Later that day…
Sweat dripped down from Stowik’s forehead as he labored in the gloom of the Concrete. He poured an adhesive liquid on threads he’d just machined and proceeded to tighten a bolt in place with an old ratchet.
In one of the side rooms deep inside the Concrete, Stowik was constructing the hopper. Though yet unfinished, it stood two stories high on its long spider-like legs, and was several meters wide. Stowik was proud of his work; the only thing left to finish the job was to install the engine. He walked over to the huge engine, which stood taller than Stowik and floated silently several feet off the ground, supported by six thick composite wires that hung from the ceiling. The hopper engine could run for thirty-minute intervals, which translated into a range of one hundred kilometers, and refueled in only six hours by absorbing the methane in the atmosphere.
“It’s beautiful.”
Stowik turned around and saw Rockhead standing in front of the hopper, arms crossed.
“Sartis busy or something?” Stowik teased his brother. Stowik couldn’t blame him—Sartis was the prettiest girl in their generation. There were only six, anyways.
Rockhead managed a small smile—the only indication he gave that he had heard his brother’s comment. “What is that for?” inquired Rockhead as he pointed to a small transparent cylinder directly atop the hopper.
Stowik’s eyes followed Rockhead’s fingers, and then he laughed, “That? It’s for signaling, but mostly for fun. If you find something of interest you can flip a bright green light on. That way we’ll know you found something useful as you’re arriving back at Alpha. I figured it would be good for morale as Alpha watches your return.”
“Good, you told the Elders? Do you have a name for it yet?” asked Rockhead. Stowik looked away momentarily, seeking to dodge the first question.
“No name yet,” replied Stowik as he began lowering the engine onto a large dull grey plastic cart. He would tell the Elders when it was finished. They could put a stop to the whole project. A deep rumble shook the Concrete, causing Stowik to grab onto one of the thick composite wires hanging from the ceiling for support.
“You can really feel the quakes down here,” said Rockhead.
Stowik nodded, “They’re getting more common.”
“I can’t help but wonder that our depleting ethane aquifer and the quakes are related, somehow,” Rockhead shrugged.
“All the more reason we need the hoppers up and running,” Stowik glanced at the engine next to him.
“The Elders once told me that the first humans came here on a rocket. It was probably similar to this one,” mused Rockhead.
“I’ve heard that, too. Lost in the Fire, they said,” said Stowik absentmindedly as he strained against the cart, now heavy with the one-ton hopper engine. He pushed it into place underneath the hopper and began attaching a new set of plastic composite hooks to the engine to lift it into place.
“Why don’t you ever come up? Everyone in Block Two misses you. You forget you are one of fifty-one. We have to stick together,” said Rockhead.
Stowik didn’t look up. “And I miss them. But my place is down here to keep this place running. If any of the others have any insight into rocket propulsion, they are welcome to come down and help.”
Rockhead laughed and feigned looking to either side, “I don’t see any other volunteers.”
“Besides,” began Stowik, “Block Two? What’s up there for me?” Stowik let out a single laugh as he attached the next dull plastic nut to the bolt and began tightening.
“You know what’s up there,” replied Rockhead. Stowik averted his eyes uncomfortably and tightened the already secure nut.
Rockhead paused to watch his brother work, fastening the engine to the hopper. “You ever wonder what fire looks like?”
Stowik stopped. He had completely forgotten. He had been testing the engine rigorously, but no one else had seen it in action. I’m the only one in Alpha that has seen fire. Stowik looked over at his older brother, “If you can spare a few hours, I can put your wonder to rest,” Stowik offered with a grin.
Rockhead looked up quickly, “Can we do that? Here?
“Sure thing. Give me a hand here,” Stowik called out over the noise of his tools as he fastened the engine to the hopper. Rockhead quickly ran over to a plastic box filled with tools and picked up a long wrench made of composite plastic identical to Stowik’s. He hefted it in his hand, and apparently satisfied, ran over to Stowik.
Stowik paused and pointed out the bolt, “See here? The engine is right where it wants to be. So long as you don’t hang from it, this should go smoothly. There’s a whole bunch of nuts just like this right behind you. Just bolt ’em on tight, but don’t forget to put this on the threads first.” Stowik handed Rockhead a bottle of the liquid adhesive and a nut the size of his fist.
“Hot damn, you made these by hand?” asked Rockhead in awe.
“Built my own fabricator down here,” grunted Stowik as he resumed tightening the nut. “I guess I don’t get out much.”
Rockhead shook his head in wonder, “Sometimes I wonder about you Stowik. You can hardly talk to people your own age, but you can build your own fabricator from scratch? Amazing.”
“Maybe I’d talk to people my age if there were more than three of them,” countered Stowik.
After several hours of laboring, the two brothers were satisfied that the engine was fastened to the hopper.
“All right, you ready to see this baby spit some heat?” yelled Stowik from the cockpit of the hopper.
Rockhead grinned, “Hell yeah, let’s see some flames!”
Stowik turned several valves from the cockpit and hit a switch. He slowly eased the throttle forward an inch. Stowik only allowed the burn to last a few seconds in case something went wrong. He held his breath and hoped that the engine was attached to the hopper correctly. If not, he was not exactly in the most tactical position; the cockpit sat directly on top of the engine. His brother’s muffled whooping and hollering twenty-five feet below him confirmed that the burn went smoothly, and he relaxed.
“That was incredible,” called Rockhead as Stowik descended the ladder from the hopper. “When can I take it out?”
“It’s yours now,” said Stowik, “And you’re a fast learner—a couple of droes with me in the cockpit should get you up to speed.”
“When can we start?” demanded Rockhead.
Stowik walked over to the wall and flipped open a panel. His eyes searched the switches in the gloom till he found the one he wanted. With a flick of his finger, a dull thunk sounded. He could feel the ice groaning around him. The two brothers looked up to see the roof folding outward to reveal a huge passage carved into the icy ceiling, leading to the surface. It was big enough to fit ten of the hoppers side by side, a last vestige of Alpha India’s days of glory before the Fire.
“We begin now,” stated Stowik.
One droe later…
“Stowik, it’s not safe! There has to be another way!” cried Aitken, the Elder. At fifty-five years old, he was now the oldest Alpha Indianite alive after his sister died earlier that droe. Lysia had gone on a mining sortie to collect ice to fix a cave-in in Block Three when the quake hit. A rock fall pinned her to the ground, tearing a hole in her thermal suit. She couldn’t best the cold. Lysia froze to death before they could free her.
“Isn’t that Rockhead’s call?” challenged Stowik. Stowik cringed inwardly; wrong move. The Elders have the last call on everything. He was nervous being in front of the Tribunal alone. Rockhead was supposed to be there.
“Truly, it’s touching that you and your brother share such a strong bond that he trusts your handiwork enough to risk his life in your flying contraption, but it simply doesn’t meet safety regulations. There are not enough of us that we can risk our best engineer and our handiest geologist on these, these insane missions. Stowik, if we lose you or Rockhead, what hope do we have?” said Aitken sternly. Stowik’s eyes darted around the Tribunal, looking for sup
port. Five Elders unwaveringly greeted his gaze. Things were not looking good.
“I’ll remind you that we are in this position because we’re looking for some way to fuel the ethane aquifer. We stand to lose the most, but we also stand to gain the most. No one else can pilot the hoppers. No one but Rockhead can find what we’re looking for” argued Stowik.
“And what is it, exactly,” Aitken challenged scathingly, “that you hope to find with the hoppers?” Stowik opened and closed his mouth. He really could use Rockhead’s help right about now. Stowik wasn’t the geologist.
“Unless you want to relocate the colony, the hoppers are our only chance,” was all Stowik could think to say. It came out sounding weak.
“How do you intend to divert any sizable source of ethane to the colony? How do you intend to transport the manpower and equipment over the crater rim? It’s impossible.” Aitken slammed his hand on the table. The vibrations resonated throughout the room. Stowik looked up, expecting to see the cavernous ceiling of ice to come crashing down. It held. For better or for worse.
“Give us twenty four more droes,” pleaded Stowik.
Aitken shook his head, “Twenty four droes? Let me rephrase that: twenty four more orbits around Saturn? I shouldn’t give you another day.”
To the desperate Stowik, that was a maybe. He continued his plea, “We’ll get clearance before each flight to evacuate the surrounding Blocks. We need this, Aitken. Alpha India needs this. You can pretend that we can go on, but it would be just that: pretend. I live in the Concrete. I see the dials every morning.”
Aitken cast his gaze to the other Elder’s who sat mute, faces set in stone. Staring intently at Stowik, Aitken finally let out a disgruntled sigh, “You have twenty droes. I suggest you leave before I change my mind.”
Stowik sighed. I’ll take it. It didn’t feel like a victory, though. The last thing Stowik needed right now was dissent among his own colony.
“Best the cold, Stowik,” said Aitken, dismissing him.
“Best the cold,” Stowik replied robotically. Stowik retreated from the Tribunal and found himself in Block Two’s main hallway. Rockhead was there to greet him.
Stowik crossed the distance in two swift movements, and a third sent his fist into Rockhead’s arm. “Could have used you in there!”
Rockhead grabbed Stowik’s arm and twisted it, deflecting Stowik’s punch and his anger into a friendlier exchange.
“I’m sure you did a great job by yourself. How’d it go?” he asked, trying to make peace.
Stowik untangled himself from his older brother’s powerful grasp. “Could have gone better. We’ve got twenty more droes. You said you’d be there. Where were you?”
Rockhead averted his gaze, resting it on the wall vent that pumped oxygen into the Blocks so they didn’t have to wear their facemasks indoors; inhaling the hydrocarbon compounds present in the Titan atmosphere was toxic. “I’m sorry. I’m here now, okay? Anyways, I thought they knew about the hoppers already. You lied to me, too. I can’t believe you didn’t tell them.”
“They don’t pay attention to anything that goes on in the Concrete,” growled Stowik.
“Well, waiting for them to notice the hopper cruising overhead was a nice touch. I think the Elders seriously considered training Alpha India in ‘alien invasion defense protocols,” laughed Rockhead, trying to make light of the situation.
Stowik smiled at the memory of the chaos that ensued when his hopper was spotted flying overhead for the first time.
Rockhead backed off, “Gotta run, Boss, I need to find Sartis.” A movement behind Rockhead caught Stowik’s eye; it was Sartis. She sent a swift knee into Rockhead’s butt and he let out a howl.
Stowik laughed, “Looks like she found you first.” Stowik waved his brother off, “I gotta help Dad anyways.” Rockhead and Sartis are spending a lot of time together. Stowik stood alone as he watched his brother and Sartis turn the corner around the dimly lit hallway, holding hands and laughing. As they turned the corner, he saw Rockhead pull Sartis close and whisper in her ear. She giggled, and they hurried off. Stowik was happy for Rockhead; he knew a few guys who would cut off their right hand to be with Sartis. Of course, there were only a few guys in their generation.
A loud beeping filled the hallway. “Tom paging Stowik,” the robotic voice sounded. Ah, shit. This is why I spend all my time in the Concrete: I come up to the Blocks for one Tribunal and everyone wants a piece of me. Stowik raced down the hall to the entrance of Block Three. Navigating the hallways swiftly, Stowik ran his finger along the wall to feel the refreshing bite of the icy cold bleeding through the thin plastic wall-liner. After a minute or so, Stowik reached the plastics refinery, where he knew he’d find his dad.
“Need a hand, quick!” Tom managed, his voice laden with discomfort.
Stowik swiftly ran over to assist his dad, who had his entire arm submerged in a piece of machinery.
“We’ve got a real sticker in here,” said Tom through gritted teeth as he used his strength to keep the gears in their current alignment for Stowik.
“You didn’t clean it out first?” Stowik asked accusingly as he began unscrewing a panel from the side of the machine to reveal the intricate network of interlocking gears and drive belts.
“Just needed a quick fabrication,” Tom grunted from his awkward position.
Stowik rolled his eyes as he parted the gears to look for what was jamming the machine.
“Dad,” Stowik began to reprimand his father, “You only fastened four of the mold’s pins!”
“No shit? I must have been distracted,” Tom said idly.
Stowik shook his head, “You’re lucky it was only a sticker. The mold was coming off the z-axis. You could have fried everything, and it would take droes before I could fix up a new fabricator,” Stowik said as he carefully removed the small piece of plastic jamming the gears. Got it.
“Well, that’s what happens when you send a mining controller to fab some parts,” laughed Tom as he pulled his arm out of the machine.
“Who sent you to fab the parts? Why didn’t you come to me?” demanded Stowik.
“I should have,” muttered Tom, “you’ve been fabbing parts since you were five. Hell, I caught you sneaking into the Block Three Fabrication shop before I caught you stringing a full sentence together.” Tom rumpled Stowik’s hair, who rolled his eyes.
“Ah, the flattery before the storm. What’s wrong?” asked Stowik
“It’s not important. We just had a coupling come loose on the drill and all the spare housings were missing—no need to call in the big guns or anything. Anyway, if you were going to fab the parts for me, I would have to go all the way down to the Concrete to get you; I’m afraid I didn’t have a droe to spare,” Tom teased.
“Sounds like laziness to me. How’s that going, anyways?” asked Stowik, rubbing the piece of melted plastic between his fingers.
“How’s what going?” asked Stowik’s father absentmindedly as he examined the Fabricator’s mold for any damage.
“The drilling. You’re repairing Block Two, right?” asked Stowik as he reassembled the wall panel to the plastic fabrication machine.
“That’s right,” said Tom as he went through the motions of preparing his plastic-mold correctly. “It’s about time to fix the cave-in. We’ve put it off a bit long for my liking. The Elders said we just didn’t have the manpower, but I think it’s more to do with the memories in that place.” Stowik’s jaw set involuntarily as he remembered the lives lost.
“How much longer?” inquired Stowik.
Tom furrowed his brow as he operated the fixed machine. Behind the transparent window, he pulled a lever down and kept pace with the slowly melting hydrocarbon-plastic mixture. “Don’t know, Stowik. Could be ten droes, could be twenty. The ice to the Eastern flank is really porous.” Tom’s tone grew grave, “And with Lysia gone…” he trailed off.
Stowik cast his gaze to the floor. Aitken’s sister had been the brains behind the
Block Two repair project, and everyone felt the loss.
Unsure how to handle the sudden emotional moment, Stowik exited the room with a quick goodbye and began retreating to the Concrete.
As Stowik walked back the way he came, he watched people intermittently walk by carrying assorted items: food, tools, clothing. But the halls felt too big with only fifty-one residents. Stowik recalled his dad telling him that before the Fire, the halls were teeming with Alpha Indianites, but Stowik was too young to remember. Now there are barely enough of us to keep it running. We’re running out of fuel. We’re running out of time. But what can we do? What can I do? Stowik tore off another chipping piece of plastic from the wall. Cracks developed on the margins of the tear; soon those would peel off, too.