Chapter 9
"God, if you will not grant me peace, give me ammo." Charles Morton Thackerton, "Dimworld"
"The Unknown usually has fear working in its favor." Oi Dah School of Martial Arts
"Judge a man not by how he treats his loved ones, but by how he treats those that mean nothing to him." Fragment of Ohmish proverb, 12th century, SGD.
The cold here, in the ragged depths of the White was so intense that it permeated her suit, the gel and settled into her bones, like a grinding weight against her. It was as if the entire planet of Buran IV fed from her negligible warmth, teasing it from her with every movement. She slowed her pace somewhat, allowing the gel protectant to settle over her again. Around her, the jumbled terrain of the high northern plains running alongside Fischel Glacier, some twenty kilcks north of Christmastime, lay the wreckage of countless Enemy transports, glazed with a thin coating of snow, and thicker
piles of ice where it settled. She moved past them, imagining that she wore no helmet, her dark hair catching the almost non-existent breeze as she sniffed the air for the spore of her prey.
She giggled, coming to a nearly complete stop, as her small squad froze behind her wordlessly. They probably thought her quite insane, and they wouldn't be too terribly wrong. Still, after a moment, she was business again, and set off, her tireless stride chewing the kilometers with practiced ease.
Nanomachines fed her brain oxygen, others inundated her muscles in a thick slurry, repairing damage quickly from her occasional misstep or stumble.
By midmorning, 35 klicks had passed in an agonizing white and gray
blandness. A few close-calls along the Fischel Glacier seemed to focus the troops behind her, and, by the time they left the glacier, moving into the deep northern valleys, her squad moved with a kind of wordless grace that was both hard to imagine and startling in its precision and beauty. Here, the ground was more solid, and no sudden gaps opened beneath their feet as they moved north, devouring the miles in a startling manner. But their was no air here; it was so cold, it had snowed out, so no air resistance, and the valley arched very gently upwards, but did so and a low angle, making the walk rather brisk, but comfortable.
Nightfall on Buran was a thing of rapidity; the tiny sun simply seemed to be eaten by the planets miserable cold, same as everything and everyone else.
The cold; it was a worm, coiling in her soul, like a doubt, gnawing at her heart in the star-scattered dimness of Burans witching hours.
Morning found her stiff and angry, with nano's sending electric shocks through her muscles to get them moving again. Her team seemed positively anxious to move out, and she smiled, with something approaching joy as she looked over them.
When she reached the lip of Ransfield Crater, she paused, examining the weak Enemy signal in earnest, before motioning the others closer.
The war was about to get very personal to the Enemy.
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"The Unknown usually has fear working in its favor." Oi Dah School of Martial Arts
"Judge a man not by how he treats his loved ones, but by how he treats those that mean nothing to him." Fragment of Ohmish proverb, 12th century, SGD.
The cold here, in the ragged depths of the White was so intense that it permeated her suit, the gel and settled into her bones, like a grinding weight against her. It was as if the entire planet of Buran IV fed from her negligible warmth, teasing it from her with every movement. She slowed her pace somewhat, allowing the gel protectant to settle over her again. Around her, the jumbled terrain of the high northern plains running alongside Fischel Glacier, some twenty kilcks north of Christmastime, lay the wreckage of countless Enemy transports, glazed with a thin coating of snow, and thicker
piles of ice where it settled. She moved past them, imagining that she wore no helmet, her dark hair catching the almost non-existent breeze as she sniffed the air for the spore of her prey.
She giggled, coming to a nearly complete stop, as her small squad froze behind her wordlessly. They probably thought her quite insane, and they wouldn't be too terribly wrong. Still, after a moment, she was business again, and set off, her tireless stride chewing the kilometers with practiced ease.
Nanomachines fed her brain oxygen, others inundated her muscles in a thick slurry, repairing damage quickly from her occasional misstep or stumble.
By midmorning, 35 klicks had passed in an agonizing white and gray
blandness. A few close-calls along the Fischel Glacier seemed to focus the troops behind her, and, by the time they left the glacier, moving into the deep northern valleys, her squad moved with a kind of wordless grace that was both hard to imagine and startling in its precision and beauty. Here, the ground was more solid, and no sudden gaps opened beneath their feet as they moved north, devouring the miles in a startling manner. But their was no air here; it was so cold, it had snowed out, so no air resistance, and the valley arched very gently upwards, but did so and a low angle, making the walk rather brisk, but comfortable.
Nightfall on Buran was a thing of rapidity; the tiny sun simply seemed to be eaten by the planets miserable cold, same as everything and everyone else.
The cold; it was a worm, coiling in her soul, like a doubt, gnawing at her heart in the star-scattered dimness of Burans witching hours.
Morning found her stiff and angry, with nano's sending electric shocks through her muscles to get them moving again. Her team seemed positively anxious to move out, and she smiled, with something approaching joy as she looked over them.
When she reached the lip of Ransfield Crater, she paused, examining the weak Enemy signal in earnest, before motioning the others closer.
The war was about to get very personal to the Enemy.
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