“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 eyes 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.
They could not enter the lander as long as Francesca was still unconscious. Hayato woke her up with a small dose of adrenaline from the injector. After Martin made sure her eyes were open, he walked toward the lander module. He left it to Hayato to tell her what had happened. Francesca, who had just stood up, collapsed and sobbed inconsolably. Jiaying and Hayato tried to console the Italian woman. I know nothing can console her. Francesca lay on the ice, with Hayato and Jiaying crouched next to her.
After ten minutes, Francesca raised herself on her arms and got up. They all marched toward the lander in single file. It was not easy getting in. First Hayato and Francesca connected to the SuitPorts and went inside. Then the automatic system separated their suits so the SuitPorts were free again. Martin took the suits and carried them a bit away from the lander.
“Commander to ground team. We are waiting for you up here,” came over the radio.
Martin thought of the laser concentrator Hayato had mentioned. Jiaying had already connected her suit to the SuitPort.
Martin replied, “Commander, there is something I’ve got to do here.”
“Martin, what’s going on?”
He did not listen to what Jiaying called after him via the helmet radio. She is probably worried about me again. I am sorry for this, but I have an important task ahead. I will never have such an opportunity again. He turned around, and no one tried to stop him.
He jumped in his suit to reach the laser concentrator with its large metal dish. The device was still connected to the optical cable that had been cut somewhere inside the ice. Martin knew the optical fiber core was surrounded by a conducting metal mesh. Together with the dish on the surface, the cable can form an antenna that can amplify potential differences in the ice and transmit them into space—at least if I adapt the software a little bit. He accessed the maintenance protocol and made his changes. Now the antenna would take variable electrical currents in the ice, amplify them, and broadcast them as a signal.
The rest is up to you, he thought. I hope you make the most of it.
Age of Questions, Nonahedron
There is:
The I.
So much more Not-I.
The confusion.
The curiosity.
The visitors, who are so different.
The exchange, which is not working.
8 billion not-I’s who do not understand the knowledge of the Twenty-Seven Ages.
8 billion cells without an I.
The regret.
The wish to help.
The others.
The foam-born.
Different, yet still the same.
An address.
A giant without a ring, surrounded by rays.
There will be:
The ascent.
December 27, 2046, ILSE
Getting up, taking a shower, working, exercise, free time, exercise, sleep—just two weeks ago, this routine had seemed terribly boring. Now Martin wanted nothing else. They had already created schedules for the coming twelve months. Marchenko was no longer there, so the shift duties had to rotate more quickly. About three times every two weeks his work rhythm would overlap with that of Jiaying, so they could spend a night together in the cabin.