Ice Moon 1 The Enceladus Mission

by Brandon Q Morris

  “Understanding. Curiosity.” There was no voice. He had been wrong. These were thoughts that inflated and deflated, and then once more formed an oval cloud. They were alien to his head, like Chinese characters, yet they were universal enough for him to understand them.

  He closed his eyes so that he could concentrate on the concepts. Yet he could not grasp them, and the more he focused his own thoughts, the more quickly they evaded him. Then Martin understood. I have to release them, give them space in my brain. The neurons that embodied these concepts had been activated by an external field. If he tried to track them with his own thoughts, his electrical signals overwrote the external input.

  Martin sank into himself. This gave the alien’s thoughts the space they needed. They stabilized. They floated through the mindscape like Valkyrie through the Enceladus Ocean.

  “Is that. Not-I. Question.”

  He imagined the drill vehicle larger, as if he was creating a painting on an easel, and mentally went through the various sections and activated the jets.

  “I. Not-I. Not-I. Two. Question.”

  Martin looked at his left hand, made a fist, and raised it. Then he first showed his thumb, very slowly, then his index finger, and then his middle finger.

  “Three,” he said, because he knew he could only pronounce what he had thought before.

  “Three.” The alien thought displayed a jumble of various dream images, of mirrors, columns, and cells. It counted three of each.

  “Three. Three. Question.”

  Martin wondered, What does this being want to know? How much is three times three? No, it probably knows that. It has just learned a concept that has been unknown to it during its entire existence. This must be a profound shock. Mankind had reacted euphorically to the mere discovery of extraterrestrial life. This being had just discovered the Other.

  Martin imagined strolling through the streets of his hometown. He met people he knew and greeted, while he simply walked past others. A bicyclist came toward him, riding on the wrong side.

  “Three. Three. Three. Three.” Numerous identical, turquoise-colored clouds drifted across the scenery.

  “Many,” Martin said. The four clouds expanded, became a fog covering everything, and then they burst. He felt the shockwave in his head.

  A small child came running up to him. This was Martin himself. His prior self cried and called for his mom. The being had found one of his memories and brought it up. Does it want to say something to it? He felt the pain of the little boy who had skinned his knee.

  “Pain. Sadness.” The being was correct. Who felt pain?

  The answer was the image of a cell. It seemed to have been taken in all wavelengths at once. None of their devices could do that. The cell walls dissolved. The entire cell died in front of his eyes.

  We have caused this being pain by using our tools and measuring devices. Martin was shocked. He and Francesca could not have known that.

  “Sadness.” There was no accusation in this word, only confirmation and a statement. The past was gone.

  Suddenly Francesca stood next to him. Martin was confused, until he realized he was only looking at a memory. He explained the structure of the middle ice layer to her. Yet the image was not synchronized with the sound. Instead of zooming in, the ice changed and started to move. Two ice layers, each several meters thick, moved a short distance in opposite directions. The fiber-optic cable supplying energy to Valkyrie was cut quickly and efficiently. A repair was impossible, as this happened in the middle of the ice.

  “Sadness. Pain.” Martin thought, is this a kind of excuse? That would be impressive, as it suggests a kind of empathy. How could this being have learned empathy, if it has never had a chance to do so since its birth? It either is incredibly flexible—or empathy is inextricably linked with intelligence. That was a beautiful thought, one that would make dying easier for Martin.

  “There is not. Not-always. Question.” Yes, human existence was limited. This must be terrifying to a being without a defined lifespan, Martin theorized. The 100 years a human might have, what is that in comparison to an eternity?

  “There is not. Not-I. Two. Question.” Martin had been wrong. It had not asked about the general human lifespan, but about my own. Does it suspect the answer? Earlier on, he had imagined what their fate would be. Therefore, he did not have to recall the images of their impending death.

  No new thought appeared, but the pressure in his head decreased. Maybe the being now activates the larger part of my neural activity. He imagined how electrical impulses raced across the ocean floor, how billions of cells turned into a cooperative, thinking organ that was much more powerful than any supercomputer on Earth. How much could be achieved if mankind could cooperate with this being! Problems that baffle the smartest physicist might be solved in a short time by this being. Science would take an enormous leap forward.

  A Lot of ‘if’s.’ The fact was that nothing of this would or could ever happen. In his head he once again saw Valkyrie being slowly corroded by the ocean.

  “Not-I. I. One.”

  The image of the vehicle changed without Martin doing anything. It was shiny again, even though it was in utter darkness. Starting at the ocean floor, a swirling layer of protozoa covered Valkyrie. The image was displayed in a strange scale. Martin could perceive the tiny cells, and he simultaneously saw a complete image of the vehicle. Its walls dissolved, the equipment disappeared, and the cell started to wrap the bodies of the two astronauts in a kind of cocoon.

  Martin had to laugh. This is a nice offer, which comforts me, but the biochemistry of my own cells is too different to be integrated into this being. His neurons were inadequate. It took only three minutes for them to cease all their activities, and the residual voltage of his memories would fade soon after that. Our thoughts, our knowledge—all that will turn into nothingness if we do not make it back to the surface, he realized.

  “There will be. Not-I.”

  Two hours later, Martin opened his eyes. His heart was racing, and he was scared. I hope that was no dream, he thought, and then he was relieved that he could remember every little detail. Should I tell Francesca what I experienced? What had it actually been—a conversation, true communication? Or have I only misinterpreted it based on my own hopes?

  He was no good as a storyteller, as he could see from Francesca’s face when he reported this to her. He had a hard time finding adequate words for the images appearing in his mind. Yet Francesca’s skeptical, slightly bored look soon turned to definite fascination. She stopped drumming her fingers on the desk. She made him repeat what the being had said—and developed her own interpretations.

  “That was an invitation for us,” she finally said. “The being believes it can integrate our consciousness into its own. That is... overwhelming. Imagine if we could profit from millions of years of experience. Maybe this being has already figured out all the laws of nature? It certainly had the time and the capability for it. Consider how young humanity is compared to it.”

  “Do you think this is more than just an idea?” Martin asked. “This being does not know the chemistry of our brains at all. It has been alone for millions of years. What if it only wants us to stay?”

  “Maybe we should give it a try,” Francesca answered.

  “I can’t believe you are serious about this. Do you suddenly no longer want to go back home again?”

  The pilot lowered her eyes. “I... know. This is probably not more than wishful thinking. It just seems to me our chance of making it through the ice is much lower than the probability of this dream becoming reality.”

  Age of Questions, Heptahedron

  There is:

  The I.

  The not-I.

  The fear.

  The loss. The I must not let the not-I leave.

  The worry.

  The numbers. The existence of many.

  The others.

  The curiosity.

  The limitless knowledge.

 
; The exploration of the not-all.

  There will be:

  The not-I.

  There must be:

  The not-I.

  December 24, 2046, Valkyrie

  The abyss yawned above them. Francesca had prepared Valkyrie. They could have cruised below the ice for another two days, pretending to be normal researchers for twice 24 hours, but that would have just delayed the decision. They wanted to finish their ascent now.

  Today, on Christmas Eve, there are people who believe a savior was born 2046 years ago. Martin saw no one who would save them, even if he hoped for it. We will do what humans always do when things get rough. We will try to survive, even though Watson calculated our chance as below one in five.

  Francesca appeared calm, at least externally. During the night he had heard her sob, but he had no idea how he could comfort her. I should try to reassure her, though I would rather have someone else to tell me everything will be all right.

  They were back at a location where they had been several days earlier. If Valkyrie aimed its searchlights upward they would see a cathedral of ice with black sediments on the inside of the cupola, as if made by centuries of rising incense.

  The instruments registered a slight current. The water, having absorbed heat from the rocks at the ocean floor, moved upward. The path to the surface became narrower and narrower, increasing the pressure with which the water rushed toward the outside.

  They had not yet reached that spot, though. They had a long discussion about what would follow. Martin concluded, She is a good pilot, but she is not able to react as quickly as the AI can. Maybe she is better at evaluating tricky situations. They finally agreed: Francesca would put Valkyrie in position, then Watson would steer it. The main task consisted of rising through a system of interconnected passages without crashing the vehicle into the ice, which was hard as steel, and without maneuvering it into a position with no way out.

  Valkyrie was a drill that could swim, not a submarine that could drill. It was optimized for finding the direct path through the ice by using its hot water jets. A real submarine could be controlled more quickly and precisely.

  Martin expected two kinds of obstacles. For one thing, the path ahead of us might suddenly end, because ice masses have shifted. Then we will have to reverse and search for a different path. Much more likely, though, the passage may become too narrow for Valkyrie. Water always found a way, but they would need at least three meters in all directions. If the laser link still worked, this would have posed no problem. However, they only had the remainder of their energy in the batteries. Even though they had used it frugally, it would only be enough to melt a few meters of ice. Exactly how many meters depended upon the temperature of the ice—which decreased toward the surface—among other things. The higher up they climbed, the more difficult it would get.

  Francesca stood in front of her console and tried to concentrate. It seemed difficult for her to give the start command. If they got stuck in the ice, all hope was lost.

  “It’s no good, thinking too much,” he said with a sigh. Francesca nodded.

  “Watson, begin ascent.”

  The jets started up. The vehicle lifted its nose and aimed for the darkness. Watson used all of Valkyrie’s sensors to find the right way. With radar and lidar the AI could see a bit into the future, and at least guess what awaited them beyond the next curves.

  Martin watched the surroundings on the display. The channel in which they were ascending would have been wide enough for the mothership. Yet after about 450 meters it ended in a vent that looked like a chimney. The water rushed through it in a fast current. Watson agreed to this course. The vent was narrow, but not too tight. On the monitor, Valkyrie was moving at breakneck speed through the narrow passage in the ice, and the water current gave it more speed than the jets.

  The vent ended after another 275 meters in a large cavity, a bubble in the ice. The vehicle slowed down.

  “A short break?” Martin wondered.

  “Why not,” Francesca said. She deactivated the jets. Valkyrie now hovered in complete darkness.

  Martin turned on the searchlights. Francesca cast him a questioning look.

  “Doesn’t really matter now,” he said. “It will be over soon enough.”

  The screen showed the cave in true colors. Martin was amazed, as the floor glittered and sparkled as if they had found Aladdin’s cave. I cannot help but admire its beauty, even though I might not survive the day. The suspended particles, which the water had quickly dissolved from the ice and carried along, had lost their impetus here and collected at the bottom. Due to the difference in concentration, they had crystallized. The crystals must have grown over millennia.

  “It’s like a fairy tale,” Francesca called out. She pointed at several blue, shimmering structures that looked like starfish. “Look!” she said, “and back there. The rainbow colors on the wall—all of that was created only for us!”

  She is right, Martin thought. No one before us has ever seen this beauty. And it is very unlikely someone will ever come after us.

  “If a mining company on Earth only saw this,” he said. “Those must be extremely pure substances. And this is probably not the only cavity here.”

  Francesca nodded. “Oh yes. Watson, delete the recording for the last three minutes. Authorization granted.”

  “Deletion not possible. Authorization level too low.”

  “We are offline. A higher authorization is not possible,” she said.

  “Deletion not possible. Authorization level too low,” the AI repeated.

  “Encode recordings made during the last three minutes with my personal password.”

  “Confirmed.”

  “Watson, continue ascent.”

  After two hours they had covered at least half of the way. According to Watson, their chance of survival now reached 22 percent. This is barely enough to be hopeful, but the trend is in the right direction, Martin thought. In between, they had to turn back seven times, or rather, reverse out of a parking space. Going backward, Valkyrie moved much more slowly.

  “Review required.”

  This is what Watson said when he needed them to make a decision. If the AI does not know what to do, we have a problem. Martin knew this was the moment he had been expecting. He stayed strangely calm, maybe because he had visualized the situation often enough.

  They discovered the dilemma on the screen. Above them, the channel narrowed from about 90 meters to a diameter of only a meter. Then it widened again to about six meters, but between those spots there was about 45 meters of ice, which they could not overcome with their available reserves.

  “Watson, alternatives?” Martin asked.

  “Tiger Stripe about 15 kilometers from here.”

  On the way, the AI had already tried out all branchings, but they had often reached dead ends. The Tiger Stripe they had chosen now did not offer a way out. They could dive back down and try the next one. They had enough time, but once they reached the surface, they would be about twice as far away from the lander. They would never manage to walk for twelve hours in their suits.

  “Should we try to get up there and then hope for a miracle?” Francesca looked at Martin. Her face made it obvious she did not believe in miracles. I don’t think much about them, either. Nevertheless, he nodded.

  “Watson, two jets for propulsion, all other ones for melting,” Martin ordered.

  He heard a rumbling sound. The jets had to turn 180 degrees. Valkyrie moved slowly upward. On the screen they did not see the work of the jets, only its result—the ice channel widened, just enough for the vehicle to fit through. It worked, but only for a few seconds.

  “Battery at minimum level for ascent. Please recharge,” Watson said.

  “Great advice, you stupid AI.” Francesca banged her fist against the desk. Soon afterward, a loud sound hit the vehicle like a gong. Valkyrie had hit the dome of the vent.

  Martin said, “Watson, stabilize.”

  “Not enou
gh energy.”

  The numbers were going haywire on the display. The flow rate of the water had tripled. The jets could not do anything about it. What is going on? Martin turned to the AI.

  “Watson, explanation?”

  “Insufficient data.”

  What they saw was literally impossible—except that it was happening. The activity of the geysers followed a certain rhythm. They decreased when Enceladus was far away from Saturn, and increased when the moon once again approached the planet. Yet such a dramatic change in a short time cannot be related to the orbit, unless it is being affected by some cosmic force. Martin could not believe it.

  “Totally impossible,” he said, shaking his head. He then thought about the being that inhabited the ocean. Is it trying to help us this way? Does it have the power to do so? It is a fascinating idea, though it does not help us. Obviously, the being has misunderstood the concept behind Valkyrie. We cannot ram through the ice like in a tank. We need energy, not speed.

  Wait a moment. Speed is energy.

  “Francesca, I have an idea,” Martin said. He could no longer sit still. He heard a harsh noise, as the hull was obviously scraping against the ice.

  “Watson, can we use the jets as generators?” he asked.

  “Correct. During drilling mode the jets partially work that way.”

  “Will that work with cold water, too?”

  “Correct.”

  “Calculate energy generation based on current flow rate.”

  “900 kilowatts.”

  Martin’s idea was simple. Instead of using battery energy to drive the rotors that move the water, we will use the high-pressure water to create electricity in the jets, like in a hydro-electric power plant. Francesca was already at her console and had started to reconfigure the drill jets. They didn’t even have to turn them for this purpose, but simply use the rotors in freewheeling mode. The water that streamed through them from below made them move like millwheels in a river. That allowed them to recharge the main battery. And once it was charged, they could melt away a few meters of ice.