The Snow on The Pluto

"The moon gradually moves across the top of Mount Parina, and the subgrade antenna casts a long shadow over the desolate Atacama desert. It is the driest place on Earth, with an average annual rainfall of less than 0.1 millimetre. It is precisely for this reason that the gorgeous Milky Way appears particularly clear here, as if it were flowing through our own front door..."

"A cabin in the desert, I've wanted it for a long time. It could be in Texas, or it could be in Arizona, Utah... It doesn't have to be big, just two or three rooms. I don't need neighbors, so I don't have to garden every day and let those desert plants grow wherever they want. But I want a cellar, a two-tier one, with regular rum, Bordeaux, and whiskey on the upper level, and expensive brandy and strong vodka on the lower level..."

"Every day after sunset, I poured a glass of wine and lay on the roof of my hut, slowly tasting the sweetness of the wine while watching the stars pass very close overhead. Just me, yes, as it is now..."

"All right... Our broadcast is over for this time. This is a greeting from John Brewster, and if you're lucky enough to hear it, be sure to note these coordinates: 20, 68, 82. I'll always be here waiting for you."

I turn off the radio, close my copy of the "Operator", and turn to open the curtains. A faint light shine through the X-shaped window, which seems to be coated with silver.

I've been stuck here for seventy-nine hours, and all I've done was slept and ate and broadcasted on this old radio. On the one hand, to relieve loneliness, on the other hand, of course, I hope that someone passing by can rescue me.

But it's too hopeless to hope. It's dreadfully desolate. But it does not rule out that someone will accidentally enter this area...

I look up out the window with a wry smile. The grayish white Pluto occupies most of the "X" shaped porthole.

At the fiftieth hour, I thought of death, because it's an obvious result. If I don't count the slight oxygen leak from the cargo ship, I only have about 39 hours left from now on.

A day and a half - according to my life cycle on Earth - my life is coming to an end. It's not going to be a wonderful day. I look back at my ordinary life and think it is just one of the ten thousand days I had lived that could not have been more ordinary, but it's extraordinary, because the next day I'm going to die.

I try to give it meaning, but unfortunately, I'm not much of a philosopher or poet or anything, and these kind of obscure words are too difficult to say. I'm just an unnoticed delivery boy.

Talking about why I'm going to die, it's hard to explain. Of course, I've been broadcasting to the outer world by radio since the 50th hour, including my ship flaring out, quantum communication failure... I'm not gonna say it again. All I can do now is try to send out the coordinates of the position on a short range radio. Hopefully, there's a one in ten thousand chance that a spacecraft passing through Pluto's airspace will come along and save me.

I hope so, but among the great age of space travelers, there are few who want to be true knights.

"Poverty is death..." I write this line on the flyleaf of the book, thought about it, and then cross out the word "death" and replaced it with "digging one's own grave." After that, I nod with satisfaction, and it makes sense enough to serve as my epitaph or something, or as a draft for the broadcast later.

Although this day will pass quickly, I have to make it meaningful, don't I? It's better to leave something behind than just disappear, right?

In just one more day, this cargo ship will be transformed into an iron coffin, and I will be as inorganic as Pluto, a lump of meteorite, and a comet core outside, a part of this lifeless universe. This death silence will last for a long, long time, so I am in no hurry to think about what happens after death.

A few more hours pass. Things suddenly have a turning point, but I want to say, this is not a turning point, at most is a "trick of fate".

A probe with no rescue capability responds me. But what worries me is that I don't know if they're human...

"You mean, this probe carries your consciousness? " I ask over the radio.

"Yes." "I may not have a body, but I'm not a computer A.I." says a crisp female voice.

I nod thoughtfully. Although I know a little about the early space development, space explorers carried their own consciousness on the probe launched into the universe, but this "space rover", I have never encountered. 'Mr John, I'm sorry I couldn't save you. That's why I kept quiet about you." 'says the female voice.

"But why do you respond to me now? 

The other person is hesitating.

"I think... Maybe talking with you will make you feel better." "Says the other.

I smile wryly. I must have looked terrible. Originally, I'm full of joy to think that I will be rescued, but  it turns out that all of us are refugees.

"Then you can only be a listener, right?" I ask casually.

'I'll try to cheer you up! The voice is firm.

"Do you have a name? 

"Thea, Mr. John. I'm Thea."

"Call me Brewster." I say lightly, "You're European? 

"Yes, I'm from Gotland in Northern Europe."

"Gotland? " I'm incredulous and asked, "Didn't that island disappear a long time ago?

There's a silence.

Perhaps my question is too direct, that history is a very heavy blow to anyone on Earth - because the island of Gotland sank to the bottom of the sea more than half a century ago because of violent geological movements.

"How long have you been in space?" I put it another way.

"Eighty-five years." The answer is cold.

"Ha-ha, long time... But you sound so young." I try to look relaxed.

"Age is reflected in the body and the experience of human social activities, and I have neither of those conditions now." 'she says lightly.

"That's right." I casually agree, "Age doesn't mean anything to you... So where are you now? 

"I'm on Pluto's 'probe base,' Mr. Brewster, and I built it." Thea's voice sounds different, with a note of pride.

"You don't have a body, how can you move? 

"I have." "My body is mechanical and I have two metal arms. I'll go up to four if I'm too busy." I hear a thump coming from the communicator, as if it was tapping some kind of metal.

"I'm good, Mr. Brewster. I came to space to explore the universe. Now that I'm on Pluto, I'm going to do what I want. I've been exploring Pluto for years, and I've accumulated a lot of data..." Her words seems to remind me of the tenacious figure of a Nordic woman.

"Do you have any family?" I ask her.

"They're all dead."

"What about future generations? 

"I have no offspring."

A cold feeling run up my spine and I'm lost in thought.

About a century ago, there was a breakthrough in body-conscious fax technology. The Nordic island of Gotland was particularly important as the center of Earth transmission base stations at that time. But because of a terrible geological disaster, the whole island sank to the cold ocean floor. At the same time, those precious technical data, expensive cutting-edge equipment, and a large number of scientists sank.

The disaster was so sudden that the link between the explorers in space who had uploaded their consciousness to the space probe and the Earth was completely cut off! Although a few explorers had been saved by their proximity, the brave pioneers of humanity who ran into the depths of space had never been heard from since. Later, I also heard of some spaceship encounters with them, but in most people's minds, these "people" had become the "lost stars" in space.

Thea says she went to space before the island sank, and that she was young and had no children. I didn't understand, "You're so small, is it worth it?" 

"I think it's worth it, Mr. Brewster." Thea says quietly. "Ever since I was a little girl, I've wanted to touch the stars." After listening to her, I close my eyes, as if I see the space probe carrying human consciousness flying like fireflies over the Arctic island. Thousands of living people, wrapped in those little boxes, running into the vast universe... Dreams flew, islands sank, this was a journey without a way back.

Thea says it was her dream. And I tell her that they themselves were the dreams of all mankind.

Suddenly, a dizzy spell comes over me. I quickly check the life support system: there's nine percent oxygen left, and the cabin is damaged, and the oxygen consumption increases significantly. But it still lasts about 32 hours.

However, the CO2 index is a little high. I guess there's not enough potassium superoxide to filter, to eliminate carbon dioxide. If this continues, there's a good chance I'll suffocate before the oxygen runs out.

I tell Thea about it.

"Is your ship a mining ship?" she asks.

"HMM." I nod as I answered.

"The pretreatment of the mining ship will store some bleach for the initial decomposition of the ore. It replaces the potassium superoxide in the oxygen displacer. Plastic packaging. You look for it."

She reminds me that it's indeed a good idea to use the chemical properties of sodium peroxide instead of potassium superoxide to filter out excess carbon dioxide.

"I'll have more oxygen." I say, slightly excited.

"But it won't save you, Mr. Brewster." Her voice is visibly low.

"I know... In fact, people will die."

"Aren't you afraid to die? 

I think for a moment and then smile. "Yes, but I'm more afraid of being alone."

After a short nap, my brain is much clearer than before, and it seems Thea's solution had worked.

While I was asleep, Thea sent me her picture, at my request. Because I want someone to be with me when I die.

There are two photos. One shows her on Earth. She is young, with a handsome face and a ponytail that is not long and short - although the appearance is somewhat cold, it can still be seen that the extraordinary temperament.

The other is on Pluto, the endless white world. Her metal body leapt high, her two arms waving as if cheering.

"In the second picture, are you smiling?" I joked, but I couldn't see her face.

"Yes." Thea answers.

"The helmet is too thick to see the expression..."

There comes a sound of laughter, as sweet as a silver bell.

"I wonder what you were so happy about?" I ask.

'I like snow, Mr Brewster. It reminds me of Gotland.'

"Home of ice and snow?

"Hmm." She whispers in reply.

"Well, then you've come to the right place. The snow on Pluto never melts."

"That's different, Mr. Brewster." "It's all ice," she says. "It looks beautiful, but it's not what I want."

"What do you want?

"Probably the kind that will fall, the snow dancing all over the sky, how beautiful!"

"Ha ha ha! I laugh back.

The atmosphere becomes cheerful, and time passs faster with the conversation.

Thea suggests that I continue the previous broadcast, and I laugh and agree. Taking the copy of "Operator" next to me, I open a page at random and begin to read.

This is a story about an operator flying a spaceship across Neptune. Huge waves of liquid helium mixed with solid methane and ice are swept into the air by the winds. And the operator was like riding this crazy cosmic roller coaster, rolling through the storm along this extremely cold track.

I try to imagine a situation like that of a dhow boat straying into the depths of the ocean, where the cold universe showed no mercy to mankind, but the pioneers, with a brute force, had wired stations in every corner of the solar system.

It's just that time passes so quickly that any passion eventually dies of heat. The story is history. The warrior is at rest. But the most frightening thing is that some stories, some people, history will not remember it.

"Forget is the eternal truth of this universe..." I sigh.

After reading the story, the radio goes silent. I call to Thea, but there's no answer.

I looked up at Pluto, which occupies most of the porthole, as if it has slept alone in the corner of the icy universe for eons of years.

"Thea, are you still there?" 'I say.' I don't have much time. '

After a bit of rustling, Thea reconnects, but this time there was a definite loss in her voice.

"I'm here, Mr. Brewster, I'm here, and I'm with you the whole time."

'It's nothing to be sad about, Thea. I'm not sorry."

"Yes. Mr. Brewster is strong. So is Thea. I will stay with you until the last second."

I smile faintly, and a ripple spread in my heart.

"Just..." I stop talking, and Pluto's silvery light shine on my face, looking a little pale.

"Just what?" Thea asks me.

"It's just that when I'm gone, there's no one left for you."

The atmosphere becomes heavy again, which I don't want to face.

Thea, however, is suddenly optimistic, and she shouts over the radio, "Look, Mr. Brewster. I can see you from here. Look, look, you're right above me, I'm waving at you, do you see me?

"Oh? Did you, now?

I turn my head and search every inch of Pluto. But the ice field is so vast, I don't see a single trace of man-made objects.

"Can you really see me, Thea?

"I can see it, I really can!" Thea was very excited, "Your spaceship is silver white, very conspicuous against the black background of the universe, like the stars, I think even with the human eye can see you!"

"Ha ha ha, that's really nice." I lay back in my chair in relief, the corners of my mouth raised. "I can see you, too, Thea." "Mr. Brewster, I'll be with you, and you'll always be with me, right?

"That's right, Thea. I'll be there for you as long as you can see."

The oxygen pointer is slipping toward 19 hours, and I'm not afraid.

That moment is approaching, and it is time to make final preparations in advance. This is my grand encounter with death, and I want to face it in the most simple and direct way possible.

I check the ship's remaining fuel, and there's only about five minutes of acceleration and attitude adjustment. I figure out the procedure, and then silently jot it down on the back cover of the Operator.

After everything is packed up, I ask Thea for the coordinates of her location on Pluto. She hesitates and asks me what I am doing. I just smile faintly.

The last broadcast is about to begin, and I transfer all the power to the radio to make sure it could transmit at full power.

"Perhaps you come from a dark universe,

Not even the blazing solar wind can warm your heart,

Death is around you.

At that time, please look up,

The stars are listening to your prayer.

Maybe you're from an icy planet,

Not even the mountains can touch your heart,

Fear is around you.

At that time, please look up,

The snow is falling behind you."

...

"This is a broadcast from John Brewster, and if you're lucky enough to hear it, make sure you take note of the coordinates: 14, 56, 21. Someone will always be here waiting for you."

I shut down the radio.

Pluto is now shrouded in a faint glow and does not look as cold as one might think. And in my heart, it is as warm as the sun belongs. Even in this cold space of the universe, every time I look at it, it can instantly melt my already riddled heart.

Without thinking anything more, I set the navigator, start the attitude adjustment engine, reverse the ship, and accelerat the spacecraft into the night sky of Pluto in a "reverse" attitude.

As soon as the spacecraft touchs the top of Pluto's atmosphere, I fling open the cargo bay and apply an emergency brake. Cabins full of meteorite deposits fell like rain.

Due to the friction of the meteorite against the weak atmosphere, the thick crust on the outside of the crystal gradually burns up, while the internal temperature increases, and all the meteorites break apart in turn, splitting into smaller particles, while falling toward Pluto.

When this spacecraft lands on the surface of Pluto, there should be a lot of equipment barely available, so I hope you can use it. At the same time, the broken quantum communication device that I have used for help, along with some tools and equipment, is also sent down by me in a small, sturdy mineral cabinet. You have some tools and equipment on hand, and given enough time, the quantum communication equipment should be able to be fixed, and at that point, you'll be able to reconnect with Earth. Or maybe this broadcast will continue by you, and the whole universe will know of our existence.

"My story is coming to an end... History will not remember me, but please don't forget me... This is my gift to you, Thea. I hope you like it."

The spacecraft fell with the meteorite, and because of inertia, it spin along two axes, like a waltz in space.

Pluto's night sky is as clear as ever, the quiet ice field at minus 200 degrees of temperature firmly imprison every particle on the star, nothing can move on this cold ice field.

There's just something different about tonight.

Thea stands alone under the glass dome of the observation room, looking up at the sky. She thinks she sees something falling from the sky, or maybe it's an illusion. Because common sense told her there's only something colder than cold.

But her eyes are now struck by a strange sight.

Snow, gradually falling down. It's pink at first, just a little bit, sliding slowly along the glass. Later, the snow becomes bigger and bigger, and the sky changes from dark blue to purple. The snow line follows the magnetic field, painting elegant lines on this permanently frozen world. Although there is no wind, the vast ice sheet is being changed by the sudden snow.

Gullies are filled in; The dome, covered up.

After the distant stars pass through the cold space of hundreds of millions of light years, through the heavy snow, the interior is painted with romantic and magnificent colors.

"Is that you, Mr. Brewster?" Thea folds her hands over her heart.

Through the crack in the snow, she seems to see the beautiful dance above Pluto, as gorgeous as snowflakes.