Ryan's explanation of how to operate the snowmobiles washed over Jove like an on the job orientation. Start the engine, squeeze the throttle, don't steer too sharply... The words were simple, the reality was likely far more treacherous. He looked at Aster, who paid rapt attention and emoted for Ryan's benefit. His eyes met Eve's for an unwelcome instant, her expression shifting from uncertainty to annoyance directed his way.
The machines themselves looked deceptively flimsy, exposed motors groaning in protest against the cold. Ryan struggled to get his started, his initial enthusiasm waning under a barrage of curses.
"We put special antifreeze in them to account for the cold, but, fucking hell, even it has its limits." He tried one last time and the engine, somewhat unwillingly, growled to life. "There we go. Better to have it cold-start here close to Port Sirius rather than out in the middle of nowhere on the ice."
He chuckled nervously and gestured for the rest of them to give theirs a try. Jove deposited his backpack onto the tow sled and thrust the key into his own metal steed. It started on his second attempt, but felt creaky, like ice was breaking off whenever he shifted the controls.
The sun, a pale orb low on the horizon, offered wane light and no warmth, accentuating the vast emptiness around them. He'd never experienced a land like Antarctica before, a place of such indifference to human needs and sensibilities and basic life requirements. The simple act of standing out on the ice in the midst of the searing cold felt audacious, let alone setting out on a journey across it.
"You're sure you know the way?" Aster asked Ryan. "And you mentioned the trip would be an hour or so?"
"Close to three, but we'll make it with plenty of time before sundown," said Ryan. "I know exactly where we're going. Hell, we could even follow the tracks I made this morning all the way there."
"Better hope it hasn't snowed in the time since," muttered Eve. "Or that it doesn't start snowing while we're on our way. I don't want to have to huddle up and draw straws for who eats who."
Ryan burst out laughing. Jove rolled his eyes, familiar and unamused by his sister's dark sense of humor. Aster quirked her mouth sideways as though she'd tasted something foul.
"The weather forecast is clear for today, though it might snow later on tonight. Trust me, it'll be fine. I'll get you and your boyfriend there safe, Ms. Hathaway."
"My… ah, yes." Aster smiled and adjusted her scarf. "Well then. Lead on."
Jove found the speed and efficiency of riding his snowmobile to be surprisingly exhilarating. The wind whipped past, the cold now a mere footnote against the raw immediacy of the moment.
Soon, Port Sirius dwindled to a smudge on the horizon behind him. Ahead, Eve took to her own machine with an annoying amount of fluidity and confidence, nearly matching Ryan's pace in the lead. Aster, however, seemed less sure of herself. Jove slowed, pulling up alongside her.
"Everything okay?" he asked over the roar of the engines.
The concern was genuine — he wasn't about to let her fall so far behind as to drop out of view.
"Just getting used to the pace of this darn thing!" she shouted back, adjusting her grip on the handlebars. "I would have preferred a limo with heated seats, but I suppose all of those must have been rented out."
He grinned at her, again struck by her beauty, the bits of snow clinging to her scarf and hair. "Maybe on the way back?"
Aster gave him an interesting nod and suddenly sped up, gaining speed with reckless abandon. Jove followed after her, gunning his snowmobile as fast as he could, having some genuine fun for the first time since he'd entered the limbo of air travel more than a day earlier.
He swerved to pull up alongside Aster as he closed the distance. She suddenly slowed to an abrupt stop, almost losing control. Ahead of them, Ryan waved frantically, his bright red hair a beacon against the monotonous white.
Jove squinted, trying to make out what the fuss was about, only noticing the danger an instant too late. He saw the rippled texture of the ice just as the front skis of the snowmobile dipped sickeningly. The crevasse, hidden by a deceptive layer of snow, caught the machine with jarring force.
Time seemed to stretch and distort. The snowmobile flipped sideways. Jove's grip slipped on the handlebars, and then he was airborne, tumbling wildly, too surprised to even shout out as he flipped through the air.
He was shocked by how out of control he still was when he hit the ground. His skull broke through a fine layer of ice covering powdery snow, which was far preferable to the ice breaking his skull. Still stunned, Jove rolled a few times as his momentum burned off.
His body finally came to a rest with a jarring thump, and for a moment, the world was a blur of blinding white and blue. A dull ache pulsed in his side, but the physical discomfort was oddly distant.
His hood had come loose at some point. He could feel the ice underneath his head, numbing his skull at an alarming rate. Always the optimist, he silently pointed out to himself that a numb head was better than an aching head.
The second, more sobering realization was that he'd also lost one of his gloves in the crash. His hand hurt from the cold, a stinging, immediate pain. He jammed it into his jacket pocket but that was an imperfect solution.
Standing up, Jove waved with his gloved hand to the others, who were already on their way over. He was aware on a basic level that if he'd been out on the ice alone, miles from warmth and safety, and done what he'd just done, it would mean death.
Antarctica had introduced itself.