[When it catches up, Taban is on his knees at the base of a dark wave, staring slackly at Daley’s body. Daley’s eyes are open and bloodshot; his face is contorted in a rictus of fear or surprise. The HARE checks Daley’s medical readout on his suit. It indicates that he’s dead.]

Taban: Shit!

[He punches the ground next to him, to little effect.]

HARE: I could administer emergency medical procedures—

Taban: Look at him. It’s way too late.

[He hunches over Daley’s body, shuddering, as if to pray. Then he looks back up at the HARE with a hint of accusation.]

Taban: How is this possible? He went the opposite way of the ship—ran off somewhere else. He can’t have circled back around and died that fast.

HARE: There are anomalies here.

Taban: Did we go in the wrong direction?

HARE: No. We experienced an anomaly.

Taban: Stop fucking saying that! Not everything is a goddamn anomaly, HARE!

HARE (in concluding tones): We are experiencing an anomaly.

[Taban’s breath bursts through the transmitter in a short, staccato tattoo. He is crying. His tears glimmer through the gold of his helmet.]

Taban: We went the wrong way. We’re even farther from the ship than when we started. We’re not going to make it back.

HARE: We can. Your oxygen readout—

Taban (hopelessly): It’s at 0. I don’t know how I’m still alive.

[Suddenly he jolts backward from the wave and begins patting his suit all over, as if checking his pockets.]

Taban: Homing beacon . . .

HARE: Please repeat.

Taban: A homing beacon! We need a homing beacon. I’m going to write a message, stick a homing beacon in it—so when ISF comes, they can find it, even if we . . . move.

[He rolls over onto his back and starts scrabbling for his boot.]

Taban: Don’t they give us extra homing beacons with these suits?

HARE: Yes.

Taban: Where are mine located?

HARE: They’re usually strapped to your left calf.

Taban: Oh. Because—

HARE: . . . But USER Daley took yours to set his ‘markers’ several days ago.

Taban: FUCK!

[He flops over for a moment, apparently defeated. Then he rolls back over onto his knees again and begins to scramble around on the ice.]

Taban: Then I need to leave a note or something—pile up some ice, or scratch something out—so they know what I wanted, who to tell, and someone can find it later, regardless of this shit planet and its shit directions—

HARE: Please. Do not exert yourself. Your oxygen—

[Taban sits up.]

Taban: Or maybe I should just tell you. But what happens if you break, or run out of power before they get here? What if your memory gets damaged and you forget me?

HARE: Please. We should move—

Taban: It’s this fucking planet. North becomes south, ice becomes wave, ship disappears—Daley sees a man and a ferrox—