by Ruby Dixon
At some point, I went to sleep and when I woke up, my fire was dead, there was frost on my furs, and my breath was puffing in the air like a cloud once more. I was also aching from resonance, my nipples hard and my pussy wet. Gah. Time to get up. I stretched and shook out my furs, doing a little jog to try and make my body focus on the day instead of sex. The furs were a little damp from yesterday’s travel, so I rebuilt my fire and spread them out to dry before heading on. If I started walking around lunchtime, it wouldn’t be so bad.
I feed more dried dung to my fire and wash my hands with a bit of snow, then take out a pack of rations. I help myself to a handful of the granola-like stuff, wrinkling my nose as I eat. The cootie has dampened a lot of my senses - smells are not as keen, and neither are tastes - but this particular sa-khui dish is still spicier than I like. I wash it down with the last of my water and realize I have no more. Time to melt some snow.
It’s a little intimidating to realize that I can’t depend on anyone else to help me. If I need water, I have to get it myself. Fire? I need to pick up supplies as I walk. I put the last few bites of my trail rations back into the pouch. Who knows how long it’ll have to last me? I’ve never hunted before, and the enormity of the task looms before me.
Well, I’ll just have to figure it out somehow, because I’m not going back.
When my furs are dry enough and snow melted for my water skins, I put out my fire and dress in my heavy furs again, then put on my snowshoes. I leave the cave and start heading toward the west. Harlow and Rukh had come from the west, and that was where the ocean was, so that is where I’m heading. She’d said the temperatures were milder there. I tug one of my gloves higher and figure mild is just darn fine with me.
The snow is thicker this morning, which means more must have fallen overnight. I trudge through the powder with my backpack over my shoulder. After an hour, I’m already exhausted and sweaty, but I keep going. This is what I want, so I’m going to have to suck it up. I need to enjoy the scenery - this is my chance to really see more of Not-Hoth than just the caves.
And Not-Hoth? For all that it’s cold and blustery, it’s also really beautiful. Hill after endless hill of white snow undulates before me. The landscape is dotted with the occasional feathery pink tree, and more of the shorter, frothier bushes, thick with piney-leaves. In the distance, there’s a herd of dvisti, their shaggy greyish-white coats making them look a lot like overgrown sheep with spindly legs. I suppose I should think of them as food, but right now I’m enjoying the scenery. The sky is overcast as usual, but that just means there’s no glare on the snow. In the distance, the purplish, spiky peaks of ice dance along the skyline, and I wonder if I’m going to have to cross them to get to the ocean. Gosh, I hope not. I’m not a mountain climber.
I head into a valley, following the easiest path to walk, and then over the next hill. Something shakes the ground and I freeze, looking around. There, in the distance, is a sa-kohtsk and its baby. It lumbers over the snow with slow, almost lazy motions of its long, skinny legs, and I find myself drawn toward it despite the danger it presents. It’s hideous. The hide is shaggy like the dvisti, but the legs are a tough, sinewy hide that leads down to flat, wide hooves. The head itself is the size of a car, and dotted with glowing blue eyes like a spider. Gross. As I watch, it moves its big head back and forth, as if tasting the air.
I wonder what something so big eats. Hopefully not ‘people’.
I follow it for a time, fascinated. I’ve never gone to the zoo and this is a lot like a big, icy, open zoo. I wonder if I could get close enough to touch one? The baby sa-kohtsk is bigger than I am, but still seems more approachable. I’m tempted to chase after it—
—Until the mama sa-kohtsk lets loose an epic stream of piss. Squealing, I trundle away from their trail as fast as I can in my snowshoes. Gross gross gross!
After that, I decide following animals is probably not the smartest thing. I also realize I don’t have a spear. I do have a small knife that I keep with me at all times, but it’s not exactly built for hunting, and I don’t really want to have to kill something with a blade the size of a pocketknife. How the heck did I forget to bring a spear? I’m kicking myself for that, and in addition to scanning the ground for dung chips for the evening’s fire, I look for something that will make a decent spear.
There’s nothing, of course. In the icy, windy landscape, the trees are whippy and frail, and the bushes aren’t big enough to provide much wood. This is why all the weapons back at the cave are bone, I remind myself. Of course, you have to be able to bring down a kill - a really honking big one - to find a bone big enough to make a spear out of.
Maybe there will be spears at Harlow and Rukh’s old cave. I’ll just have to make my rations last that long, and then I’ll be set. Encouraged, I pick up the pace a little and head over the next rise.
It’ll all work itself out. And for the first time in what feels like forever? My cootie is silent in my chest. I may be exhausted from traveling, I may be needy and sick with thwarted sexual desire, but my chest is all quiet.
I’ll take the small victories.
9
HAEDEN
Jo-see is much stronger than I have given her credit for. She is tired, but she walks a good distance every day, even when her snowshoes drag on the ground. She has been lucky in finding shelter — the first two nights, she found hunter caves and the third, she made herself a nest in the rocky shelter of a ledge out of the wind at the base of a cliff. She is smart. She is resourceful, too. I watch from a distance as she picks up dung as she walks, or scoops up snow and pulls her pouch under her furs to melt it.
She does not, however, look behind her.
This does not surprise me. Jo-see is the type to plunge forward in life. I am the sour one that looks behind. But if she looked but once, she would see me on the horizon, trailing behind her, watching to make sure she does not wander into a nest of metlaks, or that she is not hunted by a hungry snow-cat.
But no, Jo-see is smart and she is cautious, and I am proud of how well she is doing, even if she does not seem to want to go back.
She continues to head toward the mountains every day, always in the same direction. It is intriguing to me. Where is she going? What does she think she will find? She treads over hunting trails and goes over hills, and crosses over rocky outcroppings that make my body tense with the need to rescue her. But she is not being foolhardy. She is cautious. She pauses at every stream and checks for nelukh - the fish that humans call ‘face eaters’ - and sprinkles crushed berries upstream to get them to leave before she crosses. If she sees tracks of other animals, she changes her route.
I rub my chest as I watch her peek her head into another hunter cave. Last night she slept in the open and while she kept her fire going, it took everything I had not to step in and lead her toward shelter. I know these lands like I know my own tail, and I do not want to see her suffer.
But this is important to her, so I will follow her for however long it is necessary…or until my khui becomes unbearable. Even now, just thinking about her causes my cock to rise. When I know she is safe for the evening, I will rub myself until I come, but it does no more than whet the itch.
Just once, I wish she would look back. I wish she would see me, waiting on the horizon for her. Waiting to take care of her. To comfort her. To be her man and her mate and whatever else she needs.
But she never turns.
I hope wherever Jo-see is going, she gets there soon.
JOSIE
The ocean is beautiful.
After days of walking, my supplies are getting low, my feet feel battered, and I’m utterly exhausted. But when I hike up a rocky ridge and see the distant rolling, jade-green waves of the water? It’s something else. The outcropping I’m on ends abruptly and far below, I see gritty sand a darker shade of green than the water itself, and frosty, light green icebergs floating in the distant water. This is so cool.
I remove my snowshoes and take a seat on
the ledge so I can relax and gaze out at the ocean. From my vantage point, I can see for miles. It’s really something. The waves are tranquil and the water looks so soothing. I pull out my trail mix pouch and eat a few crumbs as I enjoy the view. I don’t have much left, but I’m at my destination. Well, sort of. I don’t see anything that looks like the caves Harlow described, so maybe I’m in the wrong spot. I lick the last few crumbs from my fingers and ignore the grumbling of my stomach. It’ll have to last.
On a whim, I dig out the disc of glass from my bag. I’m a little ashamed to say I stole it from Harlow, but if the surgery machine is broken, does it even matter? Nothing else is half as useful, and I plan on using the heck out of this thing. I cup my fingers around the edges and hold it to my eye like I would a telescope. At first it makes my gaze blurry, so I try focusing with one eye closed, and things zoom into place.
Now I can see much further away. Excited, I use it to gaze down at the ocean. The water doesn’t look as green — or as soothing — a little closer. In fact, the waves look downright nasty, and I can see dark blobs scuttling on the shore.
A shadow flies overhead, and I put my ‘telescope’ down, glancing up. There’s a gigantic bird overhead, rushing past at a speed I’ve never seen before. Holy crap, it’s fast. I lift my spyglass again, but it moves so quick I can’t catch a view of it. Darn.
I turn back to the ocean, and peer out at the icebergs. There’s dark shapes on them that I can’t make out. Maybe the Not-Hoth version of seals? Ice otters? Something? A moment later, the waves undulate and a thin, yellowish snakelike thing erupts from the waves and snatches one of the dark shapes off of the iceberg and disappears under the water with it. I shudder.
Mental note: no swimming.
I move the telescope over the water, scanning. Mostly there’s nothing to see but more waves, but as I sweep over the distant horizon, a faint smear of lighter green against the water catches my eye. I try to focus in, but no matter how much I squint, I can’t see what it is. At first I think it’s another sea serpent, but when it doesn’t move, I realize it’s something else. Land, maybe? But it’s…green. Maybe I should check it out.
I turn my telescope back to the icebergs and see another dark shape flutter under the water.
Maaaaybe I won’t check out the green if it means going through Jurassic Park: Aqua Edition. Haeden would know what those things are. For a moment, I feel an unhappy pang of longing that has nothing to do with my cootie.
I put down my spyglass and rub my forehead, where a headache is starting.
It’s weird, but I miss Haeden. With all this travel, my cootie’s gone mostly silent, though I dream of Haeden at night and when I wake up, my chest is vibrating with resonance. That isn’t what makes me miss him, though. I miss his presence, knowing that he’s there for me. It’s strange, but no one’s ever really been there for me in my life. When the shit hit the fan, everyone else ran away. Not Haeden. He might glare and put up a fuss, but he’s always been there. Funny how I didn’t realize it until I left.
He’s still insufferable and a prick, but…he’s growing on me. Or was. I imagine what he’d say if he knew I went all the way out to the ocean on my own. He’d scowl, his tail flicking, and cross his big arms. You’re weak, Jo-see. Females must be protected. Humans cannot travel like the sa-khui.
I’m gleeful, imagining the smug look on his face changing to one of wonder as he realizes just what I’ve done. That I’m a tough cookie. And some of my enjoyment fades when I realize he’ll never realize what I’ve accomplished, because I’ll never see him again.
I hate the wistful ache in my breast. I’ve made my choice and I won’t cry over it. Another bird flies overhead and I squint at it. Eagles? This area reminds me of a (much, much colder) Pacific Northwest and there are eagles in that area. Probably not too safe to be up on the ridge, then. I’ll leave just as soon as I figure out where Harlow’s cave is.
I raise the glass again and this time, I scan the rocks. The cliff below shows nothing interesting, and I sweep up, up, up into the distance until I realize I’m staring at the base of the purple mountains, the ones that look like glass or rock candy. Pretty, but not what I want. Still, I can’t help but study them for a bit, because I’ve seen nothing like them before.
That’s when I notice the wreckage.
My spyglass sweeps over one mountain, and in the snow at the base there’s a dark shape half covered in snow. There are hard edges to it and a blinking red light, and the pit of my stomach curdles, sick.
It’s a ship.
It can’t be…can it?
10
JOSIE
When I decided to set off and become Ice Explorer Josie, I’d expected one of two things: sucking miserably at it and returning home, or finding Harlow’s cave and hiding out there until my cootie gave up.
I didn’t expect to find another spaceship.
I stare at the square. It’s not our ship. It’s not the one we came from. That one was near the peak of a granite-like mountain and this one is surrounded by purple rock-candy peaks. Ours had a breach in the hull on the top and the rest of the compartment we’d landed in was relatively secure. It was the only way we’d managed to survive the elements for a week despite no cold weather gear and no supplies. The snow had insulated us and our body heat kept us warm.
This wreckage is different. Even though it’s a square, it looks like one end is mangled, like a cereal box torn open at the bottom. There’s snow, but I see a blinking red light. Maybe it’s a distress beacon of some kind.
Oh, crap. What if there’s someone that needs a rescue and all they’ve got is me?
I put down my spyglass, thinking. Okay, panicking. A little panic’s totally justified, though. I don’t know what I’m going to do. We haven’t seen any ships fly overhead in the year and a half that we’ve been on Not-Hoth. No one’s tried to re-kidnap us.
It’s a trap, Admiral Ackbar’s voice says in my ears.
Yeah, it feels a bit like a trap. Of course, the more I think logically about it, the more I wonder.
A ship returned a few months after we’d arrived. They stole Kira again, shot Aehako and Haeden - oh crap, Haeden! - and left them for dead. Kira had saved the day when she crashed the ship and took an escape pod back to Aehako’s side. It’s a story that’s been told around the campfire over and over again. I’ve heard it a dozen times, mostly because I gleefully enjoyed the part where Haeden got his guts shot up.
Man, I’ve been a jerk to the guy. I feel a twinge of guilt and then shove it away. Focus, Jo.
Okay. Okay. I close my eyes, picturing Kira telling the story in her solemn voice. She’d set the spaceship on autopilot and pointed it at the distant mountains, where it had crashed. Both Aehako and Kira had seen the crash.
Distant mountains.
These mountains.
I exhale a breath of relief. That has to be it. This is the ship Kira crashed, and when she’d crashed it, there were no survivors. They were all already dead. It was a little…well, bloodthirsty, but it’s hard to feel sorry for someone that stole you from Earth and wanted to re-enslave you. I’m not sorry they’re dead.
But I still don’t know what to do.
Do I check out the wreckage and hope there’s something useful? Or do I go hunt down Harlow’s cave with its supplies?
Or do I somehow make a boat and check out the green smear in the distant waves that might be an island?
This feels like an ice-age version of House Hunters. Does Josie want adventure and an island cabana despite the dangerous location? Or will she choose a beachfront property…provided she can ever find Harlow’s cave? Or will she choose the house in the mountains, even though it might already be occupied?
I look around me. The cliff has greenery, but it’s scrubby and twisted, designed to cling to the rock through the snow and the high wind. There’s nothing around here that would make a canoe even if I knew how to make one, or a raft. And the thought of getting into that sea-monster infe
sted water scares me.
“Island, you’re going to have to wait for another day,” I tell it. House one eliminated. Now, in true House Hunters fashion, I need to narrow it down to two choices.
I ponder this even as another dark shape moves through the sky, the shadow rippling over me. Whatever I decide, it’s not smart to stay here. I give another quick glance through the spyglass at the cliffs below, but I don’t see a cave. Shit. I turn my glass back to the wreckage, in the opposite direction.
The red light winks at me.
If that’s the wreckage I’m thinking of, there’s no survivors.
But what if I’m wrong?
But…what if they have food? And guns? And things I can use to survive? Right now I’ve got a pocket knife and maybe a handful of trail mix left.
I chew on my lip, thinking, and toy with the spyglass, flipping it through my fingers. It’s been surprisingly handy, and it wasn’t even meant for this. Who knows what kinds of goodies the other alien ship will have? I put the spyglass in my pack. I sling it over my shoulder, put my snowshoes back on, and head down the cliffs, toward the wreckage.
If I’m here, I might as well see what I can salvage.
* * *
The wreckage is a bit further away than it appeared in my stupid spyglass. Okay, a lot further away. I hike for the rest of the day and don’t make it there before the suns start to set. There’s not much shelter around, so I find a few scrubby bushes to act as a windbreak and spend the last hour before sunset pushing the snow higher into the bushes so they form a wall. I have a bit of a dugout and I build my fire there, spending the entire night shivering and feeding more fuel to it so I don’t freeze.