The Last Day on Keylosus

The last day on Keylosus is only one Earth-hour and ten minutes long.

The sun slips toward the horizon and paints the sky orange and yellow. It is huge, bathing everything in a golden light, before it disappears below the horizon.

"The sun is down!"

The call rings out through the town along with the fierce, howling wind. Soon, the wind will become three months of pummeling ice missiles. Three months of darkness and temperatures below anything recorded back on Earth.

"Lissa, let's go," my mother urges. "You know how fast the temperature drops on the last day."

I stare at the reinforced door in the floor. I've never tolerated the underground tunnels well, although I've endured thirty-six Keylosus-years of them. It doesn't translate exactly, but that makes me about twenty-one Earth-years old.

"Sure," I answer, reluctantly leaving the already frosting window for the tunnel. My family doesn't try to cheer me up anymore. I won't be in a good mood again until spring.

The first few days are the worst as the cold settles in. After a week or so, you get used to the constant shivers. The heat runs constantly down here, but it just can't keep up with a completely frozen planet.

Above the murmurs of families settling into their pods, I hear a little girl shouting.

"Momma, please! He's still up there! We have to go get him!"

A woman is trying to calm her, unsuccessfully. "Dear, we can't go back up. It's not safe."

"But he'll die!" The girl's screaming is frantic, bouncing through the tunnels.

I drop my things in my family's pod and find the commotion. Everyone else is avoiding the two, but I run to them.

"Excuse me," I say, sliding near them. "Not to be nosey, but what's the problem?"

The mother looks more than annoyed, but answers, "She's left her pet Bortapek above. She just rescued it a few days ago. She must have forgotten."

"Momma, he'll die!" a girl about four Earth-years pleads.

She directs her attention to the girl, "And we will die trying to retrieve him."

I decide to make a split second decision. "I'll get it."

The mother whips her head to me, "You can't be serious. It's only a Bortapek."

"Your daughter reminds me of myself. I hate the winter tunnels. I hate not having the sun. If this can help her get through it, I'll do it."

Those within earshot stare at me incredulously. They mutter about me being crazy.

I sprint back to our pod and grab all of my winter gear. I refuse to answer the questions in my family's strange looks. Time is of the essence. Even the native animals die within a few hours after sunset on the last day of fall if they aren't able to tunnel underground.

I rush off, throwing on all of my gear as I go. When I reach the mother and daughter, I pull on my winter boot covers and ask, "Ok, which ladder?" After the little girl points, I nod.

"It's in the main room, against the blue wall," the mother responds. Her eyes scrunch in concern. "You shouldn't be doing this."

"But you're not going to stop me."

She knows this is what's best for her daughter as well. She just doesn't want anyone to die for a pet. I get it, but I also understand the little girl's panic.

I jump up the ladder taking the rungs two at a time. The air gets colder as I climb, but there will be a fatal blast as I open the vacuum double door at the top. I near the double door and take a deep breath. Any breath on the other side of the door will be fatal, suffocating at these temperatures.

I secure the first door so the cold doesn't race down the ladder chute, and pull myself up into their home. I immediately see the blue wall and shuffle over to it. I am so cold I can barely move, and have two minutes before I freeze to death.

The Bortapek is in a small, spherical tank. The poor animal is curled up as tight as he can get against the cold, but seems resigned to his fate. I can't tell if it's still alive, but I hope for the best.

Grabbing the tank, I start to shuffle back to the door. My knee spasms and I stumble forward. The tank slips from my grasp as I flail to keep myself upright, shattering on the floor. The Bortapek doesn't move, but I can now see its little stomach slowly taking breath.

My lungs need air. This was such a stupid idea. I am going to die up here.

I subconsciously take a breath. The air burns as it travels through my body, sure to be fatal.

But it's not.

I take another shaky breath and grab the Bortapek with my hands, shoving it into my pocket. I shuffle the last few feet to the reinforced door, and slide in. I secure the door behind me and move on to the next.

I clunk down the ladder, frozen, but victorious. I am met with awed stares and angry parents as I get to the bottom.

The little girl runs to me expectantly, but her face falls upon seeing I am empty handed. I reach into my pocket, and hand her the pet. Her face lights up as she cradles the half-lizard, half-snake animal.

"Thank you," she says hesitantly, but the gratitude is clear in her eyes- absolute adoration.

I turn to my parents, giving an apologetic shrug. Their eyes soften a bit taking in the situation.

How did I breathe up there?

We must be evolving!

My mind leaps to a time when humans don't have to retreat to the tunnels for winter on Keylosus, and it makes me ecstatic. It would be a new era.

But if we evolve that much, could we even be considered humans anymore?