And now? He collapsed in the driver’s seat. He could direct the rover to the Triton station. Then he’d save himself the walk, but he’d suffocate anyway since it wouldn’t be as fast as it would have been on foot. No, he’d have to make oxygen first. Nick got out again. For over 40 years, every research rover had included this function. One time, a NASA model had saved a Chinese Taikonaut on the moon from suffocating. He located the generator on the right side and activated the system. The storage was empty. The device could produce six times as much oxygen as he’d use in a given period of time, enough that it was able to keep a five-member crew alive.
But he’d have to be patient. Nick started the program, sat on the ice next to the rover, and leaned against the middle wheel.
5/17/2082, Triton
It was still dusk. As a shadowy arm passed over him and sank onto the ice, Nick recognized a kind of shovel. It pressed itself into the ice very slowly. There were no visible moving parts. Instead, it worked with heat. After several minutes, the shovel disengaged. It emptied the contents of the bucket into the oxygenator, and then the arm moved back to its scooping position on the ice.
Meanwhile, the display on his suit showed very encouraging values. It had taken three hours to produce oxygen for half a day. The device was probably not as effective as the display promised, but as long as he was on the road with the rover, he no longer ran the risk of running out of air. This was a great relief.
Perhaps he shouldn’t go to the station yet. With the circuitous route Oscar was taking, the robot would need a few more days to get there. He’d picked up no signals from Triton Station’s AI, so he’d need Oscar. Perhaps the Triton AI had even had something to do with the landing module’s crash. But why was it ignoring all attempts at contact? Why was it keeping visitors at bay? What if those who had been here before him had already collected information? He should use the rover to find out.
Groaning, Nick stood up. He’d love to be able to take off his spacesuit. It felt like every crevice of his body was raw from sweat and urine. He shouldn’t have rested, because now he felt the pain all the more acutely with every movement. He’d have to pull himself together. He sucked some liquid through the drinking straw in the helmet. The spacesuit’s life support system recycled every liquid it could find, meaning that all his excretions wound up in a closed cycle. He couldn’t die of thirst, and at his bodyweight he would probably last ten days without food. So far, the signs were good that he wouldn’t die here. If only there wasn’t the pain. He didn’t need the plow assembly on the rover so he removed it and then pulled himself into the driver’s seat.
From there, he activated the visor in his helmet. Those who had come before him must have wandered away from the rover somewhere. Surely they would have left some prints, even if they didn’t weigh more than a few kilograms on Triton. In the extremely thin atmosphere, such traces should still be recognizable, even months later. The suit’s Lidar system reported a pattern that may not have originated naturally, and it moved away from the rover. Nick enlarged the display. They were imprints of boots, apparently left by two people. Where was the third? Nick started the rover and followed the trail. When he was sitting, he could tolerate the pain. He just dreaded the moment when he’d have to get up again.
The tracks continued to move further and further away from the station, running in the direction of the line that the rover had drawn. Why had the two cosmonauts left their vehicle? Had the plow failed to perform its duties? But why had they left the source of oxygen that ensured their survival? They must have been headed somewhere that seemed like a safe haven.
Nick was getting sleepy, but the uneven terrain was keeping him from nodding off. He scrutinized the tracks again. It looked like the distance between steps changed from one kilometer to the next. At first, the prints were more than a meter apart. There, the two had been practically flying over the terrain. But then their distance shrank. Had the Russians run out of power here? He stopped the rover, dismounted, and studied one of the footprints. He stood next to it and measured the depth. His own boot prints were much shallower. His predecessors must have been carrying something substantial. Maybe it was their colleague, the third man? But why hadn’t they used the rover? It was strange. He climbed back in and continued on his way.
For some time, he’d been moving downhill, at an incline of about ten degrees. Nick was growing concerned that the rover would start sliding. The solid rubber tires had a pronounced tread but no spikes. Presumably, the ice that the rover was driving on was being pressed downwards by a neighboring sheet of ice. Plate tectonics at the very end of the solar system—the geologists would be pleased. Nick had never seen what the gravitational forces of a nearby celestial body were capable of from such a close perspective. In comparison, the tides on Earth seemed trivial.
The rover warned him of an approaching obstacle before he saw it. Before long, they had reached a wall that seemed even higher than the one he’d already climbed. With the rover, there was no chance here. Had the Russians known this, deciding to abandon the vehicle then? But the tracks turned to the right immediately in front of the wall. The cosmonauts hadn’t attempted to go straight up. Nick steered the rover to the right to continue following their tracks.
Now he had his answer. There was a gaping black hole in the wall about 50 yards above him. It had the shape of a flat-based truncated oval, the top leaning away from him and the opening measuring about 20 meters. There was a ramp coming out so that it looked like an open mouth that was sticking out its tongue. Perhaps an asteroid had once hit somewhere up there and this was where the meltwater had flowed out. The structure looks almost organic, and the tongue curled downwards gently. He tried to steer the rover up the ramp, already suspecting that it wouldn’t work. It was too steep. The rover slipped back after just 10 meters.
He’d have to get out, having to spread his legs wide to do so. He groaned as the encrusted diaper detached itself from the insides of his thighs. But the pain made him alert and served as proof that he was still alive. He had to come out of this so that he could make that return trip home. Nick started up the ramp. After three meters, he slipped and fell. He’d crawl from here.
He reached the opening, breathing heavily. He looked back to the rover, which appeared much smaller and seemed to look at him with sad headlight eyes.
“I’ll come back to you, I promise,” he said. Nobody answered.
He had apparently discovered the enchanted realm of an Ice Queen. The entrance looked like the mouth of a grotto. He panned his helmet’s headlight back and forth, and as the pale yellow, practically white light played across the walls, they shimmered blue like the waters of the deep sea. He approached one of the walls, which seemed to be filled with glittering drops that were moving slowly downwards. When he turned his head a little further, the ice itself appeared to light up. Was that real, or an illusion? He couldn’t judge—anything and everything seemed possible here. This place radiated magic.
Nick shook his head to break the spell. It was just a cave deep in the ice. He must not let himself be confused, although this was what the Ice Queen wanted.
The deeper he went, the higher the air pressure. The temperature also rose slightly. He had the spacesuit analyze the air. It was comprised almost exclusively of nitrogen, with a trace of methane. It was the methane that was condensing on the walls like water vapor did on the walls of caves on Earth. The liquid in the drops broke the rays of light like sparkling jewels. There was an explanation for everything, even the magic of this place.
He’d been walking for three hours now. Nick looked at the clock over and over, checking the time for when he should turn back. But he ventured deeper and deeper into the cave. The passage grew narrower, then wider again. It was almost all downhill. He’d have to plan more time for the way back. Another two hours, he decided. How far down had he already gone?
The suit signaled a slight wind coming from the depths. The warm air was rising, he concluded. Where did the he
at originate? Researchers said that beneath the ice there was possibly a liquid ocean. What if the passage suddenly ended somewhere ahead, where the ice was so thin that it broke beneath his weight and he plummeted into the ocean? But the floes above the sea should be 50 to 100 kilometers thick. He hadn’t gone that far yet.
The heat that Neptune supplied the moon was probably emanating through even the thickest ice. Maybe the cave had resulted from an asteroid impact and had never frozen again because the rising gases needed an exhaust channel. The air pressure had doubled over the last few kilometers. It was still a thousand times lower than it was on Earth, but the methane content was increasing, and even more false diamonds were glittering on the walls.
Nick approached the ice and wiped the surface smooth with his glove. An enormous jellyfish was staring at him. Shocked, he stepped backward, and the animal moved back too. He came closer again. First he moved his head to the left, then to the right. Each time, the jellyfish moved in sync. If he looked closely, it had two eyes. This was not an animal trapped in the ice. It was his head—the ice had tricked him. There must be a dividing layer in the middle of the ice that reflected his face like a funhouse mirror.
He was alone. Triton was too cold for any life.
The passage opened onto a hall so vast that his headlamp didn’t reach the far end. Nick took the flare gun out of his tool bag and fired it at an upward angle. A flaming orb made its way through the thin air. Because the gravity was so weak, it flew almost straight. It hit the ceiling, bounced off, and then fizzled out. He shot again, this time almost perfectly horizontally. The flare went a long way. He looked at the clock. Half an hour to go. That was less than he would need to cross the hall. So he might as well just turn back now.
He fired off yet another flare, now to the side. It also traveled far. The hall seemed to have an almost circular floor plan, from what he could gather. But what was that? Nick saw something flash in the middle, briefly but clearly. Was it maybe a chunk of ice, fallen from the ceiling? Yet the object had not been transparent but opaque—it didn’t belong there. He shot his fourth flare. He only had six shots. Yes, there was something over there that didn’t belong. How far away was it? It was hard to assess distances down here. How fast did flares travel? He could have fired a fifth and counted the seconds, but he didn’t know their average speed. Oscar would have known more.
He couldn’t just turn around now! Nick set forth. Maybe that thing was exactly what he’d been looking for.
The object came within range of his helmet lamp after 25 minutes. It most certainly wasn’t ice. Nick hurried. The object was about three meters wide and one meter high. If he’d been on Earth, he would have thought someone had dropped some suitcases and covered them with a gray tarp.
The outer layer was in fact made of gray, plastic-coated fabric. Nick knelt and touched it. It had been brought here—he wasn’t the first human on Triton! The two Russians must have been the ones who had left it. But why? It was getting more and more mysterious. The tarp reminded him of the kind used when going camping. It had just become a little stiff, probably from the methane that dripped from above and then froze. The fabric itself was still flexible. The material must have been optimized for use in extreme cold. The tents that could be used with an absence of air on an alien planet were made of such material.
Something was beneath it. It could be two oblong sacks. Was this the heavy load the two men had been carrying? What might it contain? He pulled the tarp aside slowly. At first he only saw a curved piece of metal, then some reflective glass. It took him a moment to identify the object—a helmet.
Nick breathed hard. Nobody would just leave a helmet down here. What had happened to the owner? He wanted to just drop the tarp so he wouldn’t have to see what answer it would provide. He had no option but to persevere, so he proceeded steadily.
Inside the helmet there was a round object. There was hair on the top, but the lower half was clean-shaven. It was a human head! Now he could see the body extending out from it. Further to the left there was another helmet lying beneath the tarp. Inside it was another head.
Shit. These two men had been killed. Their skin was white like wax—candle wax, not beeswax. He lifted the tarp up further. He could see that they were wearing similar track suits with the Russian Space Agency logo. And then he saw their spacesuits. Why hadn’t they been wearing them? What had killed them? The two corpses weren’t inside the tent, but rather it was spread over them like a tarp. Even if they had decided to kill themselves by taking off their spacesuits, someone else would have had to pull the tarp over them, presumably somebody who knew them and wanted to give them at least some respect in their deaths. Or who felt guilty looking at their faces.
He swallowed. There were oxygen tanks attached to the spacesuits. He could immediately run back to the rover or he could use the oxygen left in the corpses’ tanks and investigate further. Nick knelt next to the suit of the man on the right. The canister still contained three-quarters of its contents. That was enough for at least six hours. So be it.
He pulled the tarp all the way down. The man on his left had bare feet, while the other one was wearing socks. The sight made Nick sob. Triton was too cold for all life, even for those who thought themselves invincible. The man’s naked toes were so vulnerable and forlorn-looking that his heart swelled with pity. He decided that he wanted to be wearing socks when he died. He didn’t want to be responsible for anyone witnessing such a sight.
What had happened here? The dead men’s eyes were open. Their temperature was the same as the surrounding air. They had been preserved by the cold and would probably look as fresh in 3,000 years as they did now. He couldn’t detect any injuries. Should he cut off their clothes to obtain further information? He couldn’t. He wanted to touch them as little as possible. He wanted them to rest in peace—couldn’t bear to disturb them with his curiosity.
But more than curiosity drove him. If he wanted to survive here, he’d have to find out more. Whatever it was that had killed them could kill him as well. And perhaps they’d also known something about the Triton station. It couldn’t be a coincidence that he’d found them in this cave. He reached for the tarp. There was enough air in the two tanks to fill up the tent and sleep here. He’d find a place a few meters away.
First he’d have to find the entrance to the tent. There it was! He pushed an oxygen tank through the plastic panel and then followed. It was like he was putting on a full-body condom. He closed the panel from the inside with a zipper. Panic started to creep up his spine. I’m going to suffocate! he thought. Easy does it, Nick. He opened the oxygen tank, and the tent tarp rose slowly. But nothing else happened. He checked the material from the back, front, bottom and side.
And then he discovered the cause of death—a rip on the side of the tent. There wasn’t a seam there, and the tear must not have existed when the two had climbed into the tent or they wouldn’t have been able to inflate it. They had already taken off their suits, so the tent had to have been functional at first. He felt the tear, and quickly closed the air tank. The tear was about 30 centimeters long and perfectly straight. Even if the men had noticed it, they would hardly have been able to keep it shut, even working together.
He squirmed out of the tarp to examine the rip from the outside. It wasn’t a crack, it was a smooth cut. At one end he could see a wider edge to the cut. So, the killer must have simply used a knife to puncture the fabric and then slit to the side, just above the floor of the tent, in a position where the cut was guaranteed not to close by itself.
Then the murderer would have just had to wait. If they’d been fortunate, they’d both just died in their sleep, which was what their positions indicated. Suffocation was one of the most unpleasant ways to die, so they said—whoever they were. After that, the murderer dragged them out and covered them with the tarp. Perhaps he even shed a tear for them. Murderers could be like that sometimes. Had the killer needed something that they’d had? Did they have a plan that
he wanted to thwart? Most importantly, what did this death have to do with the Triton station?
Was there any connection? Perhaps the three Russians just hated each other. Anything was possible on such a long space journey in a confined space. Or, had the two dead men been a couple, and the third became jealous? It was possible, but the chance of it seemed too great for him. The plan must have been to land in front of the station, repair the AI, and fly home. But there was no Russian landing module in front of the station, and in fact they’d seen no traces of their predecessors anywhere. Even from orbit they’d discovered no mothership.
Nick rummaged through the dead men’s belongings. He seemed not to be the first, or else both were very disorganized. Underwear, provisions, and mementos were all jumbled together. He discovered nothing that helped him to help explain what had happened. He found a Medikit. And then a repair kit for the tent, and he wondered if he should use it. He shivered at the thought of lying where the two Russians had died. But what other opportunity would he have to replenish himself? His body needed the night in the tent, even though it made his soul cringe.
An hour later, he could actually take off his helmet. The foul smell that had constantly accompanied him had dissipated, though the tent was not so big that it disappeared entirely. At a lower concentration he noticed it more, because he could distinguish the different components of sweat, urine, and feces. The ice that he’d brought into the tent with him was slowly thawing.
The Triton Disaster: Hard Science Fiction Page 17
