Species Adaptation

Part 1: Red Velvet

"Tevis, have you located Newell?"

"He's out."

"Who let him out?"

"No one. He's part of Ops and has the overrides. But with our EVs in maintenance, he's out there on foot–"

The pound of the colony commander's fist on the table startled her; she had always thought of him as cool and calculated.

"What's he doing out there? He knows we're into the 220s of the year."

"He sent a message he was going to see if he can get the beacon back online."

"Get him on comm for me," he growled through the clench of his jaw.

Tevis had anticipated this and pushed forward the PTT toggle on the console.

"CQ CQ calling CQ. This is A1DUP, Alpha-One-Delta-Uniform-Papa." There was a faint hiss and crackle coming from the console speaker on her desk. She turned the volume up.

"Call again." he said more calmly this time.

Tevis could see the vexing of muscles along his jawline and repeated the call signs. A second or two passed which seemed like an eternity.

"N2EEC N2EEC, this is AD2DB, Alpha-Delta-Two-Delta-Baker." Relieved, Tevis let out a breath between her pursed lips.

The commander reached down and grabbed the call mic from the stand as Tevis pushed forward the PTT toggle once again.

"Newell, let's not make this a rag chew. What the fuck-up are you doing out there?"

Tevis released the toggle.

"Trying to get the aerial back online, sir," Newell said between breaths, "before the KapCo supply shuttle cruises past us for the second time. If we miss this window, sir, it will be another five days of rations."

Tevis and the commander could hear Newell's labored breaths as he trod through the soft sand with a heavy toolkit all of which was taking its toll on him.

"You know we're in the 220s and what time of day it is. You had your orientation on the mites ... you don't want to be out there when they get to the surface–"

He snapped his fingers for Tevis to give him the conditions out there. "I am ordering you back here, immediately, Newell."

Tevis brought up the ENV panel and swiveled it toward him. The temperature was up, and the frozen CO2 had already begun to evaporate. It was too late. He tilted his finger for Tevis to push forward the toggle.

"They're out on the surface, aren't they, Newell?"

"Yes they are, sir," he responded, "but I'm double sealed. They aren't getting in."

The mites were bleeding to the surface to eat and mate. It has been 247 days since their last migration and the females velvet abdomens were flush with eggs waiting to be fertilized; the males purposeful in finding a host to carry their young. Newell had not been stationed here long enough to see this event before today, but the orientation videos he watched did not prepare him for what he saw now. When he reached the aerial, it looked as if someone had draped the antenna in red velvet. The thought of pushing away that many mites to locate the problem made his skin crawl. He dropped the toolkit to the sand, and the mites began to crawl onto it, the beacon seemed to be a magnet for them, and he was starting to think this was not such a good idea to be out here. His hero mentality had evaporated, and his idea of impressing Tevis seemed secondary at the moment.

"I've arrived," he said through his helmet mic., his tone, regretful.

"What are you seeing, Newell?" The commander asked.