Day Cycle

Billie screamed, then laughed, punching the air as the parachute snapped her out of freefall.

Her visor display flickered once, showing oxygen and pressure bars on the surface within range of sustainable life. Perfectly safe, if a little thin. It made her want to scream with joy again.

Plan B was working.

Beneath her feet, the runner was a ball of dark red flame. Scattered debris flashed against the white sand—blinding, even in the weak light. Inside, the two bodies belted in the cockpit would be a charred, unidentifiable mess by now.

She searched the dim sky for Orin—predawn or twilight, she couldn’t tell.

The rust-red of his suit was easy to see against the soft glow of the atmosphere. Even with his face hidden behind his helmet and tinted visor as it was, she knew his grin was just as wide as hers.

Orin gestured, pointing toward a mountain range northwest of their position.

Nodding, she tugged on the steering line.

The trajectory sent them away from a forest of tall, bone-white trees. From above they looked dead, the bare branches reaching high into the sky, dense enough to tangle a parachute. They were falling faster than she’d expected. The air was thinner than what she was used to on her own planet. But this was the best-case scenario. She’d take it.

This hadn’t been the planet they were supposed to land on.

After taking what they needed from a freighter, the plan was to get out—covertly—and escape without being seen. They’d been aiming for a possibly habitable, mid-sized planet in the Vermilion System designated E-731-21. They hadn’t expected the freighter to deploy a runner of their own, who then immediately started firing at them.

The pursuit had pushed them in the opposite direction of their target.

Billie had scrambled to find a new system while Orin pushed them further ahead—they had the faster ship, but not enough fuel to outrun the other runner entirely.

“They said this was worth it, right?” Orin ground out between clenched teeth, knuckles white around the helm. “Please tell me it was worth it.”

Billie had already sent the coordinates of the new planet to him—and the crew of their courier ship, the Phaethon-A—with a smile. It was a planet in the Icarus System with pressure and oxygen levels similar to their own.

She rested a hand on the bag strapped tight over her shoulder. The cryogenic cylinder was heavy against her side. Warm under her palm.

“Yes,” she breathed. Inside were thousands of green sprouts, enough to seed an entire planet with life again. She thought of the crew of their ship, floating somewhere in space waiting for their signal—of how long they’d all dreamed of this. It was their way out, a new planet with a clean slate, for all of them.

Their boots now sank into soft white silt.

Orin glanced at her through his visor. Face softening, he raised an imaginary glass to her, “Here’s to starting over.”

***

They found a cave a short walk up that was hidden enough, mouth obscured by a lip of white stone and fine sand. If they were lucky, the crew of the runner would stop at their wreckage, the bodies convincing enough they wouldn’t go looking through the hills.

“Do you think there’s anything we need to worry about inside?” Billie asked, hesitating a few feet from the opening.

Orin frowned down at his watch, shaking his wrist, tapping at the screen. He grunted; frustrated. “I don’t think we have the time to worry about it. My last calculations had them here within the hour. It’s in, or deal with what’s coming.”

Nodding, Billie clenched her jaw. The fortifying breath she sucked in was easy, but her lungs felt strangely empty for it. She tried not to let it bother her.

Orin went first, folding his tall form inside the low-hanging opening. The fingers of one hand were tangled loosely with hers. The other was clutching his gun, a flashlight strapped to the top illuminating the space in front of them.

The cave had a wide, low mouth that opened into a larger chamber. Tall enough to stand in the center—if there had been the room. In front of them was a small copse of white trees, their trunks curving with the angle of the space.

“Woah,” Orin breathed.

The trees looked to be of the same species as the ones outside, but shorter, covered thickly with leaves.

Billie stepped closer.

The leaves were nearly clear, made up of web-like veins. Running a gloved finger over one, she leaned closer.

They weren’t like other skeleton leaves she’d seen. It looked as if something had sucked them free of their mesophyll. The veins were translucent, almost wet-looking. They flexed with a strength that suggested they still had some sort of life moving through them.

She pressed in closer, only to jump back when a hiss of air came from beside her.

Orin touched her shoulder. “Sorry, it’s just me,” he said, his voice low, but clear and rich next to her ear. “My display finally started working again, the air is good to breathe.”

Frowning, Billie took off her own helmet. The air was cool against her sweat-slicked face. It felt good.

“You didn’t say anything about it not working.” She thought about hers, how it had flickered upon landing, and a few more times as they’d been hiking up, but her numbers had never moved.

Before he could say anything, a warning sound came from both of their displays—a proximity alert set to notify them of a ship entering the vicinity that matched the specifications of the runner that had been chasing them.

They shared a look.

Together, they tucked themselves back into the dark of the cave, pulling out long-range binoculars to watch the skies. In the quiet of the cave, Billie could only hear the soft sound of their breathing, inhales slow and in sync. Soon, the blinking lights of a ship appeared in low orbit.

They’d been careful not to leave a trail—parachutes tucked hurriedly back into their packs.

In their sights, it moved in a crawl just beyond the thin haze of the upper atmosphere. The outer edge of the runner shimmered, heat sinks engaged to mimic background radiation. It would have made them invisible on a scanner, if they’d been using a scanner to track them.

“Why aren’t they landing?” Billie asked low, feeling the weight of the cryotube heavy on her shoulder.

“Scanning for survivors, maybe,” Orin murmured, gaze fixed on the sky. “Or looking for a trap.”

It hung there a moment longer. Billie held her breath, heart a nervous flutter in her chest as she waited on their slow descent. Then, suddenly, they were gone—blinking lights swallowed by the stars.

Billie’s jaw dropped. She glanced up in surprise, then back into her viewfinder.

“Where did they go?” she asked in disbelief.

Beside her, Orin whooped. “I think it worked!” he exclaimed, a wide grin splitting his face.

Billie frowned at him. “Just like that? I don’t buy it. They chased us this far, only to give up?”

Orin wasn’t listening. His radio crackled with static as he flipped it on.

“Orin, no!” she hissed, snatching the radio from him and turning it off. “Three days—that was the plan. No matter what, we’re supposed to wait three days before we give the signal.”

Huffing, Orin sat back. He crossed his arms over his chest, regarding the sky for long seconds. “Fine, you’re right,” he sighed finally, pressing his palms into his eyes. “I just got a little excited. The walk up here gave me a pounding headache. All I can think about is collapsing into bed.”

Billie leaned in, kissed his temple. There was a dull ache behind her eyes, too.

From her bag she pulled out a dehydrated meal, handing it to him.

“You probably just need to eat something.” Her own stomach growled as she said it, jaw cracking on a yawn. Fatigue hit her like a meteor, and suddenly Orin’s sentiment didn’t feel so outlandish. “Maybe we could get a fire going,” she said, shaking herself and glancing around at the loose, fallen branches scattering the cave.

Her gaze paused on the cave mouth. Outside, the vast expanse of white seemed brighter than it had a moment before.

Billie squinted at the place where the white sand met sky.

“Planet is on a slow rotation,” she observed, tilting her head. “The nearest star is only just starting to peek over the edge, and we’ve been here for—” She cut off to check her watch, only to note an error message blinking on the screen.

She blew out a breath, looking back to the horizon.

The star was a bloody hue in the place the planet curved away. It was already brighter than the dawns she’d seen, with a zenith that was still near-black, a constellation of stars twinkling high above the mouth of the cave.

“Must be some star,” she muttered, half to herself.

Orin made a noncommittal sound. He shifted, crouched closer to one of the bleach-white trees and skeletal leaves.

“What’s that?” she asked, forgetting the rising star.

He gestured excitedly with his flashlight, whispering, “Come here.”

She didn’t need more than that—her heart leaping with excitement. Billie moved to crouch next to him.

Perched on one of the branches was an insect, no bigger than her thumbnail. Its carapace was the color of bone—the same as everything else on this planet. Large, milky-white eyes caught the beam of the torch. It moved in quick clips along the branch, wings like fogged glass twitching as it went.

Wordlessly, Orin and Billie followed its progress.

It came to join more of the same, all marching in neat formation down the trunk of the tree, antennae bumping softly along the white bark. Soft chirping echoed from the trees around them, muffling as the creatures disappeared into small holes at the base of the trees.

“Your ugly mug scared them,” Billie huffed as the last disappeared below, throwing Orin a teasing smile.

His laugh was dry before he volleyed, “I don’t think they could see me. They didn’t run away until you scuffled over here like a troll.”

Billie rolled her eyes. She pointed at the packet of dehydrated food in his hand. “Eat that, I’ll start a fire. I can take first watch if you want to sleep off that headache.”

“No,” he said on a groan, cracking his neck. “I’ll start the fire, I’ll eat, you get some sleep. I want to check over the instruments in our bag, anyways, see if I can get a few planet readings while we’re here.”

Rubbing one of her eyes, she considered the offer. “Okay,” she relented without fuss, “but only for an hour. We’re both tired.”

Orin nodded.

There wasn’t much of a break from the oppressive white of the sands, which seemed to have begun glowing in the slowly growing light. Just inside the cave mouth, she lay facing the wall, arm pressed hard over her aching eyes.

For a while, she counted Orin’s footsteps like they were sheep.

When Billie woke, it was to the press of Orin’s arm over her abdomen, and a stiff neck.

She shook his arm. “Orin?”

He groaned.

Face turned toward her, his eyes were closed but rimmed red like he’d been rubbing at them furiously.

“Orin?” Slipping from where he had her pinned, she shook him again. “Orin, you were on watch. You were supposed to wake me.”

He turned over, pressing his face into his arm. His fingers twitched vaguely in the direction of his bag. “Set alarms.”

Billie rolled her eyes and shoved to her feet.

The early-warning alarms he’d set were tucked inside the threshold. Both systems were unresponsive.

She sighed.

By the way the cave mouth looked sheeted in glowing white neon silk, it seemed to Billie like the star had finally found its way over the horizon—she must have been asleep for hours.

Squinting at the opening, she tried to make her eyes adjust to the sands, to see if the other runner’s crew had landed to search the debris for the cryogenic cylinder.

Groaning, she pressed her knuckles into her eyes and turned away from the light. She stayed like that for long moments, letting the burning ebb while tears streamed down her cheeks.

One hand reached for her waist—first running fingers over the bag cradling the metallic tube, just to make sure it was there, then finally finding the water bottle clipped to her belt. It was hotter than it should have been in air that felt like early spring.

Billie drank the warm water deeply, feeling suddenly like a once-damp rag twisted between unrelenting fists.

She blinked towards the back of the cave.

The darkness was far more oppressive than it had been a few minutes ago. The tall shadows of trees seemed to reach upwards to nowhere in dark, wavering shades of gray. It was hard to make Orin out on the ground. His sleeping form a blob of shadow, partially obscured by bright halos creeping in on the side of her periphery, closest to the light.

Billie rubbed hard at her eyes.

In waves her vision adjusted to the dark again, and she took a breath.

Light from the star had crept into their cave. It threw dim, reddish-orange light across the curved roof, with hard, knife-like shadows.

Starting in the back, Billie slowly adjusted her eyes to that light, moving her gaze up in increments. The edges still haloed, but it was manageable. She’d heard of snow-blindness before—had never experienced it herself having lived her whole life on a red planet.

Eventually she reached the brightest part of the stone, a broken checkerboard of shadows right at the edge. Careful to keep looking up, she turned.

First, her gaze went to the sky.

Without looking at it directly, it was clear the star hadn’t come up as much as she’d originally thought. Painfully bright, she could see it was a crescent chip of deep red on the horizon. Closer to it, the sky had lightened some, but the sky above the cave was almost violet—the pricks of stars still peeking through the atmosphere.

Billie stepped back from the mouth, hands going to her face.

In the short time she’d been standing there, her face had gotten hot, the bridge of her nose stinging like it had been burned. She poured some of the tepid water from the flask over it, hissing when it stung.

“Are you okay?” said Orin from somewhere in the dark—her eyes hadn’t adjusted. Then, he was next to her, hands on her arms.

“I think I burned myself,” she muttered, pouring more of the water onto her face, rubbing the burning from her eyes. “I didn’t realize you were awake.”

A warm hand wrapped around her wrist, pulling her further inside.

His breath was a caress against her warm cheek.

“Why can’t I see you?” he asked, his disbelieving tone cracking her heart. “You’re just shadow, Bill. What’s wrong with me?”

She reached up and trailed soft fingers over the contours of his face, brushing away tears that had rolled down his cheeks.

“We need to signal the ship,” she whispered, leaning in to kiss him softly.

The click of the radio coming off his belt was loud in her ears. Orin folded the plastic into her palm.

Understanding, she nodded into his forehead, cleared her throat.

“Mayday, mayday, mayday. This is Billie Weaver of Courier Phaethon-A. My partner and I have crash-landed on a planet in the Icarus System. World callsign twelve— tw—” she stuttered, stopped; shook her head. Her voice shook when she continued, “I don’t remember. It’s, uh, white planet with a red giant. Something is wrong. Mayday, mayday. We’re losing our eyesight, skin’s burning—”

A noise made Billie stop.

Her own radio was muffled, a voice carrying over to her from the depths of her bag. She scrambled for it, pulling it from the side pocket and cranking the volume.

For a moment, there was nothing but static, then, a shaking voice, “I don’t remember. It’s, uh, white planet with a red giant. Something is wrong. Mayday, mayday.”

She screamed, threw her radio against the wall, listened as it clattered over stone.

“Is this some sick joke?,” she screamed into Orin’s radio.

Across the cave, her own voice came back to her over the din of static.

Next to her, Orin murmured.

“What did you say, baby?” she asked, forcing lightness into her voice, pressing the heel of her palm into her eye.

“Charged plasma layer… signal bounce,” he said, voice thin. “Thin atmosphere.”

“I’m sorry,” Billie whispered, letting the other radio fall from her hand.

***

Billie’s voice cut out on a hiss of static. The eyes of the crew turned to the captain.

Transmission from Courier Phaethon-A | Distress Signal: I-Charlie-99

Time: 09:45:23

“Courier Phaethon-A requesting immediate assistance. Icarus System, world callsign 12-EV-342. Distress signal received from runner crash survivors. Systems failing—unable to resolve surface distance through atmospheric interference. Request guidance. Over. [End Loop]”

Sector Response to Courier Phaethon-A:

Time: 09:46:05

“Sector relay to Courier Phaethon-A. Your coordinates fall outside the authorized rescue zone. World 12-EV-342 is classified Radiation Hazard World. Surface operations prohibited during Day Cycle. Expected variance of UV wavelengths during Day Cycle: 98–342 nm. No vessel in sector will comply. Sorry for your loss. Over. [End Loop]”

Transmission from Courier Phaethon-A | Distress Signal: I-Charlie-99

Time: 09:46:37

“Repeat Classification. Over. [End Loop]”

Sector Response to Courier Phaethon-A:

Time: 09:46:55

“Radiation Hazard World. Surface lethal during Day Cycle. Over. [End Loop]”

Silence crackled across the channel.

“That’s why the runner left,” someone whispered.