The First Werewolf of Saturn
by Thomas William Hamilton
“Lon, you’re obviously entering puberty, so we need to have a difficult conversation now.”
“Aw, Dad, I already know all about girls.”
His father glanced over at Lon’s mother, who grinned and winked. He winked back, and turned back to their son. “I’m sure you think so, but this is a very different topic. Last Tuesday was a full moon. How well did you sleep that night?”
“Good enough. Sort of hard to get started, and I had some weirdo dreams.”
“Care to share details on those ‘weirdo dreams’?”
“Nah. I don’t even really remember them.”
Mother said, “Let me guess. You dreamt you were an animal, like maybe a big dog?”
“I dreamt I was the big, bad wolf in the story about Little Red Riding Hood.” Lon sighed.
Father grimaced. “It’s already further advanced than I had feared.”
Lon looked puzzled.
His mother said, “Have you learned what genes are? Not the ones you wear; the ones that make you look like your parents?” She spelled it out for him.
“Oh, you mean like getting eye color or hair color from your parents? Yeah, it’s been mentioned in class.”
Father sighed. “So you have to learn the bad news now. You’ve inherited a gene that causes you to become a wolf during the full moon.”
“You gotta be kidding!”
It took his parents time to convince Lon, but they succeeded when they were able to tell him that several relatives — including his uncle, the head of athletic programs at the middle school he expected to attend — carried the werewolf gene.
Fully convinced, Lon asked if there was any way to control the gene’s turning him into a wolf at full moon.
Mother said, “Your father and I use a recipe handed down from my great-grandmother. It’s a tea brewed from several different herbs, including one called wolfsbane.”
Lon voiced his already known distaste for tea but, in subsequent months, he learned to drink his mother’s brew for a week around the full moon. This accompanied him through high school but, by the time he was in college, his mother insisted he learn to make it for himself. In graduate school, Lon was completing work he hoped would qualify him for a position in space, but still had to “waste” — his word — the time needed to find and brew the tea’s ingredients.
* * *
Lon’s career as a plant biologist served to convince the people running the space program he was qualified to work on plans for growing useful plants at the Mars base. He had no problem with the two moons, and he dropped trying to create his mother’s brew, since it was unneeded under the tiny Martian moons as well as being unpleasant to taste.
Grateful to save the time and avoid questions for a change, he threw himself into his work with renewed enthusiasm, not even planning to sneak in any of his mother’s herbs for his special tea; Mars base already grew the garlic and a couple other herbs anyway. His hard work and creativity gained more attention. He did not mind an unexpected promotion, but when he was summoned to the office of his boss, the offer was more than a mere promotion.
“Lon, we’ve been watching your work carefully for a while, and let me tell you, everyone on Mars is delighted we’re growing our own fresh cherries, and onions, and other veggies thanks to you.”
Lon was about to thank the Base Commander, an astrogeologist, for his kind words and to explain that neither cherries nor onions were vegetables, but the Commander continued: “Earth asked if we could recommend a plant scientist for a special mission, and your name came up.”
“Uhh, thanks, but what special mission?”
“How about doing your veggie tricks on the first crewed mission to Saturn?”
“Saturn! Wow, you mean after all these years we’re really sending people there?”
“Yep, no more robot probes with only AI to enjoy the view.”
Lon suddenly remembered that Saturn has over 150 moons to accompany its famous rings. He had no problem with the Martian moons. Just to be safe, he would have to take some of the special though yucky tea, but no matter; he wasn’t about to pass up a trip that would assure his professional reputation.
Mission planning allowed Lon, as head of an entire department in the mission, to select which edible plants to bring. Along with the expected gourds, tubers, fruit and “veggies,” he was able to slip in all the ingredients for the special family tea. He didn’t even need to defend any of the more obscure items; the higher officials assumed he was the knowledgeable expert. Using the plants’ Latin names rather than common names helped.
* * *
After the month-long flight, the expedition arrived at Saturn, and Lon’s ship settled into an orbit around Saturn’s second-largest moon, Rhea. Two other ships went to the largest moon, Titan. The fourth ship had the job of briefly visiting each of a dozen moons of interest, starting with Hyperion.
Lon happily began designing growth areas aboard a ship or base far beyond useful solar input. Periodic updates were broadcast throughout his ship of exploratory activities of the other three ships, while keeping everyone current on their own ship’s accomplishments. He paid little attention to the fourth ship’s announcing that Hyperion was too friable to risk a landing, so they were moving on to their next target, Iapetus.
Lon’s ship finally chose a possible landing spot and awaited orders to descend to Rhea. Shortly after the likely choice was selected, the Vice-Commander of the ship contacted Lon. “How soon do you think you can be producing edible crops? Turns out we won’t need plants converting carbon dioxide for breathing, since Rhea is rich in solid O2. Just convert from ice to gas. So if you need CO2 for your plants, feel free to get it right out of the ship’s air. You could also extract some from local ice, if the ship’s supply is low.”
“That’s great, I should start providing fresh items to the galley within two weeks. Just mushrooms initially, but tubers and veggies not long after. All our stock is genetically modified to mature fast.”
“Yum! I’m looking forward to home-fried potatoes with chunks of onion and green pepper.”
“I’m no cook, but the galley will have the makings. Just glad we do get a bit of sunshine here; those poor guys landing on Titan are going to have to provide 100% artificial lighting to get anything growing.”
“You’re so good at this, I could see the crews down there asking to have you delivered via skiff as a loan.”
“The hell you say! I’m happy here, not having to struggle with no light getting through clouds. Keep the skiffs for suckers.”
The Vice-Commander laughed. “That’s okay, if I approved your transfer, the Captain would ship me down with you, with instructions to keelhaul me in Kraken Mare.”
Lon laughed in turn, “I doubt being keelhauled in a methane sea is much fun.” He returned to work, secretly making sure all the ingredients of his mother’s special tea were planted.
* * *
Teams on all four ships worked for two weeks, studying their respective moons from orbit. The mission commander apparently was satisfied at the end of this time, because she broadcast orders to everyone. “Ship 1 will land at a flat area seven kilometers from the shoreline of Kraken Mare and about 20 kilometers from Punjo Mare. Both seas are to be checked for the make-up of the liquids. If safe, following establishment of a permanent base, a detachment is to be sent to Mayda Insula.
“Ship 2 is reassigned to ring studies. Ship 3 is to land on Rhea as planned. Proposed site is approved. Ship 4 is to continue studies of smaller moons as planned.”
Landing on Rhea was accomplished with no problems. The news team interviewed Lon on his contributions for broadcast to the entire expedition, and back to Earth and its colonies on the Moon, Mars, and Mercury. He preened in displaying what was growing and would soon be feeding his crewmates. Much more satisfying than interviewing explorers on a lifeless Titan, even if it had seas and streams. What was the use of a sea no one would ever swim in?
News feeds covered the brief flight from the initial base on Titan to Mayda, a modest island in Kraken Mare. The same feed concluded by showing Lon’s first serving of cultivated tubers to Ship 3’s crew. His mushrooms days earlier had been given more time by the news.
Lon was off duty and relaxing when the Mayda detachment made a very unexpected announcement. “Mission Control, four here claim to have seen something rise to the surface of Kraken Mare, move a couple dozen meters in their direction and sink below the surface. We are obtaining their visual records and will forward.”
Lon thought about that for a few minutes before falling asleep. He was awakened to a General Message apparently being repeated. “No further communication from Mayda. Mission Command advises sending drone to investigate Mayda base. Repeat, use only drone.”
“What the blazes went on while I napped?” He punched up replay, and watched amazed as the Mayda base reported a group of eight-limbed ellipsoids coming out of the Mare. The transmission suddenly cut off, no further images or sound received.
Someone on Titan was ultra-cautious or perhaps had received orders not shared with the other ships. Two drones were launched, the second hanging back where it could observe the first drone from above ground. On a split screen the entire expedition watched what the drones were seeing. Two eight-limbed somethings rose out of the Mare. Each seemed to choose a drone. Moments later, the feed from Mayda ended abruptly.
“Mission Control here. Titan Base, have you any defensive weapons, should their use become necessary?”
“Dammit, you know nothing like that was brought along.” The Titan base commander’s voice sounded tense.
“Look among your supplies. Something can be created, if just a minor explosive. You should have those anyway.”
Titan Base didn’t respond directly, just a grumble. Then “Oh, damn! No time, eight of those things headed here.” Titan base commander’s voice broke in. “All personnel stand by for emergency launch in ten, nine, eight, sev...” The transmission ended.
Mission Command, in Titan orbit, directed four drones be sent towards the now silent base. Lon followed with the rest of the expedition as each drone showed four of the strange ellipsoids form a tetrahedron before attacking. Abruptly, the drones were as silent as Titan Base.
* * *
Lon decided he had a possible role to play, if a local moon had properties he could use. First, get one at Full. Test Titan first, as largest. How? He slipped surreptitiously to a docked research skiff, sealed the air lock, launch!
Titan’s orbit was 500,000 miles farther out from Rhea, but with a diameter 50% larger than Earth’s moon, maybe the two effects would work to allow his intended change. Worth a try. According to the skiff’s computer, Titan was about 19 degrees from opposition with Rhea. The skiff should take about six hours to get him there. At four hours of travel remaining, he felt the first hints of the Change. He used the hint to prepare orders for the skiff.
Radio calls to explain were followed by the Mission Commander: “Mr. Creighton, what are you up to? Return immediately!” But his Curse had started, and all he could do was growl. The Commander was yelling about smuggled critters.
He directed the craft to orbit safely inside Titan’s Hill Sphere, starting 8,050 miles from the Sunward side of the large satellite. The still-human part of his brain cursed the complex gravitational field complicating the Hill Sphere.
“With Mission Command silent, as senior officer, I direct all ships to take available measures to evade if attacked.” The voice gave further orders, but Lon’s goal was close. Reflected sunlight came through the viewer. He felt more physical changes. Were they adequate to allow him to live here without a spacesuit or survive his fighting monsters in deep space?
The skiff operated from commands programmed before his changes made him unable to work controls. Some remaining human fragment calculated his werewolf body would survive space, but he still required air.
Outer space equipment was designed for hands. He had claws. They fumbled, but with his breathing apparatus attached, they worked. Then a jetpack. His goal loomed. A final howl broadcast to the universe. More fumbles as he left the skiff’s cabin. From the clouded surface of Titan, there rose eight ellipsoids to meet him.
The eight divided into four pairs, forming a tetrahedral shape for the attack. He looked out of the skiff’s airlock. Perhaps a kilometer away was an icy chunk about ten meters across. Perfect. He gave the skiff’s AI some final orders and leapt for the chunk.
The ellipsoids focused on the empty skiff. He used his backjet to force his chunk towards a sole pair of ellipsoids; neither reacted. The ice, at -180 degrees C, was as hard as iron. It crushed the first ellipsoid and tore the carapace from the second. Lon howled victory to the stars.
Six ellipsoids remained. He growled that the odds favored the werewolf. It took two hours, with his air getting low, until he destroyed the last ellipsoid. He returned to the skiff orbiting Titan before his air ran out.
* * *
The preprogrammed skiff took him on a long arc out of Titan’s influence. That plus some of his special “tea” brought back his human self. He got his radio back on, “Mission Control, do you read? Ellipsoids destroyed, will return to Rhea.”
“Creighton, you have some explaining to do!”
Lon’s arrival at Rhea was greeted by having him tied in restraints, and his magnetic shoes removed. He was dragged to the expedition commander while a team searched his skiff.
“Let’s start simple. How did you smuggle a dog out here?”
“Dog? Zero dogs here that I know of.”
“We heard the beast howl over the skiff’s radio.”
He smiled. “That was me, reverting to childhood. Our middle-school team was called the Timberwolves, and our coach had us howl to build confidence. Facing those creatures, I needed a lot of chutzpa. So I howled to bring it on!”
His interrogator looked skeptical, but shrugged. “Search hasn’t found a mutt. Oh well. What did you find out about the creatures?”
“I don’t know anything more than the rest of the expedition. I just took a chance. Killing the first attacker with the ice chunk was a piece of cake, so I ripped the carapace off the larger one. I put it over me and went after the second pair. I estimate they’re not too bright, because my disguise worked. It worked with the other two pairs, too.” He paused, added, “I assume their bodies will be recovered?”
“Crews are already doing that. Meanwhile, though, I’ve just received a strange message from Earth to check some details of the L. Creighton genetic code. Maybe I’ll get around to it. But first of all, I think you deserve a commendation for ingenuity and bravery in defending the expedition against attacks by the strange-looking natives of this satellite!”
Copyright © 2024 by Thomas William Hamilton
