AS THEY made their way slowly across the ice, back to the base, Gustave broke the silence. Both of them were feeling the numbing effect of information overload, especially after that last Star-Trek-like announcement, and Vikki had made the right decision in asking for a break in the ‘conversation’ and for the two of them to be allowed a hasty exit, to which the alien had consented. The suit radios were now working again, and they were on the private channel:

“You’re going to be famous—you know that, Vikki.”

“Maybe I am. I don’t know, Gustave. When I first discovered—what I discovered—I was thinking to myself, wow! The first human to make First Contact with intelligent aliens. Greater than Yuri Gagarin—greater than Valentina Tereshkova, after whom our ship is named—greater even than Neil Armstrong! I’d be remembered in the history books for millennia. But after a while, I got cold feet. All those countless appearances I’d have to make on holoTV, on the Web: facing interviews from every journo in the Solar System… Children, generations from now, being taught in school about ‘Viktoriya Rozhkova, great pioneering cosmonaut’. I’m scared, Gustave! Perhaps I don’t want this. Perhaps I just want to be me after all: a humble geologist and glaciologist, serving on a not-too-sensational space mission.”

Gustave stopped walking. “I think you’re right, Vikki. You’re not the right sort of person: you don’t relish all this attention-getting. Nor do I. I’m still not sure I believe what I’ve just seen. But if it’s for real, perhaps someone else should claim the credit. Murielle?—”

“Please, Gus!” Vikki interrupted. “Anyone but Murielle! I loathe her. You haven’t had to share a cabin with her all through the voyage. I have.”

“I understand, Vikki. Murielle’s—well—not very popular with the rest of us, either. But she’s excellent at her job, and the right person for this mission, like her or not. Alright: for the time being we’ll keep our secret. Perhaps it should be for the whole team—not one individual—to take the credit?”

As it turned out, Vikki and Gustave were not questioned in depth about their excursions to the hummock. Other matters were com­manding the crew’s attention and causing some excitement. Hal had tested extensively with sonar, with some help from Vikki, and had estimated that the ice beneath their feet was about seventeen kilometres thick in this region of Enceladus—and that underneath lay an ocean of liquid water some eight kilometres deep. He had already set up their drilling rig, some 500 metres from the base so as to keep clear of any contamination from the Valentina. He had announced that he had reached a depth of nine kilometres already with the 20mm thermal drill bit—more than halfway if his thickness estimate was correct. And once they hit liquid water: who could tell what they might discover?

Murielle, of course, was exultant in her eagerness to get results. Indeed she was almost crowing—mostly in French—over the pros­pect of being the first to discover extraterrestrial life (Vikki was being careful not to disillusion her!). She had already analysed some of the water brought up from about five kilometres deep, and had proudly announced that she had detected traces of amino-acids—although with structures somewhat different from the amino-acids found in terrestrial life. She was hoping that deeper down, the bore­hole would yield up actual proteins—and then what next?

Vikki was, as always, finding Murielle’s conduct insufferable. Persistently murmuring to herself: “Mes petits mômes! My leetle darlings! Ne crains pas! J’suis bien sûr qu’vous êtes là!” and so on. It got on Vikki’s nerves and she did her best to give Murielle a wide berth.

Nevertheless, the time was not ripe to drop her bombshell: both she and Gustave were agreed on that. Murielle may be a pain in the neck, but there was no call to upset her nor make an enemy of her. Let her make her mighty discoveries without us forestalling her!

The drilling to such extreme depths was a slow process and the crew’s impatience was evident. Vikki, unsurprisingly, was the most jittery: not so much at the drilling progress as at the burden of keeping her secret. The more cool-headed Gustave was far less so. At their debriefing they had told Alex and the other crew members that there was nothing more of interest to discover in the ‘hummock’—and the lie had been readily accepted—even more so because Alex had gone out herself along with Paul and Joachim. They had checked out the hummock—and luckily the hummock had not revealed its secret to them.

In the end Gustave came to have a quiet word with Vikki in her cabin. “You’re on edge, Vikki. I’m not surprised, but you’re not handling it very well. I suggest you spend as much time outside as you can, away from the base. I’ll put in a word with Alex.”

So it came about that Vikki was tasked with going out on the ice to search for meteorites. As the mission’s geologist, she would normal­ly have the duty of examining native rock formations on Enceladus—but the nearest outcrop was nearly thirty kilometres away, and the buggies with the necessary range were not yet in service. On the other hand, much could be learned about the outer Solar System by examining such meteorites as may have come to rest on the icy surface. She would be accompanied by Paul: Vikki guessed that his ulterior duty was to ‘chaperone’ her and ensure she didn’t get into any more trouble—but she was comfortable with this. More than comfortable in fact: she was secretly pleased because she still felt attracted to him. Indeed, she was minded to flirt with him, just a little! Inasmuch as flirting was possible when encumbered by a space-suit…

The alien being—the hummock—could wait: she was becoming scared of it anyway, and wasn’t sure she was ready for another encounter. What if the alien turned out to be less-than-‘friendly’ after all? Having to go right inside its ‘body’—if that was indeed what she had done—wasn’t that a bit too close to the stuff of nightmares? What if it had refused to let her and Gustave out?

Best to turn to the meteorite-hunt for now.

To search the ice, they rode a short-range buggy with enough battery power to allow them to explore up to ten kilometres from the base. Finding meteorites on the surface was not easy: any which might have impacted directly at full speed, unchecked by any atmo­sphere, would have buried themselves deep in the ice, forming an impact crater perhaps but not retrievable. The best chance was to find shrapnel from a meteorite which had burst on impact: some of the fragments may have been ejected horizontally and skimmed across the ice, eventually coming to rest without burying themselves.

After five days of searching, Vikki and Paul had recovered six meteorite fragments. Not an impressive haul but Vikki was pleased enough with their result. She recalled the time she’d spent, several years ago, doing exactly the same thing in Antarctica. In the course of a three-week stay she’d collected nearly fifty meteorites. But six fragments on Enceladus—under the far dimmer light and hampered by space-suits—was some achievement, even if none of them was bigger than a pea.

Vikki was still tensed up, though. She knew now that she was also lonely: she wanted the comfort of being in Paul’s arms. Not Gustave: she got along with him too well: more of a father or uncle to her. Not Hal: he wasn’t bad-looking and she had snogged with him briefly in order to extract a favour from him—but she didn’t think they’d really get along if she did try to date him.

And, naturally, Dr Ye and Joachim were out of the picture. Too old.

Paul then!

But Paul wasn’t reacting to her glances, so far as she could tell by peering out of her space-suit visor into his. She planned to catch him back at the base, hopefully with more success. But that could wait until the meteorite-hunt was done.

Paul insisted that they spend a few more days out on the ice. He seemed somewhat surprised when Vikki suggested calling a halt after only five days: surely she was eager to collect as many meteor­ites as possible? But she quickly changed her mind, and in the end they went out for three more days and collected another four pieces—one of them about the size of a walnut, a big improvement!

Vikki was careful not to contaminate the fragments by bringing them into the base’s atmosphere. She put them into the sterile cham­ber just inside the base which Murielle had set up. It was open to the vacuum of Enceladus, and was equipped with extendable waldos, so that she could handle and test the fragments in their pristine state.

But analysing their composition would take time. And ten frag­ments was far too small a sample for any statistical assessment. Vikki was keen to discover whether the ratio of chondrites to achon­drites and iron meteorites was the same as that found on Earth. Meteorites collected here in the outer Solar System, close to Saturn, were likely to originate from the Centaurs—rocky bodies orbiting between Jupiter’s and Neptune’s orbits—or maybe even from the Kuiper belt, home of many comets and dwarf planets. But with the small sample she had to work with, it was impossible to make any precise judgement.

Should she suggest another sortie?

At least she was ‘keeping up’ with Murielle! Two of the fragments had shown up minute traces of amino-acids—making Vikki wonder whether they were in fact derived from ejecta thrown up from Enceladus itself. She showed the fragments and explained her discovery to Murielle, much to the latter’s delight: Murielle too was feeling frustrated with the slow progress in the drilling.

In the meantime Vikki’s attempts to win over at least some interest from Paul were getting nowhere. Of course standard wear inside the Valentina and the base didn’t help matters: jumpsuit and trainers. Not exactly flattering! Should she do something about it? She rum­maged through the small clothes-locker which was all that crew members were allowed in their cabin. She’d packed a short cotton dress among her belongings, but that would hardly do: dresses and skirts went haywire in microgravity—much to the embarrassment of the wearer! In fact Vikki wondered why on earth she’d included it.

Searching a bit deeper, she uncovered a pair of booty shorts—and a skimpy crop-top with a good measure of décolleté. That would do! There was also some make-up: something she rarely used but perhaps this was the time. Was there a chance of catching Paul in the Mess room—or should she just breeze into his cabin?

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Perhaps better not be too direct. And best to wait until the prescribed mealtime (Alex had made that a rule: meals to be taken together if possible. Not strictly enforced but a help towards getting the crew to interact socially).

Accordingly, at the appointed time Vikki changed into her shorts and crop-top, and applied a bit of lipstick and mascara. Mustn’t overdo it, she mused—no way did she want to be compared to Murielle; that fruitcake! Making her way to the Mess, she found she was the first one there. Sighing, she helped herself to a coffee bulb, a vegetarian hot-dog, and a pouch of salad; and strapped herself into a chair to wait.

The first to arrive—just her luck!—was Alex. She cast a brief glance at Vikki, then gazed at her more intently, with a grin.

“Ah, young Vikki, so we’re thinking of becoming like a teenager once again, are we?” she chuckled. Vikki blushed but did not reply: she knew better than to snap at Alex’s annoying banter. After a moment, Alex shrugged, ordered herself a meal, and sat down in one of the other chairs.

Next to arrive were Gustave, Dr Ye, and Joachim, who came in together. Gustave and Dr Ye exchanged brief smiles with Vikki before going to order their meals, while Joachim didn’t even glance at her (he rarely spoke to her at any time). She could have sworn that Gustave winked at her as he passed, but she said nothing and continued eating.

At length Paul turned up. All eager, Vikki gave him her sweetest smile, crossed her legs enticingly, and leaned towards him, exposing a bit more of her cleavage. But alas! Paul barely glanced at her before turning away, and after collecting his meal he sat in one of the chairs furthest from her. Vikki pouted and finished her meal despondently. As for Hal and Murielle—neither of them turned up: evidently too busy.

---§§§---

Back in her cabin, Vikki was just changing back into her jumpsuit when there was a knock on the door. She called out “wait!” while she made herself decent, then she let Gustave into her cabin. She was relieved that it was he.

“You look troubled again, Vikki my dear,” he began. “Is it about Paul?”

“How do you know that?” Vikki retorted, somewhat peeved.

“It’s as plain as if it were written all over your face, Vikki. Don’t think I haven’t noticed! You going all gooey-eyed at him all the time. But you may be out of luck with him, I’m afraid.”

Vikki didn’t mind Gustave coming across so personal with her. More than ever, she thought of him as a kindly father, someone to be trusted with her deepest secrets.

“Do you think he’s gay?” she ventured, after a pause.

“Not as far as I know. Alex is gay—but I’m sure you knew that already. She’s got a wife back on Earth. And I think Joachim is gay—though that wouldn’t matter to you. But Paul? No—now I recall, when I was with him on Ganymede a few years back, he had a girl­friend with him. Carla her name was; I don’t know if he’s still seeing her. She was Black like him: maybe Paul prefers to go with Black women?”

Vikki was silent. In her heart she’d already guessed this, though she was reluctant to admit the fact to herself.

“I shouldn’t really be saying this,” continued Gustave, “but I can’t help noticing that Hal seems to have an eye on you. My guess is, he rather fancies you.”

“But he’s nearly ten years older than me,” put in Vikki, quickly.

“Does age matter?” said Gustave. “I’ll say no more: I can see that you want time by yourself for a while.” And he quietly slipped out of the cabin, leaving Vikki with tears starting from her eyes.

---§§§---

Crying wasn’t a good idea in microgravity: instead of running down your cheeks, the tears remained lodged in your eyelashes giving you blurred vision. Vikki dabbed at her eyes with her handkerchief, removing most of the mascara in the process, and sat on her bunk deep in thought.

Hal?

Vikki knew that she was lonely and would find comfort in the company of a boyfriend. Hal was in his forties, true, but he wasn’t all that bad looking. And she had kissed him—albeit with an ulterior motive…

She made her way to his cabin but he wasn’t there. Probably out at the drilling rig, half a kilometre away from the base, she guessed. Try the space-suit lockers. Yes: Hal’s suit was missing, and so was Murielle’s. Damn!—she must be there too. No help for it. At least, with all of them in space-suits, she wouldn’t have to breathe in Murielle’s obnoxious perfume!

Vikki wasn’t supposed to go outside without permission, and not without an escort. But surely the short trek to the rig didn’t count? She suited up and then sought out Alex.

“I just want to watch the drilling for a while. There’s always the chance something interesting might pop up,” she lied.

“All right, Vikki: but mind you go straight there and then come straight back. No wandering off!”

Vikki had some misgivings as she trekked across the ice. Did she really want to form a liaison with Hal? He wasn’t very approachable and didn’t talk much. Well, she would try.

The drilling was paused for the moment, and Murielle was indeed there, looking excited. A sample of melted ice from the thirteen-kilometre level had just been drawn to the surface, and she was eager to secure it and get it back to the base. And she was certainly crowing about it!

“Il y aura … there vill be … protéines … how you say it?”

“The same. ‘Proteins’,” Hal explained.

“J’en suis sûr … ‘proteins’ … in this leetle spécimen! I must test it tout de suite! I go back to base maintenant…”

And she was gone. Vikki hoped no-one heard her sigh of relief over the radio.

“Annoying, isn’t it?” commented Hal, as he prepared the rig for resumption of drilling. “Why does she always speak like that? French all the time—or English all the time—OK—but why the mixture? Why this Monty Python crap?”

This was the first time Vikki had heard the normally taciturn Hal voice an opinion on anyone. She was impressed—and secretly encouraged. But one thing puzzled her.

“ ‘Monty Python’?”

“Ah, you probably wouldn’t know. A British comedy film from back in the twentieth century. Lot of it filmed in Scotland—near where I come from. There’s a character in it who talks in a silly faux-French accent—a bit like Murielle. I’m a—sort of a fan.”

“I never knew that, Hal. So you’re into old movies, are you?”

“One of my guilty pleasures. Apart from work. Not that I have many…”

“You have family, back on Earth, do you? In Scotland?” Vikki ventured.

There was a long pause. Hal didn’t seem disposed to answer.

“All right,” continued Vikki. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to upset you. Mind if I stay and watch a while? There’s always a chance you might strike something of interest—and I’m always game for any more meteorites if they show up.”

Once the drilling was under way, Hal spoke again.

“Sorry Vikki, I didn’t mean to be rude. Just that things have been—difficult for me, lately. Split with my wife just three months before coming on this mission. And she’s got the kids. All the time. Two splendid lads: both in their teens now: both mad on football. I can’t even see them. Won’t even let me have access…”

“Oh dear, Hal, I’m so sorry about that. Did she—?”

“Was my fault, I guess. Don’t really want to talk about it.”

“Not even to me, Hal? I’m sure I’d be a good listener. If you don’t want to talk now, how about back at the base? When do you go off duty?”

“I’ve got just three hours left in my suit, so I’ll certainly be back before then. If I’m not, I’m dead…”

“All right. I’ll head back now. Talk later.”

---§§§---

Back in her cabin, Vikki was fingering the clothes in her locker. She pulled out the dress once again. What the hell! she thought to herself. I brought this dress along, why don’t I use it? If it fits…

She stripped off her clothes, all except her underpants, and squeezed herself into the dress. Yes: it just about fitted her, even if it was pretty tight round the body. And the hemline was well above her knees. Good! She wished she had a mirror, but didn’t feel inclined to venture into the communal bathroom dressed like that. No makeup: she guessed Hal wouldn’t appreciate it—but she tidied her hair meticulously. She was sure she looked good. And she’d go to Hal’s barefoot.

Holding the hem of her dress down with one hand, so that it wouldn’t billow up, she made her way carefully to Hal’s cabin and knocked.

Hal was sitting on his bunk. He glanced at Vikki as she came in—then his eyes did a double-take.

“My God, Vikki, I’ve never seen you looking like that!” he blurted out, before he could stop himself.

“I decided I’ve had it to here with these wretched jumpsuits. I wanted to put on something different, just for now. So I tried this on: my one and only dress. Don’t you like it?”

“Yes I do—of course I do—you look gorgeous—but…”

“Don’t argue then. But it’s a bit tight round my b— … round the upper part of my body. I’m wondering if the fabric’s got caught up in the zip. Would you be an angel, Hal dear, and check it for me? Pull it down first…” She could sense the effect she was having on Hal, as she turned her back on him.

Hal duly obliged. “Seems OK to me,” he muttered. But as soon as she felt the zip was down, Vikki twisted around to face him and clamped her mouth over his. At the same time she wriggled out of her dress, leaving it floating in mid-air. Then she grabbed the toggle of his jumpsuit zip…

---§§§---

‘Not paired for reproduction’! Later, much much later, as they relaxed, exhausted, on Hal’s bunk, Vikki on top, she couldn’t help giggling as she recalled those words she’d typed for the alien’s benefit, about her and Gustave. If only the alien could see her with Hal now, what would it think? She playfully pushed herself up with her hands—easy in Enceladus’ negligible gravity—then let herself sink slowly back onto the half-asleep Hal’s chest. It was a comfort­ing feeling.

She was content.