Day 4
Last night, I dreamed of a dentist's chair, a tray of gleaming metal tools, a crinkly paper bib, a gurgling suction hose. I awoke and immediately remembered that I was not a dentist. However, I can identify diseased and damaged body parts, and I know that the offending tooth will need to come out. As of now, I am too much a chicken to do it myself. The pain in my tooth is most wretched and has moved to a more central location in my mouth, filling every available nook with incessant throbbing. It is difficult to chew the dehydrated meat and tallow rounds onboard, and I have resorted to a mostly puréed fruit and vegetable diet, which has—in turn—wreaked havoc on my digestive system. Thankfully, I am not competing for the toilet with anyone else. I can sit in misery alone and peacefully.
S2215C doesn't judge, nor does its hot, blue sun. Between the heat and the gravitational force of the gray planet, my body craves that dehydrated meat and fat. It is a necessary yet offensive energy source in my current state and is intended to make up at least half of my daily diet. I do not have exploration energy, but I have a duty that requires putting on my boots and stepping out into the gray wilderness regardless of the pain. There is no alternative. If I do not collect the samples, there is nobody else to complete the task. Knowing the state of Earth on the day of my departure, samples collection is a most important and rather urgent duty.
Two days ago, I made it to the lone tree visible from my capsule window. Getting close enough to collect a piece of bark or a few leaves for biological studies proved to be quite the challenge, for the entire tree was ringed with rope-like creatures that slithered and hissed but appeared to be without heads or tails, endlessly churning as a swarm in a hive. I thought about loosing one of the ink-black creatures from the tree, but I found no way to get close enough to reach one well enough to try, let alone a place to gain purchase for a lever.
The spongy ground makes gravitational force much heavier as I sink into the planet with every step. Yesterday, I hacked away at the gray sponge, determined to collect the coveted samples. I managed to free a chunk, a cube of about three centimeters. What I can describe only as a planetary wound began to ooze a viscous plasma of shimmering violet I dared not touch. I managed to scoop up a large vial of the stuff for testing before trudging back to the capsule. The whole process took hours and exhausted me to my very bones.
Today, I should return to the tree, address the writhing mass at its base, collect bark, leaves, photographs, specimens. But the tree will have to wait. Instead, I shall venture into the cavern beyond the tree, not visible from the capsule but present nonetheless. The cave calls to me, and I hear its call just as a new mother hears her baby, which is delightful and entirely frightening. Though not designed for spelunking or intense hiking of any kind, my boots will have to do. I am thankful, at least, that S2215C has delicious, oxygen-rich air for breathing and that I won't need the added burden of oxygen tanks on my journey. I have enough to think about.
My breakfast is light—puréed peaches mixed into milled cereal grain—and unsatisfying. The mug of coffee is bitter without cane sugar or cream. My bag contains a lump of meat and a packet of freeze-dried berries to encourage myself to eat the meat I know I need. My mouth is throbbing just thinking about it now. My bag also contains a poultice for inflammation and plenty of water, which is one element of human importance I have not yet seen on this planet. I hope that the cave will lead the way to water. If I find water, I can go home.
Home. The word feels alien, strange, on my lips.
Though it has only been a few days on this planet, the mental weight of passing Earth years seems more pressing than it did when I departed. Were I to leave S2215C today, I would return to Earth in time to learn that everyone I had ever known or loved is dead. That will be the case regardless of my return date. The only thing that brings me comfort is knowing that my husband and daughter are already dead, that I have no family waiting for me, as they had perished long before my journey.
Thus, I will carry on my research. It is the only thing that gives me purpose.
Signing off,
CB