by S. D. Perry
We could have talked about this weeks ago, if I’d actually made the effort to look past his wishful reasoning. Over dinner, he told me that he’s just gotten so used to needing the salvage, struggling to keep the Even running…but it’s only because he loves the retrieval part so much. He loves the excitement, the thrill…all those clichés, about feeling truly alive…it’s true, I know that now, looking back at Drang. My entire focus was on the situation we were in; I wasn’t worrying about trivial matters, my mind wasn’t wandering, I didn’t care about anything beyond what was happening in the moment, in the second. Of course Dez loves it, and I’m embarrassed now, thinking of how sanctimonious I’ve been over him trying to support himself and the crew.
The crew of the Even Odds , my friends. Dez hasn’t asked outright, but I know he wants me to stay, and part of me wants to. So much time has passed, it’s weird…there was Drang, right after I got here, and all of a sudden, I’ve been on board for over two months. I’ve had some great times, too, it’s going to be really sad when this is over; I feel as close to Pif or Stessie or Facity, as I do—no, scratch that, I feel closer to them that to most of the people back home. Not Nog or Kas, obviously, but thinking about going back to face the Bajoran masses…it’s going to be rough. I’ve felt truly welcomed here, as me , Jake, and for once in my life, not because of my accidental relationship to Dad.
In a few weeks, we’ll have the hunt on Hw17…and a few weeks after that, we’ll be at Ee, and I’ll be able to buy transport home. It turns out that passing on the last Dominion salvages doesn’t save us any time, they were on the way to Hw17, but I suddenly don’t mind, so much. Dez’s been such a good friend to me. I only hope that in the weeks remaining, I can be as good a friend to him.
9
MUCH TO PIF’S annoyance, he was teamed with Aslylgof for the Hw17 job. Even Glessin would have been better than Aslylgof, because Glessin didn’t talk as much—and when he did talk, it wasn’t to demonstrate how much he knew—but Glessin wasn’t even on the team, and Pif was stuck.
“The planet Hw17 is not inhabited, as such, though there is clear evidence that various spacefaring cultures have settled on the surface for short periods,” Aslylgof said, settling his equipment belt over his wide hips. “No one is sure why it hasn’t been permanently colonized, although it seems likely that the consistently cold temperatures, combined with the poor exposure to light, make it an agriculturally unproductive environment….”
All I wanted to know is whether or not the locals are alien friendly, Pif thought, gritting his teeth at Aslylgof, hoping it looked like a smile. After a moment, he stopped hoping, and a moment after that, he stopped bothering to grit. Aslylgof just kept talking. While the team—Stessie, Pif, Itriuma, Brad, Aslylgof, Jake, and Dez—was assembling in the transporter room, gearing up, Pif had made the horrible mistake of asking a simple, casual question, and Aslylgof had taken it upon himself to answer.
Pif shot a helpless look at Dez, pulling on his boots, who shrugged, smiling.
“…thick ice and snow, which will actually prove favorable to our hunt,” Aslylgof continued, and held up his AD light. “Against the backdrop of frozen precipitation, the distinctive red color of the engaged alloy-density illuminator should stand out clearly….”
Itriuma was standing nearby, adjusting her nose filter and yawning; it was early. Pif sidled close enough to her to whisper out of one side of his mouth.
“Why are we doing this again?” Pif asked. Oblivious, Aslylgof kept talking, explaining what Pif and everyone else in the room already knew.
“Ask him,” she whispered back, and quickly stepped away before she got caught in Aslylgof’s line of sight.
He’d probably try to tell me, too. As if it hadn’t been a near-constant topic of conversation on the Even, since Srral had first intercepted the report. A month ago, a rival retrieval team—the ship’s name escaped Pif, something like My’lta—had jettisoned its extremely valuable cargo over Hw17 while being chased by authorities. The crew had been arrested—larceny, of course—and the cargo was still missing; said authorities, of a cold-blooded species called Horgin, had yet to mount their own retrieval expedition. It appeared that the My’lta’s cargo compartment had split open on the way down, and though the Horgin had found their own piece—the entirely uninteresting Horgin Thas—they’d decided to return home before searching the rough ice fields for the rest, needing to properly outfit themselves for the weather. In the “scrambled” report they’d sent home, they suggested that they’d taken measures to protect the site zone…as it turned out, a laughably ineffectual satellite forcefield that Facity had tapped out of commission with one shot.
Besides the Thas, which the crew had been arrested for stealing, the Even’s researchers had figured out that the My’lta had been carrying a number of exceptional pieces—art, jewels, weapons, a little of everything. It was a top haul, and because of Srral’s exceptional ability with filtering reports, it seemed that only the Even knew about the jettison. Well, and the Horgin, who were still a week away from their return.
Pif had to admit, he’d been looking forward to this one in spite of the cold, and was glad to be included on the first search team. It was going to be a real treasure hunt, looking for containment boxes large and small in a jagged ice field. Facity would lead the second team down when Dez’s group returned…assuming they didn’t find everything on the first pass.
Pif felt a rush of excitement at the thought. He had double-sprayed his coat with thermal oil, and Aarruris had good eyesight; he was going to find twice as much as anyone else, me and my “partner”; he may be dull, but with those unblinking eyes, he’s going to do well. Assuming he can keep quiet long enough to see past his own breath.
“…but I disagree,” Aslylgof said firmly. “Don’t you?” “Yes, of course,” Pif said, not bothering to replay the conversation. Whatever it was, he didn’t want to start an argument, certainly prolonging the conversation. Aslylgof had been making more of an effort lately, probably tired of not being asked to play Jake’s baseball, but Pif was pretty sure everyone preferred Aslylgof the silent elitist. Still, he was trying, and no one had the heart to ignore him entirely.
“Everyone ready?” Dez called.
Pif looked around, saw nods and uncomfortable smiles from the decidedly overdressed group. Except for the equipment, he and Stessie had both gotten off with foot treads and oil; Friagloims did well in any temperature, and though Aarruris didn’t like cold, they were naturally suited for it. The rest of the team wore bulky environment suits, gloves, and head covers. Excepting Stessie, they’d all be wearing nose filters, too. The air would be toxic if they had to breathe it for an extended period, something about the particulate count.
“Let’s filter up and go,” Dez said. “Remember to stay in sight of your partner at all times, and watch yourselves and each other for signs of overexposure. Don’t forget, we’ve got days to look for everything, we don’t have to get it all this minute.”
Right. Everyone was grinning; Dez’s responsible act didn’t fool anyone, he wanted to grab it all up as much as anyone else. Only Jake seemed dutifully sincere, though that was one of the endearing things about the young human, how respectful he was of Dez as captain, how earnestly he took everything. It was no wonder Dez had such an obvious soft spot for the boy…but then, they all liked him. Feg and Triv had tried offering up a bet that Jake would leave within a day of the Even’s arrival at Ee, and while everyone was hoping that the Ferengi were wrong, no one had been interested in playing. No one wanted to contemplate losing Jake.
The team stepped up to the transporter pad, Aslylgof moving to stand next to Pif, smiling, apparently quite happy that Pif had agreed with whatever it was he’d agreed with. The weapons researcher immediately started telling Pif how it would be best for them to stay in sight of one another, and to watch each other for signs that they were getting too much exposure—as though Pif had somehow missed hearing Dez say it, only seconds before. Pif smil
ed back, sighing inwardly, reminding himself that it was going to be dark down below, the footing treacherous; perhaps, if he was lucky, Aslylgof would fall down and break his mouth.
They were on the Even, and then they were standing together in the near-dark, in a still, silent cold. It was the middle of the day on Hw17, as bright as it got, the light similar to that of late dusk on Bajor. It was freezing, but not intolerable. Jake remembered going ice fishing with his father once, a holodeck program…had it been on the Saratoga? He thought it was about the same temperature.
Brad and Dez immediately started setting up the portable lighting units that would mark the transporter site, while Jake and the others got a look at their hunting grounds, what little they could see of them. Between the darkness and the strangely thick air, everything seemed blurred and vague, like the setting of a dream.
Jake searched for an analogy and quickly found one—an ocean at twilight, storming, frozen into angular blocks. They had transported to the top of one of the frozen swells, could see the outlines of other swells all around them, dark valleys in between. As jagged and rough as the frozen terrain appeared, Jake knew they wouldn’t stand a chance trying to struggle through—
—except we can always jump, if we have to.
He took an experimental step, lifting up on his toes, and smiled at the pleasantly buoyant sensation. As on Drang, the difference wasn’t huge, but he could definitely feel the lower gravity. It was going to make climbing those broken chunks of ice about a thousand percent easier.
The other team members were also making tentative movements, orienting themselves, trying to balance. Stessie let out a burst of unrestrained giddiness, and everyone laughed, even Aslylgof. The shared sound of laughter seemed very small in the vast silence. Jake thought it was a lonely sound, but comforting, too.
“Let’s take some readings,” Dez said, still adjusting the guide lights. “See if we can get a direction or two. Aslylgof, Stessie?”
In the hope of narrowing the hunt’s scope, Arislelemakin was wearing directional sensors, and Aslylgof carried a reader. The Even’s sensors had been woefully inadequate to the task, mainly because of the density of the atmosphere, but also because of the cargo itself. It was apparently common practice for GQ traders and retrieval teams to store their valuables in sensor-repellent containment boxes, made of a composite alloy that actually tuned itself to its surroundings, to some extent. Of course, if one knew what to look for, they could be spotted…but that was where Hw17’s thick atmosphere came in. From the Even, Srral had been able to pick up two of the larger pieces of the actual cargo hold, but nothing smaller than two meters across.
Stess stayed where she was, near Jake, while the rest of her started walking, somehow managing to look graceful as she bent and wobbled out over the dark ice. Aslylgof tapped at the reader’s controls, frowning, as Stessie got farther apart.
Jake felt another flush of happiness from Stessie, and smiled at Stess. “Having fun?”
“Yes,” she said, projecting a sense of simple well-being. “I love experiencing new environments. More than anything else, I believe.”
Jake nodded, watching as Lema—or Le, he still had trouble telling Lema and Le apart—disappeared into the frigid darkness directly in front of them. “I know what you mean. When I was younger, I didn’t appreciate it quite as much, but—”
“Wait,” Aslylgof interrupted, still frowning. “I think I’m getting—”
CHOOOMM!
The darkness strobed into brightness, the harsh landscape illuminated for an instant in an explosion of light and thunder, and of shock, mental, emotional, and physical. Jake cried out, his voice lost among the voices of the others as they all crumpled in pain, blinded, the blast still ringing across the freezing emptiness.
What remained of Arislelemakinstess understood almost immediately what had happened, or at least sooner than the other members of the team. Having stepped on the hidden explosive directly, Lema didn’t feel anything, dying instantly…and Kin died only a few seconds after the explosion, her small form ripped apart by slivers of ice. The pain was mercifully brief.
Even as Arislestess collapsed, she did what she could to clamp down on her feelings of shock and trauma, numbly realizing that she’d projected them outward when Lema had triggered the blast; she felt it reflected back at her now by the others on the team, curled into poses of agony, not yet understanding that they hadn’t been wounded. Le and Aris had both fallen out among the boulders of ice, were immersed in shock, but at least there was no more physical pain.
Everything seemed distant, strange and limited. Arislestess vainly tried to see through the blind places, couldn’t find part of herself, didn’t understand why she tried; she knew that Kin and Lema were gone, knew it but tried again, and again.
Stop I have to stop. If she kept trying to extend through the missing parts, she would create a buildup of emotion that much faster, creating an overload.
Stess rotated her opticals, searching, saw Jake’s face close to her own, his expression of pain fading, becoming a deep, fearful concern (a bleeding man, his gaze patient for death). Jake understood, she thought. Hadn’t she explained her physiology to him, soon after Drang?
The others were moving now, asking, trying to understand as they came to their feet, and Jake was talking fast, and Pif and Brad and Itriuma had run off into the dark. Le and then Aris were lifted from the cold ground, were being carried back, and Dez was gently picking Stess up, cradling her, shouting for transport as soon as the others were found.
“There’s only us,” Stess said, feeling some of the fear slip through in spite of her efforts. How long would she have, before her consciousness turned inward? She’d heard of a quad once going for three days after losing half of himself, but that had broken every standard. Hours, she could count on only hours of sanity, and each of those getting progressively worse. “Lema and Kin are gone.”
“You’re going to be okay,” Dez said miserably, and Stess didn’t answer, aware that he knew better. The Horgin had protected the area better than any of them had foreseen; she had been killed.
10
THE MISSION was an abort, not that anyone cared much. Throughout the long day, everyone came to say goodbye, to sit with her for a little while, to say or do whatever it was they hoped would make it easier…more for themselves than for Stessie, Glessin thought, though he supposed that couldn’t be helped. There was nothing that anyone could do for Stessie beyond what little he’d already done, putting her on a self-administered sedation line, trying to make her last hours comfortable.
Glessin spent most of the day standing in the corner of his small sickbay with a reader in hand, watching the monitors from a distance and trying not to intrude on the private farewells. Aris, Le, and Stess lay huddled together on the same bed, seeming to shrivel smaller with each hour that passed. She was no longer projecting clearly, though Glessin could still feel her, to some degree; mostly, she just seemed tired. The atmosphere of sadness that hung over the rooms came from the stream of visitors coming and going, trying to prepare themselves for the loss.
Almost everyone had questions for him after they saw her, wanting to know if anything could be done, and so he’d had to explain, again and again, mostly information that he’d learned from Stessie herself—Friagloims were psychologically fragile creatures, complicated, each part dependent on the others to maintain a healthy mind system through feedback and expression…and losing any one part meant that the mental and emotional connectors could no longer operate properly; health could not be maintained. So, although Arislestess wasn’t physically injured, she wasn’t a whole being anymore, either, and what was left of her would inevitably cease to function, probably within a day. The part that Glessin didn’t tell them was that Stessie would lose her capacity for reason, first, that her sanity was already rapidly waning…and that she’d made her wishes regarding her death clear shortly after being brought in.
It was early evening when Dez fi
nally left her, for the last time. He’d come and gone throughout the day, sometimes to talk with Stess, more often to stand and watch while someone else sat with her, his fists clenched in frustration, his eyes wounded and angry. Glessin had watched each of the crew struggle with the experience, and though he hadn’t deliberately listened in, he’d been unable to avoid noticing what went on…nor could he help his interest in their different expressions of grief. There was Dez’s self-directed anger, Neane and then Pri’ak’s quiet prayers to different deities, Feg and Triv’s uncomfortable formality. Aslylgof and Coamis had also been uncomfortable, their visits brief and unhappy, while Jake and Facity had both been surprisingly calm, each obviously sad but nurturing, too, working to put Stessie at ease. Prees and Srral had come together—at the same time, at least—Srral reciting a surprisingly touching poem it had once come across, about the peace of silence. Fajgin and Itriuma had sung, a wordless Wadi lullaby. Pif had talked incessantly, recounting adventures they’d shared, but had been sincere and honest in his simple emotional statements, telling her more than once that he would miss her very much, that he wished she wouldn’t die—whereas Brad had wept silently, copiously, seemingly dumbstruck by her own pain. Through it all, Stessie had somehow managed to be as pleasant and accommodating as always, acknowledging the wishes and sorrows, doing what she could to make it easier for each visitor. By the time Dez finally left, Glessin was exhausted for her.