Drop

The drop was bad, but how there could have been liquid water in this frozen wasteland, where the ice was like rock?  She didn’t know.  It seemed strange because it was, that single puddle in which she just happened to put her left hand on landing.

And here’s the thing, her hand’s in it now, and she knows, despite the drop-suit, if she pulls it out it will freeze instantly, and then it’s gone; but right now she can feel the cold seeping up her arm, and the rest of the suit starting to blaze with heat, making her sweat all over, the equilibrium, so carefully managed by the suit’s smart systems, thrown by the emergency.

This is bad, but there are other consequences.  Soon the suit won’t be able to control the amount of heat, and it will generate enough that some of it will have to be dumped, the heat-seeking animals that are known to roam this polar environment will be able to see her for miles around.  They’ll come for her.  She knows they can outrun her even the short distance to the station.

The little display on the faceplate indicates that the suit is also running out of power.  Heat production was not in the brief, and uses the most power of anything, and the day is grey, no direct sun to collect more.  Certainly not in proportion to the power she’s using.  If she runs out of power, she’ll die, freeze within seconds, right to her core.

“Make a choice, Kate.”  The speaker comes alive in her ear.

“Directive not understood.”  The suit is smart, in logic, not in conversation.  The wind gets up.  Instinctively she faces away from it, turning herself carefully around the arm and the little pool of water.  It’s still liquid.

She comes to it, mentally counting the seconds while planning.  The internal countdown ends and she whips the arm out of the little pool and draws it to her stomach.  The act is like slow motion, she sees the hand and wrist begin to freeze even though less than a second passes between the pool and her body.  The shock she is expecting doesn’t come, but the hand is still incredibly cold compared to the rest of her.  She instantly begins to shiver, and the suit keeps up the heat, but now dumping it into the hand and stomach.  Incredibly she can feel the hand, and she can move it, but it’s still, frozen still she thinks.  Drawing the hand out from her curled body she sees that this isn’t the case, it looks normal, maybe a faint thickness under the suit, swollen from repeated shocks.

“Suit; make equilibrium.”

“As you wish.”  The heat recedes, leaving her feeling cold; but she knows this is a side effect, a feeling that she is cold from seeing almost nothing but ice.

Looking around through driving snow, wait, what?  Snow?  These aren’t the right conditions for snow, the wind is expected, but it’s far too cold for precipitation.  The wind abruptly stops, and the snow falls out of the air in a few seconds, straight down, like sand.

The hut is clearly visible now, and the readout of the suit is warning her that she is at thirty percent power.  She makes her way over to the door, a few feet off the ground via steps up, and steps into the guard chamber.

In any other environment this would be an airlock, it is arranged thus, the door is a lot heavier than it seems from the outside, and open out, not in.  The interior warm, but only by ten degrees, and matted with rubber holes for drainage.  Kate thinks this is the least welcoming room she has ever seen.  Apart from a few wall controls it is bare.  She jiggles the handle of the inner door, also opening away from the room.

It’s not locked, but there is a hesitation before it opens, and she feels a rush of warm air come out, followed by a steady breeze.  Realising the pressure differential, she quickly closes the door behind her.  The next room is a store and disrobing area for environment suits and cold weather gear.  She’s already got a locker area assigned, the label is clear, and some indoor clothing, slacks and t-shirts, arranged on shelves.

She takes off the helmet, instructing the suit to shut down, and strips off the close-fitting layer.  Underneath she is naked, and winces as tubes exit her body and retract.  She’s distracted and it’s a moment before the stiffness in her hand bothers her, and then she wonders how she could have missed it.

She holds it up in wonder, looking at the crystalline covered limb.  She turns it this way and that wondering at how her hand can still move covered in what looks like solid diamond.

“Weird, isn’t it?”  Says a voice from the other door.  The owner of the voice is leaning against the jamb, casually looking her up and down, but principally at her hand.  “Jacobsen.  Biohazards.” He says by way of introduction.  He doesn’t bother to try and shake hands, just gives her another look up and down.  “Glad to have you on board.”

“I’m glad you’re enjoying the show,” Karen says tartly, “you always spy on your female co-workers?”

“Only the good-looking ones.”  She sits on a bench and pulls some underwear on, then the slacks.  To show she doesn’t give a damn about him ogling her she turns to face him as she pulls on the t-shirt, no bra.  The trousers are a bit tight, and the t-shirt doesn’t quite reach down, leaving some midriff exposed.  She looks down at this, shaking her head.

“I take it you’re the prick that ordered this gear for me?”  Jacobsen smiles at her.

“You bet.”  He shoulders himself off the door, “You’re gonna want to meet the others.”  He turns away, and as she moves to follow him she grabs a brief bomber jacket of the peg and swings it on.  It’s a little better, but not much.

The others are sitting around a table, displays all over the surface, but largely ignored, they’re playing cards and finishing what looks like New York Chinese take-out.  The place is not tidy.  One of them has the decency to get up.

“Hey, how are ya’?  Morrowby.”  He sticks his hand out to shake.  “See you got the glass.”  She frowns.

“Why’d you call it that?” He holds up the other hand in response, it too is covered in the crystalline substance.  Unlike her hand, it’s not whole.  The substance is not changed, and he flexes the fingers to show he can still use it, but inside the thing is shrivelled and burned, clearly damaged beyond repair, but still living, functioning.

“Can’t chop it off, burn it off, freeze it off.  Can’t infect it, can’t crush it.  Can crush your hand, eventually, but it just springs back.”  The others, there are three including Jacobsen, look at him with disgust.

“Goddamn it, put that thing away, Morrowby, wear the damn glove.”

“Yeah, we just ate, you asshole.”

“You’re as big a prick as Jacobsen.”  The man looks over at that.  The speaker is a woman, dumpy but strong looking, brown with short, tightly curled haircut against her head.

“Hey.”

“Fuck off, you know we don’t like looking at that thing, and traumatizing the new kid ain’t gonna you no brownie points, and sure as hell ain’t gonna get you laid.” The woman looks over at Kate.  “I’m McKinnon, this other idiot is Harb.”  The man she indicates nods.  “That’s the whole team.”

“You’re shitting me.”

“Nope, we lost a few, that’s why they sent you.”

“And what the hell is this?”  Kate holds up her hand.

“That’s what happens when you don’t truck in.  You gotta sneak up on this planet.” McKinnon takes another mouthful of food, “You come sailing in like that, planet notices you, takes possession of you.  That’s what that is.”

“Horseshit.”  Kate says, flatly.  Morrowby speaks up.

“Nope, dunno about the planet having a mind,” he makes air quotes around the word ‘mind’ and Kate mentally moves him above Jacobsen in her mental ‘marked for death should it come to it’ list.  “But I can’t leave, and I’m guessing neither can you.  Knows you’re here.”  He too takes another mouthful of food.  “Least they keep us resupplied.”

“That’s just it.”  Kate says.  “They’re not going to.”

“Say what?”  She’s not sure who has spoken, but they all have shocked looks.

“They are pulling out.”  She clears a space on the table, and draws some interface elements together.  Logging in, she draws up some pictures, some look like a live feed from orbit.

“See these?”  She shows them, spinning the pictures around to orient them to the others seated and stand around the table.  “The planet erupted this substance, and this is the result.”  They look, and two of the three bulbous spaceships orbiting in low pass have the substance on about half.  “Those ships aren’t going anywhere, and there’s no more backup.  We either get out on the last ship, or we don’t get out.  That’s orders from Earth.”

They all look up at her silently.

“After that ship leaves, we’re in quarantine; no food, no water, nothing.  We’re self-sufficient down here, more or less, six months I reckon; but the rest of them up there.  They’ll have nothing.”

As one McKinnon, Jacobsen and Harb roll up their trouser legs and show her.

“None of us are going anywhere.”  Says McKinnon.