Chapter 4: Feldspar
Welp, Feldspar's done the impossible. They're in a whole new solar system, looking straight at a whole new planet, complete with a whole new moon. And they're bored.
The others are clustered around Chert, exclaiming over the images their Little Scout is sending back. Feldspar's no fool; they're aware it's a bad idea to try flying into the atmosphere of a planet they know nothing about. Despite Hornfels' teasing, they do know how to scout. But it feels so remote, so removed from the action. Not like experiencing it for themself.
Chert doesn't share this view, apparently, because they can be heard all the way over in Traveler-2's cockpit. "Oh, look! See those swirls? Those storms must be massive! Bigger than anything you'd find on Giant's Deep!" They haven't even dipped the scout below the cloud layer yet. Riebeck's answering rumble is too low to make out, but the pair of them are probably working each other up into a froth.
Feldspar sighs and flops down into their pilot's seat. Maybe they should try doing some scouting of their own. If nothing else, they can try to find out if Rimy Shade is really just a big ball of gas or whether there's some way to land on it. ( In it? Can you even land on a gas giant? Their fingers are itching to take Traveler-2 down there and try it. For science.)
Each ship has its own scout, as do the space suits. There are two backups stored somewhere aboard the Traveler - another of Hornfels' redundancies. Still, two backups for sixty cycles' worth of exploration? There's no way that wasn't a concession on their part. Probably because Slate could only cram so much stuff onto the vessel without turfing the first-aid supplies. Or food.
"Please be careful."
"Yeah, yeah. I promise not to crash your stupid scouts."
If Hornfels' soft laugh makes Feldspar's breath catch in their chest, the light pressure of their face buried in the crook of their neck almost makes them forget how to breathe entirely. "I wasn't talking about the Little Scouts, but sure, that too."
…Yeah, Feldspar really doesn't wanna think about Hornfels right now.
They launch their scout in a shallower arc than Chert's, and it skims the surface of the roiling clouds before disappearing from view as Rimy Shade's gravity takes hold. The camera shakes violently, buffeted by fierce winds. One effect of an atmosphere so thick is the drag it produces. The scout plummets, dropping from the cloud layer, and the planet's surface unfolds below. It's curiously featureless beyond the obscuring whirl of swirling clouds. Not the most inviting planet, that's for sure.
The scout lands hard, sending up a shower of whitish stuff. A snowdrift, maybe? With visibility this poor, Feldspar can hardly tell what they're even looking at. Ice crystals form as they watch. And… is the camera still moving?
Oh no, it's sinking. Slowly, sure, and the images are blurred with frost, but yeah, it's definitely sinking. They groan and flip through information panels, trying to refamiliarize themself with controls they haven't used in a while. Temperature, atmospheric pressure, oxygen readings- ugh, why'd they have to snooze through Gossan's lectures? Finally, they find what they're looking for.
Surface integrity: 0%
That's not good. Feldspar hits the recall button. Nothing happens.
With an air of defeat, the camera slumps forward and the feed cuts out entirely, filling the screen with static. Feldspar curses and punches the recall button again. Still nothing. They mash their fingers on the button, as if that will change anything. Words appear on their screen in flickering white.
ERROR. SIGNAL LOST.
"Aw, come on," they groan.
·◊◊◊·
"So, let me get this straight," Chert says carefully. "You lost your scout on Rimy Shade."
"Rimy Shade ate my scout."
"No, Feldspar, you crashed your scout. In a gas giant. I didn't even think that was possible." Chert breaks off to massage their temples. "Well, I suppose we should be grateful. Now we know that it's a bad idea to take warp technology down there. Something interferes with it. The cold, perhaps, or maybe the gasses in the atmosphere."
Gabbro, not one to let a little thing like an inhospitable planet dampen their enthusiasm, says, "Technically, this is a discovery, right? Rimy Shade isn't an ice giant or a gas giant, but something in between."
"A slush giant?" suggests Riebeck.
"Right!"
The two of them are trying to make Feldspar feel better. And it's kind of working. It's kind of hard to stay mad when the words slush giant are being bandied around.
"Someone should enter this into the ship's log," Chert sighs. Gabbro nudges them, and they concede reluctantly, "You should do it. Since it was, technically, your discovery." Feldspar enjoys writing logs precisely as much as they enjoy sitting on their behind waiting for some excitement to finally happen. Luckily, Riebeck - that gentle Hearthian of many admirable traits - comes to their rescue.
"Come on," they say cheerfully, "It's about time I made myself useful. You can tell me what you saw, and I'll type."
It's more tolerable than watching Chert demonstrate safe and responsible use of the Little Scout, Feldspar has to admit. And Riebeck is less judgy about things like 'unscientific language', 'consistent file naming conventions' and 'chronological order' than some folks they could name back home. By the time they're finished, they've managed to make Feldspar's ramblings look at least halfway coherent.
"You're brilliant at this." They meant that as a compliment, but Riebeck's reaction is somewhere between blushing modesty and visceral horror. The speckles on their cheeks darken to starberry purple.
"Oh, no. I don't- I mean- I've had a lot of practice? I guess?"
"Trash. I read your account of the Nomai settlement on Brittle Hollow." Well, skimmed it. Parts of it. This has the opposite effect of what Feldspar was going for. Riebeck squirms and mumbles something about checking in on the others, before disappearing through the cockpit entrance, leaving the other Hearthian to wonder what in Hearth's name just happened?
·◊◊◊·
It's a good thing there is a rocky moon in convenient proximity, because if Feldspar has to spend another six hours confined on this ship, they're going to gnaw their fingers off. Luckily for their fingers, Chert's preliminary scouting of Rimy Shade's moon, 'Little Shade', yields promising results. There are jagged peaks at the south pole, a flat icy waste at the north, and everything in between. The whole thing is frozen through, sure, with winds that whip the snow up into freezing squalls, but that's what space suits are for.
"I suggest we start around here." With the help of pictures uploaded to the ship's log, Chert has roughly begun to map out Little Shade's surface. Their chosen spot is a basin surrounded on three sides by cliffs that sweep down to form a flat, sheltered stretch of smooth ice. It's well out of the scouring wind, and wide enough to easily fly in and out of. It's begging to be landed on.
"I call dibs!"
"You can't dibs a whole moon, Feldspar. But yes, I was hoping you'd agree to go first." Chert seems to have gotten over the loss of the Little Scout. In fact, everyone seems to have forgotten about it in their excitement, which suits Feldspar just fine.
There's no need to take all four ships, nor risk the warp core by taking Traveler-1 planetside. Instead, the astronauts pile into Traveler-2 and Traveler-4, with Feldspar and Gabbro at the controls, though Gabbro makes a face when they realize they'll have to re-dock their ship afterward. Feldspar couldn't care less either way - all they want is to feel solid ground beneath their boots, to get down there and make this strange alien world surrender its secrets to them.
With Riebeck strapped into the uncomfortably flimsy fold-out secondary seat, Feldspar separates Traveler-2 and eases it away from the vessel. Gabbro does the same, and in loose formation they make a graceful dive through the moon's thin outer atmosphere. The rocky landscape opens up beneath them, resolving into recognisable landmarks; mountains, valleys, rock shelves. They've only ever flown solo, and they'd almost forgotten Riebeck was there until they let out a gasp of wonder at the sight. It's oddly gratifying to have someone to share the moment with. They dip Traveler-2 to skim the nearest peaks, where the wind has shaped the ice into curious finger-like formations reaching toward the sky, as if they could dart out and grasp the ship at any moment.
Riebeck's voice drops to an astonished whisper. "I never realized ice could be so beautiful."
"Beats Dark Bramble, that's for sure."
It's a testament to Chert's mapping skills that their rendezvous point is easy to find. Mindful of Riebeck's weak stomach, Feldspar suppresses the urge to nosedive into a snowdrift and brings Traveler-2 down with all the tenderness of someone setting a Hatchling down to sleep. A quarter-mile away Gabbro does the same, a perfect three-point landing. Someone's showing off for Chert, Feldspar thinks with a smirk. But hey, who cares about those two hopeless doofuses? There's a moon to conquer. They go through the post-landing routine on autopilot; spool down the engines, check landing gear status, depressurize the cabin. Finally they pop the hatch, bringing a blast of frigid air into the ship they can feel through their suit. To their surprise, Riebeck is standing patiently by the hatch.
"Well? What are you waiting for?"
"For you," Riebeck says simply, and for a second Feldspar could kiss them. Except not, firstly because they're both wearing helmets and secondly because Riebeck would probably die of embarrassment. Instead, they fire off a snappy salute, and drop through the hatch.
·◊◊◊·
It's breathtaking. That's the best word Feldspar can summon to describe this frost-bound world. Gabbro's the poet, not them. But from the moment they emerge from their ship and take in the rugged landscape, Feldspar feels an ache in their chest that makes it hurt to breathe. The cliff walls rise around them as if the moon is cupping them gently in its hands, the great arc of Rimy Shade bright against the indigo sky. This is what love feels like.
"Don't wander off too far, everyone," says Chert over the signalscope. "We can't stay here long. We don't want the ship controls to ice up."
"Or the fuel lines," Riebeck supplies helpfully.
"Or the fuel," adds Gabbro.
Feldspar is barely listening. The cliffs are sheer and grey, and at their base is a maze-like tangle of rocks. They're already considering whether exploring them would count as 'wandering off' when Riebeck lets out a wonderstruck "Oh, my!"
The instinct of every Hearthian is always to look up. Up at the cliffs, at the alien sky twinkling with stars, at the gigantic blue planet dominating the horizon. But for the first time the four astronauts take notice of what lies beneath their feet, and they're standing on the clearest, purest ice Feldspar has ever seen. And far beneath the surface, where the absence of light turns the ice murky, is a dark misshapen mass of…
"What is that?" Chert and Gabbro approach slowly. Feldspar can see Gabbro hovering, ready to grab Chert if they slip. But the smaller Hearthian probably hasn't a clue. Even suited up and helmeted, Feldspar can tell they only have eyes for whatever that thing is under the ice. "We should send a scout down there."
"Yeah, good luck with that," says Feldspar. "This whole moon is frozen solid."
Chert wilts, but Riebeck gives a little jerk as if they've touched a fritzing wire and sets off at a trot back toward Traveler-2. With a shared puzzled look, the others follow.
"I knew it!" they say, delighted. They're standing under the ship, head ducked to avoid bashing their helmet on the hull. They point at the wide circle of rippled, distorted ice where the heat from Traveler-2's vertical thrusters has melted the topmost layer. "It's thinner here. If I fetch my tools-"
"Oh! That's genius!" Chert is practically vibrating with excitement as they hurry over. "If we use a drill to form a circle…" Ah, nope. Nope nope nope. Feldspar ups their pace to a jog and executes a perfect sliding stop by grabbing a landing strut.
"Hold up! Are you two seriously planning to knock a hole in the ground under my ship?"
Riebeck seems to shrink. "A very weeny hole?" they ask in a small voice.
"Yeah, I can't believe I'm saying this, but Feldspar has a point." This comes from Gabbro, who sounds more amused than concerned. Oh no, is this what being the responsible one feels like? Gross. Feldspar vows to never experience it again.
"Well then, I suppose you have a better idea," says Chert acidly, head tilted in a way that implies they consider the odds minimal at best.
And they'd be right; Feldspar does not, in fact, have a better idea. Or at least they didn't, until a wave of genius hits them so hard they almost keel over from the shock.
"Yeah," they say casually, leaning on their landing gear. "Actually, I do."
·◊◊◊·
Jet packs, it turns out, make pretty decent ice-melting devices. It's definitely not what Gossan and Slate designed them for, nor what they'd call an appropriate use of fuel, but hey, it's for science. And it doesn't take long for the four Hearthians to melt a barrel-sized hole that Chert can drop their Little Scout into. Its powerful lamps scatter the gloom as it sinks, and the mystery shadow explodes in a riot of colour.
"Stars aflame," Chert breathes, as everyone huddles together, taking in the sight.
Grassy blooms in shades of purple. Flat, multi-hued growth, similar to the fungi you'd find in the woods back on Timber Hearth. Marshmallowy pods on fibrous stalks. Gauzy iridescent fronds, and a squiggly mass that looks unsettlingly like a pile of orange worms. Spiny fingers of some chalky crimson substance, growing upward as if grasping for the surface. They carpet the bottom of the… lake? Shallow sea? Feldspar has to wonder how many more of Little Shade's secrets are lurking out of sight, waiting to be uncovered.
"I don't get it," Riebeck muses, rubbing their stomach thoughtfully through their suit. "Little Shade is tidally locked, so no seasons. And we're planetside. How is there liquid water here?"
"That's the question, isn't it." Chert doesn't seem perturbed by this obvious discrepancy. Quite the opposite. "Perhaps Rimy Shade's orbit brings it closer to Lumen than we realized."
"Or there's a source of heat somewhere beneath the surface!" Riebeck cuts in, and that's it, the two of them are off, talking over one another, barely pausing for breath.
Well, this discovery is cool and all, but Feldspar isn't in the mood for a lecture on orbital mechanics or geothermics, and their past experience with non-Hearthian life has been, to put it mildly, the stuff of nightmares. Gabbro's interest in plants typically only extends to the consumable kind, so by wordless agreement the two of them leave Chert and Riebeck arguing animatedly over their ice hole, switch to a secondary signalscope frequency, and set off for the cliffs.
The rock formations at the cliff base stick out of the ground like broken teeth, or cactus spikes, or… well, Feldspar isn't a great one for similes, but they're very pointy and strangely smooth. Before long they've lost sight of the ships. Up ahead the cliff face looms, sheer and featureless. Snow is heaped in towering drifts along the base. But there is one wide, jagged fissure, limned in ice and so deep it seems to cleave the rock right in two.
"That's an invitation if I ever saw one, wouldn't you say?"
Gabbro hesitates. "Chert warned us not to wander too far."
"Chert's forgotten about everything that isn't a space plant," Feldspar scoffs. "Since when do you ever do as you're told, anyway?"
Gabbro's answer is garbled as the signalscope crackles and whines with static. Their voice resolves out of the noise, tinny and distorted, "-light gone weird?"
"What was that?"
"I said, 'it's called picking my battles'," says Gabbro as the static burst fades. "Maybe you should try it sometime."
"Shut up. And no, what was that about the light?" They're so close to the cliff they have to crane their whole self to make up for their clunky helmet as they look up at the sky. "I don't see anything."
"That was literally all I said. What's wrong, you got icicles in your ears?" Feldspar can hear the lazy grin in Gabbro's voice, and it makes them want to rap their knuckles on the side of their helmet. They suppress the childish urge, but barely.
"Again, shut, and I cannot stress this enough, up."
The opening in the cliff wall is dark and littered with rocks, sloping gently downwards. It's impossible to tell how far inward it goes - Feldspar and Gabbro's both have torches, but they can only do so much to dispel the gloom. The quiet is punctuated by their crunching footsteps, their own steady breathing and that curious rise and fall of static.
They press onward, darkness enveloping them as they leave Little Shade's perpetual twilight behind them. The crevice narrows, becoming a crack that a particularly daring astronaut might be able to squeeze into, if they particularly felt the need. Feldspar does not particularly feel the need.
There's another burst of static. And, out of the noise, Chert's voice. "-headed right for us!"
Gabbro stiffens. "Chert?"
There's no response. "Wrong frequency, bud," Feldspar reminds them. Then, "Wait, what? That can't be right, how did they-" Gabbro ignores this, flipping to the open feed.
"Chert, come in. Everything okay over there?"
"Hm?" Chert sounds distracted. "Nothing's wrong."
"But I- we- heard you saying… huh." 'Huh' indeed. Feldspar scowls and gives their signalscope an experimental shake. If it's busted, they're in for three months of sheer aggravation. "You sure that wasn't you crossing into our frequency?"
"Quite sure, thank you very much. I don't know how I would even-" There's an odd pause, then, "wait, what crevasse?"
This is getting stupid. Feldspar lets out a huff of irritation. "What are you even-" is as far as they get before a metallic whine from their signalscope makes them wince and flatten their ears.
"-abbro, help m-"
It sounds just like Chert, but distorted, as if it's coming from half a solar system away. But when Chert - the real Chert - makes a strangled noise and says shakily, "oh. Oh stars, " the chill that runs down the back of Feldspar's neck has nothing to do with the temperature outside their suit. "I… I heard that too."
"I don't like this," Riebeck mutters uneasily.
"Okay, stay calm, friends. We're at the base of the cliffs, on our way back now. We'll be right there." Okay, that's not exactly true, but if this is what Gabbro meant by picking their battles, they're more than happy to play along. And there's something more going on than a malfunctioning signalscope receiver, they're sure of that much. They follow their trail of footprints back the way they came, back toward the sliver of dim light that beckons them outside-
-and almost walk straight into Gabbro as the taller Hearthian freezes, rooted to the spot.
"Feldspar." Their voice is low, urgent. And more terrified than Feldspar has ever heard them. "Check my oxygen supply."
Every instinct honed from years of training kicks in at once. Feldspar doesn't hesitate, or pause to ask why - every second counts. Hearts slamming against their ribs, they spin Gabbro around and scour their friend's suit from top to bottom for any sign of damage. Dents, frozen moisture, punctures - anything that could allow their precious air supply to seep away. They run their gloved fingers over the tank, dreading the moment they feel the faint pressure of escaping air.
They find none. "It's fine." Then, as much to reassure themself as Gabbro, "You're fine."
Gabbro's answering sigh is shaky with relief. "Okay. Thanks. Sorry for scaring you, my indicator says I'm at sixty percent, but I had to be sure."
"You gonna tell me what that was all about?"
"I just- I thought I saw something. Something impossible. It was-" they swallow heavily. "It looked like me."
"Uh, you sure it wasn't your shadow?"
"No. It wasn't a shadow. I mean, I only caught a glimpse, but the helmet had a crack in it." Feldspar lets out a low whistle. As far as hallucinations go, that's a doozy.
"So, if it wasn't oxygen deprivation…?"
"Trick of the light, I guess." Gabbro sounds as convinced as Feldspar feels. "Either way, would you mind not mentioning it to the others? It'll only worry them." They have a point. Feldspar makes a noise of agreement, and Gabbro's shoulders slump with relief. "Thanks."
They make their way outside; to the maze of rocks, to the safety of the ships. Feldspar is vaguely aware there are conversations happening in the background, with Gabbro doing their best to mollify Chert, who is demanding to know where they are. But they've stopped paying attention, because something just moved among the rocks. They stop dead, ears ringing. There's a pale shape, hazy and indistinct, barely visible against the whiteness of its surroundings…
They jerk away with a yell as a hand lands on their shoulder, and almost fall flat on their ass. They spin around, hearts almost bursting right out of their suit.
Gabbro throws up their hands. "Whoah, take it easy. It's me!"
Feldspar's options are to force a hollow laugh, or ask Gabbro if they can see what they're seeing. It's barely a choice at all. "Don't sneak up on me like that, rock-for-brains! You and your hallucinations got me all twitchy." Convincing enough, even to themself. Still though, they can't resist one last glance over their shoulder.
There's nothing there.
It's impossible to tell what kind of look Gabbro is giving them under their helmet. But it feels like aeons before they say, "C'mon. Let's get out of here."
·◊◊◊·
"It was an echo," Chert says later, when the four astronauts have reconvened on Traveler-1. They're tucking into the first of many pre-packaged meals of attleroot jerky and hearthroot flatbreads. Space food is certainly unique, in that it's the most boring thing in the universe. "Magnetic interference from Little Shade's atmosphere, messing with our signalscopes."
As much as Feldspar wants to point out that Chert is obviously, transparently, pulling this out of their ass, they bite their cheek and keep quiet. Because it's some kind of explanation, isn't it? It's not as if they have a better one. And from the way Riebeck is hugging their knees, arguing would do more harm than good.
They glance across at Gabbro, who has been uncharacteristically quiet. The other Hearthian is staring into nothing, slowly chewing their meal. Feldspar can only guess at what's going through their head.
Still, life must go on. There are remnants of a meal to clear away, trash to compact, space suits to check, logs to type up. And later, cots to be pulled out, blankets to be unfolded. Goodnights to be murmured, even though the word is meaningless here. As the astronauts settle back into the comfort of these mundane tasks, their tension eases away. The Traveler fills once again with their soft chatter.
But no one mentions returning to Little Shade.