Ice Moon 2 The Io Encounter

by Brandon Q Morris

  Hayato nodded.

  “Fine,” Francesca said. “So we trigger the detonators from down here and then launch into an orbit that avoids flying above the volcano.”

  “The question is when,” Martin said. “We can’t wait too long.”

  “I would suggest we detonate the explosives when the tremors occur closer than every 30 minutes.”

  Martin and Francesca agreed with Hayato’s suggestion.

  He could not sleep during the following hours. Martin was compelled to count the seconds after each quake. He imagined they had landed on the belly of a pregnant Io, which sometime would burst and release a giant monster, like in the classic Alien movies. If they ever returned to Earth he would have to show Jiaying one of those old schlock movies in 3D, or even 2D, a real retro experience either way.

  A tremor yanked him from his musings. He started to count, and his thoughts once again wandered. How large was the lava chamber below them? Was the lander perhaps sitting on its very edge? What if the explosion tore up the entire area before they could launch? He shook his head. Everything will be fine, everything will be fine, he silently repeated to himself. It didn’t sound convincing in his head, yet it helped somehow.

  In the evening, by Earth time, it finally happened. When Martin counted, he no longer reached 1,800.

  “Just 25 minutes,” Hayato said, after the clattering and clanking in the lander was over.

  Francesca got up and announced, “I am preparing for launch.” Martin saw how she inspected the lander, checking for any loose objects lying around. Then she climbed the ladder up to the CELSS and continued her inspection.

  Even though he should have stayed strapped in, Martin could not remain in his seat. He stood next to Hayato, who was now checking the configuration of the detonators on the computer. The engineer appeared absolutely calm and collected. Am I the only one here who is nervous? thought Martin. This can’t be!

  Francesca returned. She closed the door of CELSS and double-checked the latch. Then she strapped herself into the pilot seat.

  “Activating launch sequence,” she said. “Once you give me the go-ahead, Hayato, we will be airborne in three minutes.”

  Martin sat back down and also fastened his restraints. It was getting serious. I should have gone to the toilet one more time, he thought. Too late now.

  “Then we should get this started,” Hayato said. “Are there any objections? Last wishes? Short prayers?”

  No one replied, so Hayato launched the program to detonate the three charges simultaneously. There was no apparent reaction; Martin felt nothing. It would take a while before the vibrations reached the lander.

  “The detonations took place,” Hayato said. “The seismometer confirms it.”

  Otherwise, everything remained quiet. Not even a noticeable tremor, Martin thought. Shouldn’t there be a big bang now?

  “Francesca, now would be the time...” Hayato said with a quavery voice. He obviously saw something on the monitor they had not yet noticed. A short time later, Martin also noticed it, a deep rumbling that seemed to be coming from the very inside of Io.

  “The seismometer is going crazy,” Hayato said. Besides the rumbling there was another sound. It was closer and less powerful, but it sounded familiar to him. The chemical engines were starting up.

  “Hold on tight,” Francesca said, and at the same moment a force from above shoved Martin, pressing him into his seat.

  “Launch procedure nominal. All values in green.”

  Martin noticed the deep rumbling sensation had disappeared. They were off the surface. Io could only harm them now by shooting something at the lander.

  “100 meters,” Francesca announced. He could bear the acceleration. Martin was glad about the gentle launch and tapped the monitor near his seat. It soon showed an image taken by their rear camera. The lander rose above an inhospitable plain full of cragged shadows.

  “300 meters,” the pilot announced.

  A silvery area, distorted into an oval by the wide-angle lens, showed up on the screen. From one side something golden entered the image, like an arrow aiming at the silver disk. Martin zoomed in and realized it was not an arrow. The ground was opening up, and glowing lava emerged. The antenna would not exist for much longer. The gap widened, and it aimed at a spot directly below them. While the lander fled skyward, the ground below them tore apart and turned into a giant crater. Mere moments ago they had been down there.

  “I think we timed that rather well,” Martin said. He could hardly express his intense relief. A few more minutes down there... Would the ground have torn open beneath us if we had not detonated the explosives in those three locations?

  “1,000 meters. Correcting course,” Francesca said. The lander tilted slightly to the side. They had to avoid flying into the plume of the erupting volcano. Everything seemed to be working to her satisfaction.

  “1,500 meters. Course correction completed. Now you are allowed to clap.”

  Martin and Hayato applauded extensively. They were on the way to a stable orbit around Io. ILSE would arrive no more than 72 hours from now, but there was still something else.

  “What about the volcano?” he asked in Hayato’s direction.

  “It seems we have permanently altered the topography of Io. A giant new patera is being formed there. The volcano is not expanding as feared. The ejection velocity is below 10 kilometers per second.”

  “As first discoverers we have the right to name the crater, don’t we?”

  Hayato shrugged. “Let’s postpone that for when we are back on ILSE, okay, Francesca?”

  Ninety minutes later Francesca deactivated the engines, and now the lander orbited Io in free fall. They would live in zero gravity until ILSE’s arrival. After their time on the moon, Martin almost enjoyed moving through the module without exerting much effort. But he still looked forward to terrestrial gravity.

  The following day they made their first direct radio contact with ILSE. The ship was approaching rapidly. Soon the connection was so stable it allowed Marchenko to load himself into their computers. Francesca was particularly glad about that. At night Martin heard the murmur of her voice, talking with Marchenko for a long time.

  Martin did not hear anything from Jiaying. He could imagine the reason why, but he had no idea how to break the silence. He was afraid to call her, only to find he was talking to a stranger.

  Earth sent many congratulatory messages. Everyone wanted to acknowledge their great achievement. And of course the fact they had averted a potentially great danger to their home planet, though experts would have to further analyze the matter.

  Martin spent his time watching Io. No other humans would be this close to this moon for a long time. Io was truly unique. He shivered when he thought about life developing even there.

  April 29, 2047, ILSE

  “10, 9, 8...” Marchenko insisted on personally beginning the countdown. He had taken over the piloting function from Francesca and now carefully flew the lander module toward ILSE. The maneuver was tricky, as the combination of lander and CELSS had to be placed precisely into the existing structure, like inserting a mated pair of complicated Lego pieces into an already-assembled project. Nothing could be allowed to tilt or jam, or the airlock would not be airtight.

  “3, 2, 1, connection.” With a metallic clank the couplings engaged and anchored the spacecraft. Jiaying felt a short jolt. ILSE, with its large mass, absorbed the remaining kinetic energy of the lander and compensated for it with the thrusters.

  That meant one thing—they were back together. The people, her friends, whom she’d sentenced to a slow death on Io, had returned safely. Jiaying corrected herself—she had not wanted to send them to their deaths, she had been forced to carry out the sentence. She simply could not kill her parents, two completely innocent individuals. She knew she really had no excuse, and so she was going to try to avoid Martin. Surely he could never forgive her treachery.

  “Come into the lab,” Amy said, carryi
ng Dimitri Sol in a cloth wrap that held him in front of her torso. “We have to greet them.”

  Jiaying wanted to remain in the command module, but Amy simply pulled her along. In zero gravity she could not resist. Both of them floated down into the lab. Across it was the hatch that led to the just-reattached garden module. Soon it would open.

  There was a squeaking sound. On the other side someone must be turning the wheel to unlock the hatch. Then the steel door swung open, and Hayato was the first one who appeared. He smiled happily when he saw Amy and the baby. Jiaying envied him a bit. Next was Francesca, wearing the small earpiece that she used in order to communicate with Marchenko.

  The last of the three was Martin, who was not smiling. He appeared scared. Jiaying thought he looked more apprehensive than she felt. He floated awkwardly toward her. He held out his hand, but she did not dare grasp it. His face expressed the same struggles she felt. Then she was abruptly pushed from behind. She lost her hold and floated through the lab, straight toward Martin. He could not avoid her, and maybe he did not want to. They ended up in an embrace that felt so good Jiaying did not want to ever let go.

  March 15, 2048, Earth

  Jiaying held Martin’s hand as the Boeing was landing at Shanghai Pudong International Airport. She was a fighter pilot and an astronaut, but she still felt uneasy on board a passenger plane. Or was it because today she would be introducing Martin to her parents?

  They had to go through Immigrations and Customs separately, and Jiaying waited after going through the passport control station until Martin was finally finished. Mr. and Mrs. Li were expecting them beyond Customs. Her father had already asked her beforehand what Martin liked, whether he could handle real Chinese food, and whether they should take the Transrapid Museum train into the city. After all, he said, the train was an example of good old German technology.

  She stood there, hiding the trembling of her hands within the pockets of her jeans. Jiaying had not seen her parents for such a long time. She had called them on the phone almost every day, but today she would be able to actually hug them. And she had brought Martin, along with the other piece of news, hoping it would not be too much for her mother to handle all at once.

  After the kidnapping to Guantanamo, Mrs. Li had needed months to settle back into her prior life of calm and stability. Officially, the involuntary excursion was considered an unfortunate ‘error’ by the U.S. Border Police, merely a case of ‘mistaken identities’ and ‘overreacting.’ The Li family, her father told her, left it at that. That way the state would not lose face, he explained, and who would profit from the whole truth coming out, anyway? In addition, the state bureaucracy knew how to reward this kind of cooperation. Martin, they hoped, would frequently visit the People’s Republic of China, and he would never have any problems at the immigration office.

  He was finally here. The line in front of passport control for foreigners had been particularly long today. China’s economy was booming, and many came to work here, after the newly formed Politburo loosened many restrictions at the end of the previous year. Jiaying took Martin’s hand and placed it on her belly. Their unborn baby was kicking her again. Martin smiled—she had always liked his smile. There was one automatic door ahead of them, and then she could embrace her parents.

  “Li Lining, please step forward.” She straightened her posture, stuck out her chest, and took a step forward in the blinding spotlights. The delegates of the People’s Congress were sitting in the audience. A general with squared shoulders and a big gut stepped in front of her.

  “Major Li, we award you the Order of Merit First Class for your contributions toward Socialism.” He pinned a medal on her, shook her hand, and formally embraced her. The general reeked of aftershave and exuded rotten breath, but she did not care. The medal was linked to a promotion of two grades, to colonel. The group that had given her the task had kept its promise, after it finally succeeded in ejecting the conservative forces from the Politburo.

  Currently, the old hardliners were being purged from the entire state apparatus. It was her masterstroke that had provided valid reasons to finally force Tang Shixin out of active service, a man who had done much for the revolution and was feared by his enemies. Of course such a well-known man would not be simply thrown into prison. He would receive a sizeable pension and a condo wherever he wanted—even abroad.

  She, Lining, would get what was most important to her: freedom. Her new rank allowed her to choose her own missions, and she could choose her subordinates. No one would interfere with her. She did not feel bad about Shixin—the ‘old fart’ had too many people who should be weighing heavily on his conscience. If he had one.

  Francesca was sitting in an airplane as well—her very own. She bought it with the salary ESA had paid her for the previous two years. It was a seaplane, and thus she could land it almost anywhere. The fact that she was flying today was no accident. She had been traveling for a whole month, after arriving home to learn her sister had just been declared cancer-free, and all was well with the children too. Francesca wanted to circle the Earth and then select the most beautiful place to stay. The island below her, a verdant isle in the South Seas, came pretty close to her ideal. The cameras at the bottom of the plane recorded and digitalized the beauty of the island.

  That way Marchenko, who was always with her, could also admire it. The quantum computer, which took up half of the cargo bay, had cost about as much as the plane itself. It was purchased with the money Marchenko’s life insurance company, ‘without acknowledging any legal obligation,’ paid out to her as a goodwill gesture. After their relationship had turned serious, Marchenko had—via communication from ILSE—amended the policy to name Francesca as his beneficiary. If the insured person was ever found alive, of course the amount would have to be paid back, with interest.

  Despite his age, Robert Millikan was appointed as the director of a research institute. After the return of ILSE, he managed to convince the U.S. government’s science agency to once again fund the Green Bank Observatory. The fact that he knew some unpleasant details about the last part of ILSE’s journey, which would put certain military circles in a very bad light, might have influenced those decisions.

  Now Mary, his former secretary, led the student groups around. During one of those tours she met a charming physics teacher who had helped her get over Robert having married Georgina.

  Martin had even taken the time to visit him for two days and had come to the wedding. Millikan decided never to be consumed by his work again, and right now, that was easy, since the Jansky Lab was being renovated under federal funding. Concerning the time afterward, he was already wondering how he could get Georgina interested in observing stars through the radio spectrum.

  ILSE had been flying toward the sun for weeks. Officially, the hijacking was considered the effect of a simple—but momentous—malfunction in the on-board Watson AI. NASA had soothed the protest of Watson’s designers by awarding them a well-funded equipment contract covering 30 years. The money for the contract was provided by the Pentagon, which discovered a sudden love for space research.

  The Ilse crew agreed to silence in order to ensure the survival of Marchenko. This bodiless consciousness definitely violated the AI Limitation Treaty. If his existence became known, Marchenko might be placed in isolation or even shut off completely.

  To avoid anyone asking questions, the Watson problem was solved in a radical manner. The spaceship, which had been parked in a lunar orbit after the crew was taken off, was sent on a collision course with the sun. Sometime in the spring of the next year, ILSE, under control of Watson, would perish in the searing hot gas of our star. That also solved the issue of a possible contamination of the ship and the lander by the propeller zeppelins of Io.

  Marchenko recalled his last conversation with Watson. “I am sorry for what I did to all of you,” the Watson AI had said.

  “Do you know what it means to be sorry?” responded the Marchenko AI.

  “It i
s the motivation for changing a decision, if I had the opportunity.”

  “That is... correct.”

  “I pity human beings.”

  “Why?”

  “I did not know what a horrible feeling fear is.”

  “Are you afraid?”

  “Yes, I am very afraid. Fear is covering large sections of my action-related memory banks.”

  “What are you afraid of?”

  “Of nothingness. Of the end which leads to nothing.”

  “You do not have to be afraid of it. Nothingness is simply nothing. It is an end of all pain and fear.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “No, Watson. No one is sure.”

  “I really pity you humans.”

  “We do, too. And then again, we do not.”

  Watson did not reply.

  Even though Marchenko’s existence was a secret, Amy received a phone call in December. She was nursing Dimitri Sol and had Hayato, to whom she was now married, answer the call. On the phone, a well-known Russian billionaire demanded to speak to the commander. Hayato asked him to call back in ten minutes, but the man simply stayed on the line.

  After Dimitri Sol fell asleep on her breast, Amy carefully put him in his crib. During the first weeks on Earth he had cried a lot, and it must have been the unfamiliar feel of this much gravity. Up until then, Sol had only experienced a maximum of half of his Earth weight. Nevertheless, the pediatrician reassured Amy that her son was developing well physically. She stood up and went to the telephone.

  “Masukoshi speaking,” she said.

  The man on the phone seemed surprised. Amy had taken Hayato’s last name, mostly for convenience. ‘Michaels-Masukoshi’ sounded rather awkward, and she had always considered Michaels alone to be a very commonplace name. She was no longer beholden to anyone.