Polar Arcadia

THE SHUTTLE WINDOWS frosted over as Jack Graves made his final approach to Arcadia's dome. Its perfect hemisphere stood stark white against the endless black sky and blue-silver ice of the polar landscape. No stars penetrated the atmospheric haze—just the distant sun hanging low on the horizon, casting long shadows across glacial plains.

The landing pad extended from Arcadia’s southern edge, a metal arm reaching into the wilderness. Graves guided his shuttle down, its landing struts compressing with a groan as they accepted the vessel’s weight.

“Welcome to Arcadia, the frontier’s shining jewel,” an artificial voice said as atmospheric equalization started. “Please wait until pressurization completes before disembarking.”

Graves gathered his tools and specialized components for the planetary relay system. After fifteen years installing communications networks across the frontier, he’d seen dozens of colonies like Arcadia—settlements promising paradise but delivering something else altogether. The prettier the packaging, the uglier the contents.

The airlock cycled open. A woman with a perfect smile and a white uniform waited for him. Her name badge read, “Host Joy.”

“Welcome to Arcadia, Specialist Graves. We’ve prepared your accommodations and workspace. The dome administrator sends his regrets that he couldn’t greet you himself. He looks forward to meeting you at dinner.” Her lips curved upward while her eyes remained distant, unaffected by the gesture.

“I’d rather start work,” Graves said, hoisting his equipment bag. “The sooner I finish, the sooner I’m gone.”

Her smile flickered for just a moment. “Of course. I’ll show you to the communications center.”

They walked through gleaming corridors where soft light reflected off white surfaces. Residents passed them wearing clean, color-coded uniforms. Everyone offered smiles and polite nods. But no one spoke.

“How many people live here now?” Graves asked.

“Arcadia maintains an optimal population of five hundred residents,” Joy said. “Our resources support this number with a twenty percent surplus for emergencies or expansion.”

“Impressive output from geothermal taps this far north.”

Joy’s pace faltered a little. “You’ve researched our infrastructure.”

“I research all my installation sites.” Graves studied the back of her head. “The relay integrates with your power grid. I need to know what I’m working with.”

They reached the communications center—a circular room with workstations arranged around a central holographic projector currently displaying the dome and surrounding area. Graves noted the high-resolution imaging of the terrain extending fifty kilometers in each direction.

“Your team will help with the installation?” he asked.

“You’ll work alone,” Joy said. “Administrator Shaw prefers minimal disruption to our operations.”

Graves set down his equipment. “The specs said I’d have assistants.”

“Plans change. The requisition form for your visit also said you’d arrive three days ago.” Her perfect smile returned. “We adapt.”

After she left, Graves ran his hand across the communications console. Brand new equipment. Not a scratch, not a dent, not a single sign of use or customization. He’d never seen a comms station so pristine. Most frontier operators decorated their workstations with personal touches—family photos, good luck charms, and contraband snacks.

Graves pulled out his diagnostics kit and plugged it into the main terminal. The system’s baseline readings revealed flawless data—too flawless. No fluctuations, no power spikes, perfect transmission clarity across all channels.

“Either I see the best-maintained system in the sector, or someone fabricated these readings,” he said to himself.

He dug deeper into the power allocation subroutines. Something didn’t add up. The dome’s electrical grid distributed energy for exactly five hundred residents, yet the consumption patterns showed strange surges to lower-level systems that didn’t appear on any public schematics. The life support grid consumed nearly twenty percent more oxygen than the population required, with the excess routed to a section labeled only as “CS.”

“Critical Systems, maybe?” he said, making a mental note to investigate further. In his experience, unexplained resource allocation pointed to something someone wanted to hide.

A soft alarm sounded from the central display. The holographic terrain map shifted focus to a point about two kilometers north of the dome. A blinking red marker appeared.

Graves enlarged the area. The system had flagged a temperature anomaly—a heat signature rapidly cooling to match the surrounding ice. He increased magnification and felt his stomach tighten.

A human figure lay face-down on the ice, a dark stain spreading beneath it. Even as he watched, frost formed on the exposed skin and clothing.

He keyed the emergency channel. “Security, this is Communications Specialist Graves. I’m tracking what appears to be a person on the ice, two kilometers north. Possible medical emergency.”

A calm voice responded without delay. “Acknowledged. We’re aware of the situation. Please continue with your assigned duties.”

“Someone’s out there dying!”

“The situation is under control. This is a security matter. Please restrict your activities to communications installation.”

The connection ended. Graves stared at the display, watching as the heat signature continued to fade. The person was still alive, barely.

He memorized the coordinates and headed for the door. It locked before he reached it.

“Please remain at your workstation, Specialist Graves,” the dome’s AI said. “For your safety, the communications center will remain secured until security personnel arrive.”

Graves returned to the console and accessed its code backend. Standard frontier systems all used similar architectures. After bypassing two security protocols, he located the door controls and overrode them. A soft click announced the lock’s disengagement.

The corridor outside remained empty. Graves moved toward the northern section of the dome where he’d spotted service entrances and environmental suit storage on the schematic he’d studied during approach. The few residents he passed continued to smile, their eyes sliding past him as if trained not to notice.

The service area required a security badge. Graves pulled a multipurpose electronic key from his pocket—standard equipment for communications specialists who often needed access to secure areas. The door opened to reveal a locker room with environmental suits hanging in neat rows.

He selected one and checked its systems. Fully charged oxygen and heating elements, communication equipment disabled. He replaced the communications module with a spare from his pocket and sealed the suit.

Another door led to an airlock. Graves cycled through and stepped out onto the ice, the full force of the planet hitting him right away. Even through the insulated suit, the cold penetrated like needles. Wind howled across the barren landscape, visibility dropping to less than a hundred meters in the swirling snow.

Graves activated his helmet display and pulled up the coordinates. Two kilometers across open ice in these conditions would be challenging, but the suit’s navigation system would guide him. He set off at a steady pace, each step crunching through the crystalline surface.

Eighteen minutes later, his proximity alert triggered. Through the blowing snow, he made out a dark shape ahead. As he approached, details emerged—a human figure in a thin dome uniform, no environmental protection. Male, middle-aged, face-down on the ice.

Graves kneeled beside the man and rolled him over. The face had already frozen, skin blue-white with frost forming on the eyelashes. But when Graves checked vital signs, he detected a faint pulse. Hypothermia had slowed the man’s metabolism to near suspension.

Working fast, Graves switched on the emergency warming panels in his suit and wrapped them around the man’s core. He removed his own outer insulation layer and added it as protection. The man wouldn’t survive transport back to the dome without better equipment, but Graves could at least stabilize him for the moment.

As he worked, he noticed something clutched in the man’s frozen hand. With careful pressure, he extracted a small data chip. He slipped it into his suit’s reader.

“Graves! Stop what you’re doing right now!”

The voice erupted from behind him. Graves turned to see three figures armed with pulse rifles and wearing security uniforms approaching through the snow. Their environmental suits bore Arcadia’s logo.

“This man needs medical attention,” Graves shouted.

“That’s not your concern. Return to the dome now.” The lead officer raised his weapon.

“He’s still alive.”

“No, he isn’t.” The officer fired. The super-heated pulse hit the frozen man, shattering his chest into crystalline fragments that scattered across the ice.

Graves scrambled backward. “What the hell are you doing?”

“Enforcing dome policy. Exile is permanent.” The officer turned the weapon toward Graves. “You’ve interfered in Arcadia security matters. The administrator will decide your status.”

The guards escorted Graves back to the dome, confiscated his environmental suit, and locked him in his assigned quarters—a minimalist white room with a bed, desk, and washroom. No windows, no communications equipment.

He sat on the bed and retrieved the data chip he’d palmed before the guards arrived. His personal tablet could read it, but he hesitated. Information had gotten one man killed already.

Hours passed before the door opened. A tall man with wavy gray hair stepped inside, his white uniform adorned with golden piping marking him as administration.

“Specialist Graves, I’m Administrator Shaw.” His voice carried fabricated warmth. “I understand you’ve had quite an eventful first day with us.”

“You murder your residents,” Graves said.

Shaw took a seat at the desk. He remained well composed. “That’s a serious mischaracterization. Marcus Ellis chose exile when he violated community standards.”

“What standards justify a death sentence?”

“Arcadia maintains perfection through balance. Our resources support exactly five hundred residents. Every system—power, water, food, air—operates at optimal efficiency for that number.” Shaw’s hands rested in his lap. “Ellis disrupted that balance by hoarding resources, spreading dissatisfaction, attempting to access restricted systems.”

“So, you threw him out to freeze?”

“We offered him a choice. Conform to community standards or leave. He chose to leave.”

“Without survival gear?”

Shaw’s expression hardened. “Arcadia’s resources remain with Arcadia. Exile means separation from all dome benefits.” He leaned forward. “Now, about your situation. You’ve accessed secure areas without authorization, interfered with security operations, and obtained classified information.”

“I was doing my job.”

“Your job was to install a relay system, not investigate dome policies.”

Graves measured his words with care. “The installation requires integration testing with all dome systems. I need full access.”

“Of course.” Shaw’s smile returned. “You’ll have it—under supervision. We need that relay system, Specialist Graves. The isolation has been... challenging for some residents.”

“Like Ellis?”

“Like those who don’t appreciate what we’ve built here. Paradise requires rules.”

After Shaw left, Graves waited until the night cycle dimmed the lights before examining the data chip. It contained hundreds of files—dome schematics, security protocols, medical records, and a video recorded by Ellis himself.

The man’s face filled Graves’ tablet screen, his expression desperate. “If you’re seeing this, I’m probably dead. Arcadia isn’t what they claim. They exiled thirty-seven residents in the past year alone. The official reports say they transferred to other colonies, but there’s nowhere to transfer to on this ice ball.”

Ellis detailed Shaw’s system—how the administrator maintained Arcadia’s perfect society by eliminating anyone who questioned authority, consumed too many resources, or simply displayed the wrong temperament. The geothermal energy discovery had made the dome self-sufficient but also isolated, allowing Shaw to implement his vision without outside interference.

“The communications blackout wasn’t an accident,” Ellis said. “Shaw disabled the system to prevent anyone from calling for help. The reported solar flares don’t exist. The relay you’re installing won’t fix anything. He’ll control what goes in and out. He—” Ellis looked over his shoulder. “Someone’s coming. Find the others. Lower level three, section F. They’re still—”

The recording ended.

Graves spent the rest of the night studying schematics. Lower level three didn’t appear on the official dome maps. According to Ellis’s files, it housed Arcadia’s true geothermal tap systems—and something called “cold storage.”

Morning arrived with Host Joy at his door, her smile in place. “Administrator Shaw has allowed your work to continue under my supervision.”

“Great,” Graves said, gathering his equipment. “I need to check the power integration points, starting with the geothermal tap controls.”

Joy’s smile flickered. “Those areas are restricted. The primary engineering station can handle your integration.”

“Not effectively. The relay needs direct power baseline readings from the source.”

“I don’t have clearance for those areas.”

“Then get someone who does,” Graves said. “Otherwise, I pack up and report to the Commission that Arcadia refused necessary access for standard communications equipment.”

Joy’s composure cracked. “Wait here.”

When she returned, Administrator Shaw accompanied her, his expression a blank slate. “I understand you need access to our power systems.”

“Direct access,” Graves said. “Standard procedure.”

Shaw studied him for a long moment. “Very well. I’ll escort you myself.”

They traveled downward through the dome’s levels, passing through three security checkpoints. The pristine white aesthetic gave way to industrial utility—exposed pipes carrying steaming water, rumbling generators, and fewer surveillance cameras.

“Lower level two,” Shaw said as they exited the elevator. “Primary power distribution.”

“The schematics show the tap controls are one level below,” Graves said, watching Shaw’s face.

The administrator didn’t flinch. “A common misconception. The technical documents provided to contractors often simplify our actual layout for security reasons.”

“I need complete readings. The relay’s power requirements aren’t negotiable.”

Shaw’s jaw tightened. “The geothermal systems are sensitive. Additional personnel present unnecessary contamination risks.”

“I’m trained for sterile environment work,” Graves said. “My security clearance is probably higher than yours, Administrator.”

A tense silence lingered between them before Shaw relented. “Follow me. Touch nothing without authorization.”

The elevator required Shaw’s handprint and a retinal scan. After a smooth descent, it opened onto a narrow corridor bathed in red emergency lighting. The temperature plunged several degrees.

“Cooling systems for the thermal exchange,” Shaw said, leading Graves through a series of ever narrowing passages. “The tap reaches nearly two kilometers below the ice.”

They reached a massive door marked “Thermal Control.” Shaw placed his hand on the scanner, and the door slid open to reveal a cavernous chamber filled with machinery. Engineers in white jump suits monitored consoles surrounding a central column glowing with geothermal energy.

“Primary tap,” Shaw said with unconcealed pride. “Enough power to run Arcadia for centuries.”

Graves moved toward the nearest console, setting down his equipment. “I’ll need about twenty minutes to get proper readings.”

“You have ten,” Shaw said, stepping back to watch from the doorway.

Graves connected his diagnostics kit, making a show of running standard tests while his equipment copied the system’s data. The power output readings confirmed Ellis’s claims—Arcadia produced nearly three times the energy needed for five hundred residents.

“What’s through there?” he asked, nodding toward a heavy door marked “CS” at the far end of the chamber.

“Storage,” Shaw said, answering too fast. “Maintenance equipment.”

Graves disconnected his equipment. “I have what I need for the power integration.”

As they started toward the elevator, Graves “accidentally” dropped his tool case, scattering components across the floor. While gathering them, he planted a small device beneath a console—a signal repeater that would allow him to access the lower level systems from a remote location.

Back in the communications center, Graves started the actual installation work while using his hidden access to explore Arcadia’s secure systems at the same time. The “CS” room contained cold storage pods—forty-two of them, according to the life support monitoring system. Each pod held a human in suspended animation, their vital signs faint, but registering.

Not killed, then. Stored. The exiles who hadn’t fought back or broken the rules quite enough to warrant a death sentence. Shaw kept his troublemakers on ice—literally.

Graves worked through the night, completing the relay installation while developing his plan. The system would go live the following day, establishing Arcadia’s connection to the frontier network. Shaw would control the information flow, but only if the system operated as designed.

At 0800, Administrator Shaw and his senior staff gathered in the communications center for the activation ceremony. Graves stood at the main console, his expression revealing nothing.

“Today marks a new chapter for Arcadia,” Shaw said to the assembled crowd. “With this relay system, we reconnect to the frontier while maintaining our perfect society.”

Graves started the startup sequence. The holographic display showed the signal extending from the dome to the relay stations positioned across the planet’s surface, then upward to the orbital satellites.

“Connection established,” he said, as the indicators turned green. “Transmitting test signal now.”

Shaw stepped forward, preparing to send the first official message—a well-crafted announcement of Arcadia’s success and invitation for new, pre-screened residents.

Instead, the system broadcast everything—Ellis’s files, the cold storage records, security footage of “exiles” being forced onto the ice, medical data showing the suspended animation pods. The emergency broadcast protocol Graves had programmed sent it all right to Frontier Commission headquarters, the Colonial Marshal’s Office, and every news outlet in the sector.

Shaw’s face contorted with rage. “What have you done?”

“My job,” Graves said, stepping away from the console. “Communications specialist. I specialize in making sure messages get through.”

The administrator lunged for the emergency shutdown, but Graves had locked out the controls. “Security!” Shaw shouted. “Arrest him!”

The guards hesitated, looking at the damning evidence displayed on screens throughout the room.

“You’ve destroyed everything,” Shaw said, hissing. “Arcadia was perfect.”

“Perfection built on exile and frozen bodies isn’t perfection,” Graves said. “It’s just another prison with better lighting.”

The first response vessels would arrive within days. Rescuers would revive the cold storage subjects, account for the exiles, and expose Shaw’s perfect society as another frontier dream corrupted by power and isolation.

As security led Shaw away, Graves looked through the dome’s transparent ceiling at the star-filled black sky above the pole. No paradise was perfect, especially on the frontier. The darkness always found its way in. But sometimes, that darkness brought truth with it—cold and hard as the ice itself.