The tavern was small. On a crowded night, it would seat barely more than 20 or 25 people, and this evening it was almost empty. Two couples sat at a table, and three men were playing cards at the bar. The bartender, who was probably also the owner, came from behind the counter and greeted Willinger.
“Nice of you to show up again,” the man said as he extended his right hand.
“This is a young colleague of mine. His name is Martin.”
Martin hadn’t been called young in a long time.
“Hi, I'm Steve. I own this place. I hope you like steaks. There’s nothing else on the menu tonight.”
“Of course he likes steaks,” Willinger answered for him. “And bring us two beers.” Willinger pointed at a corner table with two chairs. “That’s perfect for us.”
Martin chose the chair with its back to the wall. The table had not been recently wiped, and displayed countless marks left by glasses.
“PJ’s hasn’t been remodeled for at least 50 years. That’s his specialty,” Willinger explained. “You won’t find another tavern like this in Houston anymore.”
After the first sip of beer, Willinger’s demeanor became more personal.
This beer is served in a glass, and it's surprisingly good, not as tasteless as the usual beer that comes in cans, Martin discerned.
Willinger noted his appreciative look. “It's made by a local brewery, according to the German beer law, the Reinheitsgebot.” He pronounced the last word almost flawlessly, with hardly any accent.
His curiosity piqued, Martin shot a look at Willinger and asked, “German ancestors?”
“Only on my mother's side,” Willinger said. “My father met her in Germany while he was serving in the army, but I have forgotten most of the words.”
It had been almost the same with Martin, except his father never served in the army. Martin realized Willinger had not once uttered his raucous laugh today.
“Is there trouble at the office?”
Willinger put his glass on the table. “Oh... I'm in more of a farewell mood.”
“But I will be back after the survival course, for the underwater training, won’t I?”
“No, it's not because of you.” Willinger gave him a friendly pat on the shoulder. “When you come back, I won’t be here anymore.”
“Did you get a promotion?”
“No, they are forcing me into retirement.”
“How old are you, Dave?” He must be in his mid-fifties, Martin guessed.
“I'm 58. Because of my achievements and all that nonsense, they're giving me a so-called honorable retirement.”
“So that’s not what this is about?”
“I just think I am too much of a nuisance for them,” Willinger replied. “I don’t keep my mouth shut when something goes wrong.”
Martin hesitated. “You are talking about the Enceladus mission, right?”
“Yes. I keep having the feeling they are sending you to a certain death. They want to surf the wave caused by the discovery on Enceladus, but I believe this is still beyond the abilities of mankind. Maybe in twenty years ...”
“It worked for the Apollo project,” Martin said.
“That’s the problem. It worked once, so they believe it won’t be any different now.” Willinger made gestures with his hands while he talked.
“If they wait twenty years, they’ll never get the money. You see how India was glad to get out of the whole thing.” Willinger paused and took another sip of his beer. “Space travel only works if you take one step after another. Build a base on Mars, then go on to Jupiter... the few cells in the ocean of Enceladus won’t run away. They must have been there for millions of years.”
Martin shook his head. “It is too late for these discussions.”
“Yes, and that’s probably why I have to retire now.” Willinger leaned back in his chair. Martin had never seen him so depressed. His face suddenly brightened when a waitress brought them their food.
“Well, guys, here are your steaks.”
“Thanks, Anna, you’re a sweetie,” Willinger said as he looked up at her with a smile.
“Sure. Salt, pepper, and ketchup are already on the table. If you need anything else...”
Martin watched as Willinger gazed intently at the waitress who sashayed back toward the bar. Glad to see his carnal instincts are still functioning.
Two large plates sat in front of Martin and his host. Each one offered two ribeye steaks, that Martin estimated to weight about ten ounces apiece. They also each had a baked potato, split open, in aluminum foil. The cook had poured plenty of cream gravy on each potato and sprinkled crumbled bacon on top.
Willinger began cutting his steak. “Enjoy your meal. You will be dreaming of such steaks—and I know what I’m talking about.”
Martin took his knife and fork and cut off a piece of steak. Red meat juice oozed out of it—mmm, just the way I like it. The steak smelled of a charcoal grill.
“Great place you chose for us,” he said.
They ate in silence for a while. Willinger did not mind eating a bit noisily. Martin, on the other hand, tried to eat quietly, as his mother had taught him.
“Why didn’t you refuse to go on this mission?”
Martin had a hard time understanding Willinger, who had spoken with his mouth full. Martin took his time and finished chewing the piece of meat in his mouth, swallowing before answering.
“I'm not sure. To me, it seems to... make sense. After all, someone has to do it, and I am both suitable and expendable. I have never done something that seemed to make sense for this many reasons.”
“Expendable? Is no one waiting for you?”
“My mother in Germany won’t get to see me for a Christmas or two.”
“No girlfriend? No ex-wife or someone like that? Aren’t you past 30 already? Or—are you gay?”
Martin laughed. “Actually, I am already 39.”
“Not that it would bother me if you were gay.” Willinger looked a bit embarrassed.
“No. I lived with a woman for a long time. She was the love of my life and all that. I didn’t even know I was capable of achieving something like that.”
“And then she met someone else?”
Martin briefly paused. “She... she died. It was a suicide.”
“I am so sorry.” Willinger placed an arm on Martin’s shoulder.
“She suffered from depression. Never said anything to indicate she would end her life. I should have noticed, but my work...”
“I understand.”
I am not sure Willinger really understands, Martin considered. I do not know this man well enough to tell, but his statement feels genuine.
“Martin, you seem to be running away from life. Am I right?”
Martin shrugged. Then he saw the waitress approaching their table.
“Two more beers, please,” Willinger motioned to her.
Martin knew he had a task waiting for him. But first he had to get drunk with Dave.
October 26, 2045, NASA
The next morning he awoke, lying fully dressed on his bed, and with a hangover. Someone took my shoes off, though, Martin noticed. I remember the last beer at PJ’s, and then Willinger must have driven me here and helped me onto my bed. His head was throbbing, but he did not feel nauseous. I have the day off—that much he remembered. Starting tomorrow, the wilderness survival course was going to begin.
Martin tried to remember the previous evening. Dave asked me an important question—am I trying to run away from my life by joining this mission? Now the question sounded to him like an accusation. Is it really cowardly to go on an uncertain mission lasting for years? Yes, Willinger is right. It only would seem courageous to outsiders, to people who did not know me. It doesn't concern me at all that the space mission has a lot of issues and the technology is far from proven.
Sure, there were a number of possible situations he had so far avoided. No one knew he was afraid in the dark, which had started in his childhood when his
mother went out in the evening. Outer space was the very domain of darkness, followed closely by the depths of the ocean—or an endless hole reaching for kilometers into the ice. He would also have to spend many days interacting with colleagues he did not know yet, even though dealing with people was not one of his strong points.
The reason he had agreed to it in spite of all these issues had not been clear to him back then. Now, I'm starting to have an idea how strong my distaste for my life must have become, if I voluntarily want to face my deepest fears. I must have something in common with my dead girlfriend. It's probably the very idea that this might be a journey without return that makes it so attractive—a death wish I've never admitted to myself.
What does that mean for me and my decision? It meant he was not suitable for this trip into space. It meant he was a danger to his colleagues, who surely valued their lives. If I really do not care whether I die, how can I be certain I would do everything to save the lives of my crewmates in an emergency—and my own life, as they will be depending on me? In this unique mission, the greatest uncertainty factor was not the immature technology, but people like himself.
Martin decided to leave the mission. He would quit his job at NASA, find a nice wife on the internet, get married, and raise kids. The woman whose name they did not want to reveal to him would get his ticket to Enceladus. However, he did not feel the relief he had expected after coming to this decision.
The following day was supposed to be a travel day. In the morning, Martin already tried to find someone he could inform of his decision to quit, but unfortunately it was the weekend. He only met the driver who took him to the airport. After the landing in Boston, a second driver waited for him. He was from India, and Martin barely understood what he said. They drove northward for four hours, almost to the Canadian border. Soon after they left the airport, the rain started. The driver listened to soft music and whistled along out of tune. After half an hour, Martin fell asleep.
“Sir, we’re going to arrive in five minutes,” the driver finally announced.
The vehicle was driving on a narrow road. To the right was a deep green forest, soggy with moisture, and to the left a lake. Even though it must be still afternoon, it was much darker than in Houston.
Wide awake now, he asked, “Where are we going to arrive?”
“At Rangeley, Maine, sir,” answered the driver. “The Navy has a training camp there, but I am sure you knew that.”
“I am going to be alone?”
“Sorry, sir, I wasn’t told anything about that. I am just supposed to drop you off at the entrance, and then you’ll never see me again.”
They had finally reached their destination. The driver pulled over, shifted into park, but kept the engine idling. “Well, here we are. Don’t forget your backpack, sir, and have a nice day.”
The driver seemed to be in a hurry. Martin took his backpack, opened the door, and got out. It was windy and cold. Not even 10 degrees, he guessed. He saw a gate made of iron bars and a smaller green door next to it that was in view of a sentry box. Martin approached and knocked on the dirty window. At first nothing happened, and then he heard the door creak. The sound of heavy boots indicated a soldier was coming toward him.
“Chief Petty Officer Miller. You are Mr. Neumaier?”
Martin handed him his NASA ID card.
“Great, then I won’t have to wait for you any longer.”
CPO Miller opened the gate and let Martin in. Then he locked it from the inside with a heavy horizontal beam.
“All the others are here already,” Miller said.
“Do you know whether someone from NASA...” Martin wondered aloud.
“Only your colleagues and the responsible Navy instructors are here. We are just among ourselves. It is going to be a cozy week.”
Martin doubted this. That is, unless our quarters have an open fireplace with bear rugs in front of it.
Miller and Martin left the sentry post and walked about 150 meters into the forest until they reached a clearing. A primitive wooden hut stood in the middle. A few meters in front of the door Martin saw a small well with a hand pump. Miller once again opened the door for him. Inside, the hut smelled musty, and it was barely warmer than outside. Eight people sat around a rustic table, their heads leaning over papers.
“Look who I brought,” Miller announced to the group.
As if on cue, everyone turned toward Martin, and he automatically blushed. I'm glad the lights are dim.
Miller did not introduce Martin, so he did it himself. “I am Martin Neumaier… The new guy.”
He couldn’t think of anything else to say. The others had surely read his file by now. A dark-haired woman got up. She was taller than he was. Martin recognized her. It was Francesca, the Italian pilot.
“Nice to have you here,” she said, greeting him. “I already told the others about our adventure.” She waved to Martin to join her.
The man next to her took a step to the side and shook Martin’s hand. Martin also recognized him. This was the engineer who had participated in developing the DFD.
“Hayato Masukoshi,” the Japanese man said. “We already know each other. And this is Amy Michaels, our commander.”
Everyone had called Amy ‘Commander’ from day one, even though there was nothing to command yet. She possessed a natural authority, despite being slender and only slightly over a meter and a half tall. Martin shook Amy’s hand. She gripped his hand firmly.
“Our ship’s doctor, Dimitri Marchenko, and Science Specialist Jiaying Li are being trained by their national space agencies. They won’t join us until we get to Tiangong-4,” Amy said with her soft voice. She reminds me of something—or someone. Martin winced, suddenly worried he might fall for her.
“Everything okay?” she asked.
“I am just a bit exhausted,” he quickly replied. “There has been a lot happening recently. All my life...”
“It is the same for all of us, too. But the Navy folks here promised we should get some rest in the coming days. Isn’t that so?” Amy looked at the men in uniform.
Miller, who appeared to be the highest-ranking military person present, answered, “Active relaxation, I would say.”
October 28, 2045, Rangeley/Maine
“RISE AND SHINE! QUICK! QUICK! QUICK!” Martin opened his eyes. There was no light coming through the windows of the hut yet. Martin had not slept very well, as at least one of the men had been constantly snoring throughout the night. He yawned.
“Come on people, move faster!” Martin recognized Miller’s voice. Martin sat up and jumped down from the bunkbed. The uniform, on loan from the Navy, hung on the rear metal post of the bed. He put on his pants and tightened the belt. Jacket, boots, finished, Martin thought to himself. Oh. I still need my cap.
“Pack your backpack and get outside,” Miller ordered.
They had constructed the backpacks last night from military tarps. They contained two canteens, disinfectant tablets, a rain poncho, a knife, a compass, and a map.
Outside the door, Martin stepped into a puddle and silently cursed. Damn. It must have rained all night. He felt small raindrops fall on his skin. He tried to recognize the others, but no one was talking, and the uniforms all looked alike in the semidarkness. He only picked out Amy because she was quite a bit shorter than the others.
“MOVE OUT!”
One of the instructors started walking toward the forest. They all followed and marched through the darkness in single file. They walked endlessly and aimlessly, it seemed to Martin. The instructor changed direction so often that Martin became completely disoriented. Did his colleagues feel the same way? Twice he stumbled over tree roots, and now his knee hurt. He was not going to complain, though. For him, the entire adventure would be over in a week, since he already had decided to quit.
It had been getting lighter for a while when they finally reached a small clearing which resembled the one where the cabin was located, but no building could be seen.
“You should see something at 9 o’clock,” Miller said. The group looked to the left. Something hung in a pine tree, about five meters from the ground.
“What you are seeing here is a parachute. One of your colleagues might be hanging from it. Save him, ASCANs!”
Like the other three, Martin approached the tree. The pine was straight, and the parachute was therefore out of reach. The tree trunk was smooth, and it looked like it had been deliberately cleared of branches. Three meters up, he saw a branch that could be used for climbing.
“Should we give someone a leg up?” Amy suggested. Francesca was the tallest member of the team and would, therefore, be the support. Amy was too short, so only Martin and Hayato remained. He looked at the Japanese man, who nodded. Does that mean ‘you go ahead’ or ‘I will do that?’ Martin wondered.
“Okay, okay,” he sighed. Then I'll climb. Francesca stood next to the trunk so he could reach the branch with his hands if she just lifted him high enough. She formed a stirrup with her hands. Martin placed his left foot on her hands and tried to grasp her shoulder. Too late—she already gave him a strong upward push. He sailed right over her head and landed in the dirt.
Martin had to laugh, no matter whether the others thought it was funny or not, because the situation seemed so bizarre to him.
“Let’s try again,” he said. Once more Francesca gave him a strong push, but this time he expected it. He stretched out soon enough that his hands reached the single branch. The branch bent under his weight and the rough bark cut into his skin, but it held. And now, what do I do next?
The others realized he did not know what to do and gave him suggestions. Even though Martin had never managed very many chin-ups, he succeeded in pulling himself up and supporting his weight with one arm. That left the other arm free. He briefly took note of the immediate surroundings. There were enough branches up here. He grabbed one after the other and climbed the rest of the way to the parachute, the lines of which were tangled in the tree. He pulled out the knife he had placed in the pocket near his knee and cut the lines until the parachute was pulled down by its own weight. It fell to the ground with a thud. I hope the guys from the Navy have not overdone the realism, he thought, as he climbed down again, hung from the lowest branch, and dropped into the soft moss.
The Enceladus Mission: Hard Science Fiction Page 7
