I approach the sparkling section of the station wall, Krüger close behind me. The light of our headlamps dances off the ice crust spanning a good quarter of the station's flank—again right where the drift once lay. It looks for all the world like the snow piled up, froze a thin layer to the Pod, then blew away again, sanding the drifts flat and leaving only this ice behind. I know it's new, too. This was a section we melted clean just this morning when we came out to defrost our instruments and scan for storm damage.
Why?
I don't have an answer, and Krüger doesn't offer one. I make him wait while I circle the suspicious area. There's nothing else of interest. This ice will have to come off, though. I approach it like I would a wild animal. Nothing happens as I come within an arm's reach of the Pod wall, then as I touch it. I thump it with my elbow and find the ice solidly fused in place.
"We should be safe to scrape it," says Krüger. "You clear the greenhouse roof the same way."
Something I've done at least four times since we arrived on the moon, but what if it's not safe? It's no more optional than what we need to do here, but it's one more thing to send me spinning into my own thoughts, searching for danger. Has Mahaha watched me without my knowledge while I'm out on the roof? Have I contributed to the threat it thinks we pose to it, if that's what's going on?
There's no good answer. I connect to the comms desk again. "Kwon, can you get Liu to toss the scraper in the airlock? We need it out here."
A few minutes later, Krüger and I are hacking into the ice together, him bombing small sections of it with the defroster until they're loose enough for me to carve off. Water droplets splatter across my jacket and cling to my gloves like jewels. By the time we've cleared the wall, all my clothing is tangibly heavier from all the little nubs of ice. I grab a chunk from the ground and try to scrub off as many as I can.
"Anywhere else that needs our attention?" says Krüger. With his helmet, suit, and mask, and the defroster primed in his hands, he looks like some caricature from a kids' show about space wars or exoplanetary spy missions. It strikes me that our reality right now might be just as intense when put on screen. If only reality came with a happy ending.
We check the rest of the Pod together, but there's no more stray ice. I catch a glimpse of the instrument panel and note that the fingers of snow on the ground are gone.
"So, do you think we need to move it?" says Krüger.
At a glance, I'd say no. There's higher ground starting to rise around us, but the spot where the Pod sits now is still flat and stable. In fact, it's probably rising, too. There's a slight slope down around it that wasn't there this morning.
Will moving get us away from a repeat of what just happened, though?
"No," I say, before my brain can send me into another tailspin. I doubt moving will get us away from anything. Admitting it makes me feel hunted—we can escape to higher ground when we need to, but we can't run away from wind, or living ice, or blowing snow. "Let's head back."
We've already been out longer than I would've liked, and it's after dark to boot. The diffuse light from Mahaha's clouds, backsplash from Qalupalik, paints the landscape in muted sepia tones, its peaks and valleys just barely discernible. Everything is quiet and shadowy. The crunch of Krüger's boots gets swallowed by the snow before it can reverberate far in the eerily still air.
We're passing the dark windows of Kwon and I's bedrooms when I see a flicker of pale wings. I did not imagine that.
I spin around. Where did it go? It's not over Krüger. Did it disintegrate already? Before I can call out to Krüger to stop and wait, I move in front of another window and catch sight of the wings again. For a moment, I can't breathe. My reflection stares back at me, wide eyes visible even through my goggles. Above my helmet dances a white crystal butterfly.
"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.