The Existence Triad Legacy

Earth Wars Series

Polar Hearts

By Sara Steege

-2-

The Abyss

The wind dissipated to a sniffle over the frosty Siberian foothills. Snow floated leisurely to the ground and snuggled comfortably into place, anonymous and inseparable from its companions.

Seven figures enjoyed similar fusion with their surroundings in identical snow-camo uniforms, trekking onward through the snow like a small herd of phantoms. Boots crunched on packed snowflakes. Wind whistled between rocks and bodies, penetrating even the thickest textiles. No color, no sun, just white and cold; they might as well have been on the moon. Civilization was far away, the densest amount of people located in the cozy command cabin of the Mobile Base Unit they had departed from less than an hour ago. They would not return to it until their mission was either a success or a failure.

But the mission itself had yet to truly begin; the first objective had not been reached. As they progressed further through the ridge, the pallid landscape began to climb upward into a surge of frosted land and stone. Gray crags protruded irregularly as it ascended. Some of the more deliberate people in the company tested their footing as they climbed, rather than trust the deceptive snow covering to provide adequate traction.

Captain Hadar was the first to reach the top, her hooded and camo-clad figure poised unmoving in the wind and snow like a five-foot eight marble sculpture. As she waited for the others to ascend, her crisp brown eyes surveyed the dreary vista with a gray canopy of burdened ice clouds meeting the frosted tableland at the horizon. It was bloody cold. Not just the teeth-chattering numbness of the ice and snow, but also the wind and its tenacious tendency to trickle through and chill inopportune places at inopportune times, despite thermal insulation. At least it wasn’t whistling ceaselessly as it had been on the open plain of the plateau. Combine that with being pelted by curtains of snow and the naturally unpleasant loss of sensation in toes and tips of fingers, and the result was a disgruntled Captain.

At least I’m professional enough not to show it, she thought. A memory once submerged in neglect and denial flounced to her attention like a cube of ice from the bottom of a tumbler. She was just a child in this memory, with gentle eyes watching the snow float from the gray cover outside. She could see her reflection in the chilled glass, her brown eyes shining so full of innocence and unspoiled hope. Her skin was nearly as pale as the covered streets outside. She was waiting for someone. A blast wheezed, startling the falling snow to diagonal descent. Someone that mattered to her. The wind screamed through niches and rafters of her home. Who was it? She was so close to the window she could feel the cold wafting off it, her breath fogging lopsided circles on the glass.

"Not exactly British weather, is it?" said voice behind her.

The memory shattered, plunging back down into the shadows of her intellect from whence it came. Still disquieted by both cold and gust, Odessa turned to face the speaker.

Before her stood another soldier in snow camo and boots. Despite the frigid surroundings, he had his parka hood down, exposing a regal face. A natural part down the middle was apparent but ruffled in the wind. Longish russet-colored bangs were dampened and matted by blizzard and bluster. Two starry blue-gray eyes shone serenely from beneath a fine brow. Framing his mouth was a neatly trimmed rust-colored goatee, flanked by persistent stubble. His skin was a bit weathered from exposure to the elements. Slung over his left shoulder was a black nylon tool kit. Like the rest of the crew, he carried an assault rifle with side arm strapped to his left leg. Unlike the others he carried a pair of fifteen-inch pulse blades sheathed at his waist. She recognized him as the young new mercenary hired by the United Kingdom office in Triax—the most handpicked of the handpicked. Although Odessa didn’t know much about him personally, she knew from her briefing that he was specialized in reconnaissance and stealth, though he had formidable training in a variety of other combat fields, such as tactical and assault. His name was Solin Jack.

As he stood patiently surveying the vista, Odessa realized he had come up from the other side of the hill her and the others were so precariously climbing. This realization was immediately accompanied by the question, "Where did you come from? I thought you were traveling with us."

"I’ve been waiting here," he returned simply.

Another blast of chilly air ripped at their clothing. The memory bubbled in Odessa’s mind, rendering her momentarily mute.

Jack casually stepped to her side, looking over the land as she had before. His eyes became dark with the shift of light, and suddenly reminded Odessa of an alert cat.

"Why have you been waiting here?" she asked, her pragmatic senses drowning the memory once more. "You were with us in the MBU and—"

"Traveling with you from there," he finished for her. "I was. I took a short cut."

"Short cut?" Odessa was incredulous.

"Yes." Jack pointed to a place on the white horizon forty-five degrees to their left. "The dust-off site is beyond those lower hills in the distance." He traced their curving path to their present location as he spoke. "The way we came in required that we go around the more treacherous foothills, rather than take the straighter, shorter path. Since I’ve dealt with this kind of terrain before, I cut through and scouted the area before your arrival."

"Ah," Odessa said, "And you didn’t think to tell me, the mission leader, about your little excursion across the ridge?"

He turned, replying with a nonchalance that—had Odessa not been so irritated—would have reminded her of Mina. "Mission orders required radio and voice silence till we reached the first way point. Since neither of us knows any silent means of communication, skirting predetermined command would have jeopardized the mission."

And you could very well have jeopardized the mission by running off as you did, came the mental reply. Odessa knew that would hardly have been a diplomatic response, and diplomacy was in order. This is my first command, she reminded herself. I’m the leader. Dealing with mavericks is part of the job.

"Look," she began quietly, "you may be hot stuff where you come from, but here you’re part of a team. If you go off by yourself there is no guarantee you will come back. If you don’t tell us what you are doing, we can’t work together. Communication is critical. I need to know where everyone is so we can make this work. Is that clear?"

"Yes."

"No more of this self-appointed decision-making. Otherwise—" (she leaned in close) "I may have to exercise some of my…more…brusque authority. Understood?"

"Yes, Captain," Jack replied.

"Good."

By this time, the other five had gathered at the top a short distance away from the Captain and Jack. Being the sensible crew that they were, they kept their distance. From some of the tones exchanged, they probably assumed she was mercilessly chewing out the merc and it was best for them not to get involved. But now that Odessa had effectively ended that conversation, their attention turned toward her.

"Right," she said, addressing everyone. "Now let’s get this operation going. We’ve got work to do."

With that, Odessa began the descent into the gorge, where the second waypoint lay. The wind began to stir again, blowing shrilly over the hill and creating a mist of powdered snow over boots and projecting stone. Jack fastened his hood and followed, his steely eyes scouring the ground for safe footholds. The others managed more slowly. Like Odessa, they found the mist more obscuring than previously. Combined with chillier gusts, perhaps a drop in temperature, the ground was harder and slicker.

Evans, a young American Private, piped up, "Why’s it so much icier on this side?"

"Probably due to the altitude and position of the sun," Lieutenant Kinna Vasilis’ thinly German-accented voice replied.

"Like, because it’s so obscured by the clouds it’s a lot colder?"

"Yeah Evans," Private Caleb Rasmus said mockingly. "You know when a fucking huge ball of fire is close to the land there ain’t snow anywhere. But when it’s far away it gets colder than a Siberian toad’s ass."

"Enough of that," Odessa ordered.

A mutter from Evans was washed out by the wind. Odessa let it slide, knowing Evans was the youngest in the company and anything he said was likely to be harmless. Rasmus, on the other hand, was obnoxious and undisciplined. Although Odessa herself was not acquainted with him for very long, she quickly learned he was trouble. Described in his bio as "rowdy, overanxious, has an attitude problem and poor cooperation skills…cultivating sarcasm to a molecule-sized point…" Odessa figured him to be the most persistent problem. He had more reprimands than parking tickets for Heaven’s sake! And for some unfathomable reason, they decided to put him on this mission—her first command. At least the mandatory radio silence kept him behaved for awhile. Otherwise he’d be filling their ears with more obscenity than Malebolge demons could muster. A peep from him would arouse three words of concentrated ire at the bang of a gun. Usually it was one of the other personnel that would bark the command of "Shut up, Private" but this time Odessa had the initiative. She was expecting Rasmus to pounce on Evans directionless comment as soon as she heard it.

Sergeant Seth Drake felt it necessary to reprimand his contingent for being loose-tongued. "If everybody in America were as tactful as you, Rasmus," he said with a weary rasp, "there would have been a lot more than three World Wars."

"Yeah," Rasmus inserted, "and if I had my way, we wouldn’t be sneaking down a hillside in the middle of a blizzard—these renegade bastards would’ve been toast long ago. All this sneaking around crap just ain’t my style."

Russian Corporal Veroshka Konstantina commented, "Oh, and I suppose it would be more prudent to go in with guns blazing?"

"Nothing like a straight up fight, that’s what I always say."

"And if the world listened to what you always said, Private, then we’d be in a helluva lot of trouble," put in Drake. "Now stow it. We’re recon here, not task force. If we were going ground-pounding we wouldn’t have brought along that merc." He gestured ahead to Jack’s swiftly descending figure.

"But that’s just the point Sarge. Triax coulda save a few bucks by frying the fuckers instead of burning their money on a goddamn specialist, for—"

Rasmus’ caustic comments were steadily rising to Odessa’s tolerance level. But with this last comment directly poking at the decision of command (tallied with the raging wind and chattering cold) she had had enough. Halting roughly in her tracks, she reeled around in an angry whirl. If it wasn’t for her control of the motion, she could have spun herself right off balance and gone tumbling down the gorge. Her eyes seized the obnoxious Private like twin icicles.

"Rasmus," she barked, trying to control her voice. As far as she could tell, her effort was successful. "Here. Now."

Her tone must have conveyed a haughty warning as the others promptly drifted away from Rasmus, hastily descending beyond the unmoving Captain. Drake’s sturdy figure lingered momentarily, casting a questioning glance at Odessa, but she nodded him off. As for the object of Odessa’s wrath, he casually picked his way to her, taking extra care to test his footing five or eight times before stepping down onto it. Although he seemed far from worried about what was to come, his sluggish pace was either an additional irritant to test this new Captain, or a marked desire to delay the inevitable. Odessa folded her arms.

After a considerable wait, Rasmus finally reached the resolute Captain. Rather than stand at attention, he assumed a defiant pose. With all the arrogance of an adolescent who thinks he knows better, he spaced his feet shoulder-length apart and folded his arms across his chest. From the shelter of his snow-dusted hood, the soldier’s murky brown eyes darted impatiently around the landscape. Slick jet-black hair was visible on the sides of his narrow head. His features were soft and fleshy, with arched brows and bleary lines around his mouth and eyes. Chapped from the frigid temperatures, his nose and cheeks were rosy and weathered. For no reason Odessa could ascertain, his lips were perpetually parted in blank expression. He was young, probably about Odessa’s age, but he didn’t have the experience to go with it. And though he towered a full head over her, Odessa did not find his size intimidating in the least.

"It’s time you and I had a little chat," she spoke with a tone of authority.

"Sure. Whatever ya want."

"Listen carefully, Private, because what you do and say in the next hour is going to make all the difference in the world. World security rests on our shoulders as appointed by Triax United."

"Look Cap’," he said quietly with his eyes shifting to the ground and back to Odessa. "I’m entitled to my opinions. Freedom of speech yeh know?"

"Freedom of speech does not apply in Siberia, Rasmus. Nor is it in effect during a mission, when you are obligated to follow the orders of your superiors." She paused a moment, glaring menacingly back at him. "This isn’t a training camp exercise for your personal amusement to screw up. I’ve read your record. I know what kind of work you’ve done. We don’t know what we’re about to face and it is imperative that everyone follows orders. Questioning the chain of command disrupts the whole system—a system we rely upon in emergencies. Do you follow me?"

"Yeah, I get you."

"Private," Odessa said, with an irritated flutter of eyelids. "When you address a superior officer, what are you supposed to say?"

"Uhhh." His eyes flickered uncertainly around Odessa’s steady gaze. He licked his lips and shook his head as if trying to jostle the phrase out of his brain before finally getting it. Then it came to him, voicing it with a smirk. "Yessir."

This last snippet of behavior snapped confirmation into Odessa’s mental evaluation of Rasmus. While his earlier conduct would attest that he was as pompous and full of himself as a pampered prince, when put to the test he was just a weak person, at least in her eyes. How he got through training with such a disrespect for authority was beyond her. The mere sight of him suddenly filled her with utter disgust.

Odessa rolled her eyes and waved him off. "Get moving."

With a curt nod, he briskly shuffled by her, following the rest of the team. Left behind, Odessa lingered a moment, turning around slowly with raised gaze. The gray mass of the compound’s main building loomed low to her left, an immense shadow in the haze of falling snow. As the wind continued to blow haunting cords across the land, a chill crept across her skin. Suddenly she felt very alone, isolated in a frozen gray world. She stood on the edge of the world in a pallid white limbo, with no sky. The only sound was that of the incessant wind, bellowing its eerie song across this small insignificant realm.

With a shudder, she resumed her descent, eager to catch up with the others.

▽ ▽ ▽

Meanwhile, buried in snow several miles away, Mina Giles commanded the Mobile Base Unit. Crammed with smoky-uniformed technicians, steely-blue engineers, and a few black garbed military personnel, the Doctor fostered no feelings of isolation. Composed of two main decks, primary operations located in the anterior of the upper deck with the cargo hold in the rear and engineering systems on the lower deck, the MBU was designed to contain a fair-sized crew (perhaps forty people) comfortably for a considerable length of time. Though it was enormous for an air-to-land based vehicle, Mina found it’s current distribution (or lack thereof) of occupants to be stifling.

Presently, the doctor stood in a narrow aisle between technicians sitting in front of equipment. Lit with red lights, the room reminded the Doctor of a photo laboratory, but much more uncomfortable with overwhelming heat and stagnant air. She felt sticky with perspiration, and light-headed from the heat. But more than the discomfort, Mina was interested to know why they were getting such abnormal heat levels when it was below freezing outside.

Absently, Mina checked her watch. It was a six past two in the afternoon. Mentally she analyzed this information in conjunction with her knowledge of the mission plan. Odessa’s team was scheduled to reestablish contact at exactly three o’clock (fifteen hundred). That left plenty of waiting time. Time she could use to procure ventilation.

Bringing her glasses down from her forehead, she sauntered down the cramped walkway, intent on doing something more constructive than standing and sweating. Ducking slightly under the bulkhead separating the Main Ops deck from the central hall, she felt a refreshing drop in temperature. The lighting in the circular tube was darker, dirtied with shadows. Nonetheless, both of these changes in atmosphere were refreshing to her, deterring her resolve. Pausing a moment down the hallway, she pressed her back to the cold surface of the wall. Soothing cold ebbed the heat away. Raising her head to the ceiling, she released a satisfied sigh. The tips of her moist bangs tickled the sides of her brow, but she ignored the resulting itch. Savoring the comforting chill in mute repose, she bowed her head and closed her eyes. Gradually the unpleasant magma-like heat flowing through her veins faded to a comfortable coolness. In the still darkness of the hall, she could faintly detect the buzz of equipment on top of distant mutters of technical babble.

The atmosphere was familiar to the Doctor, displacing her sense of where she really was. The sounds, the lighting, it reminded her of another place—a place she would have liked to forget. Surrounded by darkness, she found the feeling of that memory returning to reclaim its place in this world.

Masked in purple shadows, a stretch of deserted hallway gaped before her like an open mouth. Tentatively she walked down it, her footsteps reverberating eerily. Cold melded into her flesh, evoking goosebumps beneath her clothes. She saw a clipboard rise to her eyes, her pale fingertips curled around its edge in the twilight. The writing on it was blurry and unclear. Then as she put on her glasses, the edges of the print sharpened, though it was still too dark to see.

Halting abruptly, she strained to read it, squinting and bringing it close to her face. Yet the symbols were still unintelligible. Puffing an irritated sigh, she started to resume walking. But before her heel left the ground, she heard another footfall echo from elsewhere in the hall. Immediately, Mina suspended her movement, waiting for another sound. Silence burned in her ears. Still shadows clutched the walls. Convinced it was just her imagination, she shrugged and continued walking. But this time, as she heard her own steps clicking on the ground, another pair matched her stride.

She was not alone.

She jolted to a stop. This time the footsteps continued to advance, a slow shambling step from before her. As the steps grew louder, Mina grew aware of wispy wheezing. Frozen in place, Mina watched apprehensively as a thick form scuffled toward her, leaning heavily on the wall. For one horrible moment, the figure appeared to be a gnarled ogre, humped with crude straps of cloth clasping it’s contorted bulk, lurking closer with every step. But in a flutter its distorted features were unmasked to reveal its true form. Replacing the shadowed beast was a hunched-over man dressed in an over-sized canvas shirt and baggy pants, panting and dragging himself along the wall.

Logic displaced Mina’s irrational instincts. Her mind was not merely focused on the abnormality of finding a strange man approaching her in an unlit hallway, but on the circumstances precluding this encounter. One, they were in the lower restricted levels of Triax headquarters, where only a few select individuals could venture. Two, this person was obviously not one of those few select individuals and yet he was wandering around alone. Three, Mina certainly had never seen him before in her life, not to mention in Triax. Hence, he was a trespasser.

Shadows retreated across the man’s face as he raised his head. A ruffled shock of sandy hair obscured his eyes and forehead. His face was haggard and gaunt, with sunken cheeks and a pointy nose. He looked as though he could be forty, but his skin was supple and young, with scarcely any wrinkles. From the way his clothes hung from his bony body, she figured the reason he looked aged was because he was malnourished.

But before she could insert this new development into her mental evaluation, the man jolted in surprise, nearly losing his hold on the wall.

"Mina?" he breathed in a pained gasp, reaching out from the wall. "Is that you, sis?"

Doctor Giles’ mouth unhinged in outright astonishment. Sister?! Her only brother, Michael, died twelve years ago! How could this wasted man who seemingly materialized out of the darkness before her possibly be her brother?! The mere thought stupefied her into silence, as gawking with raised brows at the tattered skeleton who seemed to know her.

"Mina…" he dragged himself closer to her, scraping along the wall with his bone-thin fingers. He seemed to barely have enough energy to speak, slowly sinking lower and lower as his strength failed him. "Please…say something……Min…" Helplessly she watched him slide down the wall, too shocked to move or speak.

Then her sense of reality seemed to shatter, as the image of him began to waver like a reflection on disturbed water, becoming two-dimensional and hazy before it finally disappeared altogether. Once again, she was alone in the frigid darkness. Alone to contemplate the encounter of her alleged brother, or whether it had really happened.

Her eyes blinked open. She was in the same dingy black corridor of the MBU, seeking comfort from the suffocating heat. There was no strange starving man claiming she was his sister. It was just her, the mutterings from down the hall, and the refreshing chill from the wall.

And the darkness.

With a sigh, she recalled how little sleep she had gotten. Predisposed to night shifts, she tended to get home around six in the morning—just an hour after the complex was detected. Though she’d gotten some sack time during the flight over, she was still depending on coffee and adrenaline to maintain cognitive awareness. In part, that was why she lingered in the passage to begin with.

Pushing the memory out of mind, Mina likewise propelled herself from the wall, stepping out into the middle of the hall. But before she continued on, her eyes scanned the empty hall, looking for ghosts that were not there.

Turning to continue on her course to main engineering, she started at the sound of brisk footsteps shuffling toward her. For a moment she was hesitant to move, her mind irrationally connecting this with the recently remembered encounter. But as the sounds of this environment cracked open the fallacy of that connection, she relaxed. Most likely it was just a technician or engineer on his or her way to the main deck. It was silly to think it was anything else.

Continuing on her way, she could make out the figure she heard plodding down the corridor. As she suspected, there was nothing unusual in the walker’s silhouette—it was not clutching the wall or the contorted shape of a monster. Nevertheless, as she drew closer to the figure, she recognized the sturdy shape of the man from the bar. Once they were within speaking distance, she called out to him.

"Chief Neil! I didn’t know you were on duty here."

"Yeah," he returned. "They crammed my arse into this 'ere tin can as well. Nothing like a good sauna, eh?"

Mina was about to inquire about the status of heat systems, but was interrupted by the ding dong ding of the PA system. "Head of Department of Technology in section two of the central hall, Doctor Mina Giles, Doctor Mina Giles, please report to the main deck immediately."

Hissing in irritation, she hastily turned and tramped down the hall in the opposite way she came. A quick glance at her watch established the purpose of the summons. It was nearly three o’clock

▽ ▽ ▽

The chasm shred a maw-like hole in the featureless landscape. Wind sung a sonorous song over its jagged jaws, as hollow and empty as the land above. Nestled in the abyss lie the walled compound, still and heavy. A slope descending in front of its entrance bridged the highlands to the ravine floor. A fair distance away from that opening the seven were gathered, sheltered behind the sloping ridge. Since the wind did not penetrate that deep into the chasm the team had seized the opportunity to remove their hoods. Four of their number waited in silence as Konstantina, Evans, and Jack calibrated two radio-headphone sets.

Standing patiently with her hands clasped behind her back, Odessa occupied her time by studying the surroundings, as well as the people in them. Ankle-deep snow carpeted the flat floor of the abyss, stretching off like a road in either direction. Fallen debris peppered the snow, but the larger stretch in the center of the ravine was untouched. Evidence of large boulders broken off from the upper cliffs was closer to the cliffs, where large piles of rocks thronged at the foot of the cliffs.

A short distance away from where Odessa stood was the hearty figure of Sergeant Drake. Of all the group he was the eldest, living a sum of forty-three years. This attribute manifested itself in the subtle creases around his mouth and eyes, and the thin gray hair shaved closely to his round scalp. Beneath a small round nose, his mouth perpetually stretched across his face in a loose smile. His water-blue eyes shone amiably—the only true indication of how he felt. Seeing his optimistic gaze set Odessa’s mind at ease.

Leaning against a fallen boulder not far from Drake was Lieutenant Vasilis, Odessa’s second-in-command. Living a couple years past thirty, the German soldier was the next eldest. She looked catish, with prominent lashes framing her lucid green eyes, and subtle flushed lips. Her pale complexion contrasted heartily with the single braid of rusty red hair draped over her shoulder. Seriousness shrouded her visage like a wooden mask.

Rasmus had been shifting from place to place around the center group, his tracks well-worn in the snow. One moment he crouched impatiently behind Konstantina and the next he was up and striding around to a place with a good view. Once in the desired spot, he would either hold his gun out or crack his knuckles. Odessa found watching him both exhausting and irritating.

Then her eyes fell to the center of Rasmus’ circle, where Konstantina, Jack, and Evans coordinated the pair of radio-headphone sets for three-way communication. Gathered around the flat slab of rock they were using as a table, all three were intent upon their task. Both Jack and Konstantina were wearing headsets linked by cable to two paperback-novel-sized radios displayed on the rock. Evans held both radios close to him, bent over at eye level to see the dials clearly. Jack muttered a simple phrase that Odessa couldn’t make out into the mouthpiece, repeating it several times. Across from him, the Russian reached out to adjust the volume on her radio Evans held. Evans’ pale blue eyes looked at her questioningly, his right thumb on the channel dial of Jack’s set. When she shook her head, he rotated the knob to the next channel, and the process repeated itself, just as it had the last four times.

Facing Odessa, the Russian Corporal was the easiest for the Captain to see of the three. Beneath a fine, furrowed brow her misty-gray eyes narrowed in concentration, listening intently for sound from the earphones and not elsewhere. Her inky-brown hair was tied back tightly in a ponytail, the wiry frame of the headset clasping her head like a spider tiara. Flushed cheeks added some color to her elegantly cool countenance.

Private Evans’ face shifted from profile to front view as he shook his head back and forth to see the reactions of his two coworkers. His fuzzy straw-colored hair was shaved closely to his head, too long to be a true crewcut yet too short to be anything but fuzz. In contrast to Konstantina’s wintry skin, he had the hearty tan of an outdoorsman or Californian sun seeker.

The variances in each of their faces stood out prominently to Odessa in stark contrast to the uniformity of character and appearance they had before. Internally she sensed a curtain of anonymity blown aside, revealing their real nature as six distinct individuals all very different from one another. Evans, Rasmus, and Drake are all from different zones of America. Vasilis is from Germany, Konstantina from Russia, and both Jack and myself originally from the U.K. All of us are so different. And yet, here we are, united together. Odessa’s mind wavered to wonder why people so deviant in essence would want to work together. What had they to gain? Money? Prestige? Power?

The Captain didn’t think so. These were specially selected soldiers, uncorrupted by such selfish temptations. Their purpose was higher, indivisible by ethnic background, or individual perception. It was a broader goal that united them—an ever-present universal standard sought by all of humanity.

Punctuating that thought, Konstantina abruptly leapt to her feet, pulling off the headset as she rose. "The sets are ready now, Captain. We can message Doctor Giles whenever you’re ready." The Russian held out the headset for her.

Odessa briskly strode over to the three, took the offered device, and secured it to her head. Adjusting the mouthpiece accordingly, she glanced at the military watch she wore on her wrist. It was only a few seconds away from fifteen hundred. She nodded to the Corporal, "Right. Patch me through."

In turn, Konstantina waved at Evans who subsequently turned a knob, then flicked a tab on both radios. With a hasty nod from Evans, Odessa said, "Heimdall to Odin. Over. We’re on the edge of Jotunheim."

An electronic squawk punctuated her transmission. After a brief moment of listening to murmuring white noise, Odessa recognized Doctor Giles’ voice as she said, "This is Odin, Heimdall. How’s Bifrost?"

"Cold and empty," the captain returned. "We’re ready to send in Hermond."

"Acknowledged. Please stand by."

After a moment’s wait, a female (technician’s) voice chimed over the radio. "Channel coded. Sequence set to rotate every ten minutes."

"Make sure your system keeps up," said Mina.

Bending the mouthpiece away from her mouth a moment, Odessa told Evans, "Arrange for ten minute rotation coding." The young Private quickly clicked a few more adjustments into place before handing each com-set to its respective owner. As she proceeded in fastening it to her belt, Odessa said, "Sequencing checked. Both of us are wired up."

"Good," Mina replied. "Jack, can you hear me?"

"Yes," Jack said, rising to his feet.

"We’ll be monitoring you over the COM system, but the weather doesn’t permit usage of the team cameras. That means we’ll need constant verbal feedback from you to know what’s going on. Do you understand?"

"Yes." His eyes met Odessa’s for a moment, the contact breaking when he shouldered his rifle. "I’ve been informed as much."

Uncertain of what to think, Odessa simply blinked. Then she turned away from his gaze and addressed everyone. "The second part of the mission will begin now. Jack will break from the rest of the team and scout around the perimeter of the facility."

"Understood," Jack said, turning away from the group.

Odessa’s expression remained neutral as she watched him canter to the slope’s edge and follow it to the entrance, where he crouched in wait. Slowly, he leaned forward, peering cautiously around the corner. Seeming to see something of interest, he drew a pair of binoculars from his satchel. Irrationally, a single thought surfaced in her mind.

And as the wind bellowed overhead like a beast in the night, Solin Jack disappeared in the abyss, swallowed by the raw gates of whatever lay beyond.

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