It was a relief to be out of the wind, the numbing cold. Traejan joined his friend in the cramped, but warm space, sipped on hot soup, endured the pain as circulation returned to his hands, his feet. When he finished the ration, he looked over at Kyso, now lying back, weathered face slack, eyes closed, pretending to be asleep.
“Hey.” The three days in the snow compelled him to an old request. He reached out, nudged his friend’s leg. “Remind me that it was real.”
Kyso offered a momentary, thoughtful expression; then his face turned lax again, gaze questioning.
“Come again?”
“Remind me that it wasn’t always like this.” His voice cracked with the memory of ancient dreams, frustrated by a world that was now, “ice, snow, cold… that the forests, the sun, the warmth – that it was real.”
The old man responded with unexpected humor, eyes twinkling, lips returning to a smile.
“It was real Trae, this whole region was a tropical paradise! Must have been four million people hereabouts. They were quite a folk, the End’echeans. I had a woman…”
Traejan expected another of Kyso’s tales of adventure and debauchery. It would start with a woman, then a man, then three, four, until it became an orgy that would carry on for weeks. Had it ever been real? Or just products of Nostalgia smoke? The real last twenty years were all ice and snow – and now – bitter isolation.
Kaelin had tried to get him to appreciate her world. She’d dragged him out into it as often as she could. Naked in the fluffy drifts – even he couldn’t resist that. He’d had a woman… She didn’t hate the cold. She loved it – of course, she’d been born to it.
Traejan remembered, only dimly now, walking under a warm sun, playing in grass, on sand, being told to stay out of the sun, the heat; a world that ended before he knew about debauchery, Kyso’s or anyone else’s. All those memories had been strong once, not anymore. They’d become as insubstantial as dreams.
The expected tale didn’t happen; Kyso just laid back again, closed his eyes. Traejan turned to look back at the continuing blow of white outside the sled’s cabin.
Stolen story; please report.
“It has to be,” he insisted. “It has to be The Consortia.” They would explain. They would explain why! They would turn things back.
He felt a hand on his shoulder, felt his friend’s close presence, his warmth. Kyso offered a yellow-toothed grin.
“Let’s go down now.”
“Yeah, down,” Traejan agreed glumly, then looked up, shocked. “It’s a long, long way down,” and the sled’s thrusters were barely handling horizontal travel.
“What is it, thirty, forty meters?”
“Sixty, I think,” Traejan corrected. “I didn’t measure it. The sled–”
“Still has a couple tricks in it,” Kyso responded confidently. “You’re not going to force me to spend streck knows how many extra days trudging through this knee-high stuff, are you?”
Traejan shook his head. No, they could do it, if they were careful – very careful – and the sled’s ancient thrusters didn’t rupture under the stain.
“Rest up then. I’ll work on the adjustments.” Kyso gave him a pat on the shoulder, leaving him with the only muffled wind for company.
Ironic to have woken up after over two hundred and twenty years, frozen in suspension – only to be returned to the world – now an alien one covered in ice.
He thought of her again, them again; warm, excited flesh against the chilling snow. Kaelin had loved this world, he reminded himself. She’d loved him. He’d loved her, missed her so much. He could never love this place – not ever.
The plain of ice that filled the wide End’echean valley looked flat and smooth from a distance. Unfortunately, it was no easier to travel through than the mountains above had been. The depth of the snow varied widely, and the wind was much worse. Traejan had to work harder just to keep from shivering continuously.
Over two long arduous days, the mirror port grew from a speck in the distance to a bump, then to a collection of bumps. Periodically they checked their receiver, to ensure the signal, the portal pulse, was still broadcasting. The radio signal was weakening, intermittent, but still active.
Against the haze of dull pain and episodes of violent shivering, the quiet beeping was the beacon drawing him on. The hope it offered pulled Traejan through the misery.
Early on the third day crossing the valley, they reached the point where they could distinguish significant details with their binocs; parts of the port structure had simply disappeared.
“Right… There’s been some kind of damage – an internal collapse, it looks like,” Traejan noted, excited and appalled at the change in the port. He pointed at the crumpled top of the main tower.
“The roof and walls over the portal vault,” he said to Kyso. “That’s definitely new.”
Against the clear, pale blue sky, a sharp jagged edge of the massive structure jutted out, dark grey, not frosted white.
“Looks like,” the man agreed, his voice grim as he adjusted his binocs. “Get back to the sled. If we put a move on, we’ll get there while there’s still light.”