Free Storm Over Saturn by Mack Maloney

crater. A quick check by his quadtrol said that yes, he was on some kind of moon, and that there was breathable air down here. In fact, the moon's puff was working at an impressive 89 percent. Still, Hunter hesitated before taking that first deep breath outside. The technology of the Ancient Engineers may have done a great job reviving this tiny place, but that had been thousands of years ago. Were the moon's invisible life support systems still intact? If they weren't, he'd be dead in seconds.
    He let the moment of doubt pass. After everything they'd been through together, if he couldn't trust his quadtrol now, what could he trust? So he took that deep breath, then let it out slowly. It felt great going in and going out. There really was air here.
    So far, so good.
    He climbed out of the tube and stepped onto the surface. His boots sank a few inches into the fine white powder that seemed to be everywhere. It was strange, though, because when he looked up, he could see not the blue skies of a typical puffed body. What he saw instead were the stars in their full glory—and of course the massive presence of Saturn, at the moment hanging off to his right, taking up most of the horizon. Its major rings sliced through the sky right over his head. They made the rings surrounding Doomsday 212 look puny by comparison.
    It was all incredibly beautiful. And obviously, he was on one of Saturn's many, many moons. But this place seemed dead. In every direction, he saw nothing but dust and desolation. Saturn had so many moons these days, both real and artificial. Had the DATT's preset controls been wrong? Had he landed on the wrong satellite? Or was he inside another mad vision, a delusion of his own making?
    The quadtrol set him straight. It took about three milliseconds before confirming that he was indeed on the right satellite, the natural moon the Astronaut had called Alpha. What's more, he was at the right latitude for his purposes here. He was just a little off on the longitude.
    In other words, he'd have to walk a bit.
    Reassured by the quadtrol's conclusions, he brushed himself off and readjusted his reliable crash helmet on his head. Then he tapped his breast pocket twice. This was where he always kept his small American flag and the faded photograph of the mysterious Dominique. Two taps meant he was wishing himself luck. He was ready to start hiking.
    But then he turned around, intent for some reason on closing the DATT tube's door. He was astonished by what he saw.
    The tube was no longer a tube at all. It was a coffin.
    Not something that looked like a coffin. But a real coffin.
    Hunter froze for a moment, his breath caught in his throat. Then, slowly, he ran his hand along its polished wooden frame, its brass handles, its gleaming hinges. The inside was indeed crushed velvet, just like what was used to line the interior of coffins back in his former life. And he could still detect the scent of lilies coming from inside it.
    What happened? Had he gone through something weird during his transfer? Had the DATT malfunctioned after all?
    Was he even still alive?
    Panic rising, he pulled out the quadtrol again and quickly asked it to check his vital signs. The device burped a couple times but then came back with all good readings. This did not convince him, though. Something about unexpectedly stepping out of a coffin on a very desolate rock had shaken him. It would have shaken anybody.
    He asked the quadtrol once more for his life signs. Again, everything came back green. Then he asked it, "Am I still alive?" feeling foolish as soon as he did so. Its reply: "If you weren't, you would not have been able to ask the question."
    He almost laughed. The quadtrol had become a wiseass. That was very reassuring.
    He took a moment, collected himself, then slammed the coffin door shut. But then a thought came to him. He blinked… and when his eyes opened, the coffin had turned back into the DATT.
    He froze again, a chill running right