Powder

Max threw her hips to the right, pivoting her skis and sending a wave of powder downslope. She pushed hard on her downhill ski, digging in and coming to a stop as her wave of fluff floated around, blocking her view and washing out any chance she had of seeing the other skiers. It wasn’t a race, per se, more like a group of friends trying to make it back to the confines of the hotel with the last arrival on the hook for dinner. Second-to-last was buying the first round of drinks.

When she turned to look upslope, she had just enough time to see Donnie take the mogul above her before he went sailing off its top edge. Donnie was a pantser when it came to skiing. He had uncommon dexterity, probably implant-enhanced, and a complete absence of concern for his wellbeing. His skis cleared her head by mere inches, and she caught his laugh on her suit’s comm channel.

“Can’t stop now, Max; they’re gaining on you.”

Then he disappeared into the wall of powder she had tossed into the air a moment earlier.

“Well,” Max shouted back, reorienting her skis downhill, “I’m more of the lounge and eat at other’s expense type, so I’ll wait for you at the bottom of the trail.”

With nothing more to say, she pushed off on her skis, one at a time, as she built speed to chase Donnie down. When she came through the wall of softly resettling powder, she could see him out in front of her. He must have just landed because she couldn’t see any signs of ski marks in the trail ahead of her. Shrugging her shoulders and rearranging her surveyor’s kit on her back, she tore off after him. A few seconds later, she crouched lower, skis tucked closely together, and rifled down the hill.

They were out in front by a lot, and, truth be told, they should have been. They were easily the best skiers in the group and likely the best all-around athletes, though Donnie’s background as a dancer might give him a slight edge in body awareness and kinesthetic control. Also, the implants she was sure he had gave him a mechanical advantage. Max got by on pure talent and a vicious right hook. Boxing had been her game.

But all of that was back in university. She had to rely on more than that urge to bob and punch when on a survey. She needed to run her team efficiently and make sure all the little personality quirks didn’t stir the pot into dysfunction. It wasn’t her first command. Or second. In fact, she routinely led groups onto the ice and above it to the cliffs and mountains for surveys. There was so much they didn’t know.

She saw the mogul ahead, more of a small hill than a bump in the path, and angled toward it. She didn’t like jumping; it could be hazardous. Strictly speaking, the powder wasn’t as deep as she would like it to be for her to jump at all, but its depth wasn’t going to change. It’s all she had. And Donnie was pulling away from her.

“Hey, chump,” she called out to Donnie. “I’m gonna make you buy me a round anyway.”

Then she hit the hill and rocketed off the other side, soaring into the air as powder and dust and dirt dropped from her skis. Above her, in the brilliant and black sky, spun Saturn. Below her, Ganymede raced under her skis as she blasted into the low gravity and took flight. This kind of thing was more Donnie’s style. Dancer, flipping through the air, off his feet and twirling and such. She preferred both feet on the canvas and the solidity of Earth-normal gravity. She hated losing, though, and needed to make a point. Besides, punchers gotta’ punch.

“Yo, girl, don’t go launching yourself off into space. We can’t come get you.”

Donnie’s comment sounded a little alarmed, and it spiked her heart monitor for a moment, the little indicator bouncing higher on her heads-up display. Glancing down quickly, she saw why. She was up pretty good. Rather than angling for speed and length of the jump, she threw her arms wide and caught as much of the thin Ganymede atmo as she could, dragging herself toward the surface.

“You do you, twinkle toes,” she tossed back at Donnie as she got better control of her arc. Her comment was probably a bit too breathless because of her anxiety.

Donnie just laughed, but she saw him digging his ski poles into the hillside harder as he pressed for more speed.

“Sometimes I forget how peaceful this can be,” she opined, ripping through space with the surface coming up to meet her but taking its good time in doing so.

Her skis touched down in the dust, and she pushed hard with her left foot and then right, digging for speed as she punched the ground with her ski poles. Up ahead, the “hotel” loomed, dark and foreboding and full of labs for analyzing their survey findings.

“Not fair,” came Mazie’s retort. “None of us have been posted off-world before. You are taking advantage of us.”

“Nonsense, Mazie, ya’ gotta’ make sure you aren’t among the last. Heck, you can probably catch Donnie. He’s all washed up anyway.”

Donnie laughed, but she could hear the strain in his voice as he tired, “Is that any way for a commanding officer to refer to her best scientist?”

Max wasn’t sure he meant her comment about him being washed up or her casual insult while she was airborne. She needed to watch that stuff. These trips were long and lonely. Many months of flight time. More months of monotony with the same people. Pesky personality quirks could sabotage the entire operation and cost people their careers. Hers, too, if it was her quirk that sunk the team.

“Sorry, Mr. Best Scientist,” Max offered. “Got a little juiced there while I was up in the air. I prefer to do that sort of thing in a ship, not on skis.”

Donnie laughed it off, still chasing her, “No worries.”,

A scream ripped through the comm channel as Mazie hit the jump that Max had taken, soaring into the air. She was the picture of poetry in motion. Then, in slow motion for the terror it caused Max, Mazie’s skis drifted apart, and her arms flailed. With increasing speed, the tips grew further apart in the front, Mazie’s left foot and leg catching drag in the wind and breaking her form into something decidedly not aerodynamic. Then she started tumbling in the air as she came crashing back toward the moon.

“Donnie, channel 2,” Max switched to their command channel. “Check Mazie’s arc. Can you get there? My screen plots her landing closer to you. Still uphill, though. Might have to ditch the skis and hike it.”

“On it, boss.”

Max skidded to a stop, launching a great wave of powdered moon dust into the light atmosphere, and unbuckled her skis. Once her feet were clear, she took her backpack off and attached the skis to it, sliding her arms through the straps once she was sure the skis wouldn’t fall off. Looking uphill, Max caught Mazie’s tumbling form just before it hit the moon. She saw the puff of dust erupt from the landing spot, and it matched the startled, and too-short scream Mazie managed before impact.

Max queued the base emergency channel, “Break, break; this is Commander Maxine Sinclair. I have a down and injured crewmember on the south slope of hill 5-1-9.”

“Roger, Commander,” the voice on the other end declared. “Dispatching the Devil-sled to assist.”

Max mumbled to herself, cursing again but careful not to broadcast to the base. The Devil-sled contained a host of medical equipment and engineering equipment to repair damaged suits or gear. The name came from the expense it took to equip and run it; someone needed to make a deal with the Devil to own and outfit the sled in the first place.

The base asked a moment later, “Any info on injuries you can forward?”

“Negative, I’m backtracking to her position now. My second will get there first. I’ll be in touch.”

“I’m syncing your beacons to the rescue team now, Commander.”

Other team members were coming over the rise now, and Max could only imagine what they saw. It wouldn’t be hard to spot, either; the vast plume of rising dust indicated something had struck the ground with force. Max grunted and kept moving upslope, ashamed at the game she thought would entertain and brighten their dreary day.

Fortunately, the light gravity made it easy for her to get upslope quickly and help coordinate. What she saw, Mazie limbs askew but moving, tore at her. A fall like that could easily break bones, and it looked like Mazie had numerous breaks. The fall could also puncture the suit, but Mazie looked coherent and not hypoxic.

“She’s in pain, but ok, boss,” Donnie called out to her. “Couple of broken bones and a pretty well-cracked faceplate. I field-sealed her faceplate.”

Field-sealed was a grunt term for using a water-based lubricant to seal a breach. It wouldn’t last long in the space environment, but it would freeze fast and seal the cracks keeping Mazie alive. Every grunt carried a tube of the stuff.

“Sounds good,” Max said before adding, “Got the Devil-sled inbound.”

Donnie whistled as the rest of the team slid up on their skis, stopping to take a look and hoping for the best. Mazie waved at them with her good arm.

After a few short assurances among the survey team members that all was well, the Devil sled roared up to the group. Two medics grabbed a bodyboard before hustling to Mazie’s side. They plugged their suits into hers and quickly ran diagnostics before sliding her on the board, loading her up, and leaving. While the medics worked, members of the survey team started leaving to get back to the base, a somber mood settling over them. Max put her skis on, clicking her heels into the bindings as the team started to disappear over the rim of Mazie’s impact crater.

When the sled was gone, and Donnie and Max stood alone in the miniature impact crater Mazie left, they didn’t have any words to share; no pick-me-ups.

Donnie poked Max with a ski pole, “Time to roll, Max. Gotta’ get back and check on her in the med bay.”

Max nodded, “Sure. I’m going to want to hear the story of what she thought she could accomplish with that stunt.”

Donnie chuckled and was about to reply when a call came through the team chat net. “Going back to channel one, Donnie. Got an incoming.”

“Hey, boss, got Mazie here. She’s on crutches and sedatives, so maybe cut her some slack. She has a question for you.”

“Sure,” Max said, perking up. “Put her on.”

The comm clicked for a moment as it was juggled in passing the connection to Mazie. Mazie’s voice, when it came, sounded relaxed, “Hiya, chief boss lady. How you doing?”

The words weren’t quite slurred but drawn-out—slower—as if Mazie needed all her concentration to get through them.

“Still on the hillside, Mazie. You left a fair-sized crater. Donnie and I were discussing posting a sign here. You know, something like Mazie’s Basin.”

“That sounds nice, boss lady,” Mazie managed. “Thing is, well, the team and I are all here, and there was a bet we need to collect on.”

Donnie laughed, his eyes flying wide, but he didn’t comment. He left that to her.

“Hold on, trooper. Did you just play your commanding officer?” Max slapped her poles at the ground, almost hitting Donnie but clipping his skis instead. He leaned back from her flailing, barely staying upright. Then he laughed at her.

“Mmmmm, no. Well, maybe a little,” she offered drunkenly. “We wanted you to know that we’re a good team and can take care of ourselves. See? We even managed to find food and drinks on a Saturnine moon’s backwater mountain.

Donnie clapped her on the shoulder, “Come on, boss lady,” he chortled, using Mazie’s term from a moment earlier.

Max cast him a side-eyed glance before poling her way out of the crater and angling downhill. “Fine.” She pushed hard, lunging with her legs to gain momentum. She threw over her shoulder, “See you there.”

When Donnie tried to follow, his skis came off. He stood dumbfounded for a moment, “You have some nerve, boss. Unhooking my bindings in a choreographed act of frustration at Mazie outwitting you? That’s just cold.”

“Whatever. I’ll get the first round, but you’ll be buying us all dinner.”

Donnie’s charismatic chuckle was gone, replaced by a more rueful, “Fine.”