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Saturn’s largest moon, Titan, is the only moon known to have an atmosphere and, besides Earth, is the only celestial body in the solar system to house lakes on its surface. These lakes are thought to be liquid methane but that doesn’t mean they couldn’t support another kind of life and so, curious, I set off on the five-and-a-half hour journey in my private spaceship on these voyages.
I spent most of my time in the ship’s kitchen where I set up a gaming station, and that’s where I was sitting two hours into this voyage when a strange sound came over the intercom. At first it was just a slight static but this wasn’t that uncommon - often caused by patches of cosmic radiation. But gradually through the static, the sound of a soft human voice resolved. I couldn’t tell if it was male or female but it was singing. I froze in place focusing only on the sound - it got louder and louder over the intercom and then disappeared. I looked down the narrow hall to the cockpit and could see the warning light flashing on the dash for a brief moment before it stopped. There was no warning message over the intercom and I doubted that this was a pre-recorded message from my ship. Sometimes the ship picked up stray radio signals and I figured that must have been what this was.
I got up hesitantly and walked slowly down the narrow hall toward the cockpit. Static blared over the intercom again, and I stopped in place. The eerie singing flared up and dissolved away. Two minutes of silence passed and eventually I gained the courage to venture over to the dash. Everything appeared normal - we were still on course. I looked out the front window but could see nothing, only darkness.
I left the dark room of beeping lights and headed back to the kitchen. Now in a peaceful quiet, another hour of gaming passed by and there were no more radio interruptions; but, to my surprise, the ship’s Saturn came over the intercom saying we were nearly there. I looked at the astronomical clock; we’d been traveling only about three hours. I should be only just over halfway to Titan.
I saw something large fly by at the ship’s kitchen window and bounded up from my seat to take a closer look. It was an asteroid; there were hundreds of them. The ship lurched. It hadn’t hit something but it was slowing down. I sprinted down the narrow hall to the cockpit. There was a large asteroid dead ahead, but the ship didn’t mean to hit it. In fact, it seemed to think this was Titan.
A Saturn voice came over the intercom once again telling me we’d arrived. The gravity drive powered down and I found myself drifting silently around this lonely asteroid in the middle of nowhere. What the hell, I thought to myself. As I flipped the drive back on, the graphic that showed my position in the solar system was offline and the dash simply said, “Titan.”
This made me feel very uneasy as it was the first time my ship had proved unreliable in any way. I guessed that if I wanted to go to Titan I’d have to pilot the ship manually. Static buzzed over the radio as the ship crested the asteroid; the strange singing started up again and I could hear it more clearly than ever as I looked straight ahead at what should have been the rest of the asteroid belt. I saw space appear distorted: asteroids in the distance wrinkled around a single point and that point was expanding. I panicked for a moment thinking it was a black hole but, no, it was too close.
I realized this is what the computer thought the destination was, not the asteroid. I was still drifting towards it as I waited for the gravity drive to come back online. Closer and closer: one kilometer, 500 meters, the point of distorted space opened up into a mirror. I could see my ship reflected in it. I could even see myself staring out the window of its cockpit, but I couldn’t see my face 400 meters, 300 meters… the gravity drive came online and I sped out of there.
Two hours later I found myself in orbit around Titan, gazing down into the soupy, thick atmosphere through my cockpit’s glass floor. I was conducting my own scans of the moon’s surface although my heart wasn’t in it. I was paranoid and I wanted to leave. I kept thinking I saw things in the yellow atmosphere: octopus-like creatures or eels swimming around in the methane ooze. I still felt uneasy about my ship although I had successfully put it into orbit manually. I knew just how much I relied on its computer and I wanted to get it repaired as soon as possible.
Wet looking clouds continued to lap over each other below me forming strange shapes, but my skins were finished and there were no heat signatures. I was not in the mood to land: you know what, let’s just get the ship checked out and then I’ll come back here another day, I told myself while charting a course back to Earth. There were strong, rapid reverberations in the atmosphere below me as I pulled away – yeah, I don’t trust those heat signatures, at all; there’s something living down there.
I shuddered, relieved somewhat to be putting this off on the way back to Earth. I thought to give the autopilot one more try: this time I planned to sit in the cockpit to get a better understanding of what was going on prior to taking it in for repairs. The ship had correctly identified its position and the position of Earth, and it was moving there at 25 the speed of light, so no problem, so far.
Two hours passed by. We had passed Jupiter’s orbit and were on our way to Mars’s when static came blaring over the radio followed by that same hollow singing. It startled me - I had been close to dozing off, but when I regained my bearings and checked the autopilot settings we were rerouted and the course was set for that same spot in the asteroid belt. I started reaching towards the autopilot switch to flick it off, but I stopped myself: let’s just see what happens; let’s see where the ship takes me, and in 20 minutes we had arrived at what the ship believed to be my destination.
I was on the other side of it now - the large asteroid that had been near it was long gone, and three smaller asteroids now surrounded it as they whirled around in the belt. Radio static resounded as the pinhole pin wheeled open into a mirror; the singing was clearer than ever as the ship drifted closer to it. I turned off the autopilot before it had a chance to shut down the gravity drive, but I continued coasting up to that strange pain in which my ship’s reflection was morbidly fascinating. There was something wrong with it, but I couldn’t put my finger on what. Hairs stood on end all over my body: 300 meters, 200 meters… I rose to my feet and put my hand on the glass, and I could see my reflection do the same. 50 meters, 10 meters… both the static and the singing stopped.
The front nose of the ship was almost touching it; this close had covered more than the entire front windshield, more than wide enough for my ship to fit through had it been a hole.
I stopped my ship.
I could now see my reflections: face which had been in shadow, it looked like me but it wasn’t me. He had a soft, pleasant smile and no eyes but he turned his head to look at me and I could tell he saw me. His arms rested at his sides, but although his body language was innocent something about him filled me with abject terror. What was he? What was he doing there? And why was he summoning my ship to him?
I climbed back into the pilot’s seat reversed the ship and sped off back to Earth. Over the intercom the sounds of static and singing followed me all the way home.