Chapter Five: The Scars of Our Future

Two months and a lot of restlessness later, she was back on her little dusty rock, Eos 2. The plants didn’t need too much attention, but the polymer bladders were empty, one of the wind-breaker contraptions was knocked over, and the water collection system was all gunked up. With Babushka- Zarya’s direction, she made a crude concrete mix and sunk all the metal poles into holes with wet concrete. "That takes care of that.” she said aloud, and moved onto the next task. This was going to take her longer than a day, and she was quite frustrated. She wanted her search for Aetheria ore  to be over already. The sky-drinker mesh, the collection trough, and the garden water filter were stopped up with a lot of sandy mud, and she cleaned them out begrudgingly. She knew it had to be done for her survival, but was unhappy with so much time and energy spent on her food supply. Finally, she filled the bladders full and worried about her coming trips,   where the bladders would go dry long before her return. She hadn’t saved any seeds from the domestication kit, and was worried she’d lose all her food. 

“Hey Zarya?” “Yes, captain?” “Is there enough of the right materials to use the molecular printer for a few new poly-bladers or something else  that can store water? My garden was dry when we came back, and the other planets are further away. I’m worried that the plants will die when I’m on an expedition." “ Unfortunately captain, we do not have enough of anything to print any of the water storage containers I have in my print design files.” In her newly made study, she sat with her feet on the crudely made scrap desk and leaned back on a bed pillow placed between the bare metal bars of the gally chair and her back. Her fingers scrolled dully through the molecular printer file descriptions. “307… there’s got to be at least one…” She was half asleep, bored, and desperately wanting to do something else. Her finger stoped abruptly on a glass jar. “Glass… thats sand. Thast sand!!” She jumped up knocking the chair backwards and shouted with joy. “Zarya! I got it!! You said we can make our own print designs right? Would it be easy to enlarge a print design that already exists?” She didn’t let Babushka-Zarya say her typical ‘Yes, captain’ greeting. She found a possible solution to her third biggest issue. The first being her race was being culled by the planet eaters, and the second being she was trapped in a solar system without human presence. “Captain, we do have the capability to change the size of most on-file prints. Is there one in particular you are thinking of?” They worked through the night together, her with a bitter plastic tasting instant espresso in hand, Babushka-Zarya with the know-how and the patience her shiny new captain needed. 

In the morning they had a design for several more water storage units, made of a thick glass. A tired drone with mining gear attached, rested in the cargo bay. She had cleaned it diligently, getting dust and sand from its crevices, almost like it was a human child, and ran a diagnostic on it to ensure it wasn’t damaged from the sand storm it had gotten stuck in. She stayed on Eos 2 for several days printing the parts, putting the crude design together,  and hooking it up to the current water system. She had estimated the bare minimum amount of water she needed to survive on the ship on their visit to Eos 3.  She filled the huge glass jars  and the poly-bladders with the rest. Zarya and her even attempted to estimate the amount of water  in the plant food stored on board. It was tight, too tight. She needed to find water, and had marked that as a priority on her To-Do list she kept on her pad. She had made a holster for it, around her waist and thigh. It was a bit bulky, but her life, or rather the next few years, were being planned out on that sleek tablet, and having it on her was a necessity. Yawning, she asked, “Zarya, can we print water?” “Yes captain, but we haven’t gathered any oxygen or hydrogen. The process is also slow and energy intensive, so you won’t be able to print large batches. It is meant as an emergency tool only.” Sending a fresh drone out, she fell into a deep restful sleep, utterly exhausted and content with her progress. The drone worked through the evening, night, and next morning, being managed by Babushka- Zarya. Silicon dioxide, or as humans liked to call it, sand, was piled high in three cargo bins. Her plan was to run it through the recycle sub-system of the molecular printer to separate the Silicon and two oxygen molecules. Both are very useful to have in store, and she was becoming a bit of a hoarder when it came to supplies. Back on Earth, she would have never hoarded supplies like this, but this wasn't Earth, was it. This wasn't home.

After two weeks of sunrise to sunset and beyond, burning-the-candle-at-both-ends type days, they were ready to get on their way to Eos 3, both her, the Zarya’s AI, the Zarya herself, and the faithful work-horse drones. The planet was further away, and she was still worried about food, water, and spending the travel time in a productive way. She wished the ship had a cryo unit, but it was centuries since ships that weren’t in the cartography core’s fleet had them as standard equipment. She worked last minute, gathering the last little bits of ripe crops from her garden and filling the fridge with the fresh harvest. Strapped into the pilot's seat, she launched the Babushka-Zarya back into space, and the auto-plotted course  to her dusty heap’s  next door neighbor.  

The take off was smoother this time around, thanks in large to the suggestions Babushka-Zarya had on their trip to Eos 1 and her physical labor.   Unbuckling with a clink, she got to her feet and checked her pad. “Right, the fresh food in the fridge…” She wished the Dom kit had included wheat or corn, something to make a meal out of and bread, pasta… and meat… Her stomach let out a long angry gurgle and she gingerly put her hand on it as if to comfort her angry organ. Perhaps she should eat a meal first. Skipping breakfast was never a good idea, but her mind and body were almost like two separate entities having different needs. She walked slowly to the galley, through the corridor into what had been the passenger area, now striped and sterile, past the bathroom, to a would-have-been cozy to, say 12 passengers, mess hall and small kitchen. Through the panoramic windows she could see the stars whooshing by soundlessly. The hum of the ship was becoming a soothing comforting sound, a lot like a mother’s heartbeat, to her. 

Pondering at what to make, she rolled a tin of what she thought was tea, labeled in Mandarin. Despite her rationing needs, she made a cup of hot, steaming  tea in an old earthenware mug, painted green and blue. She leaned back in the chair, one foot up on the chair seat, with her leg bent. Her arm on that side rested on her upright knee, and she held the hot mug, staring at it, thinking of how much it represented her lovely little green and blue planet of origin. The clay was coarse-grained, and the deep grey-green liquid smelled very much like leaf-water. She blew on the hot surface and took a hesitant sip. Instantly she sighed, as the flavor of a delicious Oolong rolled down her throat. Just what the doctor ordered. She sighed again and let some of the built up tension in her body drop away. Looking back down at the mug, thinking of homey comforts, she realized that she missed baths. Showers were great to keep clean, and be invigorated by, but a nice hot bath is good on, not only a sore body, but a troubled mind and a hurting heart too. What she’d give for a steamy bath with a large helping of scented epsom salt.

On her third sigh, she sipped the still steaming tea again and her thoughts went to Volkov and how much they would have gotten along if their meeting hadn't ended so abruptly. She hung her head ashamed, sad, and incredibly lonely. She was not worthy of someone giving their life for her escape, but this stranger, an old Russian tech, gave her a chance at survival. A chance she didn’t fully register the full scope of in her current relaxed, tea-driven state. She got up slowly, favoring the not-as-sore muscles versus the ones that were aching, and made her way over to the fridge. She took out some bush beans, peas, tomatoes, carrots, leafy greens, and dwarf peppers and began preparing a simple salad. 

The more she thought of the Dom kit, the more she realized many fatal errors in its design. She put the knife down mid chopping, wiping her hands on the kitchen towel laid across her left shoulder, and got her pad from the holster on her leg. “Let's see… Oil or fat, plus the tools to make it, some mealworm or another food insect eggs possibly? Peas and beans are great, but an additional protein would be very helpful. A starch or grain… maybe hydroponics gear, or would that be too bulky?” She shook her head and put the pad on the counter and picked the knife up to continue preparing the salad. She was  solving a problem that she didn’t need to be solving.

During the next few days her work revolved around food. She dried or otherwise  preserved most of her stores. There was a data-seed included in the dom kit with instructions on how to do this. Taking the seed from the little dish she stored it in  in the cupboard, she placed it in the data reader at the helm, and took a look. It had several methods for preservation but it wasn’t super helpful with its assumptions about equipment, flavorings, and other preservation tools. The information hadn’t been prepared for the weary survivalist out in unknown space, where they couldn’t just order something off the network if they needed it. She couldn’t casually order a dehydrator, or pounds of salt to make a brine, or special canning equipment, and she didn’t want to waste resources trying to print them all. She had bigger fish to fry. Her stomach gurgled again, transitioning from a diet of only ration bars to only veggies, had its issues, but her stomach, as mad as it was, should eventually be happier with the fiber and variety, although limited.

By the time she was done with her current project, she had welded shelving to the left wall of the galley, so they stuck out perpendicularly for extra space use. Now the space contained a single dining table with a single chair, the small kitchen, and an open-air pantry. There were glass jars, all the same size and shape, uniformly  in rows like little soldiers. She had to get creative for labeling, and ended up using scrap bulkhead to melt words into with her welding torch. It wasn’t pretty or neat, but it worked. She also had left some fresh veg in the refrigerator, and was experimenting with the freezer section, though she never liked frozen fruit or veggies back home. Turns out having the water molecules inside the food expand, made the structure of the food-stuffs break apart and turn to something close to mush. It was worth an effort through, as rehydrating foods required water. In the whole of this process, she learned a feature of ships she never knew before. They had sky-drinker mesh installed so that it would reabsorb any water expressed into the air. She thought this was genius, and of course Volkov had made sure to get a ship with this feature. “Waste not, want not.” She reminded herself of the ancient human saying mentally. This made her feel better about dehydrating all those vegetables, legumes, and fruit. “Fruit! That's something else the Domestication kit had left… Ouch!!” 

She looked down at her finger shaking it and then stuck it in her mouth. Pulling it out, a tiny drop of blood appeared on the tip. “God damn it! That’s going to affect my work the next few days.” she complained under her breath. Putting  her sewing down on the chair, she fetched a bandaid from the first aid kit, applied it to her smarting finger, and went back to her finishing garnish of the kitchen project; an apron. She exclaimed in happiness as she tied the last knot in the thread and lifted her work away from her to view it. It was a little piece of homey comfort inside the dismal metal cage that was keeping her safe from the vacuum of space. She wished she had more fabric and some filling too. It would be lovely to make floor to ceiling curtains for the pantry and cushions for the chairs she has scattered around the ship. Living in a metal box in space was cold and hard, literally and figuratively. 

She thought of her small humble home her son and she had fled from. How cozy and warm it was. Sunlight streaming in through the big windows, meeting enthusiastic potted plants and a love seat lined with hand-stitched pillows. A simple wooden floor was complemented by a large braided rug, worn flat with age. He had learned to crawl on that rug, pull up on that couch, and tot around all wobbly in the joints on that floor. Wet met her chest and she came back to reality. Tears had been pouring down her face like twin waterfalls, dripping from her chin to her chest where they were being soaked up by her shirt. She snuffled and used her arm to wipe some of the waterworks away. 

Her son. “He'd be almost three now. “ she said in a hoarse, stopped up, post-cry voice to no one in particular. She took up her pad with a sniffle, and wrote a note to herself; her son’s birthdate, and how old he was last time they were together back on Earth. With a calendar loaded on her pad,  and Zarya’s time tracking capabilities, she quickly had a little calendar put together with his birthdays on it for the next three years. She hoped it wouldn’t be that long, prayed to any god that would listen for it to not be that long, “... or even longer.” she said and her throat tightened in response to the intense emotions waxing again.  She wished she had a picture of him on her pad. She would love to print a few copies and tack them up in various rooms of the ship, but the pad had been a new-to-her gift from a friend a little before the initial attack. Before that, she had an outdated model with a cracked camera screen, despite her efforts to keep it safe. She looked down at her pad again with the calendar on the bright electronic screen. Glancing  over at her hands, she  noticed  how they had changed; nubbins for nails, old scratches and bruises healing slowly, newly formed calluses from gardening and the welding torch. Her hand went to the poorly healed skin on her head, past her left temple. She felt the scarring and the senseless flesh mound that had been pushed back from her skull in the crash. She felt the bone, white and gleaming, peeking through the thick, poorly healed flesh. Would he even recognize her if she ever did get home? 

A month and a half of projects around the ship later, and she was at Eos 3. It was just as odd as Eos 1, but its own strange type of madness. A black matte planet that absorbs light on the sun side, and is almost invisible against outer space on the dark-side, except for the lack of stars. She blinked, holding a bowl of stew, standing awkwardly in the cockpit, like she was meeting a unique stranger and didn’t know what to say. “Hi, I guess,” she said to the planet, and waited for a response, which obviously did not come. Taking a deep breath, she said, “Right. Probe time Zarya.” and she pecked at the console with her fingers to release the survey drone. 

She was in an irritable mood, but couldn’t place why.  Cleaning the bathroom from ceiling to floor had not helped, and now she was covered in a mix of sweat and all-purpose cleaner, which she found in the bathroom cupboard under the sink. At that time, the preliminary survey drone returned with bad news. “Captain, this planet is not safe for you to go land-side without specialized gear. I recommend using a drone with mining gear.” “Seriously? I wanted to be able to stretch my legs this time” She sighed in frustration. “What does it have down there? What’s it like?” “The atmosphere is dense and contains high concentrations of carbon monoxide, carbon dioxide, and methane, which can form corrosive hydrocarbon compounds. Additionally, Eos 3 has very heavy gravity, a lot more so than Eos 2. The rivers and oceans are similar to Earth’s crude gas and there are tar deposits as well. A standard space suit is not equipped to deal with such a harsh environment.” the robotic, non sentient AI voice droned. She was visibly upset and sticky from cleaning the bathroom. She had been feeling drawn to this planet somehow, accentuating the need to go planet-side. “Fine,” she huffed back like a teenager, “Whatever!” and stomped off to sulk.

Later, as the  second drone worked to gather carbon compounds, graphite, diamond, hydrocarbons, and more, she sat in the galley staring at the dark side of the planet. She was in close orbit and the planet’s darkness loomed over her small craft, its mustard yellow atmosphere giving it a sickly dark green sheen . The sounds of Zarya running were steady in the background. She felt so small, so insignificant. Did it even matter if she went back to Earth? What was the point if the planet eaters were just going to kill her? She stared deeper into the planet, like she was trying to seek its soul.  A dark mood clung to her and she was transfixed by the planet. 

The days following were a void of sound, and she began talking to herself and inanimate objects more than ever. What started as a “Sorry” to the bathroom cabinet corner she bumped into, developed into one-sided conversations with her pad and other tools she used regularly.  Zarya’s AI subroutines weren't built for company-keeping, and as informational and helpful as she was, she wasn’t another sentient being. Her stomach rumbled and she took stock of her remaining supplies. “ Lets see…” she said to her pad which was in-hand. “We’re out of fresh food… the fridge is empty.” She took the rest of the fresh food off the inventory list on her pad. “ And we are down...” she counted the empty spaces on the pantry shelves. “... by three units of beans, two  units of peas, five of powdered greens,  three canned tomato units, and…” She checked the freezer. “... two units of peppers.” 

She finished her food inventory update on her pad and then checked the water level by the sensor interface readout and frowned. “Don’t tell me that little buddy! That’s not good. That would leave…” her voice trailed off as she did calculations. “Not enough.” She looked up from her pad’s glowing screen, through the window to the dark foreboding planet and sat there, with a particular dread she had no name for,  as the ship hummed quietly. She  would die. She knew keenly that she would die, here in this stupid ship, out in this stupid system, all alone. No one would ever know her story. Her race would be killed completely by the planet eaters, and some alien race would discover her shriveled corpse inside the Babushka-Zarya eons from now. Maybe she’d be considered a historical relic, or maybe junk, who could guess. Her mouth was drawn down at the edges and had been that way for days. Her dreams had become vivid and she was waking up confused about what reality was actually real. 

Her To-Do list had been untouched and she wasn’t sure what she had been doing the past few days in orbit around the carbon type planet. She didn’t want to do anything. There wasn’t a point to it. It must be done though, she knew. It didn’t matter if she wanted to or not. There was only one direction to move, and that was forward. Through this dense mental and emotional fog, her body pushed forward dragging her mind and heart along with it.  She was able to put the Hydrocarbon compounds in the recycler and get both carbon and hydrogen. In her desperation for water, she printed some. Zarya had been right. She waited impatiently, cooking a concoction of her preserved foods. She heaped tomatoes and dried beans in a big pot, adding water. Sprinkling in a portion of dried and ground greens, a pinch of salt, and a few herbs. She wondered if the dehydrated greens had any nutritional value left in them, but then what did it even matter?

She picked at a bowl of the mush, the rest cooling to be portioned and put in the fridge for the next few days' meals. She was down to one meal a day, and yet… she didn’t really even want to eat. Staring at her bowl of glop in disgust, she jerked back from her spiraling thoughts when the light flickered and shut off. Was this it? Was this finally it? She held her breath waiting. The engine came back online and the lights flickered back on. “Captain, sorry about that. Keeping the ship, life support, artificial gravity, etcetera running, while printing the water temporarily taxed my power. The water print wasn’t able to be completed, and I do not recommend printing more unless I am planet-side and  not running other systems. The good news is, you have a partial print of water.” All of the air in her lungs slowly escaped her lips. Coughing, she asked, “Zarya, is the drone done yet?” “It is coming in from its last trip now captain.” The ship’s AI replied. “ Are we ok to depart power wise?” “Yes captain. The power outage was minor and temporary. Nothing is in need of repair.” “Let’s get out of here” she said in a hushed and pleading tone.