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.