On the Shores of Titan's Farthest Sea

by Michael Carroll

  (*)

  Piers wracked his brain. Where could he get more power—enough to get a message out to other Titan installations or Iapetus, or maybe even Ganymede? He’d been over it and over it. He hoped, desperately, that someone had heard at least part of his last transmission, but the power had failed during the operation, and he had no idea how much, if any, had processed and made it out. They might have picked up at Kosovo/Taishan, and if so, that was their best bet. Kosovo had enough infrastructure that they likely had hardware that could help out. But they would have had to receive through satellite, and he had no way of knowing if the relay could have been completed at the right time. The data that could have told him that was lurking somewhere behind his darkened screens.

  He heard a knock on the door. He stood and moved around the table, brushing against the walls as he crossed the tiny room. He opened the hatch a crack. A cloud of vapor billowed into the room, casting transient rainbows before him. The mist had apparently come from Tanya, the light from her wristpad.

  “Piers?”

  “Hey Tanya. Come on in.”

  “Thank you. You look like polar bear, all bundled up.”

  “My warmest coat. It’s pretty good. You keeping warm?”

  “Not really,” her voice wavered. She rubbed her hands together. “I’m…I’m not so sure we will make it out of this.”

  Piers put his arms around her. “Hey, if you look out my little window, you can see Brian’s team hard at work on the shore. They’re clever people. Harriet is setting up some weird wave contraption, and if that doesn’t work they’ll come up with something else. I have faith in our people. They’ve never let us down.”

  Tanya nodded, wiping her eyes. “Da, da. Good people. And you are a good man.” She patted him on the shoulder and turned to step back through the hatch. “Oh, Piers, you must see what they’ve done with the halls. Very nice decorating. And the pictures dance. How do they do that? Especially that Kokopelli.”

  Her dreamy tone alarmed him; it was not the slur of a drunk. Rather, she had the air of a heavily sedated person—but he kept a calm tone. “Coca-what?”

  “Kokopelli. Native American flute player.”

  “Where’d you learn about all that?”

  “Kevin told me. And you know what? I forgot how hot he is with his shirt off.”

  © Springer International Publishing Switzerland 2015

  Michael CarrollOn the Shores of Titan's Farthest SeaScience and Fiction10.1007/978-3-319-17759-5_35

  35. Sticks and Stones

  Michael Carroll1

  (1)Littleton, CO, USA

  “There are aches and pains after those ‘first fifty minutes of hell,’ as we call it,” the tech told Belton, “but your body will settle down. Give it time.”

  Devon scowled suspiciously. “I’ve had broken bones before, and this is reminding me of those happy times,” he grumbled.

  Jennifer noticed a paleness to Belton’s pallor. A sheen of sweat glistened on his forehead. She turned in her couch to face the tech, a young woman she had not yet met. “If he thinks he’s broken something, can you at least check?”

  “If you were in your fetal launch position, you should have been just fine.”

  “Fetal launch position?” Belton sat forward in alarm.

  It was the tech’s turn to scowl. “You did view the holovid we sent with your confirmation, no?”

  Jennifer tried not to look sheepish; Belton was doing well enough on his own.

  The tech leaned toward Belton’s couch. “With your good arm, show me the position it was in when we entered the launch sequence.”

  “I had it a bit like this, but it slid off and kinda bent back toward the floor.”

  The tech immediately tapped her ear. “Johnny? Think we got an injury during the burn. Can you come to the arena with a scope?”

  In minutes, another tech arrived with a small wand and a monitor. Belton couldn’t help but notice the similarity between the new male tech and the female one: same aquiline nose, same jawline, even the same haircut. Only the hint of beard on one gave any clue to his gender.

  “I’ve seen that look,” the tech named Johnny told him. “We are related.”

  “Yep,” the other tech offered. “Same clone batch.” Her eyebrows tried to meet on her forehead as she looked at her screen. She tapped a spot on it and nodded toward her brother.

  “Mr…” the tech looked at his chart, “Belton, you should have watched the tutorial.” Johnny affected the tone of a scolding grammar school principal.

  “Yup,” said the other. “Broken ulna. If your arm had been in the right position for departure, you would be fine.”

  Johnny, whose glower matched his sister’s, added, “That’s why we send the holovids.”

  “I was in a hurry,” he said defensively.

  Johnny ignored the comment. “As it is, you’ll be wearing a cast and taking bone growth meds for the next week.”

  “Maybe two,” the other said with more glee than Belton could muster. “Never know how things are going to heal. Might be okay in—”

  “A week,” the brother finished. “I’ll get the cast.”

  “A week? You’re an optimist. I’ll get the meds. Don’t move that arm, Mr. Dalton.” She followed Johnny out with the same gait, like a mime shadowing a hiker.

  “Wonderful,” Belton said to Jennifer.

  She shrugged. “These high-velocity burns are wicked.” Her face felt flushed from the drugs. “Aren’t they, Mr. Dalton?” she added with a sly grin.

  Belton shivered and glanced out the window. “Wow. Look at that.”

  Jennifer sat up and peered over his recliner toward a port. Outside, Mars stared at them like an immense red eye. But what she found remarkable was how quickly it was shrinking. The world they lived on, worked upon, raised families upon, explored and shopped and traveled with friends and family, the entire little universe that they knew as home was dwindling at breakneck speed.

  “It’s…dizzying,” Jennifer said. “Unless that’s the high-g cocktail.”

  “I don’t think so. The thing is just…just…disappearing!”

  The orb that had filled their window moments ago seemed more like a basketball now, and it was rapidly taking on ping-pong ball dimensions. The mesas and canyons grayed out and paled into soft lines across the red deserts. The reborn oceans to the north in Elysium and Vastitas faded into metallic blue patches, then dark smudges. Mars was melting away, fast.

  Belton seemed paralyzed by the scene. “Pretty scary how everything you know can disappear so quickly.”

  “Mr. Dalton? We have your kit.” It was the sister. The brother was close behind. The two med techs went to work, efficiently prepping and prodding until Belton’s arm was cocooned by a soft, skin-tight metallic sheet.

  “That should do it,” the woman said cheerfully. “And I promised Johnny to not subject you to any more lectures.”

  A commanding voice came across the intercom. “Good evening from the flight deck. On behalf of our crew, this is Captain Reynaldo. The cruiser is now in trans-Saturnian trajectory. Gravity will remain steady for the foreseeable future, at a constant 1/3 g, so you are free to move through the cabins and sample our two restaurants, entertainment centers and observation dome. Please let our crew know if there is anything we can do to make your transit more enjoyable.”

  “One third g,” Jen said to Belton. “Feels almost like home.”

  “Woohoo!” A distinguished woman bolted from her couch and promptly fell over.

  “Careful, dear,” the elderly man next to her said. “You’re not on Earth anymore.”

  Belton hooked a thumb toward the retired couple and whispered, “Not so easy for them, but they’ll get the hang of it.”

  The void outside pulled his eyes back to the window. Mars was on the other side of the ship now, and the stars moved gracefully past the portal as the ship did a gentle pirouette. He tapped on the window and looked back at Jennifer.

  “We’r
e spinning.”

  “Keeps the ship stable, oriented.” A suntanned woman with each platinum hair in perfect place stood beside Belton’s couch. “I’ve been on this flight before. Out to Titan.” She jabbed her hand toward Belton before she noticed his cast. “Oh, sorry.” She brought her hand back with the kind of reflex one gets from touching a hot stove. “Delphine Jackson. Perhaps you’re familiar with my holojournalism?” She smacked a wad of gum cheerfully.

  “I’m Jennifer,” Jennifer put in, her hand outstretched. “This poor invalid is Jeremy Belton.”

  “Pleased to meet you both,” said the coiffed reporter. She glanced at Jennifer with apparent disappointment, then back at Belton.

  “So, you’re a journalist?” Belton asked, flashing a smile. “Is there a big story on Titan?”

  She flashed back with more enthusiasm. “Titan’s one of those places where there’s always a big story. Fog all the time, mysterious landscapes, weird social combinations. All those international outposts vying for research dollars. I’m surprised there aren’t more murders or assassinations or hit squads.” She was chewing with more concentration now, like a cow with its cud.

  “You say that with such elation,” Jennifer said.

  “It’s what makes the world of journalism go around. Murder and mayhem always win out over bouquets and butterflies. Maybe you know my work. I did that report last year for TriPlanet News on the slave trade in the Asteroid Belt?” She looked from Jennifer to Belton. Jennifer’s blank face echoed what Belton was feeling.

  “No?” said the reporter. “How about the on-location piece about the failure of the buoyant Japanese Research Station on Venus? That was a real dramatic piece. We were all in actual danger; nothing virtual about it. Got an award and everything.”

  Belton shook his head. “Sorry. I don’t watch much news. Sounds exciting, though.”

  The living mannequin turned. As she walked away, she called over her shoulder, “You have no idea. No idea at all.” Belton could just hear her mumble the word hicks.

  “Congrats on your award, though,” Jennifer called after her.

  “Journalist,” Belton said, rubbing his arm. “That explains a lot.”

  “How so?”

  “She looked just a little too perfect.”

  “Even after that wild ride,” Jennifer marveled. “But I’ll tell you one thing: all this rocketing around has given me an appetite. Let’s check out the dining room.”

  “Oh, let’s.” Despite his complete lack of appetite, Belton found himself actually looking forward to spending some time in space. He never would have imagined it.

  (*)

  Only at night, when the dark seeped in and tore sanity from consciousness, did Jeremy Belton become a true worrier. What was wrong at Mayda Station? A sophisticated science outpost doesn’t just drop off the grid. Had there been a fire? Titan was one of the worst places for a fire to break out, with all that methane and butane and propane constantly being trudged in by astronauts’ boots. Perhaps it was a power problem. Nuclear-power plants in the outer planets were stable systems these days, but things did go south now and then, and Mayda’s experimental one undoubtedly had a few kinks to work out. What if they had some sort of meltdown or serious radiation leak that kept everyone from the comm centers? What about a plague? What about aliens? He had seen too many movies. He was glad he would have help waiting for him when he got to the foggy moon of Saturn. He suspected he would need it.

  Poor Abigail; what had she gotten herself into? Ever since the death of her parents, Jeremy had felt responsible for her and Janice—perhaps too much so. Abby was the academic of the two, her sister the creative one: a Da Vinci, Callas and Dickens rolled into one. A renaissance girl, as Abby often put it.

  Abby took after her parents in the sciences, with a pile of papers published in her name, or with her at the front of the colleagues list. When her parents died, in the ensuing dark weeks and months, he could see the fires glow in her eyes. She became driven to pursue her career. And at every professional turn, he watched her dig deeper and deeper into research, always burning, always carried along on a river of lava. While Janice engaged with the creative ones around her, eventually marrying a painter, Abby kept looking over her shoulder, back toward a past that held her parents. At times, Jeremy felt that she was a haunted soul.

  How he wished he could do something about it, something to ease her pain of loss, something to free her from the driving forces of her past. But now was the time for sleep. Maybe if he counted sheep…or the number of barf bags he had used today…

  © Springer International Publishing Switzerland 2015

  Michael CarrollOn the Shores of Titan's Farthest SeaScience and Fiction10.1007/978-3-319-17759-5_36

  36. The Morning After

  Michael Carroll1

  (1)Littleton, CO, USA

  During the long Titan night, the only thing for Abby to do was stay in her room with a few galley items and hide away. She tried to raise Piers on the intercom, but with no luck. He was probably down in the Comm Center doing who-knows-what. Troy had not been in his quarters. In fact, he had not been in his right mind. He’d been lurking near his sub ever since his mystery absence, which he refused to talk to anyone about, according to Tanya. Maybe he would talk to her.

  She threaded her way through the maze of corridors toward the bay, where the submersible hung from its special crane. Any smells had faded from the labs and rooms, replaced by the sterile absence of smell, like the crisp air of a Colorado winter day. The only scents evident were occasional and ominous. Near the seals at several habitat junctions, Abby could smell the bitter aroma of hydrocarbons, like a bad day in Los Angeles, or a disaster at a paint factory. The air was beginning to hemorrhage in from outside. With the oxygen in here, that could prove a deadly mix.

  The smells didn’t bother her as much as the sounds. Down one hallway, in complete darkness, came the echoes of deranged laughter. As she turned into another causeway familiar to her, she expected the sounds of machinery and air pumps. She was met with spooky silence.

  At the final junction before the work habs, a scream tore through the darkness. Then, as the voice’s breathing slowed, it said, “Oh, it’s you. Mom, what are you doing here? How did you get all the way out here?” The voice began to fade down the corridor, along with one set of footsteps. “Don’t get me wrong. It will be a nice reunion, but it must have taken you forever. And cost a fortune!”

  Abby reached the hatch. The monitor gave her no clue as to whether it was pressurized and cleared, but the handle was in the ‘safe’ position. She yanked it. It was jammed. She pounded on the metallic door. “Troy! You in there?”

  She heard a muffled sound. In a moment, the handle turned. Troy looked out, then up and down the hallway. “You alone?”

  “Yeah. You?”

  He grabbed her by the elbow and pulled her inside. “What’s that supposed to mean? Of course I’m alone, girl.” He was trembling.

  Her first reaction was anger, but she knew that would get her nowhere. Love was the more powerful force. Compassion took more energy than argument, but it was worth it in the end. She took charge of herself, and carefully put her arms around his shoulders. “It’s okay,” she said. “We’re all totally stressed out.” She hugged him tightly, pulled back and looked into his bloodshot eyes. “Right?”

  His tensed shoulders relaxed. He let out a long breath and nodded at the floor, his eyes downcast. “Yeah, I guess so.”

  “It’s really dark out there. I almost ran into the door.”

  “Yup.” His eyes darted from side to side.

  “So how are you doing now that you’re safe and sound back home?”

  “Fine,” he said, but his voice betrayed wariness. “How are you doing? You seem to be quite chipper.”

  “I’m cold and hungry and jonesing for a good hot chocolate. But feeling good.”

  “Hot chocolate sounds nice. Just what do you have to be so cheery about?”

  �
�Hey, we’re all alive. Brian’s team is figuring out what’s wrong with the power. I’m on Titan, a gas girl’s paradise. Livin’ the dream.”

  Troy would have none of her optimism. “We’ll see how long you feel that way.”

  “Troy, what’s going on with you?” She said it gently, but firmly. “This place is in real trouble, here. Where did you go?”

  “They needed help with the drill,” he said tentatively.

  She remembered its frozen, lifeless hulk towering in the fog. “Guess you weren’t very successful.”

  Troy jammed his pinky in his ear and wiggled it as if extricating a moth. “You know, Apps, this is your problem. Right here. You know what your problem is, but in these last days of Mayda Station, I’m going to tell you again in hopes that you will finally hear it.”

  “What do you mean, ‘last days of Mayda Station’?”

  “And there you go changing the subject. Just like that counselor of ours—Ortner?—told you: Don’t change the stinkin’ subject.”

  “That’s ancient history, and we agreed not to go there. Right now we’ve got real-time problems. You always”—she slammed her fist on the shelf—“bring up the past at the most inappropriate time.”

  Some part of the structure in the wall popped as the cold of Titan continued its inexorable assault on the habs. The station was constantly pinging and popping like a wet grille. Troy jerked at the sound. He began to smile.

  “I always do, huh? Whether you like hearing it or not, Apps, you are still trying to make up for lost time. And it’s not even your time. It’s your parents’ time. All your accomplishments and accolades—tell me again how that’s going to balance out the ones they never had the chance to do on their own?” He wasn’t smiling any more. He didn’t need to say it. That was ground they had covered before. It seemed as though he was simply being mean-spirited, trying to push her buttons.