A Distant Shore
Dear Susannah
The rings, which so puzzled Galileo when he first observed the planet, shroud Saturn in mystery, concealing and deceiving. The planet is a smaller version of Jupiter, if smaller can be used to describe the second largest planet in the solar system, a world whose moons number forty or more. Worlds within worlds, a solar system within a solar system; worlds enough for a lifetime of study and exploration. If the Sun and all her children consisted of just this one planet, and its retinue of remarkable moons, our little corner of the galaxy would still be a remarkable place.
How do I begin to describe these moons, more numerous than Sol’s planets? Any one of which is a fascinating world in its own right. I have spent many hours studying this silent congregation courtesy of Galileo’s inexhaustible electronic libraries. The sheer volume of data is overwhelming. There is enough here to keep a researcher occupied for decades.
And then of course there is the planet itself. How could anyone fail to be intrigued by these wonders? And why didn’t I take a closer interest before? Every child should be encouraged to study astronomy from an early age, to learn about the mini-universe in which we all live. For without this perspective our lives are so much poorer. We are citizens not just of Earth but of the great rotating disc of stars that forms the surrounding galaxy. Perhaps this is a view unique to my position, one which only a solar mariner could adopt. But I don’t think so. I am convinced this is where Man belongs, out here amongst the stars, not tied to an Earth-bound existence, caught up in the drudgery of menial affairs.
We must raise our eyes and look to the stars, the way we look at SimShows. There is the true reality of our future. The inheritance we have yet to claim and which is ours by right. We alone are capable of securing that birth-right. No other species on Earth can do it.
***
I was seven when my father took me to see the Apollo 10 Command Module on display at the Science Museum in London. All the way to the Moon and back in a spaceship no bigger than the inside of our car. The cone shaped machine had lost all trace of paint from its exterior and the metal resembled rusted armour. Space worn and dented. Mechanical driftwood. That’s how Galileo must look now from outside, something thrown up on this orbital shore by the tides of space.
This celestial galleon, with tattered sail and battered prows, will shortly drop anchor in the shallows of Hyperion. In a sheltered tidal bay, a cosmic lagoon, where will attempt to achieve our Mission Objective (whatever that may be). And like any wreck, the spacecraft seems to belong to another age, a fossil from another time, like a fabulous petrified jewel, exposed by retreating tides. A ghost ship.
Shore leave will consist of an excursion to the surface of a moon no human has ever set foot upon. It will be two pairs of very wary feet (mine and Tanya’s) that tread that dusty surface, each footfall placed as if upon the suspect ground of a minefield. Is this where the mission will blow up in our faces? As always, I seem to have questions and no answers. Perhaps those answers, long in coming, are finally about to arrive, just as we are about to arrive at Hyperion.
If we solve the mystery, you will be the first to know, Susannah. I promise you that. I’ve not been unfaithful to you, my love, on this long journey. I want you to know that. How could I be? You spoilt me for other women. The annoying thing with clichés is that some of them are actually true (and so hard to express any other way). So, believe me when I say you were, you are, my one true love and I shall not love again. Not in this life or any other. I shall be faithful to my dying day and if we do live again I shall find you, in this life or another. We will be together again, Susannah. The universe may be an uncertain place but of that I have no doubt.
We rendezvous with Hyperion tomorrow. I have no idea what to expect.