On the Ocean

Chapter 1

"Grandpa, which is correct: ON the ocean or IN the ocean?"

"Depends on what we're talking about."

The boy took a running start, leaped over the half-destroyed skeleton of a sea creature, thoroughly covered in sand, and turned around.

"You always say "on the Ocean," but in books they write "in."

The old man sighed, looking up at the cloud-shrouded sky—hiding his tears, saddened by the inevitable event.

"Those are different things. I'm talking about the planet. On the planet, on the Ocean. Books write about water, so you should say: in the ocean."

The boy rushed toward the nearest puddle, shouting as he ran.

"Now I'm on the Ocean," he jumped into the center, raising a salute of splashes. "And now I'm in the ocean, right?"

"Now you're in a puddle," the grandfather shook his head discontentedly. "The Ocean is vast, endless and deep."

Having climbed to dry ground, the boy began to take off his shoes to empty them of water.

"I know. I've seen it in books. I don't understand why the planet is called that there are only small puddles here."

"There used to be water everywhere. We landed on an island."

"Is that an island?" the grandson interrupted. "Can we reach the sea?"

"The rocket disturbed something," the old man continued the story he'd told a thousand times. "The water rose, revealing a huge continent. Now it's up there, in the clouds. The day we landed, it rained in reverse."

"Can we reach the sea?" the grandson insisted.

"No. It's too far. We won't have time to get back to the rocket."

The boy sat on a rock intently lacing his boots. They were silent. Both knew there was very little time left before launch, and they tried not to think about it.

Everything had been discussed and practiced many times. They simply wanted to pretend nothing was happening; this day was like all the others, identical, dry, meager—familiar.

"Grandpa-a-a." the boy stood up and looked up at the tall old man. "I don't want to fly away."

"Come on!" he responded with false optimism. "You dreamed of seeing your home world! It's beautiful and comfortable, not like this lifeless desert!"

"I was born here," the boy frowned.

"Your parents really wanted you to..."

"They died!" the boy raised his voice. Then he turned pointing to a row of modest mounds. "Their graves are here. I won't abandon them," he glanced at his grandfather again, "and you."

"You must," the old man replied dryly.

"Then let's fly together!"

We've had this conversation before. There's no point in starting it again; instead, we need to tell him sternly that it's unbecoming for a space traveler to be a wimp, even if he's only ten years old and, instead of thoroughly preparing for the flight, he's faced with the struggle to survive in the company of a sullen and, essentially, stranger.

"My body is worn out, kid," the old man sighed. "I won't make it."

The boy rushed toward him, hugged him, pressing his face to his sunken chest.

"Let me stay. Who will bury you?"

"No. The next conjunction of worlds is a long way off, and Earth is waiting for the results of the expedition. We've been delayed enough."

"They can wait!" the boy shook his head stubbornly.

"This can't be done, kid. If the data becomes outdated, the team's deaths," he now pointed to the miniature cemetery, "will have been in vain. It's time. Come, I'll help you."

The young astronaut knew how to do everything himself. He had to train him because the old man wasn't sure he'd live to see the launch. He'd seen off the only person he'd spoken to in the last eight years only because he'd been putting off the moment of separation as long as possible.

That's it. A mechanical voice announced the start of launch preparations, reminding the support services to abandon the rocket and take shelter in the bunker.

"Goodbye, Grandpa," the boy's voice, broadcast over the loudspeaker, wavered, "I love you!"

"And I love you, son," the man whispered as he ran. He knew the astronaut wouldn't hear, but he repeated over and over. "Have a safe flight, son. Kiss the ground for us all."

The "bunker" was an ordinary crevice in the dry earth, protected by armored glass from a malfunctioning boat. The expedition was preparing to explore the water element. Who could have imagined that tracked and wheeled vehicles would be needed?

The trench was dug at the boy's insistence, but they had to give in to avoid adding unnecessary stress. The old man promised to take cover during the launch, although he saw no point in it. The mission was accomplished! The materials obtained at the cost of ten lives would be sent to Earth, would fall into the hands of scientists, and would benefit future generations...

Still whispering parting words, he watched as the fiery rocket slowly lifted off the rocky surface, began to rise, pierced the dense cloud cover, illuminating the dull grayness with orange flashes.

What is this? The clouds dispersed, bright rays of light poured into the thawed patch, and drops began to drum on the glass of the bunker.

Rain! The first rain in a long time poured down without ceasing.

At first, the water seeped into the cracks, soaked into the soil, turning it into silt, then began to cover the lowlands with shallow lakes. The ocean was returning.

"Shouldn't I fix the boat?" the old man asked himself, climbing out of the bunker. "I promised you, son, not to die while I still can. I'll have to keep it. I'll have to live a little longer!"

With a leisurely pace, he moved toward the elevated area, once a tiny island amid the raging waves. An unnatural rain had ruined the expedition's plans. An ordinary rain had changed the fate of the only man left on the planet Ocean.