The Titan Probe

by Morris, Brandon Q.

  Marchenko maneuvered Valkyrie to rise about twenty meters to get a better overview. Within reach of the searchlights there appeared to be no end to the columns. The radar indicated the entire forest measured ten by ten kilometers. At the edge the columns were still far apart, but toward the middle things got tighter. Marchenko first considered not walking there, but instead utilizing Valkyrie to reach the center and once there, and only then, to leave the vessel. However, because he then needed to flood it afterward, it would sink to the bottom and perhaps destroy some structures. From the outside everything looked very stable. Nevertheless, Marchenko was still an intruder in this newly-discovered world. How would he treat something invading his body and destroying his organs in the process?

  Out of consideration for the entity, he set Valkyrie down about three meters from the first columns. He had enough time, and a little walk wouldn’t hurt him. Depending on how well he progressed he might reach the center in one or two hours.

  The vessel touched down softly on the ocean floor. Time for the final step, he silently told himself, but Marchenko remained calm. In the end, he had a noble goal in mind. He would see something no human being had ever witnessed before, and there were worse reasons for dying. If only he did not have to leave Francesca behind for it! For himself he felt neither fear nor regret. He was over sixty years old, and during his career in the Russian space program he had cheated death several times. He could thank fate for having favored him in all of those situations. But this time was different. He was going to cause Francesca pain, and she did not deserve this.

  “No, Mitya, you are lying to yourself,” he said out loud. “You are not so unselfish after all. You are also sorry for yourself. You would have liked to have spent much more time with her.”

  It felt good having said this. He had to be honest, just like he had tried to be all his life. He allowed himself to grieve for missing these years with Francesca.

  Ten minutes later Marchenko washed and shaved once more. He lightly slapped the aftershave against his skin, and the fresh scent made him more alert. He went to the bathroom one last time. Finally, he put on fresh underwear and started to put on the LCVG, which was going to keep him warm during his last hours.

  The spacesuit was a bit smelly, but he could do nothing about it. As soon as he put on and closed the helmet he would breathe fresh oxygen from the tank. He checked the integrity of the visor, and it still seemed to be intact. Luckily, the pressure at the bottom of the Enceladus Ocean was not as high as it would be on Earth, since the water layer above him was much, much lighter due to the low gravity.

  Putting on the upper part of the EMU, he still felt some lingering pain in his right arm. Afterward, he walked through Valkyrie one last time, stowing everything lying around into cabinets and drawers. While doing so, he found a night vision device that he attached to his tool bag. Then he took a look at the computer display. The Forest of Columns seemed to be within his grasp, appearing familiar and strange at the same time. Marchenko wondered what was bothering him. Right. There was no movement. There were neither branches nor twigs nor leaves moving in the wind or the current. The forest stood there completely rigid, as if frozen.

  Marchenko put the computer in sleep mode. The screen flickered briefly and then deactivated itself. The electronic components were protected against the flooding and could probably survive longer than he would. Marchenko looked around once more. There was nothing else left to do here. He left the searchlights on. They were programmed to switch off when the battery level fell to twenty percent. Shortly afterward, according to a timer he had set last night, Valkyrie would return to the surface in automatic mode and take his legacy with it.

  He turned off the engines by pressing the manual control button, and Valkyrie now turned quiet. Only the life support system was still whispering. No longer used to silence, Marchenko suddenly heard breathing behind him—something or someone was inhaling deeply. Marchenko whirled around to see Francesca standing below the emergency exit. The hatch was open, but no water entered Valkyrie. Francesca was not wearing a spacesuit, but rather normal on-board clothing. Her face and hair were wet, as if she had just taken a shower, but her clothes were completely dry. Marchenko’s heart was pounding in his ears, and he immediately remembered—this was how she would come into his cabin, if she had spent the prior night in her own bed.

  “Hello, Mitya,” she said with a warm smile.

  Marchenko could hardly believe this scene—it was so absurd! He knew Francesca could not possibly be here. Yet she seemed to be absolutely real. He wanted to go to her, to embrace her, but he was afraid of touching nothingness. My brain must be playing tricks on me, hallucinations.

  “Hello, Francesca,” he finally said, softly and haltingly.

  Her smile broadened. “You are surprised. I understand.”

  “True.” Marchenko started to relax. This could only be a product of his imagination, although otherwise, he seemed to be quite okay.

  “I tried to comfort you,” she said. “You were thinking sad thoughts.”

  “How did you know?”

  “I just knew.” Francesca stood there without moving. She looked like a projected image. Marchenko took a step sideways. Her gaze followed him.

  “Who are you?”

  “I am Francesca, as you can see.”

  Yes, Marchenko thought, you are Francesca. I can see it. But what else are you?

  “I am whatever you want.”

  You are reading my mind, he thought. It feels intrusive, like having an uninvited visitor. I don’t want this.

  “I am sorry,” Francesca said. “I did not want to hurt you, just comfort you.”

  “You are not Francesca. You are my memories of her.”

  “Isn’t it the same?”

  Marchenko did not answer. It was true, for right now there was no difference between Francesca as a person and his memories of her.

  “No,” he then said. “My memories are fixed and do not try to surprise me, as I have them completely under my control. It would be terrible if this was the case with the real Francesca”

  “I am really sorry,” the imaginary Francesca said. “But I can change, too, if you want.” She gave him a pleading look, and her smile disappeared.

  “This is exactly the problem,” Marchenko said, and his voice sounded harsher than he had intended. He did not want Francesca to change for him. He noticed how his words had hurt her, and he felt bad about it. He had been too hard with her. At the same time, this fascinated him on a different level of his consciousness. He was conversing with a manifestation of his own thoughts, even developing some empathy.

  Francesca put on her smile again. “You are so... strange,” she said hesitantly. A cold shiver slithered down Marchenko’s spine. This time, he noticed, it had not been his memories speaking.

  “Yes, I probably seem that way to you,” he replied, and imagined the lonely entity that had inhabited this exotic ocean for eons, and now was meeting another living being for the very first time

  “You are not the first other one,” Francesca said. “If you visit me in my...” He noticed she was searching for a word; “my columns... I can tell you more about it.”

  “Thank you,” Marchenko said, and he experienced a feeling of deep gratitude.

  “Don’t be afraid,” Francesca said, as she jumped outside through the still open hatch and disappeared into the ocean. Marchenko needed to hold on to the table for a moment to steady himself. No, I don’t have to be afraid. I am sure.

  January 5, 2047, Enceladus

  Martin was sitting in an uncomfortable pew near the wall of a church. He remembered seeing one just like it during vacations on a Greek island in the past. He immediately recognized it as the interior of an Orthodox church. On both sides of him a few old women were singing in a language Martin could not understand. However, the old women did not sing in Greek but in a Slavic language—Russian, he suspected. What am I supposed to do here? Martin shook himself. He wanted to
get up, but something held him back. The women did not seem to notice his predicament. They were not looking at him, but straight forward at a baptismal font giving off a golden shimmer under the dome.

  He rubbed his eyes. Was Marchenko over there? A man, reminding him of the Russian but much younger, placed his face over the font while a priest was talking to him. Martin did not understand a word of what the cleric was saying, but it seemed to be some cleansing ritual, as the font indicated. Marchenko—or his younger brother—was eagerly participating. Martin waved at him, but the man would not allow himself to be distracted and did not even seem to notice him sitting in the pew.

  Suddenly Martin was absolutely sure it was Marchenko standing in front of him. They had agreed to meet here, he remembered. However, the Russian had not mentioned that he wanted to be baptized. Should Martin keep him from doing it? Marchenko had never seemed to be the religious type. It was not unheard of, people suddenly falling into the clutches of a sect. On the other hand, the women next to him did not really look like fanatics. True, they were singing, but this seemed to be part of the ritual. With their simple clothing, longs skirts, and dark, flat shoes they looked like farmwives. One of them handed him a sheet of paper with musical notes and a text. Martin managed to decipher the Cyrillic script, but he did not know many of the words, and therefore could not understand the text.

  Marchenko gave the priest an intense look, almost like a groom gazing at his bride. Where did this religious fervor suddenly come from? Martin tried to stand up again, but he was stuck in the pew and his muscles would not react. He could consciously clench his muscles, but this did not create any movement.

  “Shhh,” one of the women said quietly, placing her finger to his lips. I have not said anything, have I? he wondered. The finger smelled strongly of freshly boiled potatoes, which made Martin hungry. The woman removed her finger from his lips and pointed forward. Marchenko—or the man who looked just like him—was about to go from the font toward the door to the inner sanctum. The priest walked ahead of him, and from his perspective, Martin could not see a door handle. The priest simply placed his hand on the door and it opened. Then the priest stepped back and invited Marchenko to enter.

  ‘No!’ Martin wanted to yell out loud, ‘not into the inner sanctum, you are not allowed to do that,’ but no sound came from his mouth. It seemed as if the woman’s finger had sealed his lips. He could not make out what was behind the door, because from his side of the wall he could only perceive a dark area. Marchenko slowly disappeared into the doorway, as if in slow motion, as though the air inside was much more viscous than the outside air here. Shortly before he completely disappeared, the man turned around once more. Martin only saw his face, but it appeared to be huge. It was definitely Marchenko.

  “Today is not the end,” he said and then vanished, while the plane behind the door started to ripple.

  I will come back, my friend, Martin silently completed the sentence spoken at the end of the dubbed Pink Panther cartoons he used to watch as a kid in Germany. Then he awoke. Francesca and Hayato stood either side of him and held his shoulders.

  “Is everything okay?” asked Francesca. “You were thrashing around so much in your dream. We were really getting worried.”

  Well, Marchenko is gone, but everything else is okay, Martin thought. Then he realized he could speak again.

  “Yes, I am fine,” he said. “I just...” but then he abruptly stopped. It was a dream, no more, no less, and his mind was obviously overwrought. If he told Francesca about his dream, he would only raise false hopes. He could imagine her clinging to any straw of hope.

  “I’m glad you're okay,” Hayato said, pressing his shoulder. “Now go and freshen up. Amy has given us until noon to think, and then we are going to discuss our options.”

  Amy had issued a precise order, and he, along with the remaining crew, had two hours left to find the ultimate solution. Martin uttered a short, desperate laugh. The others turned around, but he just waved them off. What can we do now, except wait? At least there was no time pressure. Even if they sat around for a whole week, it would not get Marchenko back.

  Where had the Russian disappeared to? The path from his crash site to Valkyrie could clearly be verified. From there he must have sent a radio signal that never reached ILSE. Call it shit, bad luck, or whatever, ILSE must have been in a radio shadow at that moment. And then? If he had been Marchenko, he would have waited for a while to receive a reply, and then he would have taken Valkyrie down. He knew exactly where his destination would be. Martin remembered his walk in the Forest of Columns. The center of the forest beckoned, but then Martin needed to go back to Valkyrie. And their experiences during the return trip... Aladdin’s Cave and those strange dreams. Wasn’t there something about Rilke and a dog?

  Come on, Martin, he thought, even you can’t be that stupid. The dream must have been an attempt to establish contact!

  Two hours later the video conference with ILSE began. Martin waved at Jiaying through the camera and she smiled. During the following discussion he refrained from saying too much. Maybe the others had some constructive ideas that wouldn’t sound so crazy.

  But their suggestions only differed concerning how long they should wait to see if Marchenko would show up. According to Watson’s calculations, an immediate departure would raise their chances of survival, though only by a few fractions of a percent. Jiaying agreed with the AI. Hayato and Amy wanted them to spend only one more night on the surface. Francesca was the last one to speak.

  “I would like to set up a permanent base on Enceladus. Then, pointing to herself she said, “With a human crew of one. The base could exist for decades. We would only have to land the CELSS module here. The garden would allow me to lead an almost self-sufficient life.”

  Amy sighed. “I thought as much when you had Watson run all those calculations. But you realize the chances of your plan succeeding, according to the AI?”

  “Yes,” Francesca replied. “It is very low, I know.”

  “As the commander, I am responsible for not losing any more crew members. I cannot let you go to your certain death.”

  “BUT YOU LET MARCHENKO DO IT!” yelled Francesca loudly into the microphone. On the monitor Martin saw Amy flinching.

  Jiaying placed an arm around the commander’s shoulder.

  “That was unfair,” she said. “You know the commander wanted Marchenko to stay on board, but he had made up his mind to attempt the rescue. If he had obeyed protocol, you and Martin would probably still be sitting down there.”

  Francesca sobbed and nodded. “Maybe it would have been better that way,” she said in a near whisper. “I am sorry, Martin, but I cannot forgive myself for it. I have to stay here, no matter what happens.”

  “No, it would not be better.” Martin was angry at himself for waiting so long to say something. He should have spoken before Francesca. “I have to report something strange. I hope you won’t think I’m crazy.” Martin then told them about his dream. “Francesca, you can confirm this is not the first time this has occurred, and this was no coincidence.”

  Francesca silently nodded, but the others looked rather skeptical.

  “I believe this was both a message and a promise. Marchenko is on the way to the center of the Forest of Columns, into the inner sanctum, and afterward he will return to us. We only need to have a little patience.”

  The commander sighed. “How much patience?”

  “Amy, I just don’t know,” Martin replied. “Perhaps we will get more messages this way.”

  “All right,” the commander said. “We are going to wait until something happens… but no longer than a week. The supplies on Valkyrie will run out at some point and by then, Marchenko would have no more chances for survival.”

  January 5, 2047, Valkyrie

  Marchenko lightly slapped his cheeks with his left hand. The emergency exit was closed, he now realized. Just what kind of apparition had this been? Was it a product of his own overwro
ught imagination? Shaking his head, he could not believe it, even though as a doctor he knew there was no way to distinguish between pure imagination and a real event. The entity he had faced must be able to transmit its ideas across long distances. Engineers on Earth were becoming increasingly successful in using brain-computer interfaces to capture the incipient thoughts of humans and then translate them into understandable images.

  Even if terrestrial technology had not advanced far enough to use this as the single means of communications, one thing was definitely clear—this being had developed the technique over hundreds of millions of years. When electrical impulses move along nerve pathways, they are always accompanied by electromagnetic fields. These are weak, but their range is basically unlimited. If one listened on the right frequencies, using suitable technology, one could reconstruct his thoughts. Even more, external fields could also create electrical impulses the brain would perceive as thoughts.

  He closed his helmet, touched the opening mechanism for the emergency exit, and paused for a moment. Marchenko did not know if the entity had used this method, or if it had just been a daydream after all. He had to trust his feeling that told him to accept the invitation. He jerked the hatch open. A surge of cold water splashed down on him. It would not be long before Valkyrie would be completely filled with saltwater. Then he would be able to exit at his leisure.

  When the current subsided, Marchenko pulled himself up on the edge of the opening and pushed himself out of the vessel and into the ocean. It was quiet except for the temperature-regulating unit of his suit. In front he saw the Forest of Columns, and he let himself sink to the ocean floor. The first structures were only a few meters away. Once he stood directly in front of them, they appeared even more impressive than they had earlier on the monitor. They were perfect cylinders, and the closer he looked, the less they reminded him of trees. Marchenko remembered Martin’s discovery—his fellow astronaut had found symbols on the columns and as expected, here they were. The forest as a giant library—the idea impressed Marchenko. If he could decipher and store all these signs, what a gigantic source of knowledge this would be.