Brandon Morris - The Enceladus Mission - Hard Science Fiction

Yet he also knew there were numerous other explanations. He tried his left arm. He noticed how the fabric of his thermal overall rubbed against the spacesuit. So his muscles were still working, but there seemed to be an obstacle. He concentrated on the command to his arm, to put all his force in it. The arm moved. By the pressure on his spacesuit, he felt that a firm mass was sliding off him.

It’s working , he thought to himself. He had wanted to say that aloud, but he could not hear anything. Then he noticed a terrible noise going through his head. It was a horrid whistling, almost like tinnitus, as well as a cacophony of various alarm signals, and then the headache, which resembled a deep humming, the only sound that appeared familiar to him.

“Marchenko here.” He tried again and concentrated on the sound of his voice, which he had known for 61 years. There it was. His voice seemed to come from a distance. It sounded hoarse, but he recognized it. He had managed to drown out the messages. A success . This was not the first time Marchenko had been in a difficult situation. He often flew into space with Russian shuttles, and he had cheated death many times. It always depended on quickly gaining a small advantage. One thing at a time.

He remembered what he wanted to do with his left arm. Wipe off the visor of my helmet. He carefully moved his elbow joint. He listened to his body. No new pain . Alright, now the shoulder. Everything fine so far . The hand appeared in his field of view. He could only see a blurry image of it. Marchenko tried to clean the visor, but the glove did not leave any visible trace. The problem must lie elsewhere. All in good time.

The alarm messages . I must not simply turn them off . He listened to them.

“Suit integrity endangered.”

“Air pressure at dangerously low level.”

“No vital signs.”

“Remaining capacity below 5 percent.”

“Core temperature has fallen below 30 degrees.”

“Survival at risk.”

The messages came from various suit systems. These messages are nonsense. Why am I thinking about them? The monitoring module is probably broken.

“Watson, analyze system,” Marchenko asked.

No reaction. Maybe I have not said it loud enough . Yet Marchenko knew this could not be true, as the AI reacted even to mumbled commands.

“Watson?”

The artificial intelligence did not answer. There could be various reasons for this. He did not want to think about them now, as some would terrify him.

“Deactivate warning messages.”

The babble of voices in his head disappeared. Marchenko saw it as a hopeful sign that normal voice commands still worked. He closed his eyes and considered his next step. Do I absolutely have to continue? What if I could just lie here, waiting to suffocate? Marchenko realized the next few hours would not be easy. If he simply gave up, he would probably spare himself pain and suffering.

From far away he could hear Francesca’s laughter. It could not be, he could not believe it, and yet he was happy about it . His eyes filled with moisture. A tear rolled down his cheek, and he could not wipe it away. Now he remembered her, the Italian pilot for whom he had performed this heroic act. It was because of her that he was lying here now. He had not been aware that he loved her. It was only when it became clear she would die without his help that he realized how much she had touched his heart.

I have to get up . I would betray Francesca if I chose the easy way out.

Just a minute later, when he tried again to move his right arm, he cursed himself for this decision. A stabbing pain moved through the right half of his upper body. He considered this a good sign, as there was no paralysis. That was something to work with. He needed to get up, but for the time being he would have to do without his right arm. It is probably a broken bone. I hope I will not have to operate on it.

Marchenko slowly put his weight on his left arm and then gradually raised his torso. Now he saw the sky was not completely black. Above him was a kind of dark hole, an oval with pointed edges surrounded by a silvery, shiny rim. I definitely have to clean the helmet visor because the image is still blurred. Moaning and groaning, Marchenko managed to sit himself up. Now he could better separate the sounds in his head. There was his own breathing. The whistling had disappeared, and the humming of the headache had retreated into his temples. Therefore, the slight murmur of the air conditioning and the hissing of the fan could be heard clearly. Cool oxygen was blowing against his face. He did not yet want to look at the usage indicator, as he refused to know how much time he had left.

Marchenko looked around, as much as that was possible in the stiff spacesuit. It was not by chance or accident that he was inside a crevasse. He had deliberately aimed for it, with the last bit of gas remaining in the SAFER backpack, so that he would not bounce off the surface of Enceladus during the expected hard landing, and drift back into space. That was the only way he could be sure the extra oxygen tanks would reach Francesca and Martin.

He reached behind himself with his left hand and touched the ground. There is nothing there . They must have picked up the oxygen tanks . I hope my action has not been in vain. I do not mind that they have left me here. They probably thought I was dead.

“This is Marchenko, come in,” he said over the radio, though he did not really hope for an answer. The radio module must be broken, because otherwise the suit would have automatically sent a distress call with his vital signs long ago. Yet I still have to try it. The devil is in the details. Maybe there is only a problem with the data circuit.

The background noise did not change. He knocked against the lower part of the helmet with his glove. He could clearly hear the thumping sound. Marchenko looked at his lower body. He moved his legs. They reacted obediently and registered no pain. Ice dust and small chunks covered his suit. He shook them off. It is time to stand up.

He leaned on his left arm and turned his body in that direction. Like an old man , he thought, I am standing up like an old man. He got onto his knees. The whole right side of his upper body complained with a nagging pain. But it was bearable—he had experienced worse agony before. He hoped this was only a sprain. He was on his knees now and first raised his upper body. Then it was time for his right leg. He was grateful his body weighed so little due to the low gravity on Enceladus . The left arm gave a little push, and then he managed to reach vertical.

Marchenko wobbled a moment, and then he stood steadily. He felt drops of sweat running down his forehead. The fan ran faster. His heart was racing. He did not yet know why he had survived the crash, but that was not important now. He was alive, and the rest would turn out all right. He gazed upward toward the black sky. That was the next step. He had to get out of here. The crevasse should be only a few meters deep, he told himself. What did he need his right arm for? He could handle the two kilograms his suit weighed here with his left arm . Marchenko clenched his teeth. He was going to make it, because he owed it to Francesca.

“Bob, the next school class is already on the way.” Robert Millikan shook his head and sighed. He knew that Mary, the secretary, could not see his gesture, but he did not care. He ought to have time for breakfast, a muffin he had bought at the snack machine in the lobby. He removed a piece of paper and bit into the muffin. It was dry. He swallowed the bite and grimaced. This happened more and more frequently . Fewer and fewer visitors were coming, so the vending machine was restocked more and more infrequently . He had considered bringing his breakfast from home, but that would mean shopping after work instead of having time to read. After his wife finally moved out a few years ago, he had been able to completely focus on his books.