Aynsefian

Cindlyss has joined me. Arlyss is not with them. These two do almost everything together: why are they separated? Cindlyss motions behind them, in the living quarters. I understand from their body language that it’s a bathroom break. I smile wryly. It’s my first smile in three days. I don’t know why this amuses me. It’s just the incongruence of it. It seems so basic and mundane in the face of the dramatic situation we are in.

Arlyss soon joins us. I show them both the probe, nod towards the external door and begin to put one of the all-weather suits on. I motion for them to stay where they are, while I will head out with the probe. They both regard me sagely, understanding what I’m doing. I’m glad for their company. The loss of Nikse still hurts greatly, but it’s easing, and at least I’m not alone here. I move to the ship’s door and open it.

My first step outside is brutal.

Even before I opened the door I was expecting it to be freezing and windy, but it’s far worse in reality. The wind actually howls as it blows around Nikse’s exterior, and it’s bitterly cold. I had decided to go without the head covering, wearing just the pants and the jacket. That’s not going to work. I come back inside and put the helmet on, looking gravely at the Purlinians as I do so.

Another step back outside, and I’m now shielded from the wind. A gust almost blows me back inside. I wonder if I’m even going to achieve my initial objective of getting outside and setting the probe up, let alone getting to any possible water that it might find.

A pang of hunger hits me as well. The emptiness in my stomach seems to fill my entire being. This is all too hard.

Still, I must soldier on. A few more steps down Nikse’s external ladder with the probe and I’m on the surface of AA48103.

The wind continues to buffet me mercilessly. I remember this place now. I had the same reaction last time: no-one could ever possibly live here, even for a short time. It seems to me that the wind simply never stops. There seems to be no quiet days here. At least not when I was here a few years ago and not in the last two days either.

I glance upwards at the sky, looking for Firion, the little white star that this godforsaken planet orbits. I see it, almost directly overhead. It’s actually quite nice to look at. It’s white-ish and of a decent size but staring at it doesn’t hurt. The haze of AA48103’s atmosphere blurs it somewhat, but I like it. It’s my first good feeling about this place. Then another gust of wind hits me and I stumble, almost dropping the probe. I have to be careful. This thing I’m carrying represents our only hope of survival.

If it can’t find water, we will die for sure. Slowly.

I switch my vision back to the planetary surface. The soil is brownish and scattered with rocks of a wide variety of sizes. There’s not even a remote sign of plant life. It’s all soil and rocks as far as the eye can see. A few soft hills in the distance here and there provide some semblance of variation in the horizon, but it’s otherwise endless sameness in all directions.

The wind is constantly blowing. I can’t help but be almost appalled at it. It makes everything seem so much harder than it would otherwise be. Keeping my balance is a constant struggle.

I put the probe down. Its rubberised wheels grip the surface with surety, and it looks ready to go and do its task. I’m hopeful.

The probe, which I am already calling Salvation, even though it has no name, is not very big. It’s about the size of a smallish animal. It has a low centre of gravity, is about sixty centimetres long and about thirty centimetres wide. The wheels are quite large and robust and have enough width and flexibility that I believe it will navigate this surface quite easily. After all, that’s what it was designed for. It reminds me of a similar toy I had when I was younger, although this probe is much bigger than that toy. The circumstances could also not be any starker. Back then I was in a safe, cocooned environment, in my parent’s house with all my needs taken care of. Now it’s the complete opposite.

I drop down low to the probe’s height, which doesn’t really allow me to escape the wind at all. I have to stop worrying about the wind. We need water. I will do whatever it takes.

I turn on the probe. It bleeps a few times in random tones and lights up. The sight of power and lights gladdens my heart. In such desolation, it is truly a beacon of hope. I try not to get too excited. We are a long way from being saved. Death is still the most likely outcome for us.

I hate that it has come to this.

I wish I had never volunteered for this role. My parents supported me and accepted that I would be gone for long periods without communication. Now I will probably never see them again and they’ll never know what happened to me. I miss them already. I can see them smiling at me when I think of them. I hate that I’m hurting them by vanishing like this.

I must return my thoughts to the task at hand. I can now read Salvation’s screen. I almost jump with excitement when I find the information I’ve been looking for.

There is water on this planet.

I can’t see it, but it exists. The hygrometer reading shows that a little under 2% of the atmosphere of AA48103 is water vapor. I’m actually almost excited. No, I really am excited. We may yet survive.

There is water in the atmosphere, but no sign of it on the ground. By definition, if it’s in the atmosphere, it must be on the ground somewhere. But where?

I shuffle through some of Salvation’s screens, the wind continuing its ridiculous buffeting of both of us.

I ask it to turn and face the most likely location of ground water. It swivels on its wheels and faces away from Ni… the ship. I can’t see anything in the distance but rocks, hills and soil. I trust Salvation, though. It says that water is approximately forty-five kilometres in the direction it is now facing.

Forty-five kilometres. We have to walk forty-five kilometres across rocky soil, up and down hills, in constant wind and zero-degree temperatures. In fact, Salvation says that the air temperature is currently minus two Celsius. Lovely.

I leave him there, preparing to return back to the ship. Salvation is a he, to me. He bleeps as I walk back to Nikse’s ladder, then I turn and realise that I have to turn “following” off for now. If I don’t, he’ll bleep if I try to leave him and follow me wherever I go. It’s a useful feature, but not what I want just now.

Once back on board I explain to Arlyss and Cindlyss, who were obviously watching me, that we have possible water 45km away. They regard me solemnly. It’s time to pack as much as we can and go and find it. Assuming it is even drinkable.

Sadly, I will need those panels from Nikse’s walls now.

We can’t walk 45km in one day in these conditions. We need to make a shelter somewhere. The thought appals me. We need to actually stay outside on the surface of this horrendous planet, by choice. Well, actually the opposite. There is no choice. If we don’t make this trek, we die.