Proxima Logfiles 1: Marchenko's Children: Hard Science Fiction

by Morris, Brandon Q.

  “Now we can only see you dimly,” said Numbark.

  He could have done without this information. He moved his arms again and then used his legs, too.

  “That was about ten fingerbreadths,” Gronolf said.

  That made 15. He’d make it. The darkness no longer seemed so oppressive to him. He felt like he was in a particular version of the universe, one without stars, where the vacuum had an exceptionally high density. Such universes could exist. And if the multiverse theory was correct, there were unquestionably such worlds. Maybe there were stars here but he just couldn’t see them because the darkness was so intense.

  He was rowing with his whole body—arms forward, arms back. Every stroke took three minutes. But it was only 50 meters, at most 60.

  “We can’t see you from up here anymore,” said Numbark. “But the last we saw, you were going in the right direction. Make sure to keep the line taut, and that way I’ll be able to see if you go off course.”

  The line was more than just his life insurance. If he kept it drawn tight, Numbark would be able to roughly determine which way he was going. It would be all too easy to lose his way in the dark.

  Swimming, swimming, swimming. Adam swam two strokes. His body was bathed in sweat. The suit wasn’t able to discharge heat as well as it did outdoors. This was a problem they hadn’t considered. Adam hadn’t made much of an effort to consider all possible problems. Otherwise he’d never have gotten into the mud, and so it had ultimately been the wisest decision. Better him than a Grosnop, whose girth would have been less help and more of a hindrance.

  * * *

  “Thirty meters,” said Numbark. “Now you’ve definitely made it halfway.”

  This was good news, but Adam couldn’t muster any excitement about it. The exhaustion from his forward movements, together with the lack of heat dissipation, were making him sweat so much that there was liquid sloshing around in his helmet. Adam had to keep his mouth shut to keep from continually swallowing his sweat. He’d already considered drinking it, but it was very salty. Gronolf had advised against it.

  Adam paused. He could briefly loosen the helmet’s lower attachment. Then the liquid should follow the pull of gravity and flow out. Or not? Gronolf would advise against this, too, but he lifted his right hand to his neck and loosened the first bolt. What about the pressure from the mud? In addition to the sweat flowing out, would the mud flow in? It was too dangerous, so he retightened the bolt. He sucked on the drinking tube. The water from it was refreshingly cool. Then he used his tongue to push the tube out of his mouth. Instead of getting mud in his helmet, he should try something different. He didn’t have a choice. He turned his head until the liquid in his helmet ran over his face. Then he caught what he could with his mouth and his tongue and swallowed it. He repeated the procedure and then quickly sucked some water from the drinking tube to get rid of the nasty taste.

  It couldn’t really be unhealthy. All the salt in the sweat had come from him in the first place. He was expecting to feel sick, but thankfully experienced no nausea.

  * * *

  “Sixty meters,” said Numbark. “You’re practically there!”

  That would be great. But shouldn’t there be some sign of this? Adam was exhausted. The 60 meters in the mud seemed like 10 kilometers in the water.

  “I don’t see anything yet,” he said.

  “You probably won’t see anything either,” Gronolf said. “The freighter just sank into the mud like you did.”

  “Then how will I know when I’m there?”

  “When you hit something hard with your hands, it can only be the freighter.”

  “Then I haven’t made it yet.”

  * * *

  “Numbark, how far?” he asked.

  “Seventy-two meters.”

  “How long is the line?”

  “It’s a hundred meters long, so it’s definitely enough. Don’t worry, Adam. You’re almost there.”

  “This is what we thought twelve meters ago.”

  Adam sighed. The liquid in the helmet had replenished itself long ago, and he had to be careful that he didn’t get too much salt in his eyes. He reached forward with his right hand and pulled it back—another stroke to follow yet another.

  Then his left hand reached into emptiness. He couldn’t believe what was happening. His senses were playing tricks on him. There was no emptiness here, just mud.

  But this belief wasn’t true. His right hand also came across an opening, like a small cave. He pushed forward with his legs and almost stumbled as his entire body emerged from the mud. It hadn’t wanted to let go of him so easily, but he’d managed to break free. He’d reached something. He just didn’t know what.

  “I’m somewhere,” he said over the radio.

  “Where?” asked Gronolf.

  “I don’t know. I can’t see anything.”

  “Has the helmet lamp stopped working?”

  Of course. He could just turn on the light. Adam moved his chin to press the button in the helmet. Okay, after sweeping the lens clear of mud... The beam from his helmet fell on a wall of mud eight to ten meters in front of him. Adam aimed the light around in a small cave. The ground seemed solid, but mud was oozing down the walls and also onto his limbs. He was dripping with mud, but there was something else. He stepped closer to get a better look. It looked like some sort of tree trunk that tapered downward. The trunk reached from the ground to the top of the cave, ending in a great many small branches that looked like thicker forms of the plant that grew on the planet's surface. The branches were supporting something that looked familiar to him. It had a cylindrical shape, and the branches were twisting around it.

  “I found the freighter,” he said, smiling involuntarily.

  “That’s wonderful,” said Gronolf. “Can you touch it?”

  “No, I can see it. It’s at the top of a tree, surrounded by branches. A cave has formed beneath it. The freighter is probably keeping the mud out of it like a roof stops the rain.”

  “How practical.”

  Adam looked at the tree, which became thicker toward the top. It seemed as if the branches were trying to crush the spaceship to feed on its juices. But those weren’t branches. They’d been wrong all this time.

  “You know what? The herb that’s growing on the surface...”

  “Yes?” Gronolf asked.

  “That’s not the life form on this planet.”

  “But?”

  “What we’re seeing are just the roots, which project into the atmosphere, where there’s the water and other substances that these plants, or whatever you want to call them, need. But these life forms don’t get energy from their star. The brown dwarf gives off far too little energy. The plants prefer to tap into their planet's interior, which produces abundant heat because of the planet’s proximity to the star. I see the stem of such a plant here. If we were to analyze it, we’d be sure to find that it’s conducting water and nutrients inward.”

  “If that’s true, Adam, then you’ve made a great discovery—trees that grow inside their planet!”

  Adam stood very still. Mud dripped from his suit, and the sweat in his helmet smelled horrible. But at that moment he was happy. The universe was amazing, and it was fascinating how life always found a way.

  Darknight 26, 3890

  Maybe he should just stay here. The freighter’s recycling system worked so well that the food preparation device would never run out of raw materials. The planet offered water and oxygen, and although the power of the freighter’s reactor was sure to diminish over the years, its output should be enough for him to survive on.

  Adam pushed the thought aside. It was easy to do because it wasn’t a serious consideration. Whenever a bizarre thought occurred to him, the first thing he’d try to do was chase it away. Any ideas that put up a good fight deserved a second chance. He got up and went back to work. The others had been waiting for him for hours, and they weren’t as comfortable as he was.

  He’d already u
nscrewed three ceiling panels. He limited himself to the covers on the cabin side, since they were the largest. A Grosnop weighed around a quarter of a ton, and this mass had to be distributed across as large an area as possible. The panels measured around 150 by 300 centimeters, and there was a slight upward curve along the long sides. The advantage was that the mud wouldn’t slosh over so quickly. They wouldn’t be able to strap such huge soles to the bottoms of their feet, so the best thing would be to step onto the first one, put the second one down in front, cross over, then lift the first one and bring it out in front, and repeat. They wouldn’t move very quickly this way, but they’d be sure to make it to Marchenko’s landing site.

  The next panel came out, and he caught it with his bare hands. He set down the lightweight material, probably a titanium or aluminum alloy. Adam wiped his sweaty hands on his pants and reached for the wrench. It was good to work without a spacesuit. He felt free, even though he knew they were waiting for him above.

  * * *

  The zipper was stuck. Adam opened it a little, removed one of the brown bars, and put it in his mouth. Now he could close up the tool bag, which he was using as a storage container. He chewed. The bar had a slightly sweet taste and contained the highest possible concentration of calories. Who needed vitamins when it came to survival? Then he washed it down with a little water.

  “It’s time,” he said.

  His voice sounded less clear than it had before. This was probably because the cabin panels were gone, with cables and pipes now springing out of the walls. The poor freighter. He’d already considered using the engines to perform a rescue operation. But he had no idea how the mud layer would react to the forces that would result. A hard shell might form around the freighter, and he’d be trapped forever.

  Adam crouched down, lifted the stack of panels, and leaned them against the wall close to the airlock. Then he pressed a button and the door to the airlock moved to the side. A red light turned on inside the narrow room, and there was a sickly, sweetish stench. Damn it. He should have fastened his helmet beforehand. The corpse Gronolf had brought with him was decomposing very quickly in the heat. Adam felt sick to his stomach. He secured the helmet and breathed in the slightly metallic-smelling air from the tank. Fortunately, the nausea subsided before he had to throw up.

  As he brought the covers into the airlock he tried not to look at the body, but he wasn’t successful. The skin that had once been green was now gray, and it bulged. Adam pressed the close button for the inner door and turned around. But the corpse was still there. He quickly pressed the button for the outer door. Please, let me out. Please. The heavy door slid to the side, and he jumped with relief into the knee-deep mud, the cover panels in his hand.

  Crap. He’d forgotten the line. He wouldn’t make it back up to the surface without it. He’d attached it in the airlock, so he set down the panels and climbed back up. In the airlock he released the line from the loop next to the door and attached it to his belt. Then he turned to the corpse. He’d probably be the last living being to see him.

  “So long, stranger,” he said.

  The corpse didn’t answer, and Adam was a little surprised that he found this funny. He’d been down here too long. He climbed out of the airlock. His hand moved toward the close button, but he pulled it back. It would better for the airlock to remain open. That way, the corpse wouldn’t be so alone. The planet would take him and break him down into his individual parts, and eventually his molecules would turn up in the plants there. Perhaps some would even reach the roots, which looked out into space from the surface above the mud.

  It was a comforting thought. Perhaps a similar fate awaited him. He’d always have a good view of the cosmos if he ended up being a part of this vegetation that spanned the entire globe.

  “Gronolf?” he called into the microphone.

  “We’re here and waiting.”

  “I’m ready.”

  “That’s good. We’ll pull you out.”

  * * *

  The way back was less exhausting than he’d feared. Adam hooked the line to the back of the tool belt, and he moved backward through the mud. He held the panels flat out in front of him so that they would cut through the mud.

  “We’re good to go,” he said.

  From above, three strong Grosnops pulled the cable. Hopefully it wouldn’t tear. He felt the pull at his back. He didn’t need to make swimming movements this time, since his friends’ strength moved him through the viscous mud. However, it was still tiring because he had to make sure at all costs not to lose the covers.

  “I need to take a break,” he said.

  The pull on the rope immediately subsided. Adam let go of the covers and shook his arms the best he could. At least here there were no currents on which the covers could drift away, like in the sea. But was that really true? If he was in a liquid, there had to be currents—just very slow. He felt for the covers. They were still where he’d left them.

  “How far to go?” he asked.

  “Ten meters,” said Gronolf.

  “Okay, we’ll do it in a single stretch.”

  * * *

  Numbark laughed, and Loknor was also holding his stomach.

  “Don’t take it the wrong way,” said Gronolf. “But we haven’t seen anything funny in a long time. And you look like a mudskipper that’s missing two arms.”

  Then Gronolf laughed too. They certainly had a strange sense of humor. Shouldn’t they feel sorry for a mudskipper missing two of its arms? He shook himself off vigorously, with drops of mud flinging in all directions.

  “Here are the covers,” he said. “As soon as you’re done, we should head out.”

  “Thank you, Adam. You did a really good job,” said Gronolf.

  * * *

  Set the panel out front, switch your weight to this panel, kneel down on it, pick up the panel from behind yourself and bring it around to the front, step onto this one, kneel down—it worked! But what would his back have to say about it? Getting the covers lifted up from the muddy ground was extremely tiring. So far they’d gone maybe 200 meters, or one-tenth of the way. Hopefully the viscosity and the density of the mud wouldn’t change as they went along. He wasn’t worried about himself, but with their spacesuits, the Grosnops weighed at least twice as much as he did.

  But they had the advantage of having more extended and flexible arms. Gronolf had been right beside him before and was now ten meters ahead. The Grosnop was able to stay in the same position. He didn’t have to turn to reach behind him. He transferred the cover from the touch-arm to the load-arm and lifted it over his head to the front. Then he passed onto that one easily and repeated the process.

  Numbark and Loknor were also out ahead of him. But now Gronolf was falling behind. Adam caught up with him quickly and came up right beside him.

  “I’ve got an idea,” said Gronolf.

  “Yes?”

  “Don’t bother with the covers anymore. I’ll take care of them. From now on, all you have to do is walk forward.”

  “And you’ll stay behind?”

  “No, just wait and see.”

  With his left touch-arm, Gronolf took the panel that was behind Adam, lifted it over him, and placed it in front with the left load arm. At the same time, he used the right touch-arm to move his own panel.

  “Hey, you still have to walk on your own.”

  “Oh, sorry,” said Adam, stepping onto the front panel. “I was busy being impressed.”

  At the same moment, Gronolf reached for the one behind Adam and set it down in front of him. The Grosnop was right—all he had to do was move forward. When Gronolf lifted Adam’s panels over him, some mud dripped down onto his helmet and suit, but so what? He was still covered in mud from head to toe, thanks to his excursion to the freighter.

  “That works well,” said Adam. “Thank you!”

  * * *

  A quarter of an hour later, Numbark took a giant leap.

  “Solid ground!” he called.


  Loknor jumped after him. Adam checked the ground. There were still a few meters of mud in front of him.

  “Not for me yet,” he called.

  “Yes, for you too,” said Gronolf, putting his left touch-arm around Adam’s waist and carrying him along as he jumped to where Loknor was waiting.

  “Woohoo,” Adam shouted. “That was a good jump. But don’t you think that we’ll still need the covers?”

  “Then we’ll just get them,” said Numbark.

  “But if you land beside them, you’ll land deep in the mud.”

  “I won’t land beside them,” Numbark said.

  “He’s right,” said Gronolf. “Numbark was the official champion in target jumping. Even I couldn’t beat him in this event.”

  “Thank you, General,” Numbark said.

  Adam moved away from the edge of the mud. Just like at the freighter’s landing site, there was a change in the consistency of the plant growing on the ground—or rather, the aerial roots protruding from the ground. The vegetation apparently used them to filter nitrogen and water vapor from the atmosphere.

  He switched to infrared. The heat trail glowed, but dimly. Though it was clearly recognizable now, if they’d arrived one or two days later they wouldn’t have discerned anything, especially not from a height of 100 kilometers. What happened here, Marchenko?

  “Where are you, Marchenko?” Adam asked via radio.

  “He’s not here,” replied Gronolf. “Otherwise he would have heard us and contacted us.”

  “Maybe he can’t do that,” Adam said.

  Marchenko’s body could have been damaged during the landing. He could also be in the shuttle’s computer and not have any more energy. It was almost impossible to kill him, but there were plenty more outcomes possible, any of which could have left him in a hopeless situation.