[Neither Rain nor Snow] by Astral - Scarlet System

It was cold.  It was the kind of bitter, piercing cold that chilled you down to your bones no matter how many layers that you wore, the kind of cold that numbed your whole body until you could feel nothing, the kind of cold where it took immense effort not just to move, but also to think, and to breathe.

The cold was the reason why the human settlers of Arbuda never left the Bubble Cities, where it was warm and the air was breathable- all of them except for the Couriers.  Each day the Couriers donned their pressurized suits and stepped into the freezing wastes, carrying their precious cargo- food, water, fuel- risking death by suffocation, hypothermia, or attack from one of the many monstrous creatures that roamed the frozen wastes.  But the Couriers continued to press on, because they knew that the packages were more precious than their own lives.

Courier M-380 paused for a second, wiping off the thick layer of fog that had accumulated on the outside of his visor, to take a look at the small device attached to his wrist.  On a tiny black screen, a green arrow glowed, with a dashed line in the same bright, sickly green leading to the edge of the monitor.  To the right was a distance counter- two mil.  The holoscreen was crude technology, to be sure- far lower-tech than what humans in the twenty-fifth century were used to, but in the harsh conditions of the Arbudan wastes, it was the only navigational system that would not freeze and break.

M-380 had been on his journey for five days at this point, and his arms and legs were growing weary, but at long last he was approaching his destination.  The Courier took a seat on a small ice pillar, pressing a few buttons on the holoscreen, then turning his head to the side as the last of his food and water rations slowly raised inside his helmet on a mechanical arm.  The food bar went down with the unpleasant texture of sand, and the water was lukewarm and unpleasantly metallic.  M-380 grimaced as he ate.  He had consumed the Courier rations hundreds of times before on deliveries, but they never got any tastier.  The calorie and nutrient blend required to power a Courier in the icy wastes came at the expense of flavor.

With the last of his rations gone, M-380, re-energized, set off again, struggling through the whipping winds and blowing snow.  A short distance ahead was his destination- a small Bubble City which the Courier had never heard of, where he would drop off his package and refill his food and water supplies for the long trek home.  The Courier stopped in the driving snow, craning his neck out, but try as he might, he could not see the familiar warm, orange glow of a Bubble City peeking through the dull gray sky and howling blizzard.  Nevertheless, he knew it was there, because the holoscreen’s maps had never been wrong before.

He tucked the package- a tiny box encased in solid blue plastic- under his arm and set off again, struggling through the snow.  M-380 was an experienced Courier, but perhaps it was safer to say that he was more lucky than experienced.  The life expectancy of Couriers was short.  They were ordinary, unarmed humans- they had no ability to fight off the creatures that roamed the wastes any more than they had the ability to kill angels.  But by luck- or perhaps by miracles- M-380 had survived for over a hundred deliveries.

One mil from the destination, the blizzard suddenly ceased, going from a howling storm to clear, solid gray skies.  It was such a sudden change that M-380 stopped in his tracks.  Spread ahead of him was a large, flat ocean of snowdrifts, pocketed by depressions every so often.  He looked to the horizon, left and then right, but the familiar sight of a Bubble City, glowing warmly in the dreary gray cold, still did not appear.  That was unusual.  At this distance, it should loom large in his field of vision, but all he saw was the endless sea of white.

Nevertheless, he shook his head and pushed on.  It was not a Courier’s place to ask questions.  No matter what, he had to deliver his package.

As he slid down a snow-covered hill, reaching the flat plain, the ground beneath him rumbled, and an ear-splitting crack, loud as a cannon report, rang out.  On instinct, M-380 ran toward one of the pits in the ground and flung himself down, curling himself around the small, blue package.  He gave no thought to his own life, but his cargo had to reach its destination, especially when it was so close.  He could not fail here.

For what seemed like ages, the Courier lay motionless, wrapped around the tiny package, breathing heavily, as the sound of inhuman noises- screams, yelps, and more that he could not describe- filled the air around him, and then it was silent again.

Hesitantly, the Courier peeked his visor above the lip of the crater in the snow, looking furtively around, but he saw nothing except for four sleek, black, cigar-shaped creatures, floating quickly through the air away from him.  M-380 breathed a sigh of relief.  Blimps could startle the unaware, but they were harmless.  Whatever had caused the loud crack- he did not know and he did not care to stay to find out- must have scared them away.  Gathering the package, he prepared to continue his journey once again.

That was when he saw it.

Far off in the distance, a dark shape was silhouetted against the cold gray sky, moving slowly.  As it grew larger and larger in his field of vision, M-380’s heart leapt into his throat, beating at a frightening rhythm.  The nondescript shadow had separated into a pulsating mass of tentacles, wriggling as it moved over the snowdrifts in a manner that made the Courier feel ill the more he looked at it.

Volantors had killed more Couriers than any of the alien fauna that inhabited the snow planet.  M-380 had the good fortune to never encounter one before, but he knew exactly what they looked like from stories and training.

Suddenly, as he watched, the writhing shape began to grow smaller, fading into the distance.  By some miracle, M-380 had been saved, yet again.

He breathed a sigh of relief, and then instantly came another horrendous crack, and as the ground shifted, the Courier was violently thrown out of his hiding place.

He flew through the air, landing hard on his back in the snow.  As he struggled to get his bearings, he noticed the small, blue box lying a short distance from his head, and grabbed it immediately.

M-380 had just enough time to notice the wriggling ball of tentacles flying across the driven snow, advancing on him at a terrible speed, looming larger and larger in his field of vision.

The Courier did not need to think about what to do next.  He ran, cradling the package to his chest, as fast as he could, gasping for air with terrified breaths as he moved.

Something dark flashed in his peripheral vision, and as he ran, he looked back just in time to see one of the creature’s appendages rocketing toward him from its writhing center.  In desperation, he threw himself to the side, and the tentacle crashed into the snowdrift, spraying white powder everywhere.

The Courier had no time to admire his dodge, or praise the gods, because the alien creature was still coming, bearing down on him.  His destination was just ahead, but never before had half a mil felt so much like fifty.  He continued to run through the freezing cold in his cumbersome suit, panting heavily, holding the package with all his strength.

It was no use.  The Volantor had barely slowed- it was far faster than a human.  This time, two tentacles shot from the pulsating, fleshy mass, and M-380 desperately threw himself to the side again, but as he hit the soft snow, one more writhing appendage shot out to meet him.

Then came another piercing crack, and the ground shifted beneath the Courier just enough that the tentacle whizzed over his head.

By some stroke of luck he had kept ahold of the tiny blue package, but as he tried to struggle to his feet, his legs gave out from under him.  He had used up the last of his remaining energy fleeing from the monster the bitter cold.  The Courier could not move, no matter how much his brain screamed at him to get up and run.

The horrible, alien beast raised an innumerable amount of fleshy arms to the sky.  M-380 did not fear for himself.  His life was not important.  It was his cargo that he mourned.  After hundreds of successful deliveries, he was going to die in such a cruel way- so close to his destination, but having never reached it.  His clients who put their trust in him to deliver what they so desperately needed would never receive their precious resources.

To a Courier, it was the worst death imaginable.

As the Volantor brought its terrible appendages down toward the Courier’s still body, there came another crack, louder than any of the others, and then, M-380 saw it.  To the side of the monster, a thin line snaked through the snow-covered, pitted landscape at incredible speed.

The ground tore in two beneath the Volantor, revealing nothing but an inky blackness, and then it was as if the world was flipped upside down.  The Courier was thrown violently, end over end, plummeting toward the crevice that had opened, catching the quickest glimpse of the mass of flesh flailing as it disappeared into the abyss.

As he struggled to right himself, he saw the package, small and bright blue, perched on a shelf of ice above him, growing smaller and smaller as he slid toward the crevice.  M-380 scratched and clawed, desperately grabbing for a handhold, but felt nothing solid.

The ground suddenly gave out from underneath his scrabbling feet.  In a second, he would fall over the edge of the crevice as the Volantor did, and the package would be buried by the next blizzard, never to be found again.

That was unacceptable.  M-380 could not allow that to happen.

He had to deliver the package.  He had to reach his destination.

He had to.

With all his might, the Courier exploded up the icy slope so suddenly that even he was shocked by it, pulling himself up the slippery ground with every bit of strength he had left.  He dove for the small blue box, grabbing ahold of it, and as soon as the terrain evened out, he collapsed.

M-380 was alive.  Another fantastic stroke of luck had saved his life.

Weakly rolling over, he raised his arm up to his visor.  The sickly green graphics glowed bright against the dreary gray sky.  0.4 mil to his destination.  It was so close that he could taste it.

He pulled himself to his feet, clutching the package to his body, but every step felt like he was walking through quicksand.  It was excruciating.  His breaths grew shallower and shallower as he struggled forward.

0.3 mil.  Now 0.2.  Now 0.1.  Black spots were starting to form in front of his eyes as he choked for breath.

Where was the Bubble City?  It had to be right in front of him, but he could see nothing but the snowdrifts and the large gash in his visor, and he could only hear the hiss of a stream of concentrated gas.  He knew that his oxygen tank was punctured and the air inside his suit was escaping, but if he could just reach his destination, he would survive.

His breathing grew even more labored, and then he saw the warm glow of light- of civilization.

It was not a Bubble City, though.

If the Courier had not been close to death, he would have stopped to wonder who lived in the small, stone cottages, sitting in front of an ice mesa, covered in snow and glowing with yellow light peeking through their windows.  They were obviously human construction- the homes were quaint and charming, but they had no bubble surrounding them, and humans could not breathe in the oppressive atmosphere of Arbuda.

He might have questioned how the flames could merrily dance in the lamps strewn around the cluster of cottages- just like there was no oxygen for humans to breathe, there was none for fire to burn.

But none of that mattered to the delirious M-380.  As he struggled forward, the only thing he cared about was the delivery.  One of the buildings must be his destination.  It had to be.  He could not fail.

The Courier stopped in front of one of the cottages, with its door painted blue, and the green distance counter on the screen on his wrist flicked to 0.  He reached for the door to knock as his vision grew fainter, trying desperately to breathe.

He could not see who opened the door to the charming home, but he felt the package leave his hand, and a sense of relief swept over him as he struggled for air.  He had fulfilled his duty as a Courier.  He had reached his destination.  What happened next did not matter.  

He could rest, happily and peacefully.