Chương 275: 114. Keeping Secrets 1

Once the first block of ice was secured in the recovery bag, I'd more or less assumed the rest of this EVA would run on a simple loop—cut a few more blocks, bag a few more loads, fish a few idiots back from low-gravity drift incidents—and then head back to the ship without incident, pulling the Yukikaze's water reserves from hopeless back up to barely enough to keep swearing about. The universe, predictably, had no appreciation for that kind of modest ambition. Aida found the anomaly first.

She was crouched at the second collection site, pressing a portable analyzer against the ice, scanning the density structure below. Jess and I were hauling the first recovery bag toward the lander. Roy was near the ramp, correcting anchor angles. Lan was up on a higher ice ridge, setting up a relay beacon. The whole plain was silent in a way that felt like someone had unplugged sound itself. Nothing but breath inside our helmets, the thin whine of instruments, and the occasional scrape of boots on ice.

Then Aida's channel produced one very short sentence.

"Hold on." Aida didn't talk much to begin with, which meant that single word landed harder than three shouted warnings from anyone else. I turned at once.

"What is it?"

"There's something under the ice responding to the heat source." She didn't look up. Her voice was steady, but with the specific, deliberate steadiness of someone choosing not to sound alarmed.

"Not simple thermal conduction. Not a standard mineral vein. It's more like—when the cutter activated, a section underneath woke up with it."

"Please don't use the phrase woke up on a dead ice ball," Jess said.

"Thank you."

"I don't like it either," Aida said.

"But that's what the data looks like." Jess and I traded a glance and moved toward her, one after the other. Low gravity turned hurrying into something stupid-looking—you couldn't sprint, you could only take these controlled, exaggerated strides, trying hard to look like you weren't panicking while making very sure you didn't launch yourself into orbit. Aida shared the analyzer feed to all our visors.

In the cross-section, buried under the alternating layers of water ice and CO₂ ice, several thin bright lines glowed. Not bright with heat. Bright with something phosphorescent, like an amplified signal echo that had left a stain behind. Every time Aida brought the cutter closer, the lines flickered faintly, like a sleeping nerve twitching under a needle. Lan slid down from the ridge, voice as level as ever—the kind of calm that made you wonder if she rationed her own blood flow.

"Not comms interference. Wrong spectrum. Looks more like localized energy accumulation."

"Didn't the survey say this planet was low-risk, no biosigns, suitable for short-to-medium surface ops?" Roy asked from behind us.

"The Federal database also says logistics efficiency improves every year," I said.

"Right. Got it. Stupid question." Jess crouched beside Aida, stared down through the ice for a long moment, then delivered her verdict with complete sincerity.

"Kinda pretty."

"Pretty's usually the prelude to dangerous," I said.

"That sentence works for dating too." I was sorely tempted to put a boot in Jess's back and send her into the nearest snow pit, but the risk of that particular maneuver in low grav was too high for someone currently acting in command. So I settled for a glare, then crouched down and pressed my glove flat against the ice. Through the insulation layers I obviously couldn't feel real temperature, but there was still a strange impression—like something under that ice wasn't moving. Waiting. Not hostile. Not friendly.

Just there, the way this dead rock had kept one small, secret pulse going.

"The survey mentions something called Frost Crystals," Lan said.

"Rare material. Application unknown. Might be related."

"Great name for a personal brand," Jess said.

"Frost, that's your merch line."

"If my merch glows blue at a plasma cutter, I'd rather not have one." Aida had already switched to a finer probe, easing it down along the micro-fractures. The numbers climbed in uneven steps and settled into an awkward zone—not high enough to demand immediate retreat, not low enough to let anyone take a cute photo and call it a day.

"Weak radioactive energy accumulation," Aida said.

"Similar storage pattern to the ice shrubs nearby, but much higher purity. If it's cut free and exposed to a steep thermal gradient, there could be a transient release."

"Translate," Jess said.

"It might blow."

"Why did that take you seventeen words the first time?"

"Because I wanted you to feel educated." I pressed two fingers into my temple. By the book, the sensible move here was to mark the site, log the data, return to the ship, and come back later better prepared. But sensible assumes you have margin—time, supplies, and no half-crippled destroyer sitting on the edge of nowhere waiting for you to dig up water before people started dying of thirst. We had none of that. So I thought about it for two seconds and made the call.

"We sample it," I said. The channel went quiet. Roy spoke first.

"Now?"

"Now." I looked at the blue-white threads and kept my voice flatter than I felt.

"Small sample only. Don't touch the main structure. Aida operates. Lan watches the data. Jess falls back to a perimeter position. Roy, get the lander's thrusters on remote standby. The second any reading crosses the warning line, everyone pulls back."

"This sounds like the kind of decision that ends up in a medical officer's incident report," Jess said.

"Then do me a favor and live long enough to file it."

"Copy, Acting Captain." I moved up beside Aida and popped open the portable containment box. She dropped the cutter to minimum power and drew a narrow slit into the ice like a surgeon working with a scalpel. In low gravity, the shavings didn't fall—they drifted lazily away, catching the faint light, like someone had scattered a handful of ground stars around us. The cut deepened, and the blue-white structure finally showed its edge. Not ordinary ore.

It looked more like a cluster of luminous dendrites frozen mid-growth—semi-transparent, fine-edged, with a very faint current running through the interior. Not alive, but more convincingly breathing than most things that were. The instant it hit open air, a thin white mist bloomed across its surface, and the warning bar in my helmet chimed once, softly.

"Energy fluctuation rising," Lan said. A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.

"Still inside the safety band," Aida said.

"That sentence gets less reassuring every time I hear it," Roy muttered.

"Shut up, you'll make me laugh," I said. Aida used insulated clamps to pinch off a small fragment and drop it into the containment box. The instant the lid sealed, the blue light bolted along the base of the ice layer—a thin, fine thread of light swimming deeper. The whole surface answered with a soft, teeth-setting crack. Everyone froze.

"... What was that?" Jess asked.

"A sound I don't like," I said. Aida stared at her analyzer, brow furrowing for the first time.

"Local structure's loosened. There might be a void layer under this section." I didn't hesitate.

"Stop cutting here. Second batch moves to that flat stretch up ahead—clear of the crystal zone. Lan, flag the anomaly. Aida, secure the sample. Roy, get the first bag back to the lander and locked down. Jess—""Here."

"Wipe that I just found exclusive gossip look off your face and watch your footing."

"Yes, ma'am. You're really starting to sound like an XO."

"I'd rather smell like water." By the time we shifted to the second site, the whole ice plain felt different from ten minutes ago. The sky hadn't changed. The terrain hadn't grown teeth. But we knew now that this too-white world under our feet might be hiding things that shouldn't be casually touched. Once you know that, every hairline crack starts reading like a warning, and every soft groan from the ice starts sounding like a countdown.

The second site looked much safer—thick ice, even returns, no Frost Crystal signature below, no obvious void signals nearby. Only after Aida and Lan re-confirmed the numbers did I let the team start the second run. The work went smoother this time. Aida ran the cutting line, Jess and I braced the corners, Lan watched the data and ground structure, Roy stood at the outer edge with the recovery line, ready to haul. Low gravity made moving large ice blocks relatively easy—and made losing your grip equally easy.

We were shifting what amounted to a sliding coffin across a sheet of glass too thin to trust: less effort, and constant potential for disaster. Roy had clearly learned his lesson. His movements were noticeably tighter now—maybe too tight. He walked like he was afraid of stepping on the planet too hard.

"Roy," I said, "you look like you're stealing the last piece of cake from the mess hall."

"If I get distracted enough to answer you right now, I'll be the one going down," he said through gritted teeth.

"Good. At least you're developing survival instincts."

"That's called growth," Jess said.

"That's called adapting after prolonged bullying from you two," Roy said. I was about to fire back when a row of yellow alerts lit up inside my visor. Not a full alarm—localized structural stress redistribution. Almost the same instant, Lan's voice dropped in, low.

"Surface load redistributing. Front left—no, directly below you. Fracture layer extending." My stomach dropped. I looked up fast.

"Everyone stop—" The ice finished the sentence for me. Crack. It wasn't loud. It didn't sound like an explosion. But in a place this quiet, that thin, brittle sound was worse than artillery fire. The second recovery block had just been lifted at one corner; the support point shifted, and the surface stress went instantly unbalanced. A hairline white line appeared, then split outward in both directions like an invisible pen had drawn it in real time.

"Back!" I shouted. Low gravity gave every retreat a faintly ridiculous, floating quality, but nobody was laughing. Jess reacted fastest—kicked off hard to the right. Aida practically threw the cutter aside and shoved her own center of mass backward. I grabbed the nearest anchor stake and pinned myself and the line to it. Roy had the worst position of all—still holding the recovery line, standing on the section of ice that gave way first.

A heartbeat later, Roy and half a dislodged slab were sliding straight toward the fracture. Time pulled thin. I saw Roy try to drop the line on reflex, glove caught in the carabiner. Saw that the bottom of the fracture wasn't shadow—it was a depth that turned your stomach cold. Saw Lan already raising her launcher, still half a beat short of a clean angle. Saw Jess lunge forward, only to drift too high in the low gravity.

If everyone acted on their own, the next thing we'd have was a very hard incident report to write. So I didn't wait. I threw the orders out.

"Roy! Drop the cargo! Cut the line!"

"It's jammed—""Aida, cut his left carabiner! Lan, fire a piton at his right rear, lateral traction! Jess, don't dive—short burst from your pack, get behind him, shove him right! Nobody goes near the edge!" The instant the words left my mouth, I'd already clipped my own tether to my waist, wrapped the other end around the anchor stake, and kicked off toward Roy. Low gravity is a genuinely miserable thing. Launching yourself across it feels heroic—cinematic, like a last-second movie rescue.

What you actually are is an idiot drifting through the air half a beat too slow, in a deeply undignified posture, praying your vector doesn't drift. The hero aura gets an automatic eighty-percent discount at 0. 04G. The remaining twenty is up to luck. For once, luck was on our side. Aida's cutter got to Roy's jammed left carabiner first and sheared it clean through. Lan's piton punched into solid ice on the right, the line snapped taut, and bought Roy's fall an extra half-second.

Jess, for once, didn't turn this into a bigger disaster. Her pack thruster cracked once, and she drove in from his back-left, physically shoving him off-center to the right. In that fraction of correction, I caught his wrist. The impact ran up my arm to my shoulder hard enough to nearly drag me in after him. My tether snapped taut and bit into my waist like it was trying to cut me in half. I gritted my teeth, hooked my free hand over the ice edge, kicked twice at nothing, and barely held.

"Roy!" I shouted.

"Still here!" His voice cracked upward.

"Good—you can still talk back, so you're not dead. Get your right foot up!"

"I'm trying!"

"Try harder, you're heavy!"

"You're complaining about weight at 0. 04G? Do you have no humanity?!"

"Bit late to notice that, isn't it?!" More crumbling sounds echoed from below. Lan was already flat on the ice, hauling the traction line back hand over hand. Aida clipped in a second safety line and moved in from my left. Jess, running on pure adrenaline, was still muttering something about how she was absolutely telling the whole ship about this later, even as both her hands found Roy's pack loop and hauled upward. Three seconds. Maybe five. Time stopped meaning anything.

When we finally dragged Roy back onto solid ice, all of us went down together—no, in 0. 04G you don't collapse. You drift backward with zero dignity, all at once. Roy lay flat on the ice, his own white, terrified face reflected back at him in the visor. My chest was still heaving, my arm numb with pain. The first thing out of my mouth wasn't whether he'd broken anything.

"Second batch. We're leaving it." The channel went quiet for a beat. Jess recovered first.

"Copy." Aida nodded.

"Agreed. The strata's compromised. Not worth the risk for one bag." Roy lay there gasping, voice thin, but managed to raise one hand in agreement.

"I also... very, very much agree." Lan picked up the analyzer, tracked the fracture line extending ahead, and added, dry:"Three more minutes and this whole surface section might've gone." I took a long breath and pressed my heart rate back down.

"All units withdraw. We keep the collected samples, the first batch, and the Frost Crystal. Mark the second site as hazardous. Roy walks center. Jess watches left rear. Aida carries the data. Lan takes rearguard. Starting now, zero hero complexes tolerated."

"What do you call what you just did, then?" Jess asked.

"Worker's comp." The walk back was quieter than the walk out. Not a bad quiet—just everyone slowly coaxing the part of their soul that had nearly gone into that fracture back into their body. Roy walked steadier than before, steady enough to border on reverent. Jess had clearly converted her leftover terror into commentary fuel, narrating her own heroics over the comms in increasingly florid terms.

Lan didn't bother correcting her until Jess upgraded herself to legendary airborne operator, at which point she added, mildly, that it had looked more like runaway luggage. Aida cradled the sample case, checking the Frost Crystal's readings every few steps, the particular cold gleam of a researcher who's smelled something interesting getting brighter by the minute—bright enough that I started worrying the first person who'd want to crack it open back on the ship wouldn't be Science Division.

It'd be Aida, personally. By the time the lander hatch sealed and cabin pressure came back up, and everyone pulled their helmets off at once, I finally smelled people again. Sweat, disinfectant, cold metal, recycled air, and underneath all of it, the specific loosening that only shows up once you realize you actually made it back. Jess dropped her helmet on her lap and let out a long breath.

"I'm formally declaring that if tonight's water ration is still half a cup, I will feel deeply disrespected as a human being."

"You almost died ten minutes ago and the first thing you think about is drinking water?" I said.

"You don't get it. Once a person's stared into the abyss, their love for liquids gets a lot more sincere." Roy was still slumped in his seat, color bad, but managing a real smile.

"I'd rather wash my face first."

"You can accomplish that dream with half a sanitizing wipe," I said.

"Acting Captain, you're really starting to sound like the ship's resident tyrant."

"Thanks. That's the XO's personal handiwork." The line left my mouth and I went quiet for half a second right after. The instant Maki's name surfaced, that taut line in my chest pulled again. Not anxiety—something more complicated. The kind of thing where you're so busy holding people above literal voids that you barely have room to breathe, and your brain still finds the worst possible moment to surface one sentence: report back when you get in. Annoying. Also useful.

Because it gave you a reason to want to make it back alive. When the Yukikaze took us back into her ventral prep bay, the welcome wasn't quite a hero's parade, but it had more life in it than the send-off had. Deck crew took over the ice and equipment cases. Medical dragged Roy off for a quick check. Aida marched the Frost Crystal specimen and the water report straight to Analysis. Lan stayed to interface surface scans and hazard markers.

Jess had clearly been gearing up to tell the crowd something dramatic about how they'd nearly lost this beautiful face forever, but a medic pressed a temperature strip to her mouth first, and that ended the performance with zero dignity. Stripping off my EVA rig, I noticed my right hand was shaking, the webbing of my thumb all the way to the wrist. Not a real injury—just the muscles from hauling Roy pushed well past their limit. Once the adrenaline cleared, the pain filed in politely, one sensation at a time.

I exhaled against the cold metal wall of the changing bay, thinking that the hidden job description of Acting Captain apparently included free manual labor. Once I'd changed back into uniform and cleared basic decon, the first place I went wasn't the bridge. It was Medical. Because I'd promised to report back.