by Kate Rauner
Brigit had wrinkled her nose at holding flying lessons in the furnace dome. Too much cargo scattered around, too many things eager students could fall on. The Gravitron occupied a quarter of its dome, leaving a huge open space. Once the machine was locked down so no pieces might fly off unexpectedly, the dome was a perfect aviary.
The kids dragged in a dozen fliers. Not that fliers were their only way to get airborne. With stasis-preserved muscles and centrifugal treatments from their first day on the surface, they could leap over barracks and perform tumbles better than an Olympian. Gymnastics was destined to be their favorite class. Well, maybe second favorite after flying. Titan was like one big summer camp.
Emily shepherded the first group of students into the air while the others bounced impatiently on their toes, waiting a turn.
Brigit walked over to Fynn. "Lukas Trygg has volunteered to coach a meteorology club for our students. He says there's a chance of rain today. The older children, those tall enough to wear a surface suit safely, would like to go out with him. I was hoping you'd serve as our safety officer for the trip."
She wasn't asking, but rather giving him an assignment. Fynn smiled. She'd assigned tasks in the same way as his teacher back on Earth during happier days. He smiled at the reminder. "Sure."
Someone had drawn a thick black line on the airlock frame just below Fynn's shoulder level and scrawled a warning: must be this tall.
Lukas' wide shoulders filled his surface suit. "I've got eight fliers lined up, and eight future meteorologists suiting up."
"Let Mr Rupar check your suits," Brigit said as she stepped over the hatch lip.
One of the girls waved a flat pad. "We're following the video, Ms Bell."
While Brigit donned a suit, Fynn went over each kid's seals, double checking that gauntlets were pulled smoothly over boots and gloves before folding over excess fabric. He checked Brigit too and hurried into his own suit.
Squeals of delight greeted the fog that instantly formed as Titan's cold atmosphere entered the airlock.
Most of the kids flew off with Brigit, but Lukas led two youngsters to the lake's edge, and Fynn followed them.
The tallest, a girl, dropped to her knees and poked a plastic spade into the gently undulating methane. Fynn glanced at his heads-up display. Brigit had turned on all the comm options. The girl's name was Tova.
"It's true." Tova held her spade out in triumph. Spindly whitish streaks poked out of the dark sand. "This is a molecular mineral made of organic crystals."
"It's awful lumpy to be crystals," her classmate, Jason, said.
"Look at this surface." A fleck like glass reflected the yellowish sky glow. "We learned about this in school from lab experiments. I just proved they exist in nature."
Lukas leaned closer. "Is it a solid form of methane?"
"Probably not," Tova said wisely. "Butane and acetylene. Those are supposed to be common in the upper atmosphere. Maybe incorporating some ammonia. That's what early probes reported. I'll need to use analytical equipment that tolerates cold to characterize the structure. Bet these crystals would sublimate in a warm dome."
Fynn knew who could help them with that. Drew would love to hear about these crystals.
"What are we going to call it?" Jason asked. "Acetysite?"
"We don't know the composition yet. How about, tovasite."
"Wow. Ten minutes on the surface and you've named a newly discovered mineral after yourself."
The yellowish tovasite disappeared into shadow as the sky darkened.
Lukas stood up and held out a hand. "Here comes our rain cloud. We got outside just in time."
Jason struggled with something in his pocket, finally yanking out a pipe cap that fit in his palm. "Quick, where's a level spot? I've marked this to record rainfall."
Drops plopped into the lake here and there. Fynn didn't feel any wind but methane ripples lapped gently at their boots. He scanned the lake's surface.
"Lukas, Jason. Look at the lake." Fynn started his helmet cam. A patch of bluish fog floated close to shore. It rolled with the lake's surface, brightened, and lifted out of the methane.
Fynn huffed. He'd been holding his breath.
Waist-high, a thin pile of foam slid up to the shore, stopping when it touched the sand.
"It's beautiful." Tova reached out.
"Don't touch it," Jason said.
Tova pulled back her hand and slowly moved the spade with its crystals toward the iridescent shape. The tool slipped through without resistance. Edges on the mineral collapsed and the lump shrank.
Fynn stretched out a leg, gradually sliding his boot against the wobbly glow. Could the surface be a skin? He listened for any change in his suit's systems. Nothing.
The ghost slid away along the shore, keeping one edge against the sand. Lukas and Jason joined them as they walked alongside the ghost, easily keeping pace.
"Is the ghost one of our martyrs?" Jason asked.
"No, silly," Tova said. "Doctor Tanaka knew. I'll show you which of his videos to watch. He said we'd find Old Ones on Titan, that they'd only be visible to true Kin."
Fynn didn't point out that ghosts were easily recorded, and he doubted the helmet cam qualified as Kin. But he bit his lip rather than contradict Tanaka. Or argue with Tova's schoolroom wisdom.
"The rain's stopping," Lukas said.
The dimpled lake smoothed, and the ghost slipped away from the shore, sinking as it drifted away.
"My rain gauge." Jason's feet scuffed out from under him and he fell to one knee. "Ah! I can hardly move."
"You'll have to push yourself forward," Lukas said. "Try to dig your toes into the sand and lean into it."
Fynn kept his helmet cam focused on the ghost until it disappeared. Drew would love this video, and he'd have plenty of time to plan an expedition with proper instruments. Lukas said the rainy season would last for years.
***
Maliah gripped the balcony railing and looked down on the playing field. It was almost suppertime, and Greta had programmed the dome lights' intensity to begin a slide toward dusk by reducing the blue end of the spectrum.
Her mother had access to the lighting controls, of course, since phototherapy was one of a medic's duties. She'd balanced the hours of simulated daylight and darkness long ago, but recently added this gradual softening to evenings in the Village. Maybe in the furnace dome too, since Kin slept there now. Maliah hadn't checked. Lights inside buildings would change too. They were keyed to the dome's general lumen level somehow. She should remember the details but felt a bit fuzzy at the moment.
She hugged herself, rubbing the soft cotton sweatshirt against her arms. However the light level was set, it was bright enough to make her eyes water if she gazed at the LEDs that ribbed the blue ceiling.
Below, barracks leaders had organized a series of stretching exercises, and most units were joining in. With almost half of the dome open for such activities, groups were scattered across the gray plastic floor, each following an instructor through slow, graceful movements, each laughing and talking among themselves. When Tanaka was alive, Kin marched through all-night endurance rallies or lined up in tight formation for calisthenics. Tonight was different.
As she considered the last few weeks, Maliah realized she'd missed the Advance Team's landing-day anniversary. One year on the surface of Titan had slipped away. That realization should have been a jolt, but she felt disconnected, distant, as if she watched from a much greater height than the top of the tower.
The teaching cohort was certain to notice the missed anniversary soon. She'd mentioned the need for holidays, for a way to divide endless days fiddling with hydroponics and recycling systems into meaningful measures of life.
Groups finished their routines below and drifted toward barracks to wash before supper. Footsteps clunked on the stairs and crossed the balcony, and Maj stopped at Maliah's side.
"Are you going down to supper?" she asked.
Maliah sighed again. "My bac
k hurts."
"I hoped the low gravity would spare you that. The baby must be nearly due. If you let Doctor Lund perform an ultrasound, we might have a better estimate."
Heat flashed through Maliah. Fear, anger. She couldn't tell. But she knew Maj's next question would be whether the baby was moving, and she didn't want to think about it, so she cut her off.
"I'm tired, Maj. I don't want to talk to anyone." Detachment returned, a chilly fog creeping in around the edges of her vision to douse the momentary fire. Maliah sighed. "I don't want people staring at me. I'm going to turn in early."
"You'll feel better if you eat. I'll heat something for you."
Maj pushed through the door to the tower's top room. From the sound of her footsteps, she used the vertical ladder inside to reach the adjuncts' galley two floors below. She returned a few minutes later, climbing the exterior stairs with a tray in her hands, balancing a stew of pinto beans thick with spinach and fragrant with herbs, and a small plate of dried apple slices. Tanaka had brought the apples as a special reward for his adjuncts. No one else knew, and Maliah loved to nibble a few, making each one last as long as possible. Had Max brought apple seeds for the greenhouse? She hoped so.
"You should eat while the stew is warm," Maj said. The door opened with a tap of her toe and, judging by the creaking plastic panels, she descended the vertical ladder again, leaving Maliah alone.
Maliah stepped inside. Fortunately, Maj had left her supper on the small dining table, not the desk.
Doctor Tanaka sat there now. Something was wrong with that. The reason gnawed at Maliah's mind and then faded away. His jaw was set, his eyes sharp as flint. Not grandfatherly at all. He didn't move, but his voice rung in her head.
"Titan will be a paradise, but there must be a struggle to prove Kin are worthy," he said. "Then they will unite under my vision."
"They seem happy now," Maliah said. "Recently, I mean."
Tanaka scoffed. "Happy. That's a mongrel value. An inferior emotion. It was my grandfather who searched for the last Kin, and my father who gathered them together. My duty was to bring them here, to Titan. I love the Kin, and those who love me unconditionally will survive. Those who follow were I lead."
"It's impossible to follow you anymore." Maliah's voice was weak. It caught in her throat, but she rasped the words out. "Doctor Tanaka, you're dead."
His voice stopped, but his gaze bored into her.
Maliah floated to the dining table. Without a further glance toward the desk, she carried her apple slices to the bedroom and closed the door.
***
Fynn sat in the Mechanics mess hall, texting.
Drew's message was good news. One of the guys here trained on 3D printing. I'm watching him run diagnostic shapes right now.
Maybe Fynn would get his repair parts soon and could finally provide reliable power. He smiled at the pad even though Drew couldn't see him. Let me know as soon as he's done.
Across the dome, a group in blue coveralls emerged from the greenhouse tunnel. Fynn slipped the pad into a pocket and stood with his arms loose at his sides, ready to jump if necessary.
Emily Erling, now the maintenance cohort, came striding across the dome with a half dozen of her crew in tow. She looked relaxed, and Fynn's taut muscles eased.
She'd never been a fan of splitting the Kin into factions, though like Max, she worried more about keeping her crew together than the overall troubles. Maybe that made sense. She was responsible for wastewater recycling and air filtration plus their few cleaning bots. Failures there might not kill them as quickly as losing power would, but those were important systems that deserved a dedicated crew. A couple Mechanics had worked for her before leaving the Village, and they had good things to say about her.
Fynn hadn't been angry at Emily's lack of support in the past, not exactly, and lately tensions throughout the domes had eased. Crewmembers following her looked pleasant and relaxed, as if they expected collaboration. Fynn walked forward to greet her.
"I should have discussed this with you long ago," Emily said. "When your crew first assembled barracks here, I was fine with it. You're just ahead of schedule, that's all."
By a couple years, Fynn knew, and for a completely different reason. Living quarters weren't planned for his dome until Kin started new families, until there were babies too young for the Village barracks. Clinging rigidly to plans created in Earth's spaceport had fueled the Kin's split even when problems clearly required new approaches.
Annoyance twitched his jaw. His father had gotten no thanks for solving those problems and neither had the Herschel's pilots. Fynn lifted his chin and kept a smile on his broad lips. He wanted to forget past grievances, which were never Emily's fault anyway.
"I'd like to offer to maintain your barracks recycling systems," she said. "Or if you prefer, invite the Mechanics who maintain them to join my crew. Recycling is harder than people appreciate, so we all benefit from sharing our experience."
Word of visitors spread quickly in the Mechanics barracks. People drifted out, apparently at random, but alert. While Fynn talked to Emily, half of the crews had assembled. Fynn waved her closer to repeat her offer, and a couple in bright green coveralls stepped forward at once.
"I could sure use help with the filters," the man said. "Sometimes, a slimy deposit clogs them. I've watched the videos a hundred times, but I still have to reprocess the tertiary tanks every week."
"We've seen something similar in the Village," Emily said. "I bet your aeration rate's off."
The men in green looked at Fynn hopefully. He waved in the direction of the recycling systems. "Have at it, guys."
With Emily and her crew, they filed behind the barracks units to the utility area, involved in a discussion of turbidity.
Fynn headed for the furnace platform with long, one-footed hops and leaped over a full-sized cargo bin like it was nothing. Finally, things were sorting themselves out. He'd been right to focus on the furnaces and the fuel depot. He leaped over another bin, catching the top lip to start a graceful somersault. Gravitron treatments were working.
His flat pad buzzed in a pocket. This had to be Drew announcing the 3D printers were ready to manufacture the repair parts he'd been waiting for. After bouncing to a standstill, he pulled out the pad.
Instead, it was a relayed message from his mother. Maliah's in labor.
Fynn ran a shaky hand through his hair.
Come now, his mother texted.
His feet skittered until his toes found a grip on the textured floor, and he leaped for the tunnel.
***
Fynn almost knocked Greta over as he careened down the clinic's hallway. He steadied her with both hands. "Is Maliah alright? What's happening?"
"She's in active labor in treatment room number two. I can't predict how long this delivery will take."
"Shouldn't she be on the space station? In gravity? A shuttle can get down here quick on emergency descent. I'll text Drew."
"It's too late." Greta rubbed her forehead, briefly hiding her face. "I wish she'd been on the station for months, but a sudden move to fifty percent gravity during labor is too risky. There are so many unknowns."
"Should I go in?" A sudden thought startled Fynn. "Is... is the father with her?"
"No. I doubt we'll ever learn who fathered the baby. Not that it matters. Kumar is attending, and he's had plenty of experience with births. Maj is there, too, and she seems to be a comforting presence."
"Can I see her?"
"Yes. She's not dying."
That was an odd thing to say. Fynn stared straight into his mother's pale blue eyes and gripped her tighter when she tried to turn away. "But something's wrong. What is it?"
Greta's voice cracked. "Everything's wrong."
She took a deep, shuddering breath and pressed a fist to her mouth for a long moment. "We're on a moon. I've got no data on low-grav pregnancies. Any instruments that might be useful are in orbit. This is our first grandchild and I'm alone. Y
our father's..." She gulped. "I'm a doctor, and I don't know what to do."
Fynn had been about to demand comforting. Now he wrapped his arms around his mother and hugged her close.
Greta pushed free and wiped her face. "She's in that room. Go talk to your sister. Give me a minute alone out here."
Fynn peeked around the door before pushing it open. The treatment room wasn't very big, so Kumar and Maj, standing on either side of the bed, filled the space.
Maliah wore his red sweatshirt with a sheet pulled up to her hips. "Hi, little brother." She stretched out a hand and he took it gingerly. Her damp skin was so pale against in his coffee colored fingers.
"Oh!" She jerked her hand to her belly. "Oh, that was intense. Mom!"
Greta pushed the door open and almost broke Fynn's nose. "I'll wait outside," he said, glad for an excuse to escape since he had no idea what to say.
***
Drew slid a stack of boxes down the bio lab's center aisle, to the spoke's vestibule where robots would collect them. His flat pad buzzed with a message from Fynn.
Maliah's in labor.
Drew plucked at the corner of his mustache. That's good, right?
Don't know. Mom looks worried.
I wish I was there.
No you don't.
Yeah, probably not. Keep me posted.
Fynn had called on their private channel. Drew switched to the cybernet link from the domes. Nothing but random chatter as messages scrolled by, but news about Maliah wouldn't stay secret for long.
Too distracted to go back to work, Drew climbed to the upper level. No one was in the residential segment, so he continued anti-spinward on the public level. In the station's orange utilities segment, he ignored cargo waiting to be unpacked and marched on through the hospital where deep red pseudo tiles edged the spotless white floor.
In some of the rooms, Erik had unpacked whatever equipment he thought was useful at the moment, but there was nothing to see from the aisle. A cryochamber of medical tissues and microbes sat on the lower level. Drew had helped move that here from the core since it was pretty much the same as his own microbe chamber in the bio lab.
