“Hic.”
Probably too much carbon dioxide again. Two days before, Nick had discovered that the food preparation device could also make alcoholic beverages. Since then, his spare time primarily consisted of experimenting with it. So far, it was the sparkling wine that tasted best. The carbon dioxide bubbles seemed to better distribute the aftertaste of the artificial flavors, so he barely noticed it. He obtained the composition of the flavorings, mostly esters, from chemistry databases. A little alcohol, C2H5OH, and also of course water and carbon dioxide, and the sparkling wine was ready.
“Hic.”
Alcohol had always been more reassuring than exhilarating to him, which had led to the undesirable outcome of falling asleep in corners at parties. But it was a blessing in terms of worrying about the future. Ever since he’d become aware that there was a shadowy menace lying in wait for him somewhere, he hadn’t been sleeping very well. Valentina’s strategy of not burdening him with details had been a good one. Presumably, RB knew as little about the fate of his predecessors’ expedition as he did. He would have felt better if he had remained in a state of blissful ignorance.
At least he had discovered the alcohol now. He took another sip and swished it around. The strawberry flavor was still a little too dominant. He spat out the liquid, reduced the phosphoric acid level for the food preparation device by a little, and restarted the production process. The device already had recipes for other drinks, but RB had deliberately omitted alcohol. What was up with this paternalism? Oscar had already tried to keep him from these experiments. But in the long run, insomnia was as harmful as a few glasses of champagne in the evening, which of course would wait until after work. Or was it possible to get used to an incessant threat? He’d find out. If Oscar was right in this regard, he could go without his evening drink.
“Hic. Hic.”
Hmm, now it was too sweet. It tasted like sorbet with added alcohol. And he absolutely needed to lower the carbonation level. The constant hiccup-belching was annoying. He removed some fructose from the recipe. It struck him as a little funny how the job of making a good wine seemed much more natural to him as a chemist than as a vintner. He was not a chemist, but neither was he a vintner. He just wanted to be a wintner. Wintner, what BS, he didn’t want to be a wintner. Wintner. Wintner. He just couldn’t pronounce the V. It was a weird letter anyway.
A winemaker then—yes, winemaker worked. Nick laughed. He had outwitted the alphabet. He already felt it, the fatigue. It was sliding diagonally behind his eyes in its sleeping slippers. It slid into its slippers. That was funny. Slippers, slippers. He slipped into his slippers and went to bed.
“Goodnight, Ossie,” he said, the same as the night before. Then he threw himself onto the bed and slept.
7/8/2080, the Eve
“Did you know that today is Szhuly szheventh? Shuly sheventh, doesn’t that sound idiotic?
“Nick, you’re drunk.”
“I am not.”
“You are. And during work!”
“Today is Shunday. There’s no work today. Shunday is the day of rest.
“Yesterday was Sunday. Today is Monday. Monday, July 8th, 2080.”
“You’re a lying liar, Oshcar. You want me to be drunk. On my Shunday. You’re a bad tashkmasher.”
“You should stop getting drunk. Go back to sleep and you’ll know what the date really is.”
“I want to call Valentina. She has to connect me with Rosie. I want to tell her that... that... that... shit, I just forgot, but I know it’s important.”
“That’s not a good idea in your condition.”
“Don’t tell me what a good idea is. You’re jusht a fucking robot. I make the deshisions aroun here.”
“You are no longer capable of making good decisions. You really should stop drinking.”
“You undershtand, I’ll deshide that.”
“The food preparation device is self-sufficient, but unfortunately is not connected to the electrical system.”
“Ship, shtart a message to Valentina Shosshtakovna.”
Nothing happened.
“Ship, I want to send a damn message to Valentina!”
The screen in front of Nick remained dark. He smacked it. This couldn’t be true! The damn ship was refusing the order!
“Oshie, do you have shomething to do with this?”
“Yes. I filter your orders before sending them to the ship.”
“Are you kidding me? What inshubordination!”
Nick got up and staggered. Where was the damn robot? Then he saw the gleaming disk near the hatch. Nick lurched and he reached out to grab a chair for balance. He dragged it with him so he wouldn’t fall. What was going on with the gravity in the ship? It seemed to him that the engines weren’t firing evenly. Is that what he should be afraid of?
No, the robot was the problem. Oscar was plotting against him. He had probably secretly taken over the whole ship. At some point he would want to get rid of him. Him or me, that’s the question. Nick stumbled toward the robot and struck out with his right leg into a devastating kick. He lost his balance and fell flat. His forehead hit the floor and he lost consciousness.
7/9/2080, the Eve
A gigantic garbage compactor was crushing his skull together. Nick opened his eyes a little, but then closed them again. It was way too bright. He was dozing off into a dream. He’d had to crawl through dark, slimy caves and ended up in the drum of a huge washing machine, which flung him around wildly.
“Nick, wake up!”
Water was running down his face. Then he felt a rough cloth.
“Open your eyes!” It was Oscar’s voice. Oscar, his faithful robot. Could he trust him or not?
He opened his eyes. God, it was bright. Oscar had tricked him. “Turn off the light,” he moaned.
His voice sounded terrible. He hardly recognized it. What had happened to him?
“The light in the kitchen has been dimmed to thirty percent of normal.”
“It’s too bright anyway.”
“You’ll get used to it.”
Nick kept his eyes open. Oscar was right. He had to be strong. He moved an arm. The ground was hard and there was hardly any padding. Apparently he wasn’t lying in his bed. Oscar had mentioned the kitchen. He spotted a mold stain on the ceiling. Was it already there yesterday? Why was he lying here on the floor?
Nick pulled up his legs and tried to sit up, but he didn’t have enough strength.
“Take your time,” Oscar said. “You fell hard and probably have a concussion.”
“Shouldn’t I have gone to bed?”
“If you tell me how to get you up the ladder when you’re unconscious, then I’ll be able to put you to bed.”
That would hardly have been possible. Nick moved his arm again. There was something soft under his back. “You managed to put me on a blanket.”
“That wasn’t easy either, but yes, I did it.”
“Thanks, Oscar.”
His eyes suddenly brimmed over with tears. He wanted to hug the robot now. “Oscar, my only friend!” he shouted. His voice sounded as whiny as he felt. It was a good feeling.
“Those are the aftereffects of the alcohol,” said Oscar. “Don’t worry. Before long you’ll be back to your old asshole self.”
Nick winced. What had the robot called him? “Sorry, but what did you say?”
“Nothing.”
“Something about ‘before long you’ll be back,’ I think.”
“Yes, you’ll be back at it again soon, I’m afraid.”
“Would you like to tell me something, Oscar?”
“Only that I can understand your wife. Sometimes it’s really tough to put up with you. You’re so self-righteous and so full of self-pity.”
Now he was really giving it to him. Nick was too weak to argue. But didn’t he have every right to feel sorry for himself? Didn’t he? Had accepting that space tourism job been his big mistake? But they had wanted to start a family, after all. What could a kid do wi
th a father who was never there? He himself had known that all too well.
However, Rosie had always been strangely ambivalent about his idea of having a family. Had he put too much pressure on her? It hadn’t worked out with kids. Maybe they should have talked about it. But everything had seemed so natural to him. Wasn’t a couple together to ensure the survival of humanity? Rosie would have been a good mother, and he’d always told her so. Of course, she could have also taken that as a criticism.
“Are you still here?” Oscar asked.
“Me? Yes, I think so.”
“Well, you could try getting up now.”
What about the garbage compactor around his head? He grabbed at his forehead, but there was nothing there. The pain was still dull, but tolerable.
“I gave you an injection earlier,” Oscar said. “A big dose of pain relievers and stimulants. They should be starting to work, slowly.”
“I don’t remember that.”
“It was shortly after that you opened your eyes.”
“I wasn’t awake yet?”
“But you’re awake now. Go on, up with you.”
Nick drew his legs back in and noticed that he had already moved them closer to his upper body. He rolled over on his right side and took a deep breath. Then he braced himself with his arms and managed to get up on all fours.
“You’re doing great,” Oscar said.
It was humiliating to be praised for this achievement, but it still felt good. He used his arms to crouch down. After all, he was already at the same level as the table edge, like a five-year-old. From embryo to toddler in thirty seconds—no small achievement! He reached for the edge of the table and pulled himself up. He couldn’t resist a loud moan.
Done! He had to support himself with his arms, but it worked. He was standing! Now, where was the bed again?
“Maybe take a shower?” Oscar suggested.
“No way. I need a break.”
“Then you have to take the ladder up to your bed. But no sleeping. Otherwise I’ll bring the shower to you. Your body is emanating so many odors that it’s disrupted the air conditioning system.”
That really meant something in a spaceship. He probably reeked like a dead possum. Good thing Rosie wasn’t there. She would already have had the kitchen hosed down. He looked for the ladder. There it was. Twelve rungs. He couldn’t manage it yet. So, he guessed, it was time for a shower.
In the evening Nick sat in the command module on his recliner. He had the backrest set high so he could read in comfort. He was looking for recipes that the food preparation device didn’t have programmed yet. His chemistry experiments were fun, but maybe he shouldn’t limit them to alcoholic drinks. Could he maybe concoct some delicious chocolate? Since sweets were considered to be unhealthy, the device hadn’t been set up to make them.
For real chocolate, he would have to familiarize himself with protein chemistry. The device would of course perform the actual synthesis, but he would have to determine which substances should react with which other ingredients and under what conditions. Why hadn’t he studied chemistry? Making something that tasted great out of two toxic substances was a real miracle. And he could perform such miracles himself.
There was a chirping noise. “What’s that, Oscar? Could I bother you for a moment?” He was so grateful for the robot today!
“A message from Earth.”
“Official?”
“Yes, what else?”
“Please play it, if you don’t mind.”
Oscar gave a clanking laugh. “Don’t overdo it.”
The chemistry lesson disappeared, soon replaced by Rosie’s image. Nick opened his mouth but said nothing. They were far too far away for live conversations.
“Hello, Nick,” said Rosie.
‘Hello, Rosie,’ Nick said silently. ‘It’s nice to see you.’
“The RB Group was kind enough to invite me to send a message to you.”
“Oscar, pause, please.”
The picture froze.
“Did you have anything to do with this?”
“You said before that you wanted to ask Valentina to contact Rosie.”
“And you did it?”
“Sorry if it’s too much for you, Nick. But in the past few days you haven’t been able to do anything. I thought it might get you out of the dumps. I’m sorry if I was out of line.”
“Thanks, Oscar, I’m not angry at all. I’m delighted. Please keep playing the video.”
“I was pleased to take them up on their offer,” Rosie continued. “I don’t know why it just occurred to them now, but it’s an excellent time. Actually, there’s something I would like to tell you.”
Now she wanted to file for divorce. This was what he’d feared.
“I’ve had a lot of internal struggles over the past few days, I’ll admit. You have a difficult journey ahead of you, and I don’t want to overburden you. But I was quite right that there was no way to talk to you. The invitation from RB has changed that entirely, however. So I had to come to a decision, and I did.”
Should he maybe turn off the video? If he didn’t hear it, it never happened, and he could still harbor hopes for four years. He didn’t move. Fate would take its course.
“I have to admit, I was surprised myself when I realized it. At my age, it doesn’t happen that often.”
She had fallen in love again. There was that, too!
“So at first I tried to ignore it. Maybe, I thought, it would just go away.”
He was all too familiar with this strategy. It rarely worked. Actually, never.
“But it didn’t go away, as you’ve guessed. I missed my period. I didn’t get it for two months. So I had to go to the doctor to get his confirmation.”
She was sick. God, his wife was sick, and she was so far away that he couldn’t help her.
“Well, um, now I have it in black and white. I’m pregnant. And before you ask, I don’t know if it’s a boy or a girl, but that doesn’t matter. And there’s no need to wonder if it’s yours.”
Rosie was grinning broadly. Did she know what she was doing right now? Nick burst into tears. He was going to be a father! It was impossible and yet it seemed to be true! For years they tried, back when the love was still new and Rosie would moan, “I want your baby,” when they were in bed together, and even later, when their connection had become what is commonly called love, but is so subtle from day to day that the loss is noticed far too late.
“Wow, Rosie,” he said, sobbing. What he actually meant was, “Wow, Nick.” There it was again, self-pity. He had made a commitment for four years, meaning he wouldn’t see his child grow up.
But this time he pulled himself together. It was what it was. Rosie could send pictures to him, and he’d be able to send his bedtime stories to his child with increasing time delays. It wasn’t optimal, but his mission here was limited. He had just one obligation—he had to return.
Nick leaned back and wiped his tears. Then he made a video response for Rosie.
8/31/2080, the Eve
“Congratulations!”
Nick brandished the glass and held it up to clink Oscar’s gripper fingers. Oscar toasted him reluctantly.
“Alcohol again?” asked the robot.
“Just for the special occasion. Today we cross the orbit of Jupiter.”
“A symbol, I understand.”
Nick had been refraining from drinking alcohol over the past few weeks. He’d still gained one and a half kilograms, thanks to having a little too much success with the chocolate. Now that he’d had his fill of that, he’d have to find a new project.
“Too bad Jupiter’s so far away,” Nick said.
From their perspective, the gas giant was on the verge of disappearing behind the solar disk. With his telescope in the workshop, the Galilean moons were now barely visible.
“It’s a healthy distance,” said Oscar.
“You’re just worried about your precious circuits.”
The planet’s stron
g magnetic field created a powerful radiation belt around it. The active shields and the large reaction mass tanks did serve to protect them, but the electronics didn’t handle the hard radiation very well.
“I don’t know anything like fear.”
“Once you told me that you have a survival instinct, like I do.”
“That’s true. But it doesn’t function like your fear. I have this need to increase my chances of survival. It’s best for me when it’s at its maximum for my location.”
“But that’s exactly how fear works.”
“Really? Isn’t it a little irrational and inexplicable?”
“Yes, it’s somewhat complicated, but that’s still one way of describing it.”
“Then I guess I am afraid.”
10/14/2080, the Eve
Ever since they’d moved beyond Jupiter’s orbit, the fact that the universe was primarily empty had become more apparent. In the meantime, they’d left behind all human-made space probes, except the old Voyagers, Pioneers, and New Horizons, which had long since left the solar system. And why was it that there never been a follow-up mission? He answered the question himself. It was much more exciting to explore the inner solar system. This would probably change only when astronomers were finally able to locate the ninth planet they’d been seeking for so long.
He heard a chirping noise. It had to be Rosie. Her message for the day was already overdue. She’d had an appointment with the gynecologist and had promised to share new photos. Nick pulled the screen towards him. She hadn’t sent a video today, but had written a brief message instead.
“I’m so tired today that I don’t want to inflict my image on you. If something were to happen, this would be our last contact and that’s what you’d have in your mind forever.”
He smiled.
“The doctor, Dr. Oliva, really did calm me down. It’s perfectly normal for me to have such low energy. My blood counts are excellent and the baby is fine. Dr. Oliva asked me if we wanted to know the sex. I said no. I think it’s better if we find out for ourselves. But you can certainly try to tell from the images. I couldn’t.
The Triton Disaster: Hard Science Fiction (Solar System Series Book 4) Page 10
