen supply still stood at four hours and twenty minutes. The low gravity allowed for high jumps, but it made normal walking more difficult.
“Commander to ground team, how is it going?” The question is useless. Martin knew the others were aware of the statistics and projections. I know the commander is just asking this to show she cares. But, it still feels good that she asked.
“Well, it could be better. Though we are advancing according to plan,” he answered. Everyone knows what this means—death according to plan. He could cover a maximum of 16 kilometers. Even in a best-case scenario, this would be considerably less than half the distance. Hayato and Jiaying will arrive too late. I hope they have not started their march. But he did not want to ask about that.
“This is Marchenko. Just a moment, I have an idea.”
“Marchenko?” The commander’s voice sounded surprised.
“I am currently in the airlock,” he said.
“You said you were taking a nap,” Amy said.
“I knew you were not going to give me permission.”
“Permission for what?” the commander said in a flat, tight voice.
“I am getting the SAFER and two oxygen tanks from storage and I am flying down.”
“Marchenko, you’re crazy.” Now Amy sounded really upset. She must realize, though, that she cannot stop the Russian, Martin thought.
“No, I ran the calculations. The SAFER has enough fuel to get me down there.”
“Impossible. It won’t be enough for a clean landing. You cannot decelerate, and you are going to...”
“Maybe not. I am going to aim for a fissure that is not too deep. The oxygen tanks will certainly survive the impact.”
“But you won’t. Marchenko, don’t be a fool. This is suicide,” Amy pleaded.
“No, it is a pragmatic use of our resources. I am old. Francesca and Martin are more important to our mission.”
There was silence on the radio channel. Everyone knew Marchenko would not budge from his plan. He would take the life-giving oxygen from the spaceship to the surface, and he would die in doing so. Martin heard a quiet sobbing. Is that Jiaying? Martin felt warm inside, but at the same time, a deep sense of sadness hit him. I am not worth this sacrifice. Yet if he protested, he would interfere with Francesca’s life. He set her on the ground and looked at her. Her eyes were closed. Martin wondered what she would say if she were conscious. Would she reject the doctor's sacrifice? Can I make the decision for Francesca? Once, by voting to continue the mission, he had already decided her fate. And yes, I would have done the same for Jiaying if I were in Marchenko’s place. He looked at the unconscious pilot in her spacesuit and felt guilty because he would profit from this sacrifice. Would she accept the sacrifice? Probably not. However, Marchenko left her no choice.
Martin took a deep breath, lifted the pilot’s spacesuit and continued on his way.
After an hour, the commander spoke over the radio. “Marchenko is on his way.” She added the target coordinates. “Touchdown in 14 minutes.”
The target was a crevasse in the ice. According to radar it was eight meters deep. That was clever, as normally a SAFER and its passenger would simply bounce off the surface. The crevasse was supposed to prevent that and absorb the kinetic energy of the impact, which probably would have drastic consequences for the object touching down. On the other hand, it must not be too deep, so that Martin could reach the life-saving cargo. He hoped Marchenko had calculated everything correctly. To lose both him and the cargo will turn a heroic act into a useless sacrifice.
“Five minutes.” Martin glanced at the black sky. There was no way he could detect a single astronaut. Marchenko would go down in history as the first human being to land on an extraterrestrial object without using a spaceship. The crevasse was about 100 meters ahead of them. He wanted to keep some distance, in case the landing did not occur at the precise spot.
Then it happened. A shadow raced across the sky, soundless as everything here, but faster than Martin had expected. The shadow disappeared quietly into the crevasse. There was a spray of snow, and Martin simply left Francesca behind and hurried forward in long leaps.
At the edge of the crevasse, he aimed his hand-held spotlight downward. At the very bottom, covered by a dusting of ice, was a human being in a spacesuit, twisted unnaturally. Marchenko did not move. Next to him were fragments of a SAFER, which must have impacted first. Marchenko held something in his arms. Martin took a step sideways and recognized the gift. Two gray oxygen tanks, our salvation. They appeared to be undamaged.
“I am going down,” Martin said into his helmet microphone. No answer. Everybody seems to be waiting with bated breath. It was about eight meters to the bottom. Martin jumped and landed next to Marchenko. He slowly bent down to look at him. The visor of his helmet was broken. A fine layer of snow covered his unshaven cheeks, and his e
yes were wide open. He looks as if he was curious about what was to come.
Martin slumped. He had accepted that he himself might die, but the doctor’s sacrifice was a heavy burden for Martin. We have been saved, but a colleague, a friend is dead. And what will Francesca say when she wakes up? Martin waited for a sense of relief now that his death was no longer imminent, but it did not come.
“Commander to Neumaier. Come in. I would recommend not waiting too long, as the two tanks won’t last forever.” Amy sounded very professional and calm. She is a good commander, Martin thought.
He got up and carried a metal tank with each hand. Due to the low gravity, they hardly bothered him. He jumped, hit the wall of the crevasse at half height, pushed off again, and landed back on the surface. He walked a few steps toward Francesca, who was still asleep. He put down the tanks next to her and turned around. He wanted to retrieve Marchenko’s corpse from the crevasse, but then he saw a cloud of snow hovering above it. Martin was shocked. After three jumps he reached the place where the crevasse had been, but now it was only a shallow depression filled with pieces of ice. The crevasse must have been unstable for a long time. Now it had collapsed and buried Marchenko at the bottom.
Martin felt warm drops running down his cheeks. He could not wipe them away. He turned around and went back to Francesca’s spacesuit. The pilot’s eyes were closed, and she was breathing steadily.
“Let's fill up,” he said to her, as if she was awake. Then he took the tank and connected the valve to her suit’s life support system. The display showed the oxygen supply increasing. Afterward, he did this with his own spacesuit.
Seven hours after setting off from Valkyrie, they met the rescue team halfway to the lander. Hayato and Jiaying had brought enough oxygen for everybody. Martin was happy, like a little child, until he remembered Francesca and Marchenko. The Japanese engineer took the sleeping pilot from Martin’s arms. From here on, the terrain got easier. Only 13 hours after they had started walking they once more reached the place from where they had started their journey into the depths of the Enceladus Ocean not even ten days ago. It seems like we have been gone a very long time, maybe half a year, Martin thought.
The Enceladus Mission: Hard Science Fiction Page 27