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  They were putting too much stress on the surface.

  It wouldn’t hold much longer. If they didn’t pull O’Hearn out fast, they all risked crashing into the ocean.

  Too much time had passed. Meyers didn’t want to give up.

  She refused to surrender. “Pull!”

  There was a small splash near the edge of the hole. A hand rose out of the water. The palm slapped down onto the ice. There was no handhold of any sort.

  “Keep the line taut!” Weber’s order boomed inside Meyers’ helmet. She didn’t ask questions, but quickly reset her footing and double-wrapped the rope around her wrist, bracing for whatever Weber had in mind. “Don’t let go of the rope.”

  It was a plea.

  Meyers had no intention of letting go.

  On his belly, Weber slid forward on the ice until he was inches from the hole, inches away from O’Hearn’s hand. In one motion, Weber reached for O’Hearn. He locked his hand over O’Hearn’s wrist.

  Weber moved closer, still. The ice groaned in protest. Meyers saw the ice underfoot web in cracks. They were all going to plummet into the ocean. Meyers didn’t see a way around it. The ammonia would fill their lungs, the poison would kill them. It would burn; a painful death.

  O’Hearn was under for far too long, but then Weber, his hands on O’Hearn’s forearm, pulled O’Hearn up from beneath the water. He shot forward and clapped his hands onto O’Hearn’s back, gloved fingers scratching around for a handhold.

  Danielle crawled forward. She reached for O’Hearn’s arms.

  “No,” Weber shouted. “Don’t touch him! Help the commander. Use the rope. With both of you pulling, we can fish him out!”

  Meyers held her ground, the rope in her hands. Feet set. Rivers joined her.

  The three of them worked together, and at last, yanked O’Hearn out of the ocean.

  Chapter Seventeen

  “I was born and raised on Earth.” Adam Stanton set a steady pace. He kept one arm up, as if it worked better as a shield against the weather than his faceshield. He and Angela Ruiz walked side-by-side, their starfighters left abandoned behind them. “Most of my time I spent in New York. Place always had something of a bad rap. Even going back centuries, you know?”

  “I’ve heard. Seen movies. Documentaries.” Ruiz matched his stride. “Doesn’t seem at all like a safe place to grow up. Were you scared?”

  Stanton worked at keeping his breathing even. They used air talking. The silence, otherwise, was maddening. He considered it a fair trade-off, as long as he kept his breathing even. “Scared? Me? Nah. We lived in a one-bedroom apartment on the sixth floor of Bedford Park in the Bronx. Manhattan was just south of where we lived. Heard of it?”

  “The Bronx or Manhattan?”

  “Either.”

  He heard her laugh. “Both,” she said. “There are files on record of New Year’s Eve parties in Manhattan.”

  “That’s the place. See, I took care of my dad. He was disabled. My mother left us when things got tough. At the time, I hated her for leaving. Oftentimes, I wondered how a mother could leave her son; a wife her husband, just because things got tough. Thing is, after a year without her, it only got worse. When I was like fifteen, I was responsible for everything. My dad, the bills, finding food. Everything. And I found that my hate toward my mother had evolved into something more, something worse. I resented her. I knew if I saw her again, I might not be able to refrain from socking her in the jaw.”

  “I’m very sorry,” Ruiz said. “That must have been extremely hard for you at that age. You were just a boy.”

  He wasn’t looking for pity. It wasn’t the point of talking. Stanton was not sure why he had started the story. He knew he needed to talk, that it would help both of them pass the time while walking, without focusing on the likelihood they would never survive the short trek. “See, my dad suffered a stroke. The doctors explained what happened. The blood flow to an area of my father’s brain was suddenly cut off. The cells, deprived of oxygen, died. His brain became under attack. The stroke left the left side of my father’s body paralyzed. His speech was slurred and his left eye drooped. He was unable to walk, and, I guess, all of that real life stuff was just too much for my mother to handle. Granted, it was a lot. My dad needed constant attention. I even found him a wheelchair, well, found is kind of a loose word, you know? Point is, it helped me get my father around, but didn’t provide him with any independence. With no mobility or fine motor skills in his left arm and hand, I was forced to push him around everywhere we went.”

  They didn’t go out much. “My dad preferred staying home. In public, people stared. He always ran into someone he knew. My father would smile and retell what happened—because everyone always wanted to know what had happened. The medical talk had people speechless, intently listening, you know? But shaking their head, like, how sad for you. Then they’d talk for a bit, catch up on old times, but as soon as the conversation ended and they continued on, my father, he’d brood. I mean he would fold his arms, lower his head, and demand to be taken home. Right then.”

  Ruiz was quiet. Stanton wondered if he’d gone too far, opened up too much. He regretted getting into this topic. It was more than most needed to know. He was committed now. There was more. Stopping before reaching the end wouldn’t do. “On one particular humid June night, I found myself free.

  “We had this rusty fire escape I used as a balcony. It was off the bedroom window. Even though I slept on a sofa in the family room, I’d often wait for my father to fall asleep before sneaking through his room and out onto the fire escape. I’d spend the night listening to the sounds of the city, watch the people pass under the window. In New York, no one had much of anything. There wasn’t much point in robbing each other. I think most of us, most people, longed to have things the way they once were. Back, you know, before the planet went to hell. You said you thought New York was a tough town, yeah. It was, but I felt safe. It was the only New York I knew, I didn’t know much different. And where I was, that was home.

  “My father, he passed quietly. It was more than I could have hoped. My father had suffered for a long time, you know? First the stroke, then my mother leaving him, and then the humiliation of having his son caring for him. I had to bathe him, and sometimes, wipe his ass.

  “An easy death was the least life owed him, the very least. And you know what? Do you know how many times I wished I could trade places with him? I would have, you know. I would have traded places with my father in a heartbeat. I would rather have been the one stuck in bed, an invalid. It just wasn’t something I could do. As much as I wanted to sacrifice myself for him, there was nothing I could do.” Stanton knew crying would use up his air faster. The tears rolled down his cheeks. There was no way to brush them away.

  “Captain, you okay?” Ruiz asked.

  “There’s a point to this.” Stanton chuckled, regaining control. “See, that night, with my father in the room, his body on the bed, I sat out on that fire escape with my knees up, my head back against the rail, and just stared up at the heavens, at the stars. I knew that above me were man-made worlds. Starships. And I saw it, Ruiz. I saw a chance for a new life, new beginnings. So, after burying my father, I set into play my plan for getting off Earth, away from having nothing.” Stanton stopped walking. Ruiz stopped beside him. “I decided I’d get a job, any job, and leave for the stars as soon as they would have me. The idea served two purposes. One, I’d be off the planet, away from the famine and hunger and crime. And, two? I eliminated the random chance of ever having to see my mother face-to-face ever again.” Captain Adam Stanton did not want to die on Neptune, but if he did, he had no regrets. Not a-one. He’d had a dream and accomplished his goals.

  “Adam?” Ruiz backhanded his arm before she snatched the sidearm from the holster. The blaster held steady in an outstretched arm. “Over there. Did you see that?”

  Adam looked around toward where she pointed. The ocean moved between two banks. Free. Flowing fast. Reminde
d Stanton more of a river. Same difference, he supposed. More of the acrid body of water was below where they stood as well. Thankfully, the ice was thicker. He hoped. Either way, he didn’t see anything. “What was it?”

  “Something. I don’t know what, but I saw something, and it moved. It jumped out of the ocean.”

  “A moving chunk of ice. Probably looked like it was something alive, you know? But it was more than likely a mini-iceberg, dipping and rising in the current.” Although Stanton had his hand on the butt of his blaster, he kept it holstered. His breathing was faster. Shallower. In all of the briefings he could recall, he knew the planet to be lifeless. Nothing they knew of could survive in this constant cold, with ammonia-saturated oceans. Nothing they knew of. “I’m not seeing anything. What did you see?”

  “It was no iceberg, Adam.” Ruiz shook her head, as if maybe she wasn’t sure even she believed her own eyes. “It was in the water. And then it jumped out of the water, I think.”

  “You think?”

  “Or it was already on the bank. But I know for certain it—whatever it was—was on this side of the water.” She pointed at her own feet.

  It was not uncommon for people to come unglued under high-stress situations. They were in a calamitous situation. That was after prolonged exposure in an extreme circumstance. Had enough time passed to qualify Ruiz’s seeing things? He was no doctor, and did not know if there were rules or timelines for an acceptable timeframe when a person could come unglued. He figured it just happened when it happened. If breakdowns were more predictable, they could be stopped. Breakdowns happened all the time. This led Stanton to believe there was no predictability at all.

  “How’s your air?” Stanton said. If her trimix, nitrox, and oxygen levels were off, an unbalanced combination could cause hallucinations, or be flat-out lethal.

  “It’s fine. Readings are normal,” she said, without hiding obvious frustration. Her response might have answered his question, but Stanton read between the lines. What she really was saying was, I’m not crazy, Captain. I’m not seeing things that aren’t there! “I’d have an alarm on the faceshield display if something were off kilter.”

  “That’s true, but you never know. After the crash, any number of things can be wrong with the systems. Here, turn around. Let me check your gauges.” He put hands on her shoulders as she turned. They were wasting time, and, as it so happened, air. He eyed the digital displays.

  Ruiz’s arm shot up, blaster aimed at the vastness of white and blue. “There!”

  Adam Stanton stood up straight.

  Something slithered on the ground, skirted around a blue, icy boulder. “What was that?”

  “You saw it?”

  As improbable as it seemed, Stanton admitted: “I saw something.”

  Chapter Eighteen

  “Is he breathing?” Danielle Rivers knelt beside Gordon O’Hearn’s body. The spacesuit was drenched.

  “I can’t tell. Ammonia and water are one of the worst possible mixes.” The medic, Marshall Weber, knelt across from Rivers. Without touching O’Hearn, his hand passed over the body from head to toe. “The two produce what is known as ammonium hydroxide. The chemical is corrosive and damaging on contact. The integrity of his suit . . . it’s been badly compromised.”

  Had Commander Meyers noticed the deterioration of O’Hearn’s spacesuit? Weber wondered. Smoke rose from the fabric, from shoulders to ankles. The ammonium hydroxide ate away at the suit. It reminded him of one of his first rides on a rescue as a newly licensed paramedic. There had been a fire in the engine compartment of a starfighter. The ship was still inside the bay. Unfortunately, the pilot was still inside the cockpit. The fire fried the ship’s operation systems. The hatch not only would not open, but by the time help arrived, the hot metal had welded the hatch shut.

  When they finally extricated the pilot, they had laid him on the floor. Before the suit was cut away from the body, Weber had in awe watched the smoke rise from the material. The pilot was dead, blackened and crisp beneath the layers of the suit.

  It was not unlike the situation in front of them. Except, even if O’Hearn was still alive, they could not remove his suit—getting O’Hearn out of the suit would be the only way of protecting the lieutenant from the poisonous gas seeping inside. However, removing O’Hearn from the suit and exposing him to Neptune’s elements would kill him instantly. It was a lose-lose predicament.

  Weber scooped the snow and slush and began burying O’Hearn. “Don’t touch him! The chemical is strong. Dangerous. We’re not talking bathroom cleaning supplies here. The concentration is beyond anything you can pick up at a grocery store. Trust me, you don’t want to get any on your gloves or your suit.”

  Meyers asked, “What are you doing, Weber?”

  “I’m trying to counter the negative reaction, hoping I can rub off or wash away the ocean water. We need to get as much off of O’Hearn’s suit as possible.” Weber worked while he talked, moving the clumps of snow and slush over O’Hearn’s suit as if giving him a sponge bath with ice.

  Then it dawned on him. The frozen snow and slush was the same as the ocean but in solid form. He only hoped it made a difference since it was gritty and textured enough to use like a brush. So far walking in the snow, handling the snow, had not deteriorate his suit. Maybe the snow was less toxic in solid form. He could only hope.

  Meyers had not seen O’Hearn move since being fished out of the ocean. Not a limb. “Weber, what can we do for him?”

  “We’re doing it, Commander.”

  “Is he breathing?” she asked.

  Weber leaned in. He passed his gloved hand over the faceshield. “Hard to tell. Difficult seeing into the mask. All I can really see is my own reflection. Won’t matter if he is or isn’t if we can’t somehow stabilize the ammonia effect. Once a hole’s eaten all the way through his suit, he’ll be dead. This is like acid burning through the materials. Won’t stop when it reaches skin or bone.”

  Commander Meyers could have done without the details. She understood the potential for catastrophic results. She also knew Weber was exposed. He had put his own safety at risk pulling O’Hearn out of the ocean. The same ammonium hydroxide eating away at O’Hearn’s spacesuit was also burning a hole through Weber’s.

  Lights on O’Hearn’s suit flickered. Pulsed. Went out.

  “Weber,” Rivers said, pointing.

  “I see it.” The submerged suit was short-circuiting, or had short-circuited. Chemicals or not, the suit was not made to be submerged. The quick corrosion from the ammonia allowed tainted water into the computers. The areas impacted most by the ammonium hydroxide were thinning, vulnerable. The damage was as good as irreversible. They were far from the shuttle. Equally as far from the colony. Time was a moving factor against them.

  “Do something.” Rivers looked over at the commander. “Do anything.”

  Weber made fists. Smoke rose off his own gloves by the wrists and along the fingers. He punched his hands into the closest snowbank and twisted his hands around. He was not sure what else he could do. Were there any other options available?

  “I don’t think he’s breathing,” Rivers said.

  Weber bent forward. If O’Hearn was breathing, he was inhaling toxic fumes. Looking around, he saw everyone staring at him expectantly. “Throw snow onto his chest,” Weber commanded, keeping his own hands buried in the bank for as long as possible.

  Rivers clawed with her hands and shoveled loose snow over O’Hearn’s chest.

  “What are you going to do?” Commander Meyers asked.

  Weber pulled his hands from the bank. He slid over, closer to O’Hearn, and while on his knees, rose above O’Hearn’s chest. “Compressions,” he replied.

  On the mound of snow covering most of O’Hearn, Weber set the heel of his right hand on the center of O’Hearn’s chest between where the two nipples would be. He set his left hand over the right. Elbows locked.

  “That’s not a good idea, Weber,” Meyers said. “The ice b
elow us is thin already. If you start doing compressions, you could compromise the integrity. We could all fall into the ocean.”

  “Then all of you step back. Get back now! What else am I supposed to do?” Weber voice cracked. It sounded like he had just entered puberty. The hopelessness surrounded him. Nervousness almost made him laugh. “Commander, what am I supposed to do?”

  Mere seconds passed, and Weber got as close to O’Hearn as he could. He looked up at the Commander.

  Meyers saw her own figure reflected in the glass of Weber’s faceshield, a distant sun, and blue sky behind her.

  “He’s gone.”

  “We have to leave him for now.” Meyers knew it was an unpopular answer. She saw no other way. They could not drag O’Hearn the rest of the way. She saw nothing they could use for making a sled. Air was limited. Time worked against them. “We will come back for him.”

  Chapter Nineteen

  Captain Adam Stanton fired his blaster. A sixteen-inch red laser bolt exploded from the end of the blaster’s barrel. The bolt slammed into a towering snow bank. Ice crystals sprayed from the impact. It reminded Stanton of something like a rock thrown through a storefront window. He had seen that type of vandalism day-in and day-out when in New York.

  “You hit it?” Ruiz stood with feet shoulder-length apart, knees bent. She had both hands on her blaster. She swiveled left, right, and checked behind them.

  He worried his eyes played tricks on him. The thing he shot at moved fast, low to the ground. It reminded him of a serpent, an anaconda, but with the head of a crocodile. Black, glistening, scales rippled through its body as it slithered. Or had he seen front and rear legs? Had it slithered for cover, or did it run? “I don’t think so.”

  “But you saw it? You saw that thing?”

  Did she think I fired my weapon for fun? “Yeah. Yes, I saw something.”

  Stanton still was not exactly sure what he had seen. He knew that didn’t really matter though, because he had seen something. He was sure of it. His mind was not playing tricks on his eyes. That much he knew.