No
Rain
The ground outside
was hardpan and crumbled away into the finest of dusts when
disturbed. Even with atmospheric control, they were always aware of
the hot white sun as it wheeled across the sky in its cycle, never
dropping below twelve full hours of daylight. "I want to talk
about water rationing," Jake said. He thought about the flask of
Scotch he had in his gear.
"How bad is
it?" Madge asked.
"Pretty bad.
I wish we hadn't come to this rock during a drought."
"We're lucky
we don't have to deal with sand worms." Lou muttered, not taking
his eyes from the screen embedded in the table.
"Lou, as your
captain, I hardly have any idea what you're talking about."
Lou looked up at
him briefly. "It makes me sad, truly, when my colleagues haven't
read the most popular science fiction of the last century or so."
"Own your
feelings, Lou." Jake clapped him on the back. The Scotch wasn't
contraband, not technically. He was within legal weight parameters.
Their habitat was
converted from the ship they brought here from Earth. A clever bit of
Ikea-style work, though with fewer allen wrenches required. It was
reasonably air tight, though the atmosphere on Quirinus-5 was
hospitable. There were cisterns set up to catch rain, but not a
single drop had come from the sky since they had boots on the ground.
"Where's
Gail?" he asked.
"Replacing
the tubes on the recyclers. She thinks the dust put pinpricks in
everything, allowing for evaporation."
"Is she
right?"
Lou shrugged.
"Funny thing about the weather this time last year, though. Rain
you could set your watch by." He tapped the table screen and it
brought up the satellite graphs.
"Then I guess
we need to find out what went wrong this year. Margie, will you get
Gail please?"
"Sir."
She didn't march, but she was close. Had he hurt her feelings?
Fucking morale. The flask would be just colder than room
temperature, not enough for condensation. He knew how much water four
working adults needed. Three. Two. One. He shook his head.
Gail came in,
wiping her hands on a bandanna, and Marge trailed behind her. "Good
thing we brought multiples of everything, Sir," Gail said. "I
switched out the tubing and then sealed the manifold with the spray
foam, so we're tight now."
"Was the
tubing the problem?"
"Yup. This
grit's worse than moondust, just shears through everything it
touches." Gail leaned over Lou's screen, scanning the data he
had up. "So should we start a rain dance or what?"
"Theoretically,
it should rain tomorrow," Lou said. "Or the next day."
"So what does
that mean for us, water rationing?" Gail asked.
"Hell, I'm just the pilot. Marge, you're our biologist, what would you say?"
"We can do half for a few days pretty comfortably, I'd say. Hygiene limited to the alcohol wipes. If we're sealed up tight we won't lose anymore, and if it rains like Lou says it should--"
"Like the satellite says," Lou interjected.
"If it rains like Lou says it should be fine," Marge finished, eyes on Jake.
"Hell, I'm just the pilot. Marge, you're our biologist, what would you say?"
"We can do half for a few days pretty comfortably, I'd say. Hygiene limited to the alcohol wipes. If we're sealed up tight we won't lose anymore, and if it rains like Lou says it should--"
"Like the satellite says," Lou interjected.
"If it rains like Lou says it should be fine," Marge finished, eyes on Jake.
"And if it
doesn't?"
"Then we
should reconsider Gail's rain dance."
Later, Jake sat in
the lounge alone. His flask was tucked in one jumpsuit pocket, and he
took a smokey nip from it once in awhile, slowly, as he read through
the satellite data. Yes, it had rained this time last year. And the
year before, and in all the years a satellite from Earth had orbited
Quirinus-5. Despite this and the breathable atmosphere, Marge's
analyses had found no trace of plant life in the soil, in any stage
of a growing cycle. They didn't know where their air came from, and
they didn't know why nothing grew on Quirinus-5.
Jake took another
drink, savored the slow smoky burn. He was the only non scientist on
the mission, and was long inured to his pilot's instincts. His skin
felt electric, the way it did in the air driven ahead of a storm.
He'd spent his hours looking at the past data gathered by the weather
satellite, and with a gesture, brought up current conditions.
Crawling rapidly
closer, and getting larger by the second, was a dark mass. Hot winds
from the south, a storm the likes of which he'd never heard of on
Earth; at a glance, it was the size of a continent, pulled together
from thin air in a matter of moments, but perhaps building for years.
Maybe it was comparable to sandstorms that raged in the Sahara, or
the Rub' al Khali, where few people lived, if any. Maybe Lou had a
science fiction comparison, but the rest of the crew was asleep. They
were good people, and it was a shame not to be able to say goodbye.
He finished his
Scotch in one long smooth pull, wet dregs coating his tongue like
ashes. He could call up the outside cameras, but what would be the
point? They would show nothing, and then a bigger nothing, and then
they would go out. He screwed the lid back on his flask and stuck it
in his jumpsuit pocket. He could feel it now, that deep seated hum in
his sternum like waiting for a rocket launch after everything started
firing up. The inexorable roar of an approaching train.
Jake made his
peace before he left Earth. He could only hope the rest of the crew
had done the same.
Interesting setting. Loved the Dune reference.
ReplyDeleteThanks for coming by!
DeleteDune is kind of the Monolith of Scifi for me, so it's something I keep in mind frequently as I write, especially with a prompt like "no rain" ;)