WretchedWren t1_jabpux9 wrote
(supplementary to my other WP response here: https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/119ut50/comment/j9s4n0a/?context=3)
(5 parts due to size)
"Landing burn initiated" I called into the mic, getting the signal relayed up to the MPCV in orbit above and then to Houston. A shudder and shake tugged at the HLS Lander, the heavy vibration of the engine countering the Moon's gravity, the pulsing of the RCS thrusters ensuring stability and correct landing flight path. The altimeter and velocity both scrolled down as the descent slowed.
"500 meters." I called.
"400." The words were barely out of my mouth when suddenly everything went dark. Every screen, every light, even the engine. They drilled a lot of scenarios into us in training, but not this one. The recognition of the new state of things, the time adjusting mentally to the crisis, recall of memory items rapidly brought up and discarded, and finally to action took several seconds.
"Oh shit." There were a few manual controls available. Hughes was already reaching for the RCS control yoke, and I registered the lack of response even as I was reaching for the emergency abort lever. Pulling that still did nothing at all. When everything went dark we had just crossed 400 meters in altitude, descending at 31 meters per second. Maybe 12 seconds from loss of control to impact. That was about 7 seconds ago. 31 meters per second was deadly. The few seconds left were long enough to look out the window in a morbid attempt to see our fate closing on us, a shock of recognition as I saw green plant life, a blue sky, a stream nearby. A close up view of what I, and many in the world, had seen 10 months ago for a brief 25 minutes.
"Oh my g..." the word was cut off as we were suddenly compressed into our seats and everything went dark.
WretchedWren t1_jabq3od wrote
Colors swam and my eyes attempted to focus, then were successful. I was still strapped into my flight chair. The capsule looked intact, no electronics. The scene out the window was still the strange habitat rather than the lunar surface. I looked over at Hughes, still out. That must have been more than 12gs, but not an impact. Something had slowed us. Violently, but survivable. I reached over to shake Hughes, but didn't get a response. "Hughes!" I called. Still no response. I began unbuckling, feeling the slight gravity of the moon, and tried the radio. "HLS, Houston." The words rang so hollow that I knew that nothing was being picked up. That didn't stop me from trying again. "HLS, Houston."I got out of the chair and shifted over to Hughes, attempting to wake him again. Nothing. It wasn't really possible to feel for a pulse with our suits on, so I stared intently at his neck, looking for the carotid artery motion. Still nothing.
Shit. Double shit.
I glanced over at the environmental panel out of habit. Nothing there of course. I had no idea if our capsule atmosphere was even present. I tossed about for an idea, then ripped the cover off of the procedure manual, lifted it as high as I could and let go. As it floated down I waved my hand past it. It responded and shifted away from my hand, then back in as my hand passed. Ok, there is at least some air here still. I decided to risk it, and opened the seal on my helmet, pausing with my hand on the sealing lever. No decompression. I lifted my helmet off. Ok, still breathable, no apparent reduction in atmosphere. Suggests that the capsule's integrity remained.
Reaching over I removed Hughes helmet, then reached for his neck, pausing with a curse at myself, removed my glove, then felt Hughes' neck for a pulse. I waited for over a minute, kept repositioning my hand in case I had somehow gotten the spot wrong. Nothing. I wet the back of my hand with my tongue and held it in front of his mouth and nose, hoping a sign of breath. Nothing.
"Shit". I crouched there, looking at Hughes for several minutes. What was I going to do? What happened? Some sort of massive systems failure. Finally I put Hughes's helmet back on and re-engaged the seal. "I'm sorry."
The orbiter would be watching and recording the landing. They would know something went wrong. I couldn't signal them in here though. They were going to disappear over the horizon soon. Two hours before they were back overhead. I needed to be able to have some sort of message to them by then. I began collecting my EV gear and putting it on.
I was most of the way ready when I head a rhythmic banging from the hull. I froze. Suddenly remembering the scene out the window. The impossibility of it had failed to really register as a reality until now. I looked back outside. There was some sort of motion, but it was hard to tell what it was. I crouched at the window for a better look. This seemed to produce what I can only call a startle reaction. A brief flurry that disappeared left, right, and below. I don't know what I really saw. The scene was the same. Green plant life, although nothing I recognized. A blue sky. A stream nearby, although the water seemed almost impossibly pale blue. Maybe it wasn't water?
The banging was continuing. It wasn't knocking really. Very mechanical sounding. I finished pulling on my EV gear, keeping my eyes on the window.
Ready a few minutes later, I shifted over to the hatch, staring at the handle to release it. This would vent the atmosphere I had. There were reserves of course, enough to handle at least 25 full replacements of capsule atmosphere from EVs. We were supposed to minimize usage though, remaining in our EV suits between EVs and just plugging in to the oxygen terminals if we could get away with not re-pressurizing the capsule. But with all of the controls down, I didn't know if I could access any of the reserves. If I couldn't, I would have about 3 hours left to live. Better see if the ports work. I turned to the nearest oxygen port and pulled out one of the tethers, plugging it into my EV suit. I sensed the flow of oxygen increase briefly. Ok, that was one thing that still worked.
I took another steadying breath and reached for the hatch handle, hesitated, then pulled. Clunk, and a faint hiss. Not the depressurization expected. What was going on here. The banging from outside had ceased. I pushed the hatch and it swung out gracefully.
About 30 feet away was a ... creature. It was pale, soft edges, maybe 3 feet tall. It was vaguely humanoid shaped, but reminded me a lot of the texture and consistency of a jellyfish. It even seemed a bit translucent. It's face, at least I think that was it's face, was facing me directly. Two pairs of green points suggested eyes, some curvature suggested a mouth. We watched each other for a time. At least, I was watching it and I felt like it was watching me.
Finally I raised my right hand in greeting, "Hello."
WretchedWren t1_jabq4gp wrote
No response or change.
I turned and carefully climbed down the ladder. The slight gravity certainly suggested I was on the moon still. Reaching the bottom, I hesitated before stepping off. Neil Armstrong made one small step, but onto moon dust and rock. I was stepping onto something that resembled clover, although with leaves some 4 inches across. I turned back to the creature, noting as I turned that there were more in most directions, some distance away. They were all pale, but varying in an array of pastels colors.
"They didn't cover this in the manual." I thought. I took a few light unsteady steps toward the creature, bouncing awkwardly high as I tried to adjust to the gravity. It just watched me approach, and I stopped about 10 feet away. I raised my hand again, "Hello." Then extended it forward instead of dropping it.
The creature's face rotated toward my hand briefly, then ... moved ... closer. I saw no feet, it was hard to identify what I was seeing down below it. A translucent appendage floated out and briefly touched my gloved hand. Tentatively, like it was testing what contact was like. Then it recoiled slightly, then slowly extended it's appendage at my face. The gesture was oddly child-like. It made contact with my face shield, paused, then slid across it a short ways before withdrawing.
"Is that how you say hello?" I asked. There was a brief high pitched hum, varying in octaves. "And your speech."
It pointed, and it was decidedly a point, at my chest without making contact, then pointed up, slowly descended until it was pointing past me at the HLS, then withdrew again, as if waiting. I nodded, "I came from above," and pointed first at my chest, then up, "And I landed in that." Pointing at the HLS. Then I paused, and pointed at myself again, "I live there." and pointed at the crescent of Earth above. It's face followed the line of my pointing, and there were some more high pitched hums, including behind me. I turned to see several more creatures nearby, some watching me, some looking at Earth. A more varied set of humming. It finally registered that there must be some sort of atmosphere here, or else I wouldn't be able to hear them. It might be breathable. Although even if there were good odds that it was, and there weren't, it wasn't a risk I was willing to take. Something about all of this felt a bit more like underwater life than anything else.
The creature in front of me made a series of more decided pointing, first at me, then at Earth. It took several repetitions before I realized it looked a lot like a demand to leave. I spread my hands helplessly. "I do not know how to leave." It was futile to use English speech, but it helped my gestures somehow. It looked like some gestures were universal, as it stopped repeating it's gesture. Some seconds passed before it gestured again. At me, then at the HLS. There was the same demanding feel to the gesture.
"Ok, might as well."
I turned and returned to the lander, climbing the ladder, and crouching through the hatch. I looked back out, and saw that the creature I was talking to was moving away slowly, surrounded by many more of the creatures. It very much looked like a crowd of bystanders questioning someone in authority as to what was going on. I closed the hatch and plugged into the O2 port. Might as well start figuring out what kind of diagnostics I can do.
It took me several hours to come to the conclusion that I had no diagnostics. Every circuitry panel I could access was entirely melted. No sign of overheating, or even that it was a heat based melting. It looked a lot more like melted ice cream than slagged metal and plastic. The boards only barely retained their shape. Thin wafers of metal and green plastic running together before congealing. All wiring I could find was still intact, so it must be something that affects only very low voltage hardware.
The banging returned some time later. I opened the hatch to find the creature, or at least one very similar, right outside. It's appendages waved gently in a manner that suggested some form of flying hover. "Hello again." It pointed an appendage at me sharply, then upward twice. I spread my hands again, shrugging my shoulders, "I can't." It repeated the gesture. I turned and picked up one of the melted boards, holding it out for the creature to see. I made a gesture with my hand palm up and moving to the side, "It doesn't work."
The creature continued to look at me, but wasn't gesturing any more. I slowly and with exaggerated motions, tossed the board over my shoulder toward the other side of the lander. "The boards are all junk." The creature watched me for a time, then pointed at the hatch door, then at me, then turned and drifted back to the ground, moving away. "Okay, at least we seem to be getting somewhere in communication," I murmured. And shut the hatch.
WretchedWren t1_jabq5k4 wrote
This repeated itself every hour or so for a while. A creature would knock, I would open the hatch, it would gesture for me to take off and leave, I would repeat that I couldn't, and the communication would end. Several times the creature would look at Hughes, as if comparing. Something told me that they knew he was dead. They certainly didn't seem hostile. Whatever it was that destroyed our systems and killed him didn't seem to be intentional. The fact that they wanted me to go certainly suggested that they automatically granted me the right to leave. Not the actions of killers.
This all finally changed one visit, perhaps 12 hours after landing, though I didn't really have a good read on the passing time. The creature spent some time talking to me, humming a wide variety and range of sounds. It finally stopped, waiting, expectantly. "I don't know what you are trying to tell me." It spread it's ... arms I guess I should call them, and then made a motion as if to come, or continue. "You want me to talk to you?" It repeated the gesture. "I hope that is what you mean." For lack of anything more apt to say, I began to describe the landing, the power loss, the surprise at seeing everything this way, finding the Hughes had not survived it, and the melted control boards, at the problems blocking my ability to launch again. It was a long list.
I finally finished, the creature spread it's appendages again, then pointed at the hatch, and turned to leave again. "Wait, did you understand anything I said this time?" I called after it. It paused, turned around, looked at me a moment, then pointed at the hatch. I sighed and closed it again. "Not making any progress. In here or out there.
There was a long wait till the next visit, noticeably longer. As the time passed, I realized exhaustion was catching up to me as my possible paths of exploration kept disappearing. I finally made the decision to return to my seat and get some sleep.
I awoke suddenly to the knocking. It must have been going on some time. Cycling the hatch open, I again saw the creature before me.
"Doo youu underrstandd mee?" The voice was high pitched and thrummed with a vibration. Like a bee talking into a fan. Surprised, I smiled, "Yes, I do understand you. Do you understand me?"
"Ii doo underrstandd youu."
"Wonderful," I replied, an odd sense of relief flooding through me. I realized how much less alone I felt.
"Wee havee analyzedd yourr voicee patternss withh thee assistancee off thee Orbb Thatt Talkss," it pointed up. At Earth.
"You can hear Earth?"
"Earthh. Yess. Itt iss whyy wee chosee too livee heree. Itt calledd uss."
"How did it call you?"
"Itt speakss intoo thee Greatt Blackk, announcingg itss presencee likee thee Greatt Lightss Thatt Spinn With Noise, butt slowlyy andd nott soo loudd."
My mind hunted for what he might be talking about. "Pulsars. You hear pulsars and their radio waves.""Ii doo nott knoww exactlyy whatt youu meann."
"Neutron stars that spin very fast and emit radio waves," I paused, turned and grabbed the checklist and pencil, flipping it over for the blank back. I quickly sketched a spinning ball, then pointed at the sun, "Stars," then at my sketch, "That spin very quickly, and make," I realized that its description was very accurate. "lots of noise."
"Yess. Ii seee youu knoww off themm. Theyy aree tooo loudd forr uss."
"That means you hear radio waves. Incredible. Where are you from?"
"Wee doo nott knoww. Ourr Orbb wass destroyedd beforee anyy off uss weree awaree."
"Oh," that didn't make a lot of sense, "And you came here to live?"
"Andd too listenn too Thee Orbb Thatt Talkss."
"And you made all of this?"
"Yess. Wee changedd thee surfacee andd thee skyy too livee. Butt wee aree feww and weakk. Wee mustt hidee too livee."
"You are refugees then. I understand that concept at least. Do you understand the problem with why I can't leave?"
"Yess. We havee underrstoodd thee problemm. Wee aree workingg onn aa solutionn."
"That is wonderful. Do you have any idea if you can succeed? I only have a limited supply of oxygen available."
"Whatt iss oxii genn?"
"It is what I need to breath. To live." I quickly sketched a representation of two oxygen atoms on the back of the checklist.
"Wee knoww thiss thingg. Theree iss muchh off itt onn thee Orbb Thatt Talkss. Wee cann createe itt, butt itt iss dangerrouss too uss."
Things just got a whole lot lighter.
WretchedWren t1_jabq6fi wrote
I maintained regular communications with the creature, they called themselves something that sounded like "Yu-la", over the next several days. The status of process on a fix was always the same, which is to say no indication of any progress. But we did spend a great deal of time synchronizing each other's vocabulary as we learned more about each other. It took some time for me to understand that whatever passes for a generation among them is apparently shorter than a human generation, but that the number of generations since leaving their home surpassed their ability to track. It must have been sheer chance that they were passing near enough to the solar system in the past several decades to even pick up the radio waves we are broadcasting into space. They had diverted to investigate, and had found a wonderful potential home on our moon. Attempts to understand what kind of craft they traveled in was only met with confusion.
A second but empty capsule landed nearby while all of this was going on. It's arrival was detected early and caused a great deal of commotion, and an inspection of the capsule confirmed the same melted circuitry.
"What causes this?"
"Ourr shieldd thatt hidess uss iss dangerrouss too yourr craftss."
It didn't get any more helpful.
Eventually though, the Yula gave news that they could send the HLS and me back to Earth, but would provide no details as to how.
"Are you worried that my return will increase the threat to you from more like me?"
"Perhapss, butt wee doo nott thinkk yourr Aetchh Elll Eessess willl bee successsfull, andd Oxii genn." It spread it's appendages in a hopeless gesture.
Indeed. They had made the moon even more hostile than it ever was.
"Andd wee willl nott causee harmm."
Several days later I was strapped back into my flight chair, waiting on something. I never got a clue as to what they were going to do. I watched out the window, but saw nothing. The change came rapidly. One second I had ducked my head in exhaustion, only for that to be the moment in which they launched the HLS, pinning my chin to my chest for a few seconds. When I recovered and could look back, the surface of the moon looked it's normal pale grey again. I trusted them. If they said they could get the trajectory right, I felt I could believe them.
I think I owed them their safety. I should have been dead, but had another chance at life.
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