Winds of Europa

This is the second version, rewritten as omniscient narrator instead of first person

For the original version, see

STATIC

Winds on Europa  (13+) Sometimes the natives aren't friendly to visitors #2256673 by Graywriter

"Landing sequence for Europa starts in eight minutes." Téron Lachance's voice was calm, as though the thirteen-month voyage to Jupiter's sixth moon had been a Sunday drive. Calmness under pressure was a good quality in a mission commander.

"Téron, I'm seeing a bit of vortex turbulence a few kilometres north of the landing site. Dmitri, you're our exometeorologist. Check Display 15. Any concerns?" Berit Olsen sounded a bit excited, though she strove to mimic the stolid Téron.

"Got it, Berit." Dmitri Kovalenko studied the display. It had been known for decades that Europa had a tenuous oxygen atmosphere, and it was no surprise to find whirlwinds; they'd been seen on Mars as well. The advance probe had shown a few vortices here and there around the cracks in the moon's icy mantle, but none at the proposed landing site. Yet, here they were.

"Atmospheric pressure and wind velocity are all good,” Kovalenko reported. “The vortex activity is well out of the way, and looks minor, barely enough to show up on the scan. Shouldn't be a problem."

"Merci.” The slip into his native French showed that Téron was perhaps not as phlegmatic as he seemed. “Major Olsen, Doctor Kovalenko, it is time. Landing sequence is go on my mark.... Now.”

= = =

On Earth, minor vortexes are disrupted easily when they encounter an obstacle, so the crew had accepted the computer-chosen landing site and just ignored the whirlwinds. Perhaps that was the first mistake.

When they left the lander and began to set up the Station with the incredible bulk of Jupiter sailing high above, there were perhaps a half-dozen whirlwinds to greet them. They ranged in diameter from willowy straws to metre-broad swaths of air, in height between waist-high to perhaps twice a man's height. They would pop up in the middle of nowhere, wander around the site for a while, and then dissipate into little piles of dust and ice crystals.

"It is almost like they are coming to check us out," laughed Téron. The group had unloaded the first bubble, the commons module, and its dull gray plastic looked clean and foreign against the dirty ice. The others looked around, and decided he was right. The little spinners held further back, racing from side to side like excited puppies. The larger ones, more daring, came closer, their movements seemingly more purposeful.

"Kind of like a bunch of neighborhood kids watching a construction crew, right, Berit?"

She glanced at the little whirlwinds and agreed. "Ja, Dmitri. Like my brothers in Norway, dancing around a grass snake, daring each other to grab it." The three staked the bubble down on the ice, and Téron pushed the button to start the chemical reaction that would auto-inflate it. As it slowly grew, they went on to the next task, while keeping a curious eye on the little vortexes. They considered them harmless and they compared them to puppies and children. That was the second mistake.

Within three days, ship time, they had completed the commons bubble and initial setup. The little fusion plant was busy providing heat and power to counter the blistering cold. The collectors were compressing atmospheric oxygen for present and future use. The converter was mining ice for future rocket fuel so they could eventually return to their orbiting transport ship. Soon they would set up the next two bubbles and move in.

They were growing tired of being sardines in the tin can of the lander and were looking forward to the relative roominess of the three bubbles, which were basically research lab, kitchen/dining/common space, and habitat/sleeping quarters. They got along well (they had to, for the trip here) but it would be good not to have their elbows up each others' noses.

"Heavens, look at those things," Téron marvelled during their move from the lander to the habitat bubble. There were half a dozen whirlwinds lining the path. Berit swiped at one with her glove, and as they expected it broke apart. The others danced back as the crew walked to the bubble airlock, then crowded in behind as they entered.

"That's creepy," she said. "They almost seem to show curiosity." Still, the crew paid little heed, and that was the third mistake.

They completed the Station and settled in to their mission of exploring the most likely second place in the solar system where life might be found. Moving was easy in the low gravity, despite their bulky thermal suits. They set up seismometers to test the theory of a liquid water core. They measured ice depth. They sent out wide-bladed drones to map the narrow surface cracks. They collected and tested ice and air samples. They recorded atmospheric measures of oxygen, water vapor, and other gases. Wherever they went, they were accompanied by a little ice-devil or two.

“You could argue that they show signs of intelligence," marvelled Téron during one out-trip. “It is as though they were observing us."

"Or as I once said," added Berit, "curious about what we’re doing."

"Nonsense," Dmitri objected. "How could a local wind disturbance possibly have intelligence? Or even the means or mechanisms for intelligence? It can't even show the signs of life -- respiration, ingestion, excretion, reproduction."

"It certainly shows motion," Téron argued, "and you might consider that it ingests and excretes dust and ice crystals. And the fact that they follow us suggests an awareness of the environment."

"I think you're both anthropomorphising. And mistaking coincidence for causation."

The discussion of the possibility of intelligence continued off and on for days. It was more entertainment than serious consideration. Perhaps that was the fourth mistake.

= = =

When the research bubble popped, they were all in the commons, which may have saved their lives. "What on Earth--" Berit yelped. "Micrometeorite? Material failure?" She sealed her suit and turned to the control display.

"Check the corridors, Berit," Téron ordered.

"Panels down and sealed," she reported. Although their ears had popped with the pressure drop, they had all sealed up immediately, and had suffered no serious injury.

"Air and power nominal," Berit chimed in. "Lab pressure down but no breach." Because the bubbles were on a parallel circuit for power and air supply, any one bubble could sustain the group. Although with the food all in the commons....
"Okay, pressure is holding, that is good. Berit, watch the board, especially power and compressor feed. Dmitri, you and I on exterior reconnaissance."

They exited the airlock into a flurry of little whirlwinds. Like a flock of bloody starlings, Dmitri thought. They plowed through them, scattering cascades of ice crystals and dust. Was it only his imagination that their suits began to look...polished?

The lab bubble was not badly damaged. One section of the outer layer appeared to be abraded, worn thin to the point that inter-layer pressure had bulged and popped this weakened area. The inner layer had held but the loss of suspension pressure had triggered the alarm and closed the corridors.

"We will need a patch," said Téron. He kicked at the piles of ice crystals at the base of the bubble. "Check the other bubbles, Dmitri. I will go for the patch." He radioed Berit that he was headed to the lander, where the patch materials were stored.

Dmitri began to circle the station, checking bubbles and corridors. He found several more abraded areas, each one just above a small pile of ice crystals and dust. As he came around the final bubble, the common, he encountered an icy whirlwind half again his size. It was somehow snuggled against the bubble, rubbing up against it without being disrupted.

"Get out of here, critter!" He charged into it, waving his gloves. He could feel the pressure of wind and ice on his hands and arms as the vortex collapsed. When he examined the bubble plastic, he could see where it had been scored and worn by the rubbing of ice and dust. He radioed Téron with the location, adding, "Bring extra patches. And we need to talk."

Kovalenko ducked back through the airlock. "We've got problems," he announced to Berit.

"I'll say. For some reason, the exterior atmospheric pressure has almost doubled and the wind speed is up almost as much."

"That can't be right. Static air pressure and air velocity are inverse. If the pressure goes up, the wind speed goes down."

"On Earth, yes. This is Europa. The relative humidity is up, too. Surface ice is sublimating into the atmosphere in greater quantity."

“Any danger to the station?"

"Well, the ice plate isn't going to dissolve under us. But the atmosphere is becoming denser and there's more air- and wind-pressure on the bubbles. With the wind rising, the drones are coming back on auto-home."

By then, Téron had placed the first patch and was re-inflating the lab. Berit radioed him, "Téron, you'd better come in and take a look at the videos from the drones. We've got a lot of vortex activity on the side away from you."

A lot, indeed. By the time Téron was back inside, the bubbles were surrounded like Custer at Little Bighorn. The drones showed a dozen good-sized spinners clustered around the station, taking turns moving in close and rubbing a spot on a bubble. When one whirlwind collapsed, another moved into its place.

"Son of a bitch!" Téron growled. He flew a drone around the station, dissolving every whrlwind it touched, but others quickly sprang up. "It is absolutely impossible but the damn things are intelligent. We are under attack. Everybody sealed up? Berit, get all the spare tanks and power packs charged, stat! Dmitri, how are the bubbles?"

"Commons is almost worn through, needs a patch pretty soon. Others show wear. Corridors too."

"Damn. We don't have enough patches to cover everything. I guess they would just wear through if we did. And the
rising wind is picking up ice crystals and getting to be like sandpaper even without those ice-devils chewing at us."
"Berit will get this all into our report, " Kovalenko said.

"Ja. It will go out with the next burst."

"Oui, it will let Mission Control know our situation. Some help to the next expedition. But we are on our own."

"What about the lander?" Kovalenko wondered.

"Showing signs of wear, though there were no vortexes around when I was there for the patch."

= = =

When the commons bubble popped, they transmitted the last radio burst, loaded up the power unit, compressor and some food, and headed for the lander. The whirlwinds followed and may have tried to rub on their suits, but the crew was too quick moving. They could just wave or walk through the vortices and they were gone. So they worked relatively unimpeded to re-install power and get the compressor pumping oxygen into the lander's tanks.

"Too much water vapor in the air," complained Berit as they settled in and stowed what supplies they had brought. "Filter is overloaded. It can't drain fast enough."

"Well, at least we won't die of thirst," Dmitri joked.

"Dmitri, we will die on Europa."

"It was always a possibility. We knew that when we signed on. We only hoped we could survive six months until the next mission arrived."

"Look at the radar," Téron said. They looked. The display showed eight large vortexes converging on the lander, with larger ones in the distance. Impossible atmospheric conditions with impossible consequences.

"How long can the lander last?" Dmitri wondered out loud.

"Not long enough." Téron set his service pistol on the comm desk.

Dmitri nodded. “Good. Faster than using up the air in our suits.”

"Can you do this, Téron?" asked Berit. "Will you do this for us?"

"I am in command. If I must, I will. J’en suis certain."

"You'll have to," Dmitri said. "Now, or shall we wait?"

"A vote?" suggested Berit. They voted to wait. Until there was no more time left.

The lander began to vibrate. The noise on the hull was like a buzz saw grinding.

They wouldn't have to wait long.