Chapter 5 - A Little Get-Together
Adam barely made it in time back to TPRU-1’s suitport before the scrubbers filled up completely. He slammed his back into the slot, feeling the backpack click into place, and hit the button to sterilize it. Again a two-minute timer popped up on the still-opened display, and started a countdown. Each agonizingly-long second further tantalized Adam for the promise of fresh, clean air inside the capsule.
Adam stared down at the timer – and the scrubber capacity readout, which was flashing a red zero percent. Even so, it’s probably not a problem – I definitely have at least two minutes of oxygen in this suit. That thought started to calm him down – and as he did, he looked down at his boots, still dripping wet with specks of alien creek scum stuck to them. Yep – cutting across that creek was the best decision I ever made. Turned out the Strauss model was well-suited for water exploration just as well as in the air – though in the process, he’d had to cut across someone’s yard to get there. But when you’re about to choke and die, sometimes you gotta take that shortcut.
Oh right, I’ve got some samples to sterilize, don’t I? Adam decided to kill his sterilization time doing just that. On his left, above the suitport sterilizer button, was a small door. It swung out and away from him, and it revealed a small locker-like compartment inside the lander’s walls. Perfect. He still had his map in his hand, so he placed that inside first. Then he opened each of his pouches, and deposited the other paper with his notes, and the random jewel the dragon gave him. Commander Darcy said that I shouldn’t sterilize organic samples in here, he recalled. But gemstones aren’t organic. Right? He shut the door, and noticed a button in the center – pushing it with his thumb locked that door, vented the air from inside, and started the sterilization process in there as well. That’ll take two minutes as well, I’ll bet. He looked down at the timer – forty-five seconds remaining. Then I can kill that time changing out the scrubber. Perfect!
He realized in that moment that he wasn’t followed – not by Antir, not by the dragon, not by any other equine. Even that rainbow-maned one must not have seen me – despite having the aerial advantage over me. He shrugged. Must be Antir’s approval. He breathed in relief, not even caring how much oxygen that took up – because the timer had reached its end.
:04. . .
:03. . .
:02. . .
:01. . .
:00!
In that moment, he felt the pressure release from his back as the suit’s hatch swung open by itself, followed by a rush of cool, sweet, fresh air. He breathed it in deeply – Gods, that feels so much better! – and started shimmying out of his suit. First, his arms – which he used to grab the bar over his head, allowing him to pull himself up and out of the legs of the suit. Once he planted his feet firmly on the ground, only then did he notice just how much he had sweat inside that suit. Guess I needed that fan after all. Checking first to make sure the window’s aperture shutter was shut – which it was, thankfully – he started to strip off his cooling and waste absorbent garments, noting all the sweat that kept pouring off of his body all the while. Man, I could really use a bath. He looked around, but couldn’t find such a facility – only a sink and toilet nearby – neither of which would really work for him.
One radio call would solve that problem, he realized. “Zulu-Alfa, this is Tango-1,” he opened. “I have just disembarked from my suit after running the carbon scrubbers to their limit. Did Anton remember to pack anything for hygeine? I’ve built up quite a sweat. Over.” Let’s see if I can remember how to change scrubbers afterward.
“This is Zulu-Alfa,” the reply came from Louis. “He should have packed some special soaps and such in the cargo. Please try to conserve them and use them only as needed; there is only so much, after all. Anything else? Over.”
“Negative Zulu-Alfa, that’s the long and short of it,” Adam replied. “Tango-1 out.” Alright, let’s check the manifest. . . . After a few minutes of looking, he found what he needed: “HYGIENE – ГИГИЕНА.” Inside that particular crate were several bottles of liquid soaps and shampoos – none of which, as he recalled, needed water to work. As advertised. And right at the bottom of the crate was a tightly-folded towel, for when he was done with washing. The instructions on the bottles were also bilingual – at first, Adam chuckled about the fact that shampoo needed instructions, but then he remembered, this was a radically different formulation, so they would be justified. The process was pretty similar to regular shampoo – he had to squirt it directly into his hair, give it some handscrubbing, then just dry it off when he was done, and use no water – or a bit of water, for any stubborn spots remaining. The soaps were a similar story. And I should have enough to last me a few months, if I conserve it like he said. I’m not comfortable with that sort of timeframe, but. . . it is what it is.
Man, that’s a lot I ought to do. Probably should make a checklist. Adam grabbed a notebook and pen, and ripped a page out. He put down everything he remembered he had to do:
□ Wash hair/body
□ Eat something, replenish fluids
□ Replace carbon scrubber in suit
□ Retrieve/study notes/map/jewel
That last one’s going to take me a while, he realized. As helpful as Antir’s been, I hope she doesn’t bother me for the rest of the day. From the consumables crate, he fished out some freeze-dried goulash and beef jerky, along with a packet of distilled water, and left them on the galley’s counter for later.
He squirted some shampoo right into his scalp, then set to work washing his hair. The instructions said to do this for about three minutes, so he tried to be as thorough as possible. Once he was sure each strand of hair had been handled, he grabbed the towel and ran it through his hair. He felt it as the towel passed through – my! That stuff is magic! I wonder why we don’t have it for sale back on Earth. . . . It was a similar story with the soap – he just applied it onto his body, and toweled it off with no residue whatsoëver. This meant anywhere on his body – face, chest, back, arms, stomach, legs, unmentionables – was now clean and free of sweat. Wash hair and body – check! He deposited the bottles underneath the cot.
Adam then slipped his jumpsuit back on, zipping up the front, then sat down at the galley. The jerky was labeled for no water – duh – but the goulash came with a few more instructions – “150 mL hot water, 5-10 min. – 150 мл. горячей воды, 5-10 мин.” Probably should’ve thought ahead, Adam thought. He grabbed the red hydration gun, ticked the dial to 75, inserted the nozzle inside the straw, and injected. Twice. The stream of water permeated the cracks and holes in the block of meat stew, and started working its magic in bringing the Hungarian staple back to life. In the meantime, he replaced the hydration gun and started munching, almost absentmindedly, on a stick of jerky to tide himself over. This is going to be a long ten minutes, he thought. He looked to the window, but found the aperture was shut. He got up to open it, and see the new day while not in a panic. It was another beautiful day outside, a sky clear of clouds – probably as scheduled today. Actually, he realized, why don’t I get to replacing the scrubber? And retrieving my items?
Moving aside the suit’s hatch-door, he opened the locker from the inside, and saw that the two minutes had passed by without him realizing. Here was the gem, still as red as ever, and the papers with the map and his notes, none the worse for wear. Adam would copy down the map and re-sterilize it for later EVA use. The notes, however, would remain inside the lander. Retrieve notes, map, and jewel – check? Still gotta study them, of course.
Next he focused on the scrubber. As he recalled from his training, the scrubber was a module on the lower-right side of the backpack – well, lower-right when he was wearing it. He glanced behind him at the suit – it should have been white, but the one in his suit was black as coal. Oh yeah, that’s gonna need replacing. So then he checked the cargo – and right in front of him was a thin cardboard box that read “SPARE CARBON DIOXIDE SCRUBBER (STRAUSS) – ЗАПАСНОЙ ПОГЛОТИТЕЛЬ ДВУОКИСИ УГЛЕРОДА (СТРАУС).” Strauss-specific, huh? He looked up and saw several spares for the lander itself. Figures I gotta do that too at some point.
He popped open the box and slid it out – and just like from his memory, its screen was perfectly white. Huh, and it’s heavier than I thought. He lugged it over to the suitport and set it down. There was an arrow printed above the one in the suit, pointing to the left. He twisted the scrubber in that direction, and it jolted loose. He grabbed it and gingerly set it down. Then he picked up the fresh scrubber and set it inside its slot, twisting it to the right to lock it in place. Replacing the suit’s scrubber – check! But what do I do with the old one?
He looked around for a solution, then hit upon it: there was a scrubber restorer aboard the lander – a compartment above the toilet that should clean the scrubber for him. All he needed to do was insert it, twist to lock it in place just like in the suit itself, and let it do all the work cleaning out and sequestering all the carbon it had loaded up. It should take about two hours, but one could not argue with the results. As long as he handled both of them carefully, the scrubbers should last him for the duration of the mission.
Gingerly, he picked up the full scrubber and hobbled it over to the toilet, where the scrubber restorer waited for him. Opening its door, Adam inserted the scrubber into its slot, just like in the suit, turned it to lock it in place, and firmly shut it, making sure the door made a click. He didn’t do anything else with it, and it started up automatically. Well, that was pretty easy, I’ll have to hand it to the Russians.
Feeling his stomach still growl, he turned around – and saw the goulash, still rehydrating on the galley. Oh, that’s probably ready right about now! He grabbed the bag and pondered how he was supposed to consume it. He figured that through the straw in the bag would be the simplest idea, so he gave that a try.
It worked.
It’s probably the correct way, now that I think about it. Whatever recipe NASA or Roscosmos used to make the goulash was a lot spicier than he expected – but then, he did read somewhere that taste buds don’t work as well in orbit. Or maybe that’s just how goulash is normally made, Adam hypothesized as well. I’ve never had it before. Who am I to judge? He braced himself for the rest of the packet, wondering just what it was that gave the stew such a kick. Paprika for sure, but what else is there?
He finished the calorie-dense food within a few minutes, both the goulash and the jerky, and his belly was all the more thankful for it. Eat and drink something – check! That was a disaster yesterday. He signed in some contentment. Alright, let’s get started with the last item on the list –
Then he heard noises outside. Specifically, clattering on the lander’s scaffolding, then what sounded like a hard impact on the window. More clattering, then something running away.
Yeah, that’s way too weird for me to ignore. Adam got up from the galley, disposing of the jerky and goulash bags first, and slid the window aperture open. Apparently, one of the Indigenous left a piece of paper, attached by an adhesive strip to the window. On it were a series of drawings – from left to right, it was a bulky humanoid figure, with a backpack – I’m guessing that’s me in the suit – followed by the usual rod-and-sphere arrow-like symbol, which pointed at a rather detailed drawing of a building he didn’t remember seeing in the town, and next to it six equine figures. I guess we hadn’t gone that way. And who are those equines? Why are they gathered here? Do they mean harm? If they’re planning an ambush, this is definitely not the way to do it. The sun shone through the paper, which let him see that there was a map on the other side, with a line roughly tracing out a way to go. From the lander to that dwelling, he realized. Whoëver planted that there just now really wants me to show up, and I’m guessing as soon as possible.
But how do I ensure my safety? And how do I do so without frightening them? Adam’s safety was paramount, just as much as that of Rhysling’s biosphere, but at the same time, he had been tasked with documenting the Indigenous language, and that meant coöperating and coördinating with them – peacefully, and not by force. Adam decided that the dilemma was irreconcilable, and went with the option that preserved his mission best. Guess I’ll have to suit up and hope for the best.
This time, remembering yesterday’s fiasco, he checked the cargo, and found one labeled “NUTRIENT STICKS (STRAUSS) – ПИТАТЕЛЬНЫЕ ПАЛОЧКИ (СТРАУС)” Just what the doctor ordered. He grabbed one – really more of a metal tube than a stick per se – and went to the suit. Inside the lower helmet was a clip that he had neglected to notice the last time he went walking outside – one that perfectly fit the nutrient stick. He unscrewed the cap and, seeing some spill out already, quickly grabbed it up before it went to waste. Crissake, this tastes awful – but it’s all I’ve got in EVA. I’m guessing this was packed by the Soviet program. He shrugged, and next checked the water supply – 90% remaining. Yeah, no worries there for now.
As he was stepping away to put on the other garments – nature called.
–··––
Alright, should be good to go. Wait, almost forgot. Adam grabbed a notebook and pen, and deposited them inside the sterile locker. He shut the door and started sterilizing them there. Lord knows I’ll be taking a good amount of notes on this walk. That settled, he swung himself up, and landed both feet firmly inside the boots of the suit. He pulled his arms inside as well, and once he was situated, he hit the button to sterilize behind him. The monitor was still up, and it blinked to life – displaying 100% scrubber capacity remaining, a countdown from two minutes, and all sorts of other vitals that weren’t relevant at the moment.
He tried reaching over to the window to grab the paper left there – and was surprised to see that he was able to reach it. Carefully, he peeled off the adhesive, so as not to tear the paper itself, and took another look at it. There wasn’t anything in the drawings that he hadn’t seen before, thankfully. Flipping it over showed that he would be entering town the same way he did the day before, only this time he would turn right just before the central square, and keep heading straight. What he was looking for was more or less on its own block.
Thirty seconds left on the timer. Adam folded the display down, then folded up the map, slipping it inside a pouch. I’ll probably need the reminder on the way, he thought. Plus, if anyone asks me what I’m doing, I can just show them. They’ll know what that is, and what I’m to do there. He crossed his arms and waited for the timer to run out.
And run out it did – he felt himself lurch forward, just as he had before. He turned around, and opened the sterile locker, retrieving his items and stashing them in his pouches. This time, with yesterday’s experience, he managed to get down the lander without too much delay, and unlike the ceremonious step the day before, he practically hit the ground running. Well, not a run per se – more of a casual stroll. The Strauss’s joints were still being broken in, and he needed to work up the muscle mass he’d lost in transit, but he was walking along a lot faster than yesterday. Plus, he roughly knew the way there.
He came across the beaten path, much like yesterday, and took it. It was still empty before and behind him – the settlement must not get a lot of out-of-towners – or this just might not be a well-used pathway. Either way. . . . He kept his stride along the path, and found the bridge. Crossing it was a much easier feat, knowing both that it would support his weight or, if it didn’t, that the creek wasn’t very deep and the suit did not let any water in or out.
He made the same turns as Antir had showed him, even coming across those same ponies on that same porch. One of them, cream-furred and red-maned, cautiously waved at him. Trying to be friendly? he thought. He decided to wave back at it, gently, without breaking his stride. It quickly put its hoof away and went back inside. Enough interaction with the big white monster for the day? That’s fine. I’ll try not to stay a stranger here, though.
There was the central tower, high over his head, to mark his way – then, after checking the map provided, turned left and stayed the course. It’s not much further away, he found – right in front of him, in plain view, was one of the most fantastic buildings he had ever seen. It looked exactly like a gigantic gingerbread house, with a chocolate roof and a cupcake tower in the middle, complete with candle-like lamps. I’m guessing it’s some sort of confectioner’s shop, he thought. Much larger than the one I saw the other day. Competition in town? One thing that stuck out for him was the lack of traffic in the streets. Is it not as popular?
He stood still in the street, trying to find even a trace of life. But the suit’s helmet blocked his peripheral vision, and he couldn’t hear any outside sounds too well over his sealed-in breathing. Guess there’s only one way to resolve this. He stepped up to the door, and gently pulled it open.
Well, not completely – the door was in three pieces for some reason, but it was enough for him to get a look inside. The foyer looked to be decorated for a special event – tables were set with assorted refreshments. Colored streamers hung from the walls and ceiling, and rubber balloons decorated the room this way and that. He could see red, yellow, green, blue, purple – and a strange amount of gray. Maybe that’s for colors I can’t see. And there in the room was Antir, with five other equines. Friends of yours?
[xõ eˈdem] Antir greeted, with a wave of her hoof. [n̥ɑpɑˈtɑ] But Adam had barely waved back at her when a familiar-looking pink equine came right up to his face and started chattering at an unbelievably-rapid pace, and in a ridiculously high-pitched voice. [ᵑǃɑpɑˈtɑ ɲiliˈdi ɲiˈbi ɑlˈɹu bl̩d l̩ʃɑltɑᵑʘɑlᵑʘiˈɑ eseˈceɹ ɡin ɣõ xẽleˈsil ɑ inzɑˈzɑ ʃɤʙ̥ɯsɯ̃lʃɯᵑǃiˈɹɯ eʃ ʙil mɯl xɑsɑɹˈʙ̥ǔ ě ě ě ě ě ě] All the while, it kept bouncing around him, inadvertently keeping within his blindspots, making hearing it that much harder. Adam was barely able to keep up with it.
Thankfully, Antir was able to shut down the other’s babbling quickly with a [xõ ɲiliˈdi mɯl mɹ̩ʎɑˈβu] Then she turned to Adam, pointed at herself, and said [ɑ̃.ˈtiɹ l̩.sɑ.ˈpɑ] – then to him, [eˈdem zɤmɹ̩ˈzed] – and lastly to the pink equine, [ɲiliˈdi ɲiˈbi].
“Nyilidee Nyibee?” Adam tried. The pink equine nodded enthusiastically. [eˈdem zɤmɹ̩ˈzed] it said, pointing at him. He nodded stiffly in his suit, and Nyilidee did a backflip to behind a counter. [eˈdem zɤmɹ̩ˈzed] she announced to the other equines.
If only they were all so enthusiastic. Despite his lack of hostility on his part, most of the residents were still a bit leery around this odd white golem that fell from the sky. At least, he thought, that’s what they assume I am. So far Antir and Nyilidee were more accepting of him – Antir by virtue of experience, and Nyilidee. . . well, its reasoning was beyond him. I know I’ll have to prove myself, but it’s a start.
Nyilidee showed him to a table with refreshments, as if to offer him some. Adam had to refuse, with a firm shake of his head, as politely as he could manage. But Nyilidee either didn’t understand, or refused to accept it – it grabbed a small cupcake-like item and shoved it into his mouth – or at least, on the part of his helmet where his mouth would be.
Antir was right behind him, and seemed to chastise Nyilidee. [xõ ɲiliˈdi ʃelˈse seˈsl̩ ɑzɑɹŋobzũɟɑˈmu . mɯl ɑˈmɑ ɑkaɹˈm̥u] At the same time, in her magic, she grabbed a towel to wipe off his helmet, taking care to get it done perfectly.
Nyilidee rolled its eyes. [ɹiˈxɑ̌l eŋbiˈʙɯ ilsɑᵑǃɑlʙ̥iᵑʘẽ̌]
To which Antir fired back, [uˈxɑɹ mɯlˈzl̩ ilekelesˈɹɯ βẽˈzl̩ ɡemˈbeɹ sɑˈn̥ɑl] She sounded offended at whatever Nyilidee had just uttered.
[ɑ̂ːːː] Suddenly Nyilidee looked dejected. It turned to look at the refreshments. [seɹkiˈsɯ̃ ʃɤkelˈɹɯ mɯlˈje zɑlˈnɑ] Meanwhile, Antir lead Adam away from the table, and sat him down at another. From the countertop, she pulled her trusty chalkboard and stick of chalk, and spent a minute or so drawing something on it. When she was done, she turned it around to show him. Adam could quickly recognize Antir’s hindquarter-mark as one of the six drawings presented, but the other five eluded him. After hers were a large lightning bolt from a cloud, three balloons, three diamonds, three butterflies, and three fruit-like objects. Interesting that they have butterfly-like creatures on Rhysling, Adam mused. Wait, none of them are alike. Do they signify something deeper? Can they be copyrighted? Trademarked? Are they used as signatures?
Antir then circled her own mark and pointed at herself with the chalk – then she circled the three balloons and pointed at Nyilidee, who was apparently, and almost literally, drowning its sorrow in punch. Adam squinted at its hindquarters, and noticed that, indeed, it had three balloons – two blue, one yellow. He turned back to Antir and pulled his notebook and pen from his pouches. Remembering the simplicity and iconicity of their gender symbols, he plotted them on his paper. Alright, let’s take a guess. . . . He tapped the ‘female’ one, then Nyilidee’s mark. To his surprise, Antir tapped all six marks in sequence, then the ‘female’ symbol. Oh, so they’re all mares. Theirs could be a matriarchal society.
He tapped the lightning-bolt mark, then raised an eyebrow. In response, Antir called out [xõ ɹ̩ʎiluˈɸɑ ʃoj . seˈxe m̥eˈsɤ ezeɡɯbɯˈβɯ] – and to his surprise, that rainbow-maned pegasus who knocked him down the day before flew down from the ceiling. It – she – didn’t look too pleased to see Adam – and in truth, the feeling was mutual. What’s next? Will you crack my helmet? Good luck with that, it’s made from polycarbonate. That much he did remember about the Strauss.
She took a seat across the table from Adam, all the while glaring at him through his helmet. Again Antir introduced herself, [ɑ̃ˈtiɹ l̩sɑˈpɑ] – then Adam, [eˈdem zɤmɹ̩ˈzed] – then the pegasus, [ɹ̩ʎiluˈɸɑ ʃoj].
[ɦeˈdem zɤmɹ̩ˈzed] the pegasus echoed, with a point of a hoof.
Adam pointed at the pegasus. “Early-loofa shoy,” he tried. That palatal lateral is going to give me trouble one of these days.
The pegasus shook her head. [ɦɹ̩jliluˈʙ̥ɑ] she corrected him.
Oh, so there are different dialects? Is she from out of town as well? And is there a standard version of the language? Adam tried again: “Hurry-lee-loofa.” When the pegasus nodded, Adam breathed a sigh in relief. Her name was H’ryleeloofa. Three down, three to go. At least for this event. Right? Cautiously, he extended a hand to her – bringing it to halfway across the table, and no further. Slowly, H’ryleeloofa placed her hoof in his palm. He let her feel the cool metal surface, before he decided to test her, and them by extension: he closed his grip gently around her hoof, and then lifted and lowered it in sequence three times. He let go of her hoof, and she quickly withdrew it from his gloved palm, in apparent shock. She looked down into it and, seeing no harm done, looked back up at him. She nodded, and flew up from her seat, to rejoin the others.
Next, Adam pointed at the three diamonds. Who’s this, then? [xõ ɲ̊eˈsel . seˈxe m̥eˈsɤ ezeɡɯbɯˈβɯ] Antir seemed to answer – and this time, another unicorn showed up – although this one had a coat of pure white, with a dark violet mane and tail styled in two enormous curls. He couldn’t help but notice she had eyeliner on as well. That must take an hour to prepare, Adam surmised. How does she put up with it? He was glad he married someone like Sarah, who kept her appearance easy to manage.
This one took her seat as well, in the same spot as H’ryleeloofa before. Just as before, Antir introduced herself as [ɑ̃ˈtiɹ l̩sɑˈpɑ] – then Adam, [eˈdem zɤmɹ̩ˈzed] – then the unicorn, [ɲ̊eˈsel].
Why, Antir? Why a voiceless nasal? Adam sighed, and gave it his best shot. “Nyesell,” he pronounced it. Short and sweet at least.
The white unicorn shook her head. [ɲ̊eˈsel] she repronounced – exactly the same as Antir did.
You’re giving me a headache with this. “Nyezell,” he tried again. That’s the best you’re getting out of me.
And evidently, even that was not good enough. The unicorn sighed, and buried her face in her front hooves. [ᵑǂeˈsel] she pronounced – and even that was muffled and with some reluctance.
Is she embarrassed to have a click in her name? Adam pondered. I think it’s cute. “Nǂesell.” And hey, something I can easily pronounce!
Poor Nǂesell looked like she wanted to scamper off, what with her face flushed red from apparent shame. [ˈɑj ˈɑj ˈɑj] – Antir stopped Nǂesell from leaving so soon, putting a front leg around her shoulders. [βẽ ɑcɑsˈɹɑ m̥eˈsɤ ɤzɯŋˈβɯ] But this did little to console the distraught unicorn.
Nothing ventured, nothing gained. Adam extended his hand to halfway across the table. Will you take it, Nǂesell? Surely you know I mean no harm. [m̥eˈsɤ ɑnɑˈβu . βẽ ilkɑ̃ɲ̊ɑcɑˈm̥u] Antir seemed to encourage. Then, with the same reluctance as H’ryleeloofa, Nǂesell placed her hoof flat in his open palm. Adam gently smiled, knowing what an enormous risk that itself was, and did the same motion as with H’ryleeloofa – close the grip, three gentle motions up and down, release. “Nǂesell,” he said aloud.
Nǂesell’s blush started to fade, and she smiled back faintly. [eˈdem] she responded. Only then did Antir let her go, and she seemed none the happier for it.
Four down, two to go. This should be a rather quick get-together. He checked his scrubber status – seventy-four capacity remaining. Plenty of time, too. Well, as long as they don’t plan on keeping me here overnight again. He chuckled at such a thought. I just hope Antir learned her lesson this morning. So, who should I meet next?
Antir held up the board, and he saw his two choices left were the three butterflies and the three apples. Well, the butterflies one looks more interesting to me at the moment. . . . He tapped the three butterflies. [xõ sulɸojɑɹˈn̥ɑ] Antir called out – and another pegasus, yellow in appearance, made her appearance. Strange. Why not fly over here? She took a seat at the same place as H’ryleeloofa and Nǂesell, but hid her face behind her pink mane. Adam decided to introduce himself, instead of letting Antir steal his thunder. “Adam Somerset,” he said, hand on his chest. Then he extended the same to Antir. “Antir H’lsapa.” Definitely butchered that last word, Adam realized, but shrugged it off in his head. Then he gently set his hand towards the pegasus. He saw her mouth move, but what came out hardly amounted to a voice. It certainly never penetrated through his suit. He tilted his head in confusion. Just how antisocial are these ponies? he wondered. Or xenophobic?
Antir decided to try after him. [ɑ̃ˈtiɹ l̩sɑˈpɑ] for herself, [eˈdem zɤmɹ̩ˈzed] for Adam, then for the pegasus, [sulɸojɑɹˈn̥ɑ].
Great, more voiceless nasals. But didn’t Nǂesell replace hers with a click? Adam realized. He gave it a shot – [sulfojɑɹnˈᵑǃɑ].
Sulfoyarnǃa perked her head up. She gave him a glowing smile, and without warning, leaned right into his face, trying to get a better look at him. Instinctively, he put up a hand to try to push her away, but it backfired – it instead drew her attention, and she started manipulating his gloved hand in her hooves. It was a very intricate design, but by no means unique to this world – not if Antir’s dragon had anything to say about the matter. But soon she lost interest in it, and turned her attention again to her face.
Well, what’s there to admire? Adam wondered. I’ve got blue eyes, dark hair, a long narrow nose, jaws and teeth for plants and meat – here, he displayed his teeth, just as he did for Antir back at the library – like in your friend’s biology book, there’s nothing unique about me, save for the fact that I’m from the stars. Oh, well, I do have a chin at least. Haven’t seen even one here yet.
Sulforyarnǃa leaned away at last, content with her findings. She waved him goodbye, and quietly hopped off her stool to rejoin the crowd. Well, that was nice, he thought. I guess that leaves the one with the apples. . . . He didn’t have to wait much longer before an orange equine with a well-worn Stetson hat plopped herself down before him, unbidden by either him or Antir. [ɹiˈdiz ɑlˈɹu ʙẽ inˈzɑ xõ eˈdem] she said enthusiastically, curling her hoof around his hand and shaking it vigorously. [ɲelediɹˈʙe ɑlˈɹu] Adam had to pull his hand away after a few moments of that, lest she accidentally rip the arm right off the suit – and even then, he had to hold his arm down to keep it from swinging by itself.
Well, she seems open to interaction at least. Was that Antir’s work? Adam shelved that thought for the time being, and tried the usual round: pointing at himself, “Adam Somerset,” to Antir, “Antir H’lsapa,” and finally to her, “Nyeledirve.”
[m̩̂] Nyeledirve was definitely very enthusiastic to meet this new guest. So that’s all six of them, Adam concluded. Now what? He looked around the room, trying to see if there were any other equines to meet – but, finding none, he turned to Antir and signed a question – pointing at himself, finger-walking on his arm, then pointed at the door while raising his eyebrow.
But Antir shook her head – instead, she took his hand, and led him to the refreshment table, where Nyilidee still sat. Somehow she held herself back on the punch, but she still looked downtrodden. Maybe Antir wants me to apologize? Adam hypothesized. Well, I didn’t do that earlier – granted, I still don’t know how to either. He looked to Antir for advice – she reared up on her hind legs, and held her front legs in a circle around something. Getting back down on all fours, she pointed at Nyilidee. In essence, she wanted him to hug Nyilidee. Is that the norm, then? It does translate well between the two worlds. Guess I’ll give it a shot – back me up, Antir!
He knelt down to her level, and wrapped both arms around her. Not too tightly, Adam – you have controls on your chest.
Then she started to turn around to face Adam – and to his surprise, she seemed all too eager to return the gesture. Yes! Success! Thank you, Antir! He sighed in relief. As he pulled away a moment later, Nyilidee got a better look at his suit – all the myriad controls and instruments that lined it, and no idea as to what they did. She reached a hoof to the radio button, but he gently pushed it away. Well, I may as well indulge her a bit. He pointed to his chest monitor, and raised an eyebrow.
Confused, Nyilidee turned to Antir. [ɹiˈɣě ɑnɑɟɑˈmu] She sounds a lot calmer now. Maybe the novelty of my arrival has worn off?
Antir simply replied with [eŋbizɯ̃ˈɹɯ] – with a shrug-like gesture, so Adam could probably guess the meaning of the word. But it’s too early to make assumptions of their gestures. So far I’ve been lucky, but even luck’s a finite resource. Oh well. . . . Adam flipped open the display, and gestured for Nyilidee to come and look. Scrubber capacity was at seventy percent, and everything else looked to be just fine. Of course, he didn’t expect Nyilidee to be able to read the display – though Antir might have a slight edge over her in that regard – so he closed it right after.
But Nyilidee was still curious about his chest. Suddenly she lunged forward and hit a random button – he reflexively backed up, but not soon enough to avoid another splash of water on his face. He sputtered for a moment, shaking off whatever water he could. Nice going.
With that settled, he stood back up and headed to the door. Suddenly he felt a great weight tethered to his right leg – looking down, expecting Antir’s telekinesis, he instead found Nyilidee firmly attached, apparently trying to stop him from leaving the building. Well, I’d rather not run down the scrubber so soon, he wanted to tell her – but as usual, English words failed him. Gently, he tried to shake her off – but Nyilidee seemed to be firmly fastened to his leg. Antir eventually had to intervene, giving her a good yank. Somehow she did not damage anything on him – I guess the Strauss is built to last. Heh! – can’t believe I’m saying that about anything Soviet-built. But without much further ado, he stepped out, leaving behind five more equines he met. But before he walked away completely, he turned to the door, which was still open on one side. He extended his arm, and displayed his splayed palm, as if he laid it on a pane of glass. Antir somehow recognized the gesture – but instead of simply waving, she trotted over to match his gesture, even placing her hoof squarely against his palm. I guess this is our goodbye, he realized. Just like back at the lander. Speaking of. . . .
He started making his way back to the lander, following the invitation’s map – which he now assumed was drawn by Nyilidee. Straight ahead, turn left at the central square, then wind your way out of town. Walking may have been a carbon-intensive activity, but with that much remaining, he wasn’t worried in the slightest. He’d make it back in time.
For once in the mission, he had a pleasant walk through town.
·––·–
:04. . . :03. . . :02. . . :01. . . :00!
The back hatch swung open, and Adam then swung himself out of the suit and back inside TPRU-1. He planted his feet firmly on the ground, and started removing the undersuit garments. This time, he hadn’t worked up much of a sweat – so as convenient as it was to use the rinseless soaps, he felt no need for them, so under the cot they stayed for now. However, he did make a point of switching out the scrubbers again – even at sixty-two percent remaining, he felt it prudent, since he did not know how long he would be out again. God forbid it’s longer than twelve Earth hours. . . . As promised, the other scrubber was completely clean and ready to be used again.
Now, about those notes. Adam opened the sterile locker, and retrieved his notebook and the invitation – less of a sample and more of a keepsake, a reminder of who he had met. He made sure to close it behind him, in case he needed to get something inside next time he would head out. He then pulled out the nutrient stick – still perfectly unused, but figuring that he shouldn’t let it go to waste. The freeze-dried stuff managed to last three and a half years, he remembered. No reason why they should expire now.
But as he munched on the stick and worked on his notes, he realized, as much as he had learned, he realized he had so much left to go. These notes, even penned by his own hand, were meager. Senary counting and timekeeping, a population of thirty-eight million – for which area and species were still unknown – varying symbols relating to mathematics and so forth, a rough idea of what their writing looked like, plus sleep-addled memories of various local settings and a typical day in one’s life – indeed, today was a short day for him.
He popped open the window shutter, and noted that the sky had taken on a golden glow – sunset. Well, no better time than now for a meal and some sleep, he surmised. But while he was sifting through the bank for something palatable, something vital came to mind: Oh God, the probe! Quick as he could, he got onto the radio to try to hail the others. “Zulu-Alfa, this is Somerset,” he opened with the usual preämble.
“This is Zulu-Alfa.” Commander Darcy’s voice was somewhat refreshing to hear, especially when his life wasn’t on the line like last time. “Any progress on reviving the probe? Over.”
“Apologies, Commander, but I was busy strengthening communication with the Indigenous. For all the progress I’ve made so far, I still have so much left to do, and I suspect a lot of that has to do with trust – which I think I’ve earned, but only in a small circle of otherwise close-knit friends.” Maybe not the best word to describe them, but it will have to do for now. “Even so, I’ve made enough progress where we can communicate with pictures. I’ll get on it tomorrow, I promise. Out.”
Actually restoring the carbon scrubbers so they can be reused was perhaps the only engineering bit that I took creative liberties with – normally they take some more complex chemicals, and the result is that carbon dioxide is released – not a good thing to have when you’re trying to maintain biosphere segregation!
Admiral Biscuit was wondering about how water is recycled in space. As it turns out, since it’s such an important yet such a scarce resource, it’s pulled out of literally everywhere they can get – wastewater, sweat, even saliva from speaking aloud. It’s then passed through a series of filters to remove the impurities, resulting in fresh water.
It sounds incredibly disgusting, but believe it or not, it’s a lot cleaner than what most people on Earth can get.
Before you get up in arms about the no-rinse soaps, yes, they do exist in real life. They’re meant to wash people in places where traditional bathing is difficult or even impossible, like bedridden patients. NASA realized this, and now the ISS shower has some no-rinse shampoo stocked. They work exactly as described in the narrative.
You can buy some for yourself, too. Find it on Amazon or in Walgreens. (Disclaimer: this is not a product endorsement.)
Jerky is a popular item aboard the ISS. It has a long shelf life, has a strong flavor (since taste buds don’t work as well in microgravity), is impossible to crumb, doesn’t need rehydration, and can be made from literally any meat you want. Seriously. You can’t go wrong with space jerky.
Funny story: when Christer Fuglesang (Sweden’s first astronaut) visited the ISS in 2006 as part of STS-116, he brought some moose jerky with him. Initially he wanted to bring reindeer jerky, but the launch window was too close to Christmas, and the Americans didn’t want to think he was eating Rudolph.
Goulash is an interesting thing. Its name, gulyás, originally meant “herdsman” in Hungarian (itself from gulya, “herd (of cattle)”). Every night after rounding up the cattle, the herdsmen would gather around a cauldron and make a stew for dinner, using whatever they had lying around. Beef, vegetables, and potatoes are common – on long cattle drives, in fact, the herdsmen would choose one cow to slaughter to make its meat into the stew. Paprika is also used, but not before the sixteenth century, as paprika is made from ingredients from the New World.
From what my colleague JawJoe (who’s Hungarian himself) has told me, it’s less about the taste of the final stew and more about the process of making it. Think of it more as a team-building exercise – all the fun comes from the experience, since no two batches are the same. Eating it is just the cherry on top.
Fresh gulyás cooking in a traditional Hungarian cauldron, the bogrács. Source
Traditionally as well, Hungarian shepherds packed the stew into bags made from sheep’s stomachs, dried them in the sun, then rehydrated them into a meal – predating NASA’s methods by several centuries. It only makes sense, to me at least, to freeze-dry goulash for consumption in space, but I haven’t seen it done at all.
Eating in a spaceship is hard enough, though we have made some significant strides since the days of Gemini and Apollo, but what if you get hungry in your suit? The answer is food sticks – a calorie-dense substance packed in a bar that can be clipped inside the helmet and eaten while in EVA, first fielded on Apollo 15.
Me neither, bud. Part of the checklist for the second planned EVA for Apollo 16. Source
They are still made and flown today for the ISS. Both the EMU and the Orlan can use them.
Chins are uniquely human – no other animal has them, not even other primates. Their structure is relatively simple: just a bony protrusion projecting from the mandible.
As for its purpose, that’s still up to debate today. Many say it’s to help resist stress on the bones while chewing, for instance.
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ok i'm just gonna come out and say it: the language barrier is starting to become an irritant
please tell me it's done away with soon
I’m afraid I also feel that this story might have been better off as pure soft sci-fi. The hard elements that are present draw attention to the ones that aren’t and the explanations for their absence seem purely Doylist. Why is only one man being sent for First Contact the most momentous occasion in human history? Because the author didn’t want to create more characters. Cryosleep causes memory issues, but this is apparently a known side effect. Why not wait two weeks before going down to fully recover and refresh training? Because it’s a useful plot device to cover the author’s ignorance of space agency standard procedures. Etc.
10917881
Overcoming the language is kind of the point of this story, though. To magic it away would be ending the story when it's just getting started.
10917881
no, i think thats the point. The character has to learn the language slowly to translate it. Even if Twi does have a translation spell, he might not want it cast on him due to variables.
Well this was another nice new chapter even if it ended with a sad Pinkie Pie whose party plan partially played poorly.
Oh no, Pinkie's name rhymes with itself. That's too cute.
Hasbro would like to know your location.
Very nice touch with Fluttershy's eagerness. Adam may be a linguist, but she's an aspiring xenobiologist.
And we can tick "Meet the Mane Six" off the HiE checklist.
Definitely looking forward to seeing Adam try to explain why he came down to the surface.
Congratulations, Adam, you survived your first Pinkie Party. Good thing it wasn't a surprise party.
I hope we can start getting to see all of this from the ponies point of view. It would be interesting to see how they are viewing all of this and how Twilight is reacting to all of this.
He must have a mild CO2 poisoning already, because the CO2 levels are the problem, not the oxygen (and the suit is a closed system, he cannot air-bleed to get rid of the CO2. Basically it does not matter how much oxygen he has if he has too much CO2)
The scrubbers are supposed to have (at least) 10% capacity remaining after they "officially" hit zero. Engineers do not like it when you drive something to the wall, not to mention that chemical scrubbers start to work slower as they are nearing their absolute capacity, so it is advisable to stop before that (depending on their chemistry, the safety margin can vary wildly).
Suppose, he had overloaded the already diminished scrubbers by exerting himself, the CO2 production of the body can double in those cases.
The re-hydrating gulyás scene reminded me of the frozen and sealed packets of gulyás my parents used to send me (it almost looked like space food).
Don't listen to the nit-pickers, this story is unusual, off-beat, and puzzling, and that's part of what makes it so enjoyable. There are plenty of bog-standard "soft" scifi stories to choose from, if that's what they want.
I think that Pinkie's Equish name sounds perfect for her!
I've used a no-rinse shampoo/body wash for a while when I was working in a remote and arid location, and it does work pretty well. It still takes a bit of getting used to, though. I kept feeling that I ought to still feel dirty, even though I didn't. Yes, that's just as strange as it sounds.
10918063
It could have that 10% fact in mind so that 10% left is actually 0% so they have time once the scrubber hits "zero"
10917908
Another thing that bothers me is the instant communication between Zulu-Alfa and Somerset. The Maretian fic acknowledged the delay time between Mars and Earth/NASA.
A small correction for Russian phrase. Scrubber description ЗАПИСНОЙ ПОГЛОТИТЕЛЬДВУОКИСИ УГЛЕРОДА (СТРАУС) should be ЗАПАСНОЙ ПОГЛОТИТЕЛЬ ДВУОКИСИ УГЛЕРОДА (ШТРАУС). In the Russian language, the Austrian name Strauss is traditionally written with "Ш" letter at the beginning instead of "C".
10918120
They are on orbit though, not on another side of solar system.
I see you had your fun browsing around IPA tables : )
Interesting story so far. The only thing that bothers me is quite opposite from the previous comment — lack of direct communication between Adam and his supervisors on that mission. He should be broadcasting his thoughts and findings almost nonstop, and then some : )
. . .he looked down at his boots, still dripping wet with specks of alien creek scum stuck to them. Yep – cutting across that creek was the best decision I ever made.
I immediately thought of: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=81XUo0bS6mg
Has gulyas any connective root at all with the english word, gather? As in to collect etc, becauseit certainly sounds close enough given horrible excessive dialect variations possible?
Twilight is going to end up realising he is writing things down in the International Ponetic Alphabet?
And Pinkie is just going to hold up a glass of fluid thats almost but not quite cider?
One thing that seems odd to me is all the emphasis on note-taking, but never any mention of a camera, of taking photos or video.
goulash is a common canadian miliatary MRE (meal ready to eat). Basically canned goods in a pouch, so i can see it being freeze dried for space travel. I remember having a few goulash freeze dried camping meals, they were definitely some of the better ones (looking at you cheese omlette, the dried egg sponge they included got smashed to powder in my bag XD)
Octarine?
Interesting. I really want to see this scene from the pony side of the language divide. (Is it a regional accent thing, and Rarity is embarrased to have him pronouncing her name in a non hoity-toity way?)
10917914
10917916
gonna be frank, i'm nigh certain that the language barrier isn't the only thing to this story
in fact, i'm sure it's just the first of many barriers to be overcome
10918334
That would depend on how well film cameras take to the decontamination system, don't think e-cameras were available when this mission was launched ...
"Gods, that feels so much better!"
Oh, now that has some interesting implications.
"only this time he would turn right just before the central square"
"then, after checking the map provided, turned left and stayed the course"
Unless I'm missing something, those two lines appear to contradict each other?
I continue to find this story interesting. :)
10918576
Yes, but the short description is pretty clear the language barrier is going to be the main issue.
And for "translation spells", when has the show ever shown us that translation like that is possible? Authors are allowed to take liberties after canon, and most have just assumed magic is a catch all for languages. What if there are spell for that, but have to be specifically designed for the language involved?
Loving this a lot so far. Thank you, also, for the robust notes after each chapter!
Excited to see this through, especially since it seems to be updating regularly.
The only thing I find a little funny is, of course, we meet the mane six right away. I always liked when these kinds of stories drop us somewhere else first, with fun new OC characters, before we inevitably catch the attention of the ever-curious Twilight. That being said, I still like it :)
10918702
When was this launched? Maybe I've just been oblivious throughout this entire story so far. . . I assumed it was sometime in the distant future!
10919110
1994 they mention it in the first chapter that its been three years since they launched and that its now 1997.
10919110
the soviet union is still around
The chin evolved so Troll Face could exist.
10917916 Pfft, he's just some rando alien! Nothing important, like cake
or apples 
! EXPERIMENT ON HIM, PURPLE SMART!! 
Blast him right in the face with your hot, steaming magic!
10910059
Given how easily Dash immobilized Adam, how strong are ponies compared to humans?
10919345
A previous chapter mentions Roscosmos. I think a lot of the equipment was built before the collapse of the USSR.
10918702
Digital cameras have been around for a long time. The Cromemco Cyclops came out in 1975.
https://en.m.wikipedia.org/wiki/Cromemco_Cyclops
10919594
... Look at his interactions with AJ as well as Dash (Oh, don't forget Fluttershy) 
Considering that Dash can arm-wrestle with AJ on a nearly even basis
10918259
Has the Gravity of Rhyslinger/Equus been compared with Earth's own?
Why do the two pronunciations of Rainbow's name differ? Does Adam mishear it the first time, or is Twilight pronouncing Rainbow's name with a Canterlot accent instead of a Cloudsdale one?
10922273
I doubt it's Adam mishearing, since he's heard it the exact same way every time she's said it so far; differing accents/dialects would seem to be the implication.
Here's my hypothesis: audibly clicking your ɲ̊es is a very masculine thing to do, and Rarity had to put on a big stallionly accent to get it across.
I've only been halfway through this chapter and I gotta ask, how is Adam going to understand their language - is he going to learn it, is he going to teach the ponies basic English, or magic? - because while fascinating to see the ponies language I can see it'll get tiring in later chapters without perfectly understanding what their saying at all.
I would really want to know what he was accidentally calling Rarity, myself. Scarcity? Rancidity? Rapidash? :D
translations at last:
https://www.fimfiction.net/blog/973431/the-children-of-planet-earth-equestrian-dialogue-translations