Trapped on Venus

by Carl Conrad

  Marty wondered if it was worth it. “You mean we would only have... well... less than ten hours if you count going and coming from the ship. That would probably involve at least thirty minutes each way. So, we’d have maybe nine hours to find those creatures, make contact with them, convince them that we don’t mean them any harm, then blast off for the command module again? What’s to say that we’ll even find them again?”

  “Yes, I know what you’re saying, Marty,” Stimson consoled him. “But, it’s either that, or don’t try anything and just wonder what could have happened for the next ten years or so.”

  Marty spoke up again. “I think we have to go, then,” he said as he weighed the risks and rewards in his mind. “We’re in a position right now to find out more about Venus than we’ve ever known before. Plus, this could be the most gigantic step forward in the space program we’ve ever taken. Who knows? Maybe we can even make contact with those creatures. Do you or your committee have any ideas about that, John?”

  “Yes, we do, Scott. We’ve had a team studying it since you first made contact. We’ve got Professor Andrus ready to give you a briefing of what they’ve concluded. Do you want to hear from him now?”

  “Yes. Let’s hear what they’ve concluded,” Scott said with interest. “We saw those creatures, but we didn’t have a chance to analyze them or try to figure out what they were doing.”

  “Affirmative, Scott. They’ve used some of the soil and atmospheric data to come up with a theory. Here’s Professor Andrus.”

  Sitting at a console near John Stimson, the command officer of the program, was Professor Stanislaus Andrus, a Polish-American Professor of Chemistry at the University of Miami-Florida, who was distinguished in his field for his views about life on other planets. He was a heavyset man, with a head of unruly gray hair that instantly reminded one of someone who barely paid any attention to it. He seemed to be so focused on his work that he was rarely seen without a lab coat on.

  “Eeez diss da switch I push?” he asked Stimson who nodded to him. “Like diss?” and he pushed a switch that lit a green bulb on his console.

  “Yes, go ahead, Professor,” Stimson advised him.

  “Scott? Captain Jennings?” the professor began.

  “Yes, I’m here, Professor,” the astronaut replied.

  “I been study possibility of life on Venus, and other planets, for long time. But, diss most exciting discovery ever. I always suppose we find bacteria or algae, not whole organism! These creature might have intelligence. Might even half whole civilization if my teery correct.”

  “We thought of that same possibility, Professor,” Scott replied. “They seemed to be aware of us. It was almost like they were watching us, but we didn’t see any eyes or feelers or sensory receptors of any kind.”

  “Yes, vee taught so,” the Professor added without surprise. “But daat not so unusual consider many life forms do not have arm and leg and eye. These seem almost like large-scale amoeba or protozoa. They not hunt or eat like we do, but move and grow by absorb common elements. You an Major Fisk may have confuse them. They have natural tendency to merge wit you not remain separate. They might need to merge wit you to know what you are.”

  This stunned everyone who was listening to the hook up; the astronauts, the technicians, many of the other scientists in the room, the command group. In effect, he was saying that the creatures weren’t menacing at all, perhaps not even intelligent, but large-size primitive organisms who were just trying to determine who or what the astronauts were. The Professor went on: “May not be able communicate wit dem at all; may just have to determine their DNA.”

  “But that would mean coming in contact with them,” Scott said. “Or touching them in some way.”

  “Yes, may be necessary. If we can, must get DNA sample for tests.”

  Stimson broke in at that point. “Why don’t you get some rest for now if you can,” he indicated to the astronauts. “We’ll do some more study and work out an itinerary for you. Every minute will be important,” he emphasized. “Right now, the plan calls for us to attempt a re-landing in seven hours. That’s when landing conditions will be best for where we want you to go.”

  “Seven hours!” Scott exclaimed. “That’s coming at us pretty fast. I’m not sure if I can even get to sleep in that time I’m so keyed up.”

  “You’ll make it, guys. Leave the worrying to us. We’ll wake you when it’s time.”

  “Ok, Stimson,” Scott responded. “But, you’re gonna owe us a whole week of vacation time when we get back.”

  “Gladly, Scott. Gladly,” John Stimson said as he contemplated what was ahead of them all. Then he left his desk console and went to check with the various other groups that were working on different aspects of the return to Venus.

  Chapter 11 – Return to Venus

  Scott and Marty had hardly realized how exhausted they were. But now, with this break before they began their return to Venus, it was wise for them to just remain silent, sit back in the deeply-cushioned, form-fitting module chairs that had been designed at great expense for their comfort and efficiency, and try to get some rest. Sleep might be harder to come by with all the thousands of thoughts rushing through their minds, but it would be a bonus if they could get some.

  Scott pushed a switch to inactivate his headset, then turned to Marty who was only a foot or so to his side. “Marty?” he said, then waited until he saw the astronaut open his eyes and look in his direction. “Yeah, Scott,” Marty replied. Scott pointed at the communication switch on Marty’s console. Marty moved it into the off position.

  Now, just the two of them sat closely enough to hear one another. Col. Tom Grayson was sitting across from them, turned in the opposite direction. But he was still flying the craft, and was in communication with Earth Control One.

  “Marty?” Scott asked again. “Do you think we’re doing the right thing?”

  “Of course I do, Scott. There’s no other option. We can’t wait for a new mission to be scheduled. That might take six... eight... even ten years. You know that.”

  “But, I’m not talking about that right now, Marty. What if...” he thought a minute about what he was going to say, trying to keep from putting a chill in his partner’s confidence. “What if... something happens?”

  “You mean, like we die or something?” Marty understood what Scott was asking him. What about their families, their kids... their futures? “Yeah, I know what you’re saying, but it could’ve happened on the way up here. It could’ve happened just an hour ago when we were spinning in space and Grayson scooped us up out of trouble. Sure, something could happen – and I’d be one of the first to let some other guy go, some single guy with no kids and no wife, if I had the choice – but that isn’t one of our options. And who could do it better than we can? We’ve trained for this mission. We know how everything works.” He reached across the short distance between them and put his hand on the arm of Scott’s suit. “And you, my friend, are one of the best pilots we’ve got at NASA. You’ve been there before. You’ve got the reflexes, the skills, the know-how. You can bring us in, I know you can.”

  Scott could feel the confidence-building that Marty was giving him. Almost like a coach telling his team that they could win the big game even though the odds looked long and it would take a superhuman effort to accomplish their goal. Then, Scott turned to him, and looked earnestly concerned as he asked: “But, what about the creatures?”

  That was a different question altogether. Landing on Venus, going out on the surface again... encountering – no, actually looking for! – the creatures... Was this insane? Was this just asking for trouble?

  “I still have images of that moment in my mind, Scott... when we couldn’t get past them... when I wondered if they were trying to... well, kill us – or at least detain us. Were they trying to figure out who we were, or were they just intent on... eliminating us?”

  “I just can’t make myself believe they were trying to kill us, Marty,” Scott in
terrupted. “I didn’t get that kind of feeling. Curious, yes; but killing us, no.”

  They both stopped to reflect on that incident. The images that came to mind were mixed with fear, frustration, and desperation. Maybe even a sense of panic. Undulating globs of... of what? What were they? Were they intelligent? Were they just globs of protein or primitive life forms not even really aware of their own existence, just living until they died or reproduced?

  But, Scott’s thoughts were wearing him out. He was so tired... so confused, unsettled. “I’m going to try to get some sleep, Marty,” he managed to say as he let his eyes close. “It won’t be long before Stimson will be waking us up. Turn on your com unit, then try to get some rest. I have a feeling this might be one of the wildest things we’ve ever done.”

  “Roger, Scott,” Marty said as he switched his communication unit back on. “Sleep it is.”

  *****

  While the astronauts slept, John Stimson’s crew of scientists, technicians, and staff administrators gathered in a large meeting room at Earth Control One.

  “Andrus, you’re out of your mind!” Adam Jeremac, one of eight or ten scientists in the room, yelled at the Professor who had earlier talked with the astronauts. “There’s just no way we can make contact with these creatures! They’re globs of protoplasm! Bubbles in the mud! The only thing we can do is get some samples and get out of there!”

  “I tink you be a little prematour,” Professor Andrus replied in his thick Polish accent. “There be signs of group socilization, dey half mobility, dey...”

  “Those are not signs of socialization, they’re signs of new chemistry! That’s like seeing movement in a quicksand bog and calling it intelligence! It may not even be LIFE! It may be a cauldron of bubbling liquid – just waiting to make a STEW out of our guys!”

  “Adam... Stan... Come on, let’s at least make this orderly. You’ll both have a chance to speak, and we’ll find out what your views are,” interrupted Stimson as he entered the room. Looking up, he instructed the room further: “Would everyone please take a seat.”

  It was easy to see that this was an opinionated group, and that they were eager to offer their input. Stimson was able to quickly quiet them and get them to the table. Forty people could sit at this large, oval table, and each seat was filled.

  “Gentlemen – and ladies, of course – we’ve got to move quickly on this,” Stimson began. “In less than five hours we’re going to send the Venus Twelve team back to Venus, so we’ve got to have a definite plan, some definite objectives, and we’ve got to decide what to do with those creatures.”

  “Have we definitely determined that they’re creatures, John?” asked Davis Topeler, the eternal skeptic in the room. “We haven’t really seen any images of what Fisk and Jennings encountered, we don’t even have any real data on them.”

  “But they were moving and changing shape. There was a group of them. We have to assume that they were creatures and that they knew what they were doing,” insisted Jacob Levin, a chemist and twelve year NASA Life Assessment team leader who had at one time been assigned to look for life on the moons of Jupiter. “There can be no doubt that we’ve encountered life, and it may be intelligent,” he said emphatically.

  “Waves have been known to do a lot of moving and changing shape, Jacob, but we don’t call them life or intelligent,” countered Dr. Fernando Gomez of the Geo-Marine Institute that had done studies of dolphins and whales to see how highly evolved they were. “Even sounds are very common from non-living species. Ever hear the wind whistle through trees or branches rub together? How about the water? Many people claim they hear voices in a stream. We need something more substantial to conclude that they’re alive let alone intelligent.”

  “Gentlemen,” John Stimson intervened. “The question of life, and intelligence, is something we may be able to determine when we return to the planet. What kind of confirmation would you like to see for either of those designations?”

  “How about a phone call?” jested Bill Sullivan of the imaging team.

  “Or how about they catch a football?” quipped Jarvis Pickering, a geologist who was also a big Miami Dolphins football fan. Then, in an undertone, to no one in particular, “ Did we include one on this mission that the guys can throw ?”

  “More seriously,” Stimson said turning the conversation to the matters at hand, “What do we need to do to establish what they are?”

  “We’ve got to have DNA samples,” said Betty Passatole, an older but well-regarded biologist who added the obvious.”

  “Yes, but how do we get it, Betty?” asked Raymond Averton, one of the few in the room who had actually been an astronaut and respected the difficulties Scott and Marty faced on this mission. “We can’t just walk up to them and ask for a sample?

  “No, but we can use the extractor rods and the soil sampling vials. Isn’t there even a wide-lip sampling bottle in the terrain kit, Dr. Nexton?” she asked of the other woman in the room. Dr. Elizabeth Nexton was a young, attractive woman of only thirty-two, who had designed the tools and containers that were used for soil sampling.

  “There’s the terrain proofing kit. That has an open lid top. But, I’m not sure it would work with the extractor rod,” she answered.

  “How big around is it?” Dan Randall asked. His team was responsible for the terrain search.”

  “Let me look,” Dr. Nexton said as she leafed through a three-ring binder she had in front of her. Running her finger down a list on one of the pages, she stopped: “It has an opening of 5.08 centimeters, 10.16 centimeters in length.”

  “And, for those of us not yet comfortably versed in metrics, how big is it, Dr. Nexton?” asked Dan Randall.

  “Four inches long by about two inches in diameter,” she responded.

  “Why, that isn’t big enough to get much of anything in it, Dr. Nexton. Don’t they have anything bigger?”

  What do you mean? Like a water bucket?” There was laughter in the room. “Most of our collecting was to be done in bags, Dan. But, we only need a microscopic amount for DNA testing,” she reminded him.

  “Yes, I know that,” he continued. “It’s not the sample I’m concerned with, it’s collecting the sample. If we’re going to attach it to the extractor rod so that the guys can scoop up the liquid in one of those pools, I just thought it might be handier to have something a little larger.”

  “That brings up another concern of mine, John,” offered Clayton Isington of the surface collection team. “How are we going to get them close enough to those pools of liquid to get a sample? Those extractor rods only extend up to five and a half feet. Can they get that close to the pools without the surface collapsing?”

  “Dey vill veigh less dan on Earth,” Professor Andrus mentioned. “Gravity is less.”

  “But, not that much less, Professor,” Mr. Isington added. “They will still have to be very careful at the edges of the pool.”

  “Can we clamp two extractor rods together?” asked Betty Passatole. “Maybe even tape them together?”

  “Yes, that would be a good idea,” John Stimson concurred. “Brad,” he said to his aide, “Mark that down as one more of the changes we’ll have to have them make...”

  The conversations went on for another forty-five or fifty minutes before the meeting finally ended so that the committee could go about finalizing the itinerary for the astronauts. Then, only a few hours later, it was time for things to begin.

  *** **

  “Venus Twelve. Jennings... Fisk... This is Stimson at Earth Control One. Do you read me? It’s time to begin separation procedures before going back to Venus.”

  In a groggy, half-awake murmur, Scott answered: “We’re here, John. We’re here. Give us a minute and we’ll be ready to start separation procedures.”

  Since the landing pod was still attached to the Orbiter, Scott and Marty would have to get back inside it, seal the hatch between the two units, then prepare to separate so they could attempt another landing on Venus
. Although, getting themselves ready to do that would probably take six or eight minutes because of all the life support systems and communications links that would have to be reestablished inside the pod.

  “How do you feel, Marty?” Scott asked of his partner as they both unplugged some packages of wiring and pumped their suits full of oxygen. “Did you get any sleep?”

  “Yeah, enough I guess. I don’t feel too bad. How about you?”

  “Yeah, I’m ok. This is it, and I’m ready for whatever happens,” Scott said with reassurance.

  “You guys ready to start the countdown?” Stimson asked.

  “Ready here,” Grayson answered. “Yeah, ready here,” Scott confirmed.

  “Roger that. Starting now at five minutes. Ready? Check. Start countdown.” And digital clocks both in the craft and on the ground began to tick off the seconds in harmony.

  As the countdown reached 5... 4... 3... 2... and 1, there was a quiet surge as the landing pod separated from the orbiter, and the mission began.

  “All clear here, Orbiter,” Scott announced to Grayson so that he could thrust to a higher altitude.

  “Moving into orbit at twelve niner one eight,” Grayson reported as his module began to sweep around the planet. He would be the link for Scott and Marty as they descended to Venus, keeping radar positioning as well as communications open.

  Everyone was quiet for a few moments. This was an extremely tense time. And, though it was certain that there were hundreds, maybe even thousands, of thoughts flashing through everyone’s minds, there was a necessity for focus and concentration not verbal intrusions.