It has been quite a long time since I was awake. But I lied down still in the hot bursts of air showered over from the ceiling tubes. I still had the strange feeling that I was freeze-dried in the inside. I lied down, not because I couldn't move. I didn't want to, I wasn't sure of what to do after I get up. In fact, I wasn't sure of anything. I didn't remember anything.
The hot air flow died out slowly. Still lying down, I gazed upon the surroundings. It was gloomy around with those eerie lights shining in their circular frames. I noted a huge screen lighting up slowly. And in its light, I studied the pipe maze coming to and going from the various tubes and tanks, the dials and buttons, the gearboxes. I knew no fear, no curiosity, and no urge to get up. I knew nothing.
I was lying on my belly, and with great difficulty I turned myself on my back. I was wet and water droplets were flying here and there. No gravity! A belt ran across my waist and its magnetic buckles had kept me to the floor. I got up. Everything came to my memory. I am Jason. I had volunteered for this mission.
I am Jason, astronaut. I was the inhabitant of the planet Integra, a planet soon to be destroyed by a huge comet like its mother planet Earth decades ago. Then it was an emergency. Details were not known to the public. The government needed a mission to Telos, a lonely planet suspected to a planet of life because it had resources similar to our Integra. They had the equipment, the robots, even androids for the mission. They did not require men. It wasn't necessary. At least, I hadn' t the faintest idea, I still don't have. Yet when they asked me to volunteer, when my friend Davis did, in that stupid moment, I felt stupidly brave and I was here.
Only when the D-day arrived I found how stupid I was. It was a two-man crew among tens of electronic gadgetry and robots. I was not allowed to take my Bible my grandpa gave, nor the wristwatch my sister got me for my birthday. After intense annoying I was allowed take my cross and a family picture. That was all. They pushed me naked into a translucent box, drugged me, froze me, and threw me into space.
That was two years ago. Two years that seemed like yesterday.
Once I land on the planet I have to live for two days. Gather some air, water, and earth samples and if possible specimens of the life forms that probably might be running all over the place. God knows what microbial parasites would kill me in spite of the universal vaccination stuff they injected. After that we have to supervise the robots in assembling our return craft and then freeze ourselves back in suspended animation. The bigger craft, it was ordered, to be left back.
I removed the magnetic belt and waded through the air to get dressed. I took the suit and stepped inside the centrifuge tube, which is actually the widest section of the ship. The centrifuge tube was to provide artificial gravity. I dressed and then I thought of Davis. I put on the magnetic shoes, and walked off.
I stood in front of the second capsule, the first being the one from which I came from, trying to figure out how to open the box. Probably because the manufacturers knew that a tin can will be smarter than a drugged astronaut, they had pasted a flashy sticker over a red button which said PUSH TO OPEN. I stuck my thumb into bright red button and it sank into the socket. Though my instincts told that something was to happen, nothing did. Maybe I didn’t push hard enough. I stuck my thumb again harder. It came to me either the button was designed for gorillas, or something else was wrong.
I peered through the glass and tried to make it out, his face. It wasn’t clear. Then I moved over to the side and ran my finger over the panels. The screen had a message: equipment failure. That gave me a sickening feeling. I checked his status: dead. Dead?! Davis was dead! I checked again. His breathing was nil, so was his heartbeat. But that was nothing; they are supposed to be nil. The temperature stood so dangerously low. That would’ve killed him. Cryogenic experiments were still experiments. I took one last look at his coffin. And walked away to the cockpit.
I sat at the seat and fastened my seat belt. I took a look at the statistics, graphics, and tables displayed on the screen. I was thinking of Davis. He was a jolly good chap. One of the fittest astronauts. He could spend hours at zero gravity without any nausea. One could never count on cryogenics. Cheap and inaccurate machinery, and leakage could cause deaths. Davis’s death left me the only human aboard the ship. It reminded me of the Volta incident where five of the six crew members succumbed to a small repair accident. The survivor was the least lucky. When the rescuers found him a fortnight later, his condition was worse than death. He had become mad left there with those terribly mutilated bodies floating around him. The thought sent a shiver through my spine.
(To be continued)
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