"Moment of truth," Izzy muttered. She sat in a chair, and Greg and Larsen stood behind her, all three of them bathed in the glow of the primary workstation in the communications control room that sat at the top of the tower, just beneath the giant dish mounted on the roof. A progress bar was almost done filling.
The seconds ticked by, the only sounds that of the wind. Snow had begun to fall since they'd gone inside, and right now it was thin, nothing but tiny flakes, but Greg suspected it was going to get worse. He frowned, staring out the window. The sun was almost completely gone now. It was going to be pitch black out there soon...
The computer chimed softly.
"Okay...and...yes!" Izzy said, reading rapidly over the report the system check had sent back. "It works! It's all fine. I mean, some of this stuff needs maintenance. Okay, a lot of it needs basic maintenance, but it works."
"Perfect. Good work. Um...why don't you go downstairs and start shutting it down. Everything but the comms gear, the galley, the infirmary, and two bedrooms," he suggested.
"Two? Don't we need...oh," Larsen murmured. "You two are, um-okay, yeah. What do you want me to do?"
"Get down to the infirmary, fire up the equipment. I want to scan all three of us. Make sure we're up to snuff," he replied.
"Got it." He turned and hurried out of the room.
"Sorry," Greg said after a few seconds, "I wasn't thinking."
"It's no big deal," Izzy replied. "Though...we're gonna have to be maybe a little more subtle. Eventually we're gonna run into the chain of command again. Fraternization is one of those things...mostly they don't give a crap, but every now and then you run into some asshole or they want to make an example of you."
He sighed heavily. "Yeah. That's true."
"Don't take too long," she said, standing up.
"Trust me, I won't. I'm falling asleep right now," he replied, then shook his head and blinked several times, trying to wake himself up. He took her seat as Izzy left the room and fired up the communications gear. He spent a moment hunting for Becker's signal, and when he finally found it, he got a response almost immediately.
"I hear you Corporal Walker. Over," a new voice said.
"Is Sergeant Becker available? I need to make a report to him. Over," Greg replied, and stifled a yawn.
"Yes. Here he is now. Over." A pause, then Becker's familiar voice came onto the air.
"Greg! You just cleaned up half of our goddamned radio problems by turning that relay on. How are you? Over."
"Dead on my feet, Sergeant, but otherwise intact. I've got good news and bad news. Good news is I found your scout team. Bad news is they're all KIA but one of them. Sole survivor is a kid named PFC Larsen. He's intact and with us. Over."
"Damn...well, at least one of them made it out. Have you encountered anyone else? Over."
"Negative. And from the looks of things, this relay was abandoned. Over."
"Hmm...good chance some of them were called as backup...better chance whoever was left opted to go in search of loved ones. There's a small colony not far from my position, and a lot of the Marines in the area are locals. All right, are you secure? Over."
"Confirmed. We're secure. But I need to report that the local wildlife, at least the drubs, can be infected by the Flood. We had to kill one. Big sucker. Over."
"Holy crap...great. Thanks, I'll make a note of that. Some of us have been wondering about that. I hate drubs. Anyway, it looks like you're going to be stuck there for a good twelve hours, maybe longer. There's a big storm blowing in and from what little intel we can get from our weather stations and satellites, it's going to be nasty. Whiteout conditions. Over."
"Understood, Sergeant. What do you want us to do once the storm clears? Over."
He sighed. "How long can that relay stay online? Over."
"We're not sure. Determining that now. But at least two days, provided no one screws with it. Over."
"Well, that's good at least. If you can't raise me by the time the storm's up, continue along your intended path. We could still really use your help. But that very well could change. Now that we've got more stable comms, we're already getting a lot of calls. So basically be prepared for anything. Over," he replied.
Greg sighed softly. "Pretty much my life already. Over."
Becker laughed grimly. "Tell me about it. Okay, bunk down for the night and rest up. You've definitely earned it. Be in touch later. Out."
Greg sat back from the workstation and found his eyes drifting back up, to the snow. It was blowing harder now. Probably thirty below out there. How cold did it get on Wintermute? Not something he wanted to find out. The snow was hypnotic...
He got to his feet abruptly. If he kept sitting here, he was going to fall asleep. Downstairs he went, navigating the tower until he finally found his way to the infirmary, where Larsen had taken at least a little bit of initiative and was running a scan on himself, laying on one of the examination tables. "How do you feel?" Greg asked as he walked over to another table and fired it up.
"Like crap," he muttered. "But I'll probably live. You?"
"Dead on my feet," he replied, laying down.
"Same. I thought I was dead. Thanks, uh, for saving my ass. I can't remember if I told you that," he said quietly.
"You're welcome," Greg replied. He felt the table vibrate gently as it began to scan his body. As it always was, the sensation was relaxing, and began to lull him to sleep. How many times had he been here? Getting examined in an infirmary? Nodding off because he was dead tired? Too many to count. Right as he was beginning to drift off, the door opened up, jarring him from the shores of sleep, and Izzy walked in.
"How are we looking?" she asked as she approached him.
"I'm good, apparently. Just a few scrapes and bruises," Larsen murmured.
"Mine's not done yet," Greg said. The examination table chimed gently and the vibration stopped. "Okay, well, nevermind." He sat up as Izzy studied the screen. "You're good, though your body is under a hell of a lot of stress. That ice plunge really gave you hell," she muttered.
"Ice plunge?" Larsen asked.
"He went through the ice, into the water below, back on Polaris. I managed to get him out and warm before too long," Izzy replied. "Get up, my turn."
Greg nodded and relinquished the table, letting her lay down. Once she was in place, he put it through another cycle. He checked over his own results and saw only a few other things, but they were minor. Scrapes, scratches, stuff that was going to require painful cleaning and bandaging. Well, that was best done in a shower.
"So what's the plan? What did Becker have to say?" Izzy asked.
"There's a storm that's going to pound our position for awhile, not sure how long. Whiteout conditions. We're to stay put. Which, at this point, I don't mind doing."
"Same," Larsen muttered.
"Okay, sweet then. I shut down everything but here, the galley, and two living quarters. And the comms equipment, obviously. So it's going to be freezing in the hallways. And I can shut down this room and the galley when we go to bed. Based on that information, this thing should stay active for at least four days. After that, it's out of my hands."
"Hopefully Becker will have some people here by then. He said he'd probably have other jobs for us by the time the storm clears," he replied.
"I'm going to go get started on dinner," Larsen said and headed out of the room.
For a moment, Greg looked down at Izzy, and she looked back up at him, neither speaking, the only sound the wind outside and the hum of the table as it scanned her.
"How are you holding up?" she asked finally.
"You worried?" he replied.
"No."
"I am," he admitted.
She frowned. "What? What about?"
He sighed and rubbed his eyes. "The Flood," he said, and fell silent again, attempting to gather his thoughts. "I think I'm going to freak out."
"What?" she asked, and began to sit up. He put a hand on her shoulder and gently pushed her back down.
"Don't move around, you'll make it have to reset and we'll waste power," he said.
She sighed and laid still. "What do you mean?"
"It occurs to me that I've been handling the Flood too well. I mean, I think some of it is that I knew they existed, but I think I'm in shock. I mean, I've gotten really good at operating while in shock. We all have, to some degree, it's part of our job. How we survive. And I think I thought that I had it under control. But the fact that I completely lost track of time today, that I let myself, I let us, go on for that long...normally that would be a calculated decision. But today it wasn't. I just forgot. I kept forgetting. I'm concerned that it's symptomatic of a greater stress that I'm not fully perceiving. And I think I might freak out at some point in the near future. And I don't know how that's going to manifest. So I guess I'm just...warning you, you know?"
Izzy was silent for a few seconds. "Yeah, okay," she replied. "I'll watch out for you." She laughed suddenly. "Shit, I might freak out, too."
He chuckled. "Yeah, I guess that's always a possibility." The examination table chimed. He studied the results. "Looks like you're the healthiest of us all. Just a few cuts I'll need to, uh, tend to, when we shower."
"Yeah, I'm sure that's not the only thing you'll be tending to," she replied as she got up. She grabbed him by the front of his uniform and gave him a kiss, then fully stood and stretched. "Come on, I'm starving."
She headed out of the infirmary, and he followed after her.
* * *
Perhaps the greatest boost to Greg's morale since hitting snow on this miserable planet, (besides Izzy), was what they managed to find in the kitchen of that derelict comms tower. It wasn't exactly what he'd call amazing, but there was ground beef, and taco seasoning, and shells, and shredded cheese, and taco sauce.
It was just one of those 'right time, right place' kind of moments, and it was solidified when he managed to find an unopened twelve-pack of Mountain Dew Black Hole, which was, so far, his all-time favorite. He stuck it by the oven as he prepared the ground beef. It gave him a nice, and much needed, burst of energy.
Outside, the storm raged, the winds shrieked.
He glanced out the windows every now and then, seeing only darkness and blowing snow. "I don't suppose there's a way to seal those up?"
"Actually, there probably is," Larsen replied. He was sitting at one of the tables in the eating area, looking miserably tired. He glanced over at Izzy, who was walking slowly along the perimeter of the room, staring out into the snowstorm. "Check for a button around the windowsill. Most of these places have shutters."
She began searching, and a moment later, there was a click and a hum, and a metal shutter began to slide down into place. She quickly did the same for the other windows in the room. "I'm going to do this for all the windows on the first floor."
"All right, check in if you see any movement out there," Greg replied.
"Got it."
She headed briskly out of the room. For a moment, there was only the sound of frying meat and the now muffled storm.
"So, uh, how long have you two known each other?" Larsen asked.
"Three months," Greg replied.
"How long have you been, uh..." Greg glanced at him. "Sorry," he muttered.
"A few days now," he said, turning his gaze back to the meat. "Since we came to the planet. It's still...evolving." He cleared his throat. "I don't think she'd want me talking about it. She's very...private."
"That's fair. Sorry. I'm just...trying to stay awake."
"It's okay. Meat's almost ready. We can eat and then sleep after another perimeter check," Greg replied.
"Are we pulling shifts?" Izzy asked as she walked back into the room. Greg felt a beat of fear pulse through him. Had she heard any of that? He might have divulged a little more information than she was comfortable with. He supposed mainly he was worried about her getting pissed at him, given what he'd seen of her temper so far. But a glance at her told him she was relaxed. Well, as relaxed as could be expected under the circumstances.
"No," he replied. "I think this place is secure enough and, to be totally honest, we could all use the sleep."
"Yeah," she agreed after a moment's hesitation.
"That smells so amazing," Larsen muttered after a moment. "I am starving."
"Same," Izzy said.
"It's ready," Greg replied.
They spent the next few minutes preparing the food. The Mountain Dews had, mercifully, thawed by then, and still retained enough chill to be pleasant. Once they'd made their tacos, they sat down at a table together and dug in. Greg tried not to eat too fast, but it was a genuine effort. He tried to slow himself down with conversation.
"So, Larsen, how'd you end up on Wintermute?" he asked.
Larsen swallowed and sighed, then took a drink from his can. "Born here. In a little colony a ways away called Steadfast."
"Nice name," Izzy murmured.
"Eh, they all have names like that on Wintermute. It's a harsh place. Frozen most of the time. Winter lasts like nine months out of the year. You get colonies like Endurance, Fortitude, Tenacity, Perseverance. Mostly mining colonies. Lots of good metals on Wintermute. That was my job for four years right out of high school, working in a damned refinery with my dad. I hated that, and never really stopped hating it, but it taught me to work my ass off at least. I signed up with the local militia and did that for a year, and then I decided to do the real thing, enlisted with the Corps. Naturally they made me a scout." He sighed softly.
"You wanted off this rock?" Izzy asked.
"I mean...yeah. Kind of. By the time I signed up, I'd pretty much gotten used to this dump. But yeah, I'd still like to leave. See the galaxy...while there's still some to see," he muttered, trailing off. He took another bite of his remaining taco.
Greg sighed. "There's fighting on Earth now."
He looked up sharply. "There is? I'd heard a few rumors last week, but..." He gave a sharp shake of his head and heaved a sigh. "Fight of the millennium happening, and I'm stuck here."
"I deeply feel your pain," Greg replied, and Izzy grunted in agreement.
"Yeah, I guess pretty much everyone does. Covenant bastards. And still, I haven't seen any. No, instead we get these goddamned space zombies."
"Yep," Izzy muttered.
They fell silent again, each drifting into their own nebulous, unhappy thoughts, and remained that way until their meal was gone. For a few moments, the three of them simply sat there around the table, beneath the pale lights of the galley.
Finally, Larsen spoke up. "You said we need to do a perimeter check before going to bed?" he asked.
"Yeah," Greg replied, rousing himself from his near-stupor state. The lethargy had found him again. "We should do that. Sooner we get to sleep the better."
"I'll go shut off the infirmary and the galley to save energy," Izzy said.
"All right. We'll double-check the perimeter," Greg replied, getting to his feet.
They got to work.
* * *
An hour later, Greg and Izzy lay naked in their latest bed, warm and content beneath three blankets, teetering at the edge of sleep. They'd secured the facility, and he and Izzy had showered together, and patched each other up, and then had their fun in a stranger's bed. And now the time had come, at last, to sleep.
But something was bugging Greg.
"Izzy..." he hesitated.
"Yeah?" she asked.
"Are we...okay?"
"Yeah. Why?"
"I just...get concerned, I guess. I'm normally not-" he paused, then let out a small, somewhat frustrated chuckle, "well, it sounds cliched and like something an insecure person would say, but I'm normally not overtly insecure in my relationships. But..." He stumbled again, unsure of how to put it without being insulting.
Izzy rolled over so that she was facing him. They'd engaged the shutter in the bedroom and as a result it was pitch black. He couldn't see her at all. It had made their encounter...interesting, to say the least. "Do I make you insecure, Greg?" she asked, sounding surprised.
"I mean...kinda," he admitted.
"Why?" she asked, and then, before he could answer, she kept going. "Oh. Shit. Of course I do." She sighed. "I'm antagonistic and probably frustrating in how I've been handling this."
"That's a surprisingly self-aware observation," he murmured.
"I hate people who lack self-awareness. They piss me off really bad. So I invested real time and effort into cultivating more self-awareness. I'm not great at it, but I've learned a few things." She fell silent, apparently not sure what to say next.
"Izzy, listen, this isn't a psychological bid to guilt you into doing...I don't know, anything. I'm not trying to make you feel bad about how you're handling the relationship. I told you that I'm happy moving at your pace, and I still am."
"Greg-"
"Okay, okay, maybe 'happy' isn't the right word. But I will move at your pace. I'm not asking for anything beyond, I guess, a bit of reassurance every now and then."
"I know," she replied, and he felt her hand beneath the blanket, moving across his chest. It was a deeply comforting thing to do. "Greg, I think I know you pretty well by now. We wouldn't be this far if I thought that you were petty or manipulative. You aren't. And I'm sorry for being a bitch sometimes," she said.
"I didn't say-"
"I know you didn't. I'm saying it. Sometimes I'm a bitch. And I'm sorry. I'm kind of in a state of constant warfare with myself, trying to keep my anger in check, trying to watch myself, and these past few days have been so trying. So I get it. We're fine. I'm happy with where we're at and where we're going. Honestly, I just need time to process the fact that I'm...with you in this capacity."
"I understand."
"Thank you. And, for future reference, don't be afraid to check in if it's bugging you."
"Okay...you'll let me know if I'm doing it too often and it's becoming a pain in the ass?"
"Have you met me?"
"Good point." He kissed her. "Goodnight, Izzy."
"Goodnight, Greg."
She rolled over and pressed herself up against him, and he put his arms around her and held her to him. At first, he listened to the winds shrieking madly outside, and Izzy's breathing. But before long, all he could hear was her gentle, rhythmic breathing.
And, finally, he slept.