He snapped the visor back in place, banishing the sliver of bright light that had attempted to work its way inside. Looking beyond the belly of the Firehawk, Cole noted the visibility would probably have been pretty good without all the driving snow—the visor seemed to filter the light perfectly.

Which means, Cole realized suddenly, the ambient air in this place is as bright as a cutting torch!

He checked out the side of the hull catching the drifting snow. Like Riggs had said, the level had already ramped up even with the massive bulk of the upturned ship. He lowered himself back down below the lip of the open hatch and cracked his visor; Riggs knelt across from him, clutching the other side of the landing struts.

“Give me one of the kits,” he told Riggs.

Riggs passed it up, and Cole worked the long strap over his helmet. He then pulled the utility knife out of his flightsuit and held it out to his former friend.

“What? I get to kill you know?” Through the crack in his visor, Cole could see a thin smile on Riggs’s lips.

“Maybe, but not directly. I want you to follow these wires from the landing gear down into the maintenance tunnel and cut them back as long as you can.”

“You gonna rappel down with them?”

“I want to see if the snow is packed enough to walk on. If not, we’re gonna be trapped here while we get buried alive.”

Riggs took the knife. “Joy,” he said. He worked his way down the well, tracing the wires and cutting them free of their zip-ties as he went.

A minute later, Cole pulled the free end of the wires up to him. He had a good seven meters of the stuff, more than enough to get to the edge of the snow.

He checked the other end of the wire to make sure it was secured to the hatch, and then began climbing out.

Riggs grabbed one of his boots before he could get very far. Cole look-ed down at the black visor peering up at him.

“Be careful,” he heard Riggs yell through his helmet, his voice muffled and distant. “Don’t die before I can kill you.” He shook the utility knife at him for effect.

Cole smiled behind his visor and pulled himself out, crawling all the way up on top of the metal belly of the Firehawk.

The surface had already iced up, making Cole’s boots slip as he tried to rise to his feet. Coupled with the vertigo of the sideways flurry, the slickness made him feel unstable and a tad nauseous. His brain wanted to lean into the snow, but there was no wind to hold him. His stomach flipped; he sank back to his hands and knees and decided to stay there, the survival pack dangling off one side of his back.