That first night on Earth, camping out there up in the mountains, Poplin stared into the fire, not really thinking about anything, kinda hoping that there would be babes in the Earth Church compound, but not really expecting it.

Julian was pensive, occasionally mentioning his thoughts about the history of this place, or what they should be on the lookout for when they arrived. He seemed nervous, but trying not to show it. Poplin had always appreciated that about him— he put on a brave face like nobody else. The kind of kid who would be a good leader one day. He was certainly leading them alright now, even though he glanced between the rest of them, Poplin and Machungo and Konev— the other Konev— for hints and signs when he said something.

Julian went to sleep early, tired by the thin atmosphere, and Machungo followed him, but Poplin wasn't looking forward to a thin blanket on the ground as a mattress, so he was staying up until he thought he would be so exhausted that he wouldn't feel uncomfortable as he fell asleep. He poked and prodded the fire, watching the embers go up.

That Konev— and maybe Poplin should have just tried calling him Boris in his head, but old habits died hard— kept checking and re-checking their car crammed tight with supplies and offerings for the Earth Church.

"It's not a spaceship that's gonna fly away on its own," Poplin said, annoyed, after Konev had gotten up to confirm the presence of their water filters, among other things.

"On merchant ships you have to send someone around to check the inventory every once in a while, make sure nothing's wrong with it," Konev pointed out. "I'm just doing my job."

"And you're giving me the creeps when you do it," Poplin said. "Don't you know how to relax?"

"Sure," Konev said, and sat down by the fire. "I'm relaxed."

"Your cousin always did crosswords. Guess it took his mind off things."

"Never was much for words or books," Konev said. "I think I'd prefer sudoku to crosswords, if I had to pick."

"Yeah," Poplin said. He fished around in his bag at his feet. Konev— his Konev— had died with a book of puzzles half finished. Out of sentimentality, or something, Poplin had kept it, though he had never had the heart or patience to fill it out. Still, it was something of a good luck charm, he thought, with that last words Konev had filled in— "funeral"— maybe protecting him against his own. Konev would have told him not to be superstitious, but Poplin couldn't help it. It was just the way pilots were, sometimes. You do the right rituals before you go out, you don't die. Glancing through Konev's crossword book now meant that he'd make it out of the Earth Church with everything they needed to find, Poplin thought.

"Thirteen down," Poplin said. "'But where are the blank of yesteryear?'"

"How many letters?"

"Five. Starts and ends with an 'S.'"

"Stars?" Konev offered.

"Mmm, nah, conflicts with four across— think that one's 'widow'— man, this is a depressing one."

"No clue," Konev said. "Like I said, more of a numbers man, myself."

"Yeah," Poplin said. "And I'd rather not sit around and look at puzzles."

"That's fair."

"Keep busy enough without 'em." He tucked the book of puzzles back into his bag.

He stared into the fire some more. With nothing real to distract him, melancholy was the prominent emotion, especially whenever he caught a glimpse of Konev doing whatever the hell he was doing on the other side of the fire. Picking threads off a scrap piece of fabric one by one and burning them.

He needed to find a girl in the Earth Church. Maybe he'd bring her out with her when they left. It was a fun fantasy, one that kept him occupied as he lay on his thin blanket in his tent, the rocks of Earth poking him in the back.

The next morning, Poplin woke up to find a fine dusting of snow over their mountain campsite. The flakes swirled like ashes when a gust of wind knocked them off the tops of the rocks.


Author's Note

I haven't gotten much of a chance to write about Poplin and Konev yet in other settings yet, so I hope that I did them justice here haha. I might at some point go back and give this a thorough edit b/c I'm not totally satisfied with it, but I wanted to get my Christmas gift out on Christmas itself haha.

"Ou sont les neiges d'antan" (where are the snows of yesteryear) is a famous refrain from a poem by Francois Villon, which is fairly famously quoted in the novel Catch-22 by Joseph Heller. In that novel, which is about WWII bombers pilots, there is a character named Snowden who was killed. The main character, Yossarian, reminds everyone of Snowden by misquoting the poem- "Where are the Snowdens of yesteryear?" I figured it was appropriate here anyway, though I am certainly no Joseph Heller. Highly recommend Catch-22 btw. Great book.

I really hope you enjoy this secret santa gift! It was fun to think about and write. Have an excellent Christmas and an excellent New Year.

Thank you very much to Em for the beta read!
I can be found on twitter natsinator and on tumblr as javert. My other writing is at .co