I've never seen someone grow up as fast as Liu does when she realizes this mission is going ahead. She takes my orders and does what I ask quickly and competently. She and Kwon head off to tune the mask while I start throwing supplies together from the piles I already assembled.
It's hard to know what to prepare for, but the more I contemplate it, the more I think I can take a guess. Krüger dropped through the snow. Given what Liu described and the fact that he's not back yet, he's probably trapped underground. If this was any other snowy landscape ever, I'd be concerned about suffocation, but Mahaha's surface moves too much to truly close off a pocket of air. I bump that worry down the list.
There are other options, though, that could explain his continued absence. One is injury. Another is an attack like Mahaha made on Kwon. If he's lost his oxygen tank, there's nothing Liu or I could have done. She made the right decision, flagging the spot and coming back for help, but we've sacrificed time in the process. The hope, then, is that the hole Krüger dropped through didn't close in, even if it closed over. Somehow, that seems more Mahaha-esque than the alternatives.
I note that down.
If the moon is a toddler and it really does like Krüger, maybe it decided to keep him. I would hope it at least knows the basics of keeping him alive, then, though I have some confidence in that given that it also knows how to attack and kill.
Either way, we'll need to be prepared for a vast range of scenarios, from body retrieval to first aid to negotiation. At least some of the supplies for those overlap. I pack thin, strong rope, note a gut feeling about it, and throw in another coil. Ice-climbing equipment is useful everywhere on Mahaha, and there's an emergency blanket in our gear cupboard that doubles as a tent. The litter doesn't sting me this time as I add it to the pile. I hope we don't have to use it. Krüger's not heavy—Liu and I between us could lift him—but any injury serious enough to require immobilization vastly decreases his chance of survival. There's no hospital in our reach for the next five months.
I'm rooting out field-food from the storerooms when Kwon knocks on the wall at the top of the stairs. They're ready to test the mask. We agreed that I would be the one to try it, being the most familiar with asphyxiation warning signs and the most likely to notice them creeping up on me. Liu might have the smarts to know the former, but there's a different kind of attunement to your body that comes with experience in the field.
I join Liu in the entryway. We suit up and step into the airlock together; it'll serve as our test chamber, a door away from the safe indoors in case something goes wrong. Liu and I are wearing the last two functioning oxygen masks, and I've got an oxygen meter clipped to my finger. Between us is a bucket of ice Kwon scraped from our freezers so we don't have to go outside. We sit down facing one another, and I give Kwon the signal to start the air exchange.
Both doors seal, and the temperature in the airlock starts dropping. When a light on the outside door indicates we're now in outdoor conditions, I swap my mask for the test one and turn it on. It complies without a hitch. The snow-chamber on top of its tank is easy enough to load over my shoulder. I hold my breath while the heating mechanism melts the frozen payload and sends the water into a catalysis tube. The gas percentages on the tiny screen in my goggles zoom back to normal and hold there as oxygen joins their mix.
I take a careful breath, then another one. A minute goes by with no ill effects. Unless its system breaks after extended use, this works.
"What's the longest you've left it on for?" I ask Liu, noting that the numbers don't change even as talking disrupts the pattern of my breathing. Good.
"Overnight. We had to keep restocking it with snow, but I added an alarm for when it's running low on water."
"Have you shock-tested it, too?"
"We dropped it on the floor and shook it a bunch." A smile tugs at the corner of her mouth: the first I've seen since yesterday. "It doesn't work for long if it's flipped upside down, but that's just because Dea and I couldn't find a way to add suction to the snow-chamber. So it's gravity-powered."
Over the next fifteen minutes, I put the mask through every test in my repertoire, including the increased oxygen demand of exercise, and seeing just how long 'not long' is upside-down. It turns out to be over three minutes. Not bad for a system these two built almost from scratch, and more than enough to get myself out of an average emergency situation.
When I'm satisfied with the mask, we leave it with Kwon and finish gathering supplies. I err on the side of calamity and bring enough food for an overnighter, and pack the defroster, too. It's heavier than most of our gear, but it's proven its worth against Mahaha. I wrap it in a blanket, just in case the moon recognizes it from Krüger and I's Kwon-rescue and decides to take issue with it.
The only other electronics we have along are the headsets in our helmets, our goggles and masks, and the receiver Liu brought back with her. If Mahaha isn't a fan of our tech, we're about as low-threat as we're getting. The receiver, meanwhile, is still showing the signal for the mini-probe Liu left back where Krüger was taken. Whether that transmitter is still where she left it is yet to be seen.
I expect to feel the usual wall of worst-case scenarios bearing down on me as Liu and I finally suit up to leave. The opposite turns out to be true. My anxiety of the day, the week, and the last two months has settled like the floodwaters of a river falling calm in their newly battered channel. It's not gone, but even my best coping mechanisms of the last nine years haven't achieved this level of submission from the tangled bundle of emotion constantly unraveling and re-knotting itself inside me.
Liu, though, falters as she reaches for her helmet. In a moment, it's like she's been paralyzed, one hand on her last piece of gear, staring at it and trembling slightly. I've seen this response in too many trainees to count. The crisp efficiency she's shown for the last hour has been a front, masking a genuine terror of the unknowns ahead. If that swamps her, this mission is set up to fail.
"Hey." I slide across the bench to her, scoop up the helmet, and set it in her lap. I rest my hand on top of her gloved one. "We're going to be all right out there, okay? We'll figure this out. Stay close to me, and I'll look out for you."
"But what if I mess up and make it angry?" she whispers.
"That's what this is for." I smile and pat the defroster strapped to my bag. "You've also seen how it responds to you and Tobias, am I right? That's valuable. Flag to me if you see it acting in any way that makes you nervous, and we'll work out another approach together. You can call me out if you see me doing something you think I shouldn't, too."
She nods, though I can tell she's not convinced.
"Trust your instincts," I say. "That's the most important thing. And I promise to listen to you, and to listen to mine."
There's a note of surprise in the way she glances at me. I know what that's for.
Now's as good a time as any to apologize. "I know I haven't been great at either of those things these last two months," I say. "I'm sorry for that. I promise to do better."
She looks at me for a long time, the worry on her face easing as she sees I mean it. Then she returns her gaze to her helmet.
"I'll be right after you," I say, with a final pat on her shoulder. She nods, puts on the helmet, and heads for the airlock.
Kwon catches me when we're alone in the entryway. She rests her hands on my shoulders, worry lingering in her expression. "What about you? Are you going to be okay?"
With Liu gone, I don't have to keep a front up. Kwon has seen me at my worst now, and I can be real with myself, too. I'm still not completely okay. Just okay enough. "I guess we'll find out now, won't we?"
Kwon looks me over for a moment, then hugs me.
God, I've missed hugs.
Kwon isn't about to let go until I do, so we stay like that until I'm feeling ready to face the world again. "Thank you," I murmur when we finally break apart. She gives my shoulder a last squeeze before I don my helmet and follow Liu into the airlock.
I'm prepared for anything as we step outside. Liu goes straight to the Pod wall like I instructed her to. I stand a little ways out where I can see in all directions, one hand on the defroster in case I need to fend off marauding waves of snow. The landscape remains motionless. Either Mahaha is hiding, or it's watching us, waiting to make its move. After a minute of silence, I nod to Liu, and we move towards the garage.
This is potentially the most dangerous part of our departure. The hump that marks Samson's burial ground still rises beside the Pod, its craters filled in with new snow. We could hypothetically turn around right now and strike out on foot, but weighing our options—gear weight and speed against risk of angering Mahaha again—tipped our plans in favor of taking our other vehicle. If Mahaha hates Liu and I on the snowmobile as much as it did Kwon and Samson, we'll find out soon enough.
The garage door groans open as Kwon lets it down at reduced speed. It hits the ground with a thump, stirring up a flurry of snow. I half expect the flakes to keep swirling like they did when we revisited the trashed Isoptera, but they settle like they ought to. I venture up the ramp and climb into the seat of the battered snowmobile. I watch for any response from the snow outside as I rev its engine. Then I brace myself, ready to bail if needed, and drive down the ramp.
Nothing happens. Nothing ever has with any of us besides our engineer, unless I count the butterflies that scouted Krüger and I. That's a thought worth returning to, so I tuck it away. I reach the ground, take a spin around the Pod, and stop back at Liu's side. We load up our gear. Then she jumps on the long seat behind me and wraps her arms around my chest. She's holding on much more tightly than she'll need to to avoid getting bucked off on the ride.
"Don't suffocate me," I say with a smile.
"Sorry." She's clearly never been on one of these before. Her grip flinches tighter as we jolt into motion. I circle the Pod once more, then lock the receiver into the holder between the handlebars and steer us out towards the signal on its screen.