A COLD PLACE TO DIE!

A Cold Place To Die!

“1500 meters … 900 meters … 400 meters … applying retros.” The computer's vaguely female voice was calm and reassuring.

He could feel the slight push against his body as the gas jets fired, sometimes vertically and occasionally slightly to the side, as the computer brought the lander down in the centre of the crater.

The impact was barely discernible. The absorbers dampened out the shock of landing almost instantly. The gravity was much lower than Earth normal.

To say he’d come a long way was an understatement …

Half a billion miles was more than a long way. The surface of the mini world he could see through the cockpit was a frozen wilderness—a dazzling vista of various shades of white with darker patches beneath. The craters were everywhere, and sometimes, there were craters inside other craters, which described his landing location. His ship had landed in the middle of a smaller crater that had been made in a much larger, older impact site.

However, on Callisto, it was almost impossible not to land in a crater of one sort or another.

He was the first human to land on the surface of Callisto, one of Jupiter's four Galilean Moons. There would be other missions, possibly even a permanent base, but he was first; it would be his name in the history books. It was a world of ice, a bleak and lonely place.

The sun was a small point of light in the sky – it was indeed a cold place to die.

…

His journey to this point had been an emotional one, as well as in physical distance.

He remembered the hospital room, the oncologist with her poker face on. The older lady, a nurse, sat next to her; she could be read like a book. She was clutching a glass of water and a box of tissues – He knew he was in the shit.

The diagnosis was terminal cancer – Just lousy luck – Only six to nine months to live.

It had all been a blur at the time, but he’d slowly begun to come to terms with his situation. He’d seen men die in combat. At least he had more time to prepare his affairs. All they’d had was usually a few moments of pain and terror as they were lying, horrifically injured on a battlefield somewhere.

As the saying went, nothing focuses the mind like your impending death. It had made him reflect on his choices, his life, the women he’d known, the women he’d loved? Had he ever really loved any of them? None of the relationships had lasted? He’d been sitting in that hospital room alone; no one had cared enough to be with him.

There had been one woman, so long ago, he was barely a man, but something about her had drawn him. But he’d never made the effort; could he have tried harder?

***

He knew of the ‘Angel’ program; everyone did. Of course, it wasn’t officially called that. It was just the name the media had christened it with, and it had stuck. It had become a term almost tinged with reverence; it was viewed by those unconnected with it as a brave thing to do, but for those involved, it was closer to cowardice. An opportunity to escape from the hospitals, the doctors, and the crying loved ones. However, in truth, for many who took part in the ‘Angels’ program, the lack of anyone who cared was part of the equation; there was no reason to stay.

The premise was a simple one: to send terminal cancer patients into space as a vanguard. They were on a one-way trip; there wouldn’t be a return journey. This saved on fuel, air, water and reduced the need for heavy shielding to protect against radiation. What was the worst that could happen? They were already dying of cancer.

As the saying goes, ‘Angels don’t need return tickets.’

The selection process was thorough, and it was mostly a male thing. Women usually had someone they’d like to spend their last few weeks or months with. But there were plenty of men who, for one reason or another, had no one. He’d got a couple of nephews, but they had never been close. His military pilot training made him an ideal choice.

Of course, time was of the utmost concern; how long did he really have? So, his training had been surprisingly brief. The system was mostly computer-controlled; there was very little for him actually to do on the journey. The ion drive had been on full all the way. There was no need to save fuel for the return journey—there wouldn’t be one, not for him, nor for any of the ‘Angels.’

It was good to have the pseudo gravity of constant thrust. He’d seen what happened to some in zero G. It wasn’t pretty; if someone up-chucked in their suit, they’d just burn it. It was impossible to get rid of the smell!

The constant acceleration meant his journey, even out to Jupiter, was shorter than he’d imagined. Although he didn’t remember most of it, he’d been put into a kind of suspended animation for the flight out. This again reduced the amount of air, food and water he’d need, and if you wanted to be cynical, slowed down the cancer’s growth – so he’d have more time on the surface. A few of the ‘Angels’ had died en route; the ship could manage without them. But it was an expensive waste, so the suspended animation systems had been introduced. No one knew the long-term effects, but then none of the ‘Angels’ had a long-term, so what did it matter?

…

Here he was, about to set foot on a new world. Callisto wasn’t an actual planet, but it was nearly big enough to deserve the title. The computer had already aligned the dish transmitter and sent the confirmation signal to register the landing. It had been decided that as much of the ship's systems as possible would be automated in case the single human crew had been too unwell, or possibly already dead, to attend to such things.

On the surface, his mission focused on giving a personal perspective on the human race's most fantastic adventure. Callisto has the oldest surface of any body in the solar system. It was truly ancient. It hadn’t changed much since the solar system's formation some four billion years ago. He wondered what discoveries would be made that reveal the primaeval mysteries of the system's formation. And maybe even about the history of the Earth itself.

He did one last check on his spacesuit’s seals. It would be such a waste to have come all this way only to die as soon as he opened the door because of a poorly fitted suit. There was no airlock. The whole ship crew compartment was one large open space; an airlock would have reduced the living area of the landing pod and added significantly to the payload. The computer had been adjusting air and oxygen levels to ‘suit’ pressure for some time prior to landing. He’d stay at this mix until the end of his mission.

Initially, he could hear the air being pumped into the storage unit, but the sound disappeared as the air pressure dropped. A green light above the door release illuminated, and he hit the ‘Open’ button, possibly harder than he needed to. He was surprisingly excited at this new adventure coming so late in his life.

The door swung open with a small puff of crystals as the remaining water vapour in the room instantly turned to ice. Swinging around, he made his way to the surface. A small camera followed his movements. He didn’t bother with a speech but instead just stood looking out at the incredible vista. The horizon was too close to his Earth-trained eyes, but he’d get used to it. His screened helmet blocked most of the glare; the sun was only a bright point in the sky, but looking at it without his visor would have been uncomfortable. The low gravity made walking an art, but he’d adapt. Making his way to the rim of the inner crater that would be his home for the rest of eternity, he climbed to the top and out onto the surface. He was on a raised area, debris having been thrown up by the ancient impact that had formed the crater he’d landed in. The view was incredible, strikingly beautiful, but so cold and remote.

Strangely, he was reminded of his first job, or rather, his boss. She was a good-looking woman, but she’d also been so cold that they’d nicknamed her ‘Kelvin’, as in absolute zero. She’d been the only woman he’d ever felt truly connected with, but he’d been too immature to see past her frosty exterior.

Like her, this landscape was cold and remote. Yet breathtakingly beautiful.

…

He began describing his emotions and thoughts about standing on the ice world of Callisto. In his log entries, he never mentioned ‘Kelvin’, but she was always in his thoughts, the what-ifs haunting him. How different his life could have been if he’d only had the confidence to get to know her better.

Log entry, Day One –

The surface gravity is as expected, but the atmosphere density is slightly higher than predicted. Atmospheric samples give a range of trace elements. I’m going to begin unpacking the mobile analyser and use it to study the composition of the surface ice. This will take some time. I’ll report more shortly.

Where the trace elements are coming from is unclear. I’m moving away from the immediate vicinity of my landing site. Maybe that is causing the odd reading; I could be detecting my own landing jet exhausts. The terrain is stable, with no evidence of fissures, although I’m being careful. The ice here is as hard as rock because of the low temperatures. The horizon appears too close; it gives an odd perspective. The craters create a jagged edge, whichever way I look.

He never spoke about ‘Kelvin,’ although he wondered where she was now, why she had been so distant, what had happened to make her so?

Log entry, Day Four -

The sample analysis is giving some odd results, so I’ll try another area. The atmosphere is variable. There might be a geyser nearby that was releasing vapour, raising concentrations locally. If I have the opportunity to investigate that possibility, I will. The temperature is in line with the probe readings, but I confess that I can almost feel the cold seeping up through my boots. It’s probably all in my mind. But it’s a cold place and no mistake.

The material on the base floor is fine dust and tiny pieces of ice; it must be the debris left over from countless impacts. The consistency is similar to sand. With the bit of heat escaping through my gloves, I’ve been able to melt a little ice, and I’ve made a small castle. All I need is a flag for the top.

When I walk, I leave very clear footprints; the dust compresses well. It could be used as a building material for structures, although its long-term strength is impossible to estimate. I wonder how long my footprints will stay in this dust. Perhaps someone will visit here in another four billion years and wonder who left their steps on this ice moon.

He kept finding himself glancing at the pink box. When he was busy, he could go for hours without thinking of it, and then he’d feel his eyes drawn back to it. It was like a car crash. It was impossible not to look.

At times, he was consumed with the impossible questions of how his life might have been had he overcome his own insecurities and told ‘Kelvin’ how he really felt. He realised that, subconsciously, he’d compared each of his subsequent relationships with her, and none had compared well. No one could ever be as good as his dream of her.

Log entry, Day Seven –

The sample analyser is definitely faulty. I’ll save samples for a later mission to check. I’ve attached some photos taken of Jupiter rising above the horizon of Callisto; it was awe-inspiring. I can identify the other three large moons of Jupiter in their orbits; they appear as fast-moving stars. I’ve explored about a third of the inner crater, but I’ve not found the geyser yet. The trace element readings in the local area are highly variable, so that’s the most likely explanation. I nearly twisted my ankle in a small crevice earlier. If I’d been on Earth, I might have broken something, but with Callisto’s lower gravity, I just hurt it. I’ve tried to find the Earth, but without using the computer, it’s almost impossible. It might also be too close to the Sun to use the telescope. Even all the way out here, the Sun’s still surprisingly bright. The thing that’s a bit unexpected is that Jupiter reflects a lot of light, which adds to the illumination. Callisto is also reflective. Without the suit's tinted visor, I’d need sunglasses!

That damn pink box. It was almost hypnotic. He felt like it was calling to him.

Log entry, Day Ten –

This is the scheduled time for me to switch the long-term sensors to automatic. I confirm it’s been done for the log. I am going to try to find the geyser. There are only a few days left. If I don’t make it back, then the systems are already on automatic, and the samples are stored securely.

Update: There is a geyser three kilometres from my crater base. It is only small but regular. I’ve set up a monitoring station nearby. It is the source of the trace elements in the atmosphere. It’s fascinating to watch. There's a forty-minute interval; there must be a small pocket of liquid water trapped below the ice. I’m not sure what is causing it to heat enough to break through, but it’s definitely there. I spent a few hours just watching it. The gases and vapours spread out over a large area; this is because of the low gravity. The jet goes nearly one hundred meters above the surface.

He had four or five more days of air. The water would probably last longer, which was pointless, obviously. Maybe he’d be thirsty after he’d suffocated. The pink box was there for when the crewman had reached his limit—day fourteen or sooner in some cases. He knew of one guy who’d completed the landing and set up the analysers—all by the book—and then sent one log entry stating he couldn’t face the isolation and had opened his box.

Log entry, Day Thirteen –

I am logging that my supplies are getting low and that I will soon be making my last transmission. All the systems that could be set to run automatically are now operating that way. The landing pod will continue to transmit the data on a preset schedule. This has been a privilege. Thank you to all those who have made it possible. I might try and walk to the outer crater wall today; I might not make it back. Thank you.

Update: The outer crater wall is unscalable in the three locations I tried, and it ranges between fifty and three hundred meters high. The sides are too steep and crumbly. I thought that I’d be able to climb with the lower gravity, but there was nothing to grip. I suggest you send climbing equipment on a future mission. I imagine the view from the top would be impressive. It is interesting that the ice isn’t stratified; it’s just one piece, not made up of layers. I would guess that is related to the lack of atmosphere. The ice itself must also be billions of years old. It would be a good idea to plan a future mission to investigate the ice. There could be trace elements and other material trapped in the ice from the very beginning of the solar system. There is no way of telling what they might find.

It didn’t feel right to include any personal messages in his report. He’d said his goodbyes to his brother and his family before he’d left. It had been a difficult meeting, his brother looking awkward, almost embarrassed. His sister-in-law had been angry with him for putting her husband and the kids through this; his nephews looked at him as though he was a stranger.

There wasn’t anything more to be said. It would just make him melancholy. This journey had given his final months real meaning.

He would find himself staring at the pink box; he had almost to drag his eyes away. There was no good option, but this was torture. As his Fourteenth day approached, he found himself reflecting on his life choices.

Why hadn’t he tried harder with ‘Kelvin’? Maybe he could have had a future with her. Now, he’d never know.

Log entry, Day Fourteen –

The air quality was poor; please note that in the report. It is not hard to breathe, but it isn’t satisfying. My chest feels tight. I confirm again that all the systems are set to automatic. Although I guess you already know that. Perhaps it’s the low oxygen, but I’m feeling a little disoriented. Thank you again for selecting me for this mission; it’s been an opportunity for me to leave something behind. Sorry, it must be the low oxygen; I’m mumbling.

He’d awoken with a detached, businesslike attitude. So, today was his last. It was just slightly hard to get a good breath, although that could have been psychosomatic. While they did care about him, it was the data that really mattered, in a big-picture kind of way.

He checked again that the various ship's systems were set to automatic and began making his final preparations. The last log entries were transmitted. He laid the ‘sheet’ across his large chair; it would contain any biological waste from his body after he died. Make things easier for the follow-up missions to dispose of his remains. To give him a decent burial and all that. He felt detached, as though it was just a re-run of those training exercises. It wasn’t really happening, not really him. Once he was dead, the ship's computer would run a ‘mummification’ program; it would desiccate his body for long-term storage and make the cleanup easier. He didn’t envy the follow-up team's job. The landing pod would be cannibalised for parts by future missions, although there was already a superstition that the pods were haunted by the ghosts of the ‘Angels’ that had died.

Having confirmed the transmission of his final log entries, he double-checked the automated systems and opened the pink box. There were several different options available; this had been implied in training, but no details had been given. The almost hypnotic draw was hard enough to resist as it was; more information would have made it worse. Narcotics, sedatives, tablets, or a self-delivering injection. He chose the injection. It was surprisingly painful.

Really, couldn’t they have come up with something less uncomfortable?

He sat back in his chair and waited. He wasn’t sure what to expect, but ‘Kelvin’ appearing in the sealed cabin of the lander definitely wasn’t it. He knew she must be a hallucination. She looked exactly the same as she had all those years ago; she hadn’t aged a day. She wore the white business blouse and dark blue pencil skirt that had been her ‘uniform’. To his younger self, fresh out of college, it had looked severe, but now she looked self-confident and elegant to his more mature eyes. Without a word, she leaned forward and stroked his cheek. He could feel the caress; she felt so real. He knew she was just a combination of the low oxygen and the drugs, but he didn’t care.

She climbed onto the chair next to him and lay, staring into his eyes as she continued to caress his cheek. Now he knew why he’d never had a long-term relationship. He’d always been in love with her. This time, she wasn’t cold or remote but warm and loving.

 ***

Finally, after five hundred million miles and a lifetime, they could be together,

…

together for,

…

eternity…