Chapter 3 — The Journey towards Marinagua

Dark Side of Touxilay — Ice Shelf Surface
Surface Team: Wilber & Bohdie

With the hose finally seated, the violent thrashing eases into a steady, heavy pull. The pumps engage fully now, the vibration traveling up through the line and into their gloves—constant, mechanical, reassuring in its own way.
For a few seconds, the wind seems almost manageable.
Then it surges.
Not a gust—a wall of force, slamming in from the open shelf, stronger than anything before it. The pressure hits Bohdie broadside, catching the exposed angle of his suit and wrenching him sideways.
His crampons scrape.
Once.
Twice.
The ice beneath his left foot shears smooth.
Bohdie loses his grip on the hose and goes down hard, shoulder first, the impact knocking the breath from him even through the suit. He slides half a meter before the safety tether snaps taut, arresting the fall with a violent jolt.
The sudden tension ripples down the line.
Wilber doesn’t have time to react.
The jerk yanks him off balance, tearing his hand from the hull grip. His crampons screech uselessly across the ice as he’s dragged forward, slamming down onto one knee and then his side, skidding toward Bohdie before his own tether goes tight.
Both men end up sprawled on the ice, wind howling over them, lines stretched to their limits.
The hose holds.
The intake stays submerged.
But for a moment—just a moment—neither of them is upright, and the wind does not let up.
Above them, floodlights blaze.
Behind them, the Azure Voyager stands unmoving.
And the ice keeps screaming under the storm

Captain Halsson immediately calls the air lock team
"Some get out there now."

Wilber and Bohdie roll once for recovery use strength stat as DM

"Ruiha, that's your cue. Be safe. Virel, you're backup to her backup." Chaala orders over comms.

She turns to Amara. "Permission to suit up just in case?"

Bohdie takes a moment to recover his breathing, using all his running experience to manage his recovery. Still, his lungs scream in his mind in protest and for a few seconds (real time… but it seems like an eternity of hell in Bohdie’s mind) his lungs Protestant that his O2 line was cut. He forces his mind to center itself, telling his lungs that they take orders from his brain, not the other way around. A few heartbeats later, air begins to flow back into his shocked lungs. "this… is… Bohdie." he broadcasts haltingly. "I’m o.k. Just got the wind knocked out of me." Bohdie makes sure his breathing is regular before attempting to move. Then, taking his time, he tests the safety line. "Attempting self-recovery" he says. He moves slowly, deliberately. Rolling onto his side, feet toward the ship, giving the lowest profile to the wind. Then onto his stomach. The wind batters him with every movement, slightly less because his feet take the brunt of its fury. He tries to push himself upward, moving a knee underneath him. Then the other. The wind both helps and hinders, blowing his legs, but also trying to push him back down. The slick ice isn’t making the job any easier, either! He tries to move one leg to get a hold with the crampons…

Assuming he is able to self-recover, he will go check on Wilbur and assist him, if necessary. Each movement, slow. Deliberate. Making sure he sets his crampons before each step.

This is my background… I use it to help sleep… helps drown out my tinnitus.

Wilbur fails hard. The sudden pressure surge from Bohdie’s fall hits him before he can brace, slamming him onto the frozen floor. The impact knocks the breath out of him; he’s left dazed, barely conscious, fighting to stay aware.

Bohdie looks carefully before acting. He searches to see if he can catch hold of Wilbur’s safety line. Now that he is up, he decides he can help Wilbur best by sitting back down, back to the landing gear and crampons dug in as he reaching for Wilbur’s tether. If he manages to get Wilbur’s tether, he will dig both of his crampons in, pushing hard against the landing gear with his back and bracing as best as he can. Then he will start to pull Wilbur’s tether, feeding it behind him for more leverage. Hand over hand, slowly and carefully. If he can’t pull, he will stabilize Wilbur until help arrives.

Chaala acknowledges the Engineers order and does her best to focus on the task in front of her, trusting her team to have each other's backs.

Wilbur, now fully aware of his predicament, tries to brace himself and get a foothold anywhere he can. He’s done being a ragdoll pinned against a windshield; he fights to anchor a boot and with the help of Bohdie regain some control.

Refuel Operations | High Wind Event Ongoing

Wilber knows exactly how bad this is—and that knowledge burns away any panic.

He fights the wind anyway.

He twists his hips, tries to drive a crampon point down into the ice, searching for anything that will bite. For a heartbeat it almost works—the metal teeth scrape, catch—

—and then the gust hits again.

The ice shears smooth beneath his boot and the purchase is gone. Wilber slams back against the pull of his tether, chestplate skidding across the ice, breath forced out of him as the line snaps him short once more. He’s no longer tumbling, but he’s not gaining ground either—pinned, suspended, and burning strength fast.

Nearby, Bohdie plants himself hard against the landing leg.

He lowers himself deliberately, back pressed into the ribbed strut, crampons dug deep. Ice squeals under the metal points as he leans in and reaches for Wilber’s safety line. His glove brushes it—misses—then finds it again.

He gets a grip.

Bohdie braces, pushes with everything he has, trying to turn leverage into progress. The wind answers immediately, hammering into him, locking him in place. He can’t move forward. Can’t pull Wilber in.

But he doesn’t slide.

Bohdie is anchored—pinned to the landing gear, holding fast against the storm. The tether stays tight, steadying Wilber just enough to keep things from getting worse.

Inside the ship, Engineering is all discipline.

Chaala keeps her focus where it belongs. Intake rates. Pressure differentials. Thermal stability. She tracks the numbers, filtering out the noise and the knowledge of what’s happening outside. Then something flickers at the edge of her display.

A diagnostic panel.

A camera icon.

She pulls it up.

The external hose-intake camera feed—disabled by default—comes online, showing the black water below the ice shaft and the reinforced hose disappearing into it. Chaala locks it in place, eyes flicking between the visual feed and the live data. The intake is stable. No cavitation. No debris.

Beside her, Amara is working four systems at once—purification flow, intake pressure, output rates, and fuel cell capacity. She watches the levels climb with a practiced eye, fingers hovering as the first cell nears its threshold. At precisely the right moment, she cues the computer.

Fuel transfer switches cleanly to the next cell.

No overflow. No alarms.

Outside, the storm doesn’t care.

Wilber’s arms are starting to tremble. Bohdie can feel it through the line—every vibration transmitted straight into his grip. The wind howls louder, spindrift blasting sideways under the floodlights.

And then—movement.

Through the glare and blowing ice, a third figure fights into view.

Ruiha.

She moves low, deliberate, Halligan tool clenched in both hands like an improvised ice axe. She plants it hard into the ice, hooks, pulls herself forward, then repeats—each step earned, each pause calculated. The safety line trails behind her, singing under tension.

She reaches Wilber’s side just as another gust slams into him.

Wilber feels something solid strike against his lower leg—not the wind, not the ice. A hooked metal edge bites in, anchors.

His suit comm crackles.

A voice cuts through the storm, calm and certain.

"I got you."

Victor generally remained confined to the medical bay of the ship and avoided company because of his introvert nature. He was not sure what to say to the crew who had more military experience than him. Sometimes his past trauma came to haunt him but he generally kept it controlled. However, things were not going well for the ground refueling team. He was keeping an eye on what was going on and this was seriously going wrong with every passing second. He turned on the ship's general comm and said awkwardly, "This is Dr. Shone. I...don't know if I can help somehow but tell me if anything needs to be done."

Chaala takes a brief moment from her monitoring to respond to Doc.

"Just keep everything fired up in sickbay. If we don't get them back in quickly we're looking at frostbite at the least, those suits can't hold out forever."

Bohdie will take up the slack as Ruiha helps Wilbur return to the ship. "I’m ok. Go ahead and get him inside."

Once Wilbur is taken care of, Bohdie will move very carefully back to the refueling station and make sure there are no problems.

Wilbur does what he can to help Ruiha free him, breath coming hard from the effort and the beating he’s taken.

"Thanks… I owe you a solid one."

Refuel Status: Stabilizing

Ruiha wastes no time.

With the Halligan biting deep into the ice, she gives Wilber the leverage he needs. Together they work him upright—slowly, deliberately—until his boots finally find purchase that holds. The wind still batters them, but the worst of it is past. Wilber nods once through his visor, breath heavy but controlled.

"I’m okay," Bohdie’s voice cuts in over suit comms, steady despite the strain. "Get him inside."

Ruiha clips Wilber in close and pivots them back toward the ramp, moving in short, controlled steps, Halligan anchoring each pause. The Azure Voyager’s hull looms larger with every meter, floodlights glaring through the spindrift.

They make the ramp.

The hatch cycles.

Warmth—relative warmth—floods in as the seals close behind them.

Wilber is handed off without ceremony and guided straight toward sickbay, Ruiha staying close until he’s inside and the med systems take over.

Outside, Bohdie waits for a lull, then releases from the landing leg and moves back to the refuel point. He checks the hose intake visually and by feel—line tension steady, no vibration spikes, no signs of ice collapse or debris intrusion. The black water below remains calm, the intake seated exactly where it should be.

Inside Engineering, Chaala never lets her focus slip. Intake rates remain stable. Pressure differentials stay within tolerance. Thermal stability holds. She keeps the external camera feed up, watching the hose and the shaft even as the numbers scroll past, filtering signal from noise with practiced ease.

Captain Halsson’s voice comes over internal comms, firm and final.

"Bohdie, refuel looks stable. That’s enough time in the wind. Get inside and report to sickbay."

Bohdie acknowledges and makes his careful return, ramp cycling shut behind him as the ship once again seals itself against the storm.

In sickbay, Doctor Shone works quietly and efficiently. Scans come back clean—no frostbite, no cold exposure injuries. The vacc suits did exactly what they were designed to do. Wilber and Bohdie both show minor bruising and muscle strain, nothing more. Sore, shaken, but intact.

A few hours later, the numbers tell the rest of the story.

Water intake steady.
Purification nominal.
Fuel transfer uninterrupted.

The main tank climbs past the halfway mark.

252 dtons total capacity.
Current fill: ~56%.

Outside, the wind still screams across the ice.

Inside the Azure Voyager, the refuel continues—quietly, methodically, and finally, under control.

Presently

Ruiha and Virel wait at the airlock, half-suited and ready. Helmets hang open, gloves clipped at their sides. Steam curls from insulated mugs as they drink something hot and strong, eyes occasionally flicking to the status board. They’re on standby—close enough to move fast if something goes wrong outside, far enough to conserve strength if it doesn’t.

In Engineering, JEEM and Chaala work alongside Amara at the purification consoles. Intake rates remain steady, filters cycling smoothly as raw water becomes fuel-grade feedstock. The system is past the halfway point now. Barring complications, another four hours will finish the process.

In the lounge, Bohdie and Wilber sit with boots off, wrapped in the ship’s quiet warmth. Mugs of hot tea steam on the table beside a scatter of crackers and cooling ice packs, now more comfort than necessity. Bruises ache, but nothing worse. They trade stories in low voices—half rueful, half amused—about nearly becoming kites in a frozen gale.

Doctor Shone joins them, unobtrusive, settling into a nearby seat with his own drink. He keeps an eye on both men without making a show of it, content for now that the worst has passed.

Outside, the wind still screams across the ice.

Inside the Azure Voyager, the refuel continues—and the crew waits, rested but alert, ready if the calm breaks again.

ACTIONS?

Concerns?

Questions?

Victor smiled at Bohdie and Wilber saying, "That was a risky close call, but you two are far more experienced in handling hazardous environments. Your endeavor so far is a success, and I hope that we won't need any more venturing outside in that frigid environment again. Hopefully the refueling is done soon without any problems. How are you two feeling?"

JEEM works in a focused manner. It is better not to make any mistakes now and be finished in four hours than to try to optimise something and have it go wrong.

Wilbur sinks deeper into the lounge seat, the warmth finally catching up with him. His voice is low, rough with fatigue.
"Good… I could use a real rest."

Before he can say more, his eyes drift shut and he dozes off right there, tea cooling beside him.