We put her backpack in the airlock.
“I hope you did not pack any of the chocolate that the replicators made for us,” Adam says. Eve does not react. J transports food in his interior, where it is protected from the heat.
“Do you want to take a sniff of the exterior air?” I ask.
“Definitely,” Eve replies. Her suit starts drawing in air from the outside. Possible germs and poisons are filtered out, and it is enriched with oxygen.
“Hmm, smells odd.”
“Could you describe it more closely?” I ask. It is logical that the air of the planet would smell strange to Eve. She has been breathing the filtered air of Messenger all her life, except when we did exercises to detect different smells.
“It smells a bit... I don’t know... rotten?” she answers. I try to coax something out of the analyzer data, but the concentration seems to be too low. Even just a few molecules of a substance can trigger the olfactory center. I am curious how Eve will react when we reach the fertile zones. I visualize the image of a dark green forest, and there I would lie in the moss, smell the mushrooms, the tree sap, the sun, the soil.
“Okay, it’s my turn,” Adam says. Oh well, then the captain is going to be the last one to leave the ship, I conclude. I hear a “woohoo” and then a cry of pain which shocks me incredibly, followed by “Shit!”
“Adam jumped from the edge of the airlock,” Eve says.
He obviously did not take the high gravity into consideration.
“I am still in one piece,” I hear Adam say.
How childish of him! I think.
J first puts Adam’s backpack into the airlock, then his own. I am moving my consciousness into J’s computing unit. It has sufficient capacity, but now it will take me seconds to solve partial differential equations, rather than mere microseconds. From this point onward, my voice will sound through the robot’s loudspeakers. So far, I have not noticed that I no longer have access to the quantum computer. J crouches to get into the airlock. It doesn’t look like he will fit into the tube, but his size was a consideration during its construction. Since he is the largest single object we have to get off the spaceship, the airlock was custom-tailored for him, so to speak.
Outside I want to look at Adam and Eve’s faces, but the visors of their helmets are slightly reflective. “Are you okay?” I ask them.
Both of them nod ‘yes.’ They have already put on their backpacks, and the high gravity does not seem to bother them very much. Could they have become used to it so quickly? I call up a map of our route and notice the mountain range we are trying to reach is in the west. It is easily visible from here. The air is shimmering above the dry, hot plain, and we will have the sun at our back. Proxima b’s rotation is tidally locked, so the sun will not leave its place in the firmament. The disk of the star glows white, and it is two and a half times bigger than the sun is in the sky of Earth. Despite this, it is noticeably darker than during a summer day on Earth, almost as if twilight has already started. The sky itself appears as a dirty blue. Proxima Centauri does not have the right spectrum to produce a shade of blue like the one we see on Earth.
I have J point to the mountains. “That is our destination,” I say. “It is about 30 kilometers.”
“We should be able to reach it before the evening,” Adam says.
“There is no evening and no night,” I remind him. “The sun will shine until we reach the terminator.”
December 18, 18
We did not manage to cover more than 10 kilometers yesterday. Eve has fewer problems walking than Adam. Perhaps it is because she weighs 20 kilos less and exercised almost as hard as he did. A weight difference of 20 kilos here is the same as one of 30 kilos on Earth. The pressure suit is not ideal for such hikes, particularly since it is form-fitting and the repeated movements cause the suit to chafe. The atmosphere is actually thick enough to do without the suits. Just a breathing mask providing extra oxygen would suffice. But the integrated cooling system offers obvious advantages in these temperatures.
Today, Adam insists he wants to try walking without the suit. He will be wearing his simple uniform, along with the boots belonging to the suit. In some areas the ground reaches temperatures up to 50 degrees, and one might think something is glowing beneath it. I am convinced we will have to stop after two or three kilometers so Adam can put on his pressure suit again, but I did not veto the experiment.
I look at his chafe marks through J’s eyes. Overnight, the fabricators produced an antiseptic ointment that is supposed to relieve the pain and also promote healing.
“What’s in there?” Adam asks.
“Urea.” In reality, I have no idea what the ingredients are. I could have checked, but the answer just popped up in my mind.
Adam scowls.
“Come on, say thank you,” Eve says, as she points down at her body and laughs.
It is good that they have not lost their sense of humor. Walking upright on Proxima b seems to be really hard on them. I compared this to archive images of people on Earth walking. Neither Adam nor Eve walk like other humans. Both have instinctively adopted a gait like a diver strolling underwater. They stomp with both legs, moving their hips back and forth, almost like two-legged robots. This way they have to fight less against gravity.
At first I recommended a different gait that saves more energy for them. The idea is to fall forward into the next step and then swing back at mid-point, letting gravity do more of the work. However, this very soon made Adam’s knees hurt, as his joints could not handle the hard shock of every step.
It might be better if the ground were softer, but it is not. They are walking on a hard, glassy material, and the analyzer tells us it is, in fact, volcanic glass. The surface of the central plains might at one time have been sand that later melted, perhaps the result of a meteorite impact. Alternatively, the plains may have been covered over by volcanic magma welling up from below. The latter option is supported by the considerable radioactivity indicated on my instruments, another reason for us to get out of the central plain.
After the first ‘night,’ I have a new idea of what might become our biggest problem; the lack of a natural rhythm. In the sky, the sun does not move a single millimeter. On board Messenger the ship simulated day and night. Although Adam and Eve knew this was an artificial division, their bodies became used to this two-part structure. Here on Proxima b, it is different—the day extends for millions of years. While we agreed, in the beginning, to follow the 24-hour cycle of Earth, I am skeptical as to whether we can stick to it. In the end, Adam and Eve’s bodies will have to find their own rhythms, which might not even match.
Breakfast is served from the belly of the robot. I avoid calling it ‘my belly.’ Even though my consciousness resides inside J, I am not the robot. I am Marchenko. Just like on board Messenger, I have to use this kind of ‘mental hygiene’ to distinguish myself from others. It is harder now, though, because I speak through J’s loudspeakers, see through his eyes, hear through his ears, and grab with his arms.
Neither Adam nor Eve seems to show much appetite. Eve yawns loudly, and no one is saying anything. After their meal, the two of them pack up the tent they had slept in and roll up their mattresses. They work slowly but efficiently, and every movement, every step seems deliberate and precise.
We start out, and my goal is to reach the foot of the mountain range today. According to the laser scanner, the distance is about 21 kilometers.
Adam and Eve walk in a very regular motion. Their steps are even in sync, even though Eve’s legs are shorter. This allows Adam to get ahead, but then he stops and waits for Eve. Each time, Eve waves him to keep going. She is trying to tell him that he should not wait for her, but Adam ignores this. After two hours, Eve is so annoyed they decide to change roles. Now Eve walks ahead and Adam follows her. When he is about to overtake her, he stops and falls behind a bit. Eve does not mind, because she does not see this. They are already working together like an old married couple.
After four hours and two rest periods they have covered half of the way, ten kilometers, the same as the distance they covered yesterday. I am proud of them both.
After another two kilometers we encounter the first signs of the mountain range. Smooth small hills rise up, maybe 100 meters. As we approach, the hills rise gradually, but as we pass the first ones we see steep drops on their ‘back’ sides. And for the first time we see Proxima b’s own shadows.
I notice right away that these shadows look different from shadows on Earth. They are not as dark, because there is less contrast. The area not reached by sunbeams seems to be reddish-gray. This is not just an ordinary shadow on a distant planet, it is also a world of its own. As neither the light of Proxima Centauri nor its UV and X-rays reach here, a special biotope developed, despite the aridity and the heat. The air is still very warm, maybe 35 degrees, and the ground does not consist of glass, but of sand. Something dark and hair-like grows from it.
Eve crouches next to the spot, followed by Adam. They look at this alien lifeform, almost overawed. Adam moves his hand close, but without touching it.
“We have to know what it is and how it works,” I say, “and therefore we must examine it.”
“For the first time I am seeing a living being not named Adam,” Eve says. She fans air at the hairs and watches them move.
“Unfortunately that won’t be enough,” I say. “You have to rip one out so my analyzer can check it.”
“You mean kill it?” she asks, surprised.
“We will only know whether you killed it once I examine it. Plants on Earth can even be propagated by removing shoots.”
Eve gives me an angry look at hearing this.
“You are right, you are probably going to kill it. But we won’t survive here without killing a certain number of local lifeforms,” I reply.
Eve sighs.
Adam pulls on one of the black hairs, but it is amazingly tough. It appears to be anchored deep in the ground. Finally Adam uses the scissors I give him—using J’s hands, of course—pulled from the robot’s cargo bay.
I examine the hair inside the sample container. It has a strong shaft, like animal hair from Earth. In this case it contains silicon. On it there are microscopic feelers, which fulfill two functions; they filter moisture from the air, and they generate energy by vibrating with the air currents. The mechanical motion is turned into electricity by the piezoelectric effect, and the plant uses this to separate the gathered moisture into hydrogen and oxygen. Then the gasses are apparently transported downward inside the silicon tubes and consumed by the actual being down there. The process is probably not very efficient, but that does not matter, as long as the organism gives off less than it takes in. It is difficult to tell whether it is a plant or an animal. I tend toward plant, because I see no chance for this organism to move.
I ask Eve to get me a few more hairs to see whether they are any different. This does not appear to be the case, so there seems to be only one type of hair. But on the fourth hair I find something odd. A ring, also black, about one millimeter in diameter, moves up and down on the hair. I remove the ring, which continues moving. So it must be some creature in a symbiotic relationship with the hairs. I detect neither limbs nor head, and the little animal appears to be able to wrap its entire body around the host hair. Then it looks for defective vibration feelers—ones that no longer move—and it digests them, breaking them down into their components. This way it gains food and moisture while keeping its host healthy.
I summarize my findings. “We have discovered our first ecosystem,” I explain to Adam and Eve. His face looks bored.
Eve, on the other hand, seems to be quite interested. After I am done talking, she says, “Marchenko, do you think you could let us participate in future research? While you found something interesting, it would have been more exciting if we could have solved these mysteries together. Then I don’t have to feel like your stupid measurement servant.”
If I could blush, I would be bright red now. Of course Eve is right. “I’m sorry, you’re right,” I say, and she accepts the apology with a smile.
“Before we go on,” I say, “I would like to find out whether these ecosystems in the shade zones are connected to each other.” I have J point at two additional hills visible in the northwest, and we start walking in that direction.
“If there is no connection, the species there should be very different,” I propose. “It is highly improbable that evolution would by chance follow exactly the same path.”
Eve nods, while Adam grumbles something I do not understand.
“I know what to do,” Eve says.
There is sand in the shadow of the next hill, and hair-like things grow there, too. Eve brings me a few samples. Only my analyzer can tell how much they differ from the specimens of the first hill. The results are clear.
“Genetically they are almost identical,” I explain. “This means there must be a connection between the shade zones.”
“You’ve already analyzed the genome?” Eve asks.
“No. I just compared some randomly-selected base pairs. That is enough to determine kinship. By the way, life here has six base pairs.”
“So there is DNA? And you just mention this in passing?” Eve asks, giving me a really angry look. That’s so unlike the Eve I think I know.
“I cannot tell yet for sure whether it is completely comparable to our DNA,” I reply. “However, the hairs consist of cells, and these cells contain small, rolled-up organelles that form a long string of information. It might be a precursor of DNA—such as RNA—as it contains information, but the information is encoded using six letters.”
Eve squints and for a minute does not say anything. Then she turns toward me and says, “I don’t know why, but the whole time I’m getting goosebumps. Imagine, we flew this far just to discover that life here is so damned similar to that on Earth.”
“There are practical reasons for it,” Adam interjects. “There can be no evolution without a transfer of information. Biology is based on chemistry, and therefore molecules act as carriers of information. Two letters would be too few, but a large number would complicate duplication. Six letters, like here—or four like on Earth—seem to work well.”
“I understand what you mean, Eve,” I say, “even though Adam is right, of course.”
“You know, Marchenko, it’s nice that you never want to take sides, but you won’t be able to do that forever,” Eve remarks.
“But I...” I want to say, Sometimes I agree with you or with Adam, or insist on holding to my own opinion, but I do not finish the sentence, because I feel that this 16-year-old girl knows more about human interactions than I do. Have I lost that much of my humanity during the last 20 years? The problem is I want to lose neither Adam nor Eve.
December 19, 18
“Marchenko, let’s get back to what you said yesterday. You mentioned that there must be a connection between the shade habitats,” Eve says, looking down at me. I am using my strong arms to pull my robot body onto a small rocky platform.
“Yes, there must be some kind of exchange. Perhaps through the air?” I hypothesize.
“How do you think that would work?” Eve asks, groaning as she pulls herself up to a higher ledge. Adam is climbing above her, and both of them are connected to me by ropes. If someone falls, I can quickly attach my body to the rocks.
“It would be sufficient if the wind blows individual cells between them, or one of the little ring animals, which just digested a piece of its host,” I say.
“Or, there is a subterranean connection,” Eve suggests.
“That’s possible, too. But how did you get that idea?” I ask.
“I remember what you taught us about the biology of Earth, about how large the underground part of all ecosystems is. And we haven’t even seen the thing all these hairs lead to.”
“I also wonder about the nature of this being. Perhaps it is a giant tuber. The hairs provide nutrients, wh
ich are then stored in the tuber. But for what reason?”
“Maybe it’s for the next flare?” Eve suggests. “The hairs have a silicon coating, but in the central plain the effect of the flare must be the strongest.”
“You think the hairs grow again every 40 days, fed by the energy stored in the tuber?”
The sensors of the bio-monitor send an alert: Eve’s body temperature is two-tenths of a degree above normal. Maybe the air conditioning of her suit is not keeping up.
“If Proxima Centauri has been producing flares for billions of years, life here has definitely adapted to them,” Eve says.
“I am sorry, but are you feeling alright?” I ask, changing the subject.
“Yes sure, Marchenko. It is a bit tiring, but that was to be expected. Why do you ask?”
“I get data saying your body temperature is slightly high. It might not be significant, but ...”
“I know, it is better to ask once too often than not often enough,” Eve says. “Right now, I cannot see my display. We could take a break after this fissure.”
“Adam, we are taking a short break,” I tell him by radio. Adam mumbles something that sounds like ‘okay.’
The ledge Eve is aiming for does not offer enough space for both of us, but this is no problem. I drive two steel nails from my arms into the granite. They will support my weight.
“Just a moment,” she says. I see her jump across a half-meter-wide gap that has a depth of 50 meters. I am tempted to cry out, but just manage to control myself.
“Okay, my suit. One second.” Eve shakes the dust off her sleeve so she can read the display better. “Shit!” she says. “The cooling efficiency has decreased by 45 percent. I am sorry, Marchenko. I should have noticed it earlier. But it seemed normal to sweat while climbing a mountain.”
“Everything okay?” Adam asks via radio. He now seems to be interested in what is going on with us.
Proxima Trilogy: Part 1-3: Hard Science Fiction Page 12