The Ashwell Challenge: An Anthology

Frozen in Time

by D. N. Ashwell

The sirens distorted as if pulled through a wormhole of static, enmeshing Rynn in a garbled howl. A chill brace of arctic air flushed through the cabin with an ear popping pressure, jolting her back to her senses. Before her, the dashboard flashed a series of errors, spitting a pop of sparks at each rotation that splashed downwards towards her face. She craned her head to her feet, her knees all but curled to her chest by the pull of gravity. She hung upside down, the safety belt digging into her shoulders and waist.

Grunting against the pressure of blood pooling in her head, she hooked her feet under the dashboard and pushed herself as steadily as she could into the cushioned chair pinioned to what now was the ceiling. With one hand she grappled the seat, preparing to take her weight as soon as she managed to release the belt's catch. The belt snapped loose. The ground slammed into her back, her arm unable to take the full strain of her weight, but enough to rotate her away from slamming into the floor headfirst.

What a way to start the expedition.

"Aeris, damage report."

The computer's smooth voice laid out the report, "Hull breached. Primary life support at twenty percent. Launch thrusters unresponsive. Thermal core stable."

"Comms?"

"Long distance communications array and subspace relay disabled. Atmospheric communications online."

"Establish a connection with Orbiter 226 and have it relay a distress signal to Ingenuity. 226 is on a decaying orbit to collect atmospheric data and should have a small window where we can slip in a communication. Have it relay coordinates, shuttle status, and life support data, then set a repeating distress signal to maximum distance. How's the surveyor?"

"Surveyor online. No xeno-life signs detected. Atmosphere breathable. Temperature below acceptable EVA without thermal suit."

"Ha, no kidding," another cold brace of air set her arms to gooseflesh. Pushing herself to her feet, she wrenched open a locker, its panel nearly bent shut from the damage to her shuttlecraft's roof, "Can you get a patch on that breach with the programmable matter?"

"Automatic repair module has been disabled due to circuit overload. Manual release required. Signal established with the programmable matter."

"I can work with that," she pulled out a canister as the particulates trapped inside wormed to life, snaking into lattices along the transparent wall. With considerable effort she pried the lid loose, the matter swarming in rivulets of miniscule robots to the breach, weaving an impermeable lattice over the opening.

"How long until a rescue ship can get here?"

"ETA on Ingenuity is six hours. However, the storms on this planet may make rescue difficult. Scans show the ice cloud that grounded us was not an anomaly."

"Fan-tastic," she belted on her thermal suit and gear, "Aeris, still got a lock on that anomaly we came to investigate?"

"Yes. According to my navigation data, we are less than two klicks from the site."

"Might as well go do what I came here for in the meantime. Fairly certain corporate won't pay me otherwise."

"Should I undock and link into the shell?"

"No, you should stay with the ship. I can manually operate the shell to gather the survey data," she slid on an interface: a silvery, wire frame glasses with a pair of pads that attached to her temples. With a series of gestures, the augment booted and calibrated to her mental readings, a small metal orb whirring to life on the top of her backpack. She flicked through the filters—mineral readings, thermal imaging, and atmospheric data all streaming live to her augmented glasses.