[He falls silent.]

Taban: What am I going to see?

HARE: Me. I am with you.

[Taban’s face contorts, and he gives a shuddering sob before patting the HARE on the head. Then he tries to scratch something into the ice again, but his slippery gloves don’t even take a chip off. His breath has a harsh, bone-scraping rattle now. A human would be alarmed by the sound. The HARE doesn’t seem to react. Abruptly, Taban begins to cry again.]

Taban: Shit, HARE, I don’t want to die.

HARE: You won’t, Fin.

Taban: You promise?

HARE: Yes.

[He gives up attempting to scratch a message into the ice and flops back onto his back.]

Taban: You’re right. You’re right. What am I doing? We need to get back. I just—need a rest. Catch my breath. In a second I’ll get up and we can go back to the ship.

HARE: Yes.

Taban: We’ll get a message out to ISF, tell them what’s been going on here. They’ll come right away. If they’re not already coming.

HARE (processors whirring): . . .

Taban: . . . Have you located the ship’s transponder?

HARE: Yes, just now.

Taban: Good. Just give me a second, and we can go.

[He closes his eyes, taking a deep, shuddering breath to use the full extent of his lungs. As the HARE watches, the sky slowly lightens above Taban’s figure, touching his frosted helmet. In the weak morning light, his face within the visor is pale and ghostlike, his hair bleached of color. The lower half of his face is encrusted with blood.]

Taban (speaking with effort, slurring): Or maybe you should go. I’m tired. Lying still will conserve oxygen, right?

HARE: Yes.

Taban: (checking his readout)

HARE: Your oxygen?

Taban: Still zero. But I’m still kicking.

HARE: There are anomalies.

Taban: I know. I’m not going to question it. Listen—

HARE: Yes.

Taban: You can find the ship. Get an oxygen tank, medical shit. I’ll stay here. You can track the homing beacon that’s embedded in my suit. The one that Daley couldn’t take.

HARE: Yes.

Taban: You come back for me. I’ll hold on as long as I can. But whatever happens—you need to tell ISF what happened here. People need to know what happened to us. How we got here. How we . . .

HARE: Understood.

Taban: Tell them—tell them about the mountains. The ones that disappeared. The weird shit that went on here. Tell them the land here moves. They’ll send their closest ships. They’ll want to see for themselves.

HARE: Yes.

Taban: Hell, send the videos, if you can. That way they’ll have the whole picture.

HARE: That may deplete my energy sources.

Taban: I know. But we all got a job to do, my friend.

HARE (processors whirring): . . . Understood.

Taban: And if you do actually talk to them—if they ask—