White Crystal Butterflies | Wattys 2021 Shortlist | ✔

Chapter Twenty-One

"Krüger, run."

He looks at me sharply, then sprints for the airlock. By the time we skid up in front of it, the butterfly is gone. Krüger wrenches the airlock open and keeps the defroster pointed after us until I shut us both inside.

"You saw that, right?" I say, my voice shaking.

"Yeah."

We don't say another word as the air exchange kicks in, whirring for thirty seconds before the inner door unlocks with a cheery ping. I can hardly stay on my feet when we stumble inside. I find the nearest bench and sink down, my back pressed to the wall. My oxygen tank digs into my shoulderblades. I still can't breathe. I struggle out of my helmet and goggles, then pull off my mask. My head tips back, resting against someone else's snow gear.

"You okay, Boss?" says Krüger. He's still standing there, concern writ large on his face.

"No. Give me a minute."

Speaking makes my head spin, vacating my thoughts like I'm about to pass out. My chest is tight, bordering on painful as my heart hammers against the confines of my lungs. I mentally beg Krüger not to call Kwon in. This isn't a medical emergency, though it may look like one. I've dealt with worse.

Kwon arrives anyway, called or not, but at least she has the presence of mind not to add herself to the crush of every sound or touch or smell in the room threatening to drown me. Flashes of heat run their fingers up my body. Half of me wants to believe the Pod is about to collapse, but I know that half too well to give it full control. It will pass. I keep my head against the wall and focus on breathing. An eternity in seconds ticks by before I can start to form coherent thoughts again. It's another few minutes before I can get a proper breath, and the world swims back into focus. I'm still sitting in the same position, sick to my stomach and chilled all over, my snowsuit soaked with sweat. I peel off my gloves with shaking hands.

The entryway, thanks to Kwon, is empty. I take my time pulling off the rest of my snow gear, shedding my oxygen tank behind me and pulling it around to slip to the floor. I don't have the strength to lift it. My hand bumps my goggles beside me. I click them on to check the time. Less than fifteen minutes since we made it inside. It feels like an eternity.

Kwon pokes her head in the door. Relief washes her face when she sees me sitting up.

"Thanks," I say. Even speaking feels like an effort.

"It was the least I could do." She comes to pick up the oxygen tank for me, stowing it back on its hook. Then she brings me my indoor shoes as I kick off my boots, and gives me a hand to pull myself to my feet. I'm still shivering in the suddenly freezing air of the Pod. I want a hot shower and another movie night. Or just a shower and bed. I think the first thing I'm going to do when we get back to a habitable planet is enjoy the amenities of a place with a proper boiler.

Even the lukewarm water of our station shower feels warm by the time I reach it. Liu is already in her bedroom, and Krüger is back in the lab. I don't feel like talking to him right now, but we need to document this incident as soon as possible. The walk from my bedroom to the lab feels like a mile.

Krüger is on his laptop at one of the lab benches, flicking back and forth between files or pictures or whatever he's got up on the screen. He glances up as I approach. "Hey."

I acknowledge with a nod and pull up a lab stool. Krüger scoots the laptop across to me. Bless him, too; he's already done the very thing I came here to ask. Pod photos of the snowdrift and its aftermath tile the screen, outlined in colour and appropriately annotated. There's also a night-view photo of the two of us and the butterfly, a pale but unmistakable outline over my head. A popup at the bottom of the screen notifies me of new files uploaded to the lab drive.

"I've got it covered," he says as I slide the laptop back.

"Thank you." I push myself up. "If you need anything, catch me tomorrow. I'm off for the night."

He raises an eyebrow. "Good."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"I think you overwork yourself." He keeps his eyes on the laptop screen, his face unreadable. "We can cover for you if you need it."

"Thanks, but Kwon's already made that offer."

"And have you ever taken her up on it?"

No answer jumps to help me. I already know it's because I don't have one.

Krüger finally lifts his eyes, looking like that's precisely what he expected. "We need you, Boss. I know your priority is looking out for us, but we'll lose even that if you burn out. Look after yourself, too."

I didn't come here with the mental bandwidth to field this kind of showdown. He and the others don't know what it's like in my position.

"Goodnight," I say.

"Sleep well," he answers, without looking up again.

I already know I'm not going to. I lie in bed for hours, staring at the blank rectangle on my wall as everything that could go wrong in the next five months plays like its own documentary through my head. Then I pull out my satellite phone and dial the one number other than my own that I still know by heart. The phone doesn't ring. I set it beside me and watch its no-service icon blink on and off until I finally fall asleep.