A New Career on Europa
by Philip Ekstrom
Part 1 appears in this issue.
conclusion
Finally, it occurred to her that NASA might value intensity, and they did. At NASA she was guarding the few and elite instead of serving the many and unfortunate as she had intended, but she was tired of searching for unfortunates who did not find her creepy.
After each night’s episode of her story, I told her some pallid tale from my vanilla-flavored youth spent in a completely secular, loving and comfortably well-off family. When those ran out, I talked about my very ordinary time in college studying geology and then about my steady climb in naval aviation. Sandra ate it all up, often wistfully.
On those nights, Sandra led me to bed. Sometimes we made love, and it seemed like we must have been lighting up the sky. More often we just cuddled and kissed, but we always ended with her nestled under my arm, cheek in the hollow just below my collar bone, and her firm little breasts pressed against my side. She would tangle our legs together and reach across my chest to hold me like a sailor fallen overboard might hold a life ring. When my arm behind her back held her tightly enough, she sighed and relaxed.
“I love it,” I said to her. “But what is it with you these days?”
She just shook her head.
* * *
Then one night she disappeared.
On that morning, her side of the bed was empty, and on my desk was a letter that began:
Dearest, sweetest man, I love you more than I can say, but I can’t come home with you. I have duties here and must stay.Of course, you can’t let me do that, so I have hidden myself. You will not be able to retrieve me in time for your launch window tomorrow.
You will have to mount a search, of course, so you can report, and everyone can see, that you did, but don’t waste much time on it.
Do please leave the station habitable, and leave me my share of food, equipment and supplies. Your specialists in each area will know better than I do what I may need.
Please also leave the drone where it is. I’ll need it. I bullied a pilot into showing me how to drive it and into letting me practice, so that part is okay.
I owe you a lot more, and you could read on now for my attempt to pay that debt, but I think these practical details are enough for today. You have duties of your own, more than enough to fill the day. Also, you may want a little time and privacy when you read on.
* * *
I looked away from the page, my eyes full of tears and heard a commotion in the hall, followed by a knock and then a shout through the door. “Sir, there is some stuff missing.”
Wiping my eyes, I thought for a moment, then called back, “I think I know something about that. Call the team leaders together in the conference room. I’ll get dressed and join you.”
While I dressed, I thought furiously. She would get her data. No wonder she quit worrying, but how did those sounds create a commanding duty? Maybe I’ll learn that when I read on, but she is right, as usual. Practical matters for now.
Her share of food intended for a 2 1/2 year trip home might keep her small body alive for 5 years on the diet she had been practicing, but then what? She would starve. If instead she took two shares of the food, making her 2 of 19 rather than 1 of 18, it would cost the others, let’s see, about 5%. Slightly smaller meals for them, and she could live twice as long.
I toyed with the idea. For an accident that kept someone trapped, I would certainly order that, but this was her own mischief. She was right; I had my own duties and they included strict fairness. I couldn’t ask for more than her share. Maybe the others would do something about it when I wasn’t looking.
* * *
My office doubled as the conference room, barely large enough for the leaders to squeeze in with most standing. I also stood. “Let me guess,” I began. “A tractor is missing along with a cargo wagon, both suits of radiation armor, Sandra’s pressure suit and two days worth of oxygen.”
Our quartermaster’s mouth dropped open. “Three days’ oxygen, but how did you know?”
“I didn’t know, but I knew how to guess.” I paused, forcing the lump back down my throat. “I have a letter from Sandra. She intends to stay behind and has hidden from us.”
“But it’s obvious. She must be in the reactor dome. Nasty of her to take both sets of armor,” said Nigel. “Someone will have to expose himself to radiation if we are to get her.”
“I won’t send anyone in there without armor, not in this situation that she deliberately created, and I’m sure she knows it. Taking the second suit does make her safe from capture if she is there. But the armor is not enough protection for a whole day, and she must know that, too. Taking it is probably just misdirection. I’m sure she’s not there.”
I turned toward the quartermaster. “I’m guessing that she also took an emergency shelter.”
“Yes. We keep one on each tractor.”
“Her letter said we would be unable to retrieve her. She is careful with words, and she didn’t say ‘find.’ That probably means figuring out where she is would not be enough. With her headstart, she could already be over the horizon in any direction. Even if we knew which way she went, she could stay ahead of us until we ran out of time and had to turn back. With that much oxygen, she could come back at leisure after we launch.”
Someone began: “But...” then lapsed into silence.
“Even that may be too simple.”
“Clever bitch,” said Nigel. I ignored him.
I paused, then said, “I believe her claim. We will not get her back in time.”
I paused again. The room was quiet. No one moved. Then, in my commander’s voice: “We will search all domes of the central station. I do not expect to find her here, but we must look. We have only an hour to spend on that.
“Then we will do what we can to keep her alive after we leave. Gail, leave crops growing in the hydroponics dome and leave an eighteenth share of our fertilizer for her to use. Tom, keep the tissue cultures going and leave her an eighteenth share of our culture medium. Judith, leave the recycling systems operating, set for low flows. Stanley, leave our drone in the water for her.” Each of the four nodded to acknowledge their task.
I looked around the room. “As each of you and your team do your cleanup, think about what she will need and what she will find when she returns. Leave instruction books for everything. For dividing up supplies, she is one of eighteen.” The rest nodded in response.
That’s not enough food, I thought.
Preoccupied, I almost missed what our quartermaster said next, something I should have thought of myself.
“Sir, we had good safety margins on supplies. The ship is fully stocked, and there is still a lot of everything left over here at the station.”
I paused as a wave of relief washed over me. Then, “How much? Do you have an estimate?”
“We had essentially double rations, so for every person-year since we left Earth, there will be a person-year left over here. So, seven years times eighteen people is 126.” Then with a grin. “She will have food for 126 years.”
I grinned back and began to relax a little. At least she would not starve. Apparently, my relief was visible. Several faces showed sympathy. Okay, time to say out loud what everyone was thinking.
“There is a fellow here who loves Sandra and has just lost her. Tomorrow that fellow will read the rest of the letter she left. Today, your mission commander will prepare to take the rest of his people home. Let’s get to it.”
* * *
We had been loading the ship for a month, loading it and checking out all systems. Its drive reactor was now hot, and we had to stay away from the tail of the ship, behind a huge berm of ice raised for radiation shielding.
We had taken personal items aboard that day and were to spend the last night at Europa on the ship. I finished my duties as quickly as I could and then asked not to be disturbed in my room. I took Sandra’s letter out of the drawer and sat for a minute with it in my hand, not quite ready to read.
I looked around my new quarters on the ship and saw personal items we had added to the room we had shared at the station, making it into our home. Sandra had left half of them, and I had those here. Finally, I pulled the letter out of its envelope and turned to the second page.
I have told you my story in pieces each evening. Now let me tell you what it means. Only now have I come to understand it.
I have been prepared for this and sent to where I am on this day.
That disastrous commune taught me about service to others. My family’s time being poor taught me about need and our eventual prosperity let me pursue education. My seemingly erratic path of study hit all the necessary targets, and then my failure at ordinary patient care sent me to NASA. The physics, the MD, and my inconveniently distinctive manner got me in. Then this mission came up at just the right time and brought me here.
Now we find strange and unexpected persons in this ocean. Finally, I have come to understand that these are the people I was always meant to serve, and that is the meaning of my life. I do not know exactly how I will serve, but I am as sure as I can be that this is where I must serve.
I know that you are not a believer, so my certainty may be hard for you to understand and accept. I used to think I was not a believer, either.
Maybe the whole purpose of NASA has been to get someone here, with the right flavor of linguistics at the ready, and with a way to hear and speak to the people at the rift. It turned out to be I who was sent, so now they are my people to serve. With that done, NASA could be allowed to unravel, as we see it doing.
It doesn’t matter whether or not that guess about NASA is correct. Either way, I am here, as God intends me to be.
Surely, I’m not to be a conventional missionary. What could Jesus possibly mean to them? He is so embedded in human biology, in human culture and its symbols that these people could not possibly understand and would not be led to God. Maybe He has already made a separate arrangement with them, held in myths and symbols of their own culture and not ours. And yet I know that I will one day talk to them, and I will say to them or do for them something He wants said or done.
I may never know what it is that I do for them, just as I did not know what I was doing when I studied such an odd set of subjects. I do know what is next. I must learn their speech.
A few nights ago, you asked, “What is it with you?” and now I suppose you can guess. I needed to touch you and hold you while I still had you and to say my goodbye in the best way I could. I didn’t dare tell you what was ahead.
I had to misdirect you, but I never directly lied. That is important to me, and I hope it matters to you.
For the last year, you have completed my life in a way I never knew to even hope for. I love you more than I thought possible, and I will love you always.
Be well in all the ways you can be. If one day you find room in your heart for another to share your life, I bless her now for the love she will give you.
Yours forever, Sandra
* * *
I tried to read it again but couldn’t, not right away.
We both chose duty over more time together. She chose with thought and care, very deliberate. I chose without really thinking, chose out of long habit and automatic reaction, as she knew I would and should. I’m a commander, with responsibilities to my people. I would carry on with my job and bring them home.
But what if the clues had come together sooner and told me what she was about to do. My duty was to confine her and set a guard to prevent her from staying. Would I have done that? What a choice! Lose her to Europa, or deny her the one thing that finally made sense of her life. Hurt her, and keep the wounded and resentful result? Fool! I couldn’t do that to her, and I would lose her either way.
No, I would have shirked my duty then, too, as I guess I did with her diet.
Thinking about her future drove away all sleep. Running and maintaining the station systems and preparing food would take up most of one person’s time, leaving her with little time to work.
Then, eventually, she would die alone.
Some time in the night I thought to divide 126 by two and got 63. In the normal way of things, neither of us had 63 years left to live. There was enough food for two!
* * *
There was one last, largely ceremonial, thing to do before the ship could rise. Pete and I were to go once again to the station, make a last cursory inspection and bring back the case of mementos for distribution when we got home. They were to be the last things to leave Europa.
Last chance.
At the end of the visit, I stepped aside to let Pete, carrying the case by its handle, enter the tunnel first. I was to be the last person out. I stopped at the door, just short of the tunnel. He turned to look at me.
And waited.
And I didn’t move.
“So, you really are going to stay.“
“Was it that obvious? I wasn’t sure myself, till now.”
“There was a betting pool on it. I’m going to collect!” He grinned at my embarrassment, then continued kindly. “Carol and Andy have volunteered to pack up your room and bring the stuff down. I’ll give them the OK.”
He reached out to shake my hand. “Most of the couples on the ship are jealous of the thing you and Sandra have together. Stay with our blessing, you lucky dog.”
* * *
Later that day, after the ship had risen, destroying the berm and much of the tunnel that led to it, Sandra drove the tractor into its barn. After ten minutes, enough time for her usual careful job of stowing and tidying, footsteps sounded in the tunnel. As she came into the room I stepped out from behind a cabinet.
“Hi. Have a good trip?”
She looked frantically out the window toward the place where the ship had stood for half a decade and saw nothing there. She slowly turned, a smile growing on her face and ran into my arms.
* * *
Epilogue
All is now respect and appreciation when we talk to Earth. They have finally decided that we aren’t deserters after all but heroic volunteers making a great sacrifice to pick up and carry forward the scientific mission. “Sure,” they say when asked, “the commander didn’t clear it beforehand but, y’know, there wasn’t time.” Or something.
Some of NASA’s engineers have helped me improvise a seismometer, and a recorded textbook is refreshing my geology. Biologists work with me on the cells we collect. Linguists collaborate with Sandra, but she probably tells them only what she wants them to know and wants them to help think about. We have flatly refused to collect samples of alien life other than microbes, and Earth has quit grumbling about it.
But all that matters less to me than I would have guessed. Sandra works to learn that strange language, if it really is a language. I run the station and make food. Then we spend evenings together enjoying that food along with the art, music, books and puzzles that we both love.
That is what does matter.
Copyright © 2026 by Philip Ekstrom
