Verse 63
Mission day 611. Saturn fills half the observation window and still looks like a graphic someone forgot to render realistically.
Mission day 611. Saturn fills half the observation window and still looks like a graphic someone forgot to render realistically.
Mission control says isolation metrics remain acceptable.
We have stopped asking what acceptable means.
Enceladus threw another plume into sunlight today.
Water from beneath an ice world: a fountain from a sealed room.
Half the crew wants microbes. The other half wants one week without equipment alarms.
Titan is orange, hidden, patient.
I understand why ancient people gave planets personalities. Distance invites projection.
Up close, projection gets complicated by maintenance logs.
Dr. Chen says the rings are young on geological scales. Malik says everything is young if your scale is rude enough.
We laughed too hard.
Sound becomes precious on a long mission.
Even irritation proves another mind is nearby.
Last night I dreamed the rings were grooves on a record.
The ship's orbit was the needle.
The music was too low to hear.
I woke before deciding whether that was profound or merely sleep deprivation.
Radiation check normal.
Fuel margin normal.
Psychological status apparently poetic.
If life exists beneath that ice, it has never seen a sunrise.
I keep thinking about that.
Perhaps light is not required for wonder.
Perhaps wonder is just the name humans give to ignorance before the instruments arrive.
Tomorrow we sample the plume.