Tevun-Krus #87 - SnowPunk

Welteislehre - A Short Story by @johnnedwill

Welteislehre

By johnnedwill

New York, April 1948

Only a few of the inhabitants of that great metropolis noticed the sudden darkening of a cloudless sky. Some looked up to see what had passed in front of the sun, only to see a slight distortion of the light; but the majority drew their coats closer or reached for their umbrellas, glad that they had anticipated the changeable spring weather.

Then the sky brightened again.

A shaft of light pierced the sky, burning the eyes of all who looked at it. Where it touched the ground, rock melted, buildings burned, flesh charred. For days afterwards a pall of thick, greasy smoke hung over the remains of the city.

First Lagrangian Equilibrium Point, February 1948

The streamlined form of the Silbervogel reentry body hung only a few hundred metres from the surface of an infinite wall of near-transparent ice. Only a thin cable between the two kept the Silvervogel from drifting away and following its own orbital trajectory. Anywhere else the cable would have been insufficient to hold the mass of the spaceplane and its cargo in place; but here, in the void between worlds, the steel strands had more than enough strength for this purpose.

Three figures in selective space armour pulled themselves over the great plain of ice, using handholds that had been carved into the polished surface. Without gravity to provide a sense of 'up' or 'down' it was impossible to tell whether they were above or below their mothership. Still, they clung to the ice as they made their way over the surface, pulling themselves across concentric waves of ancient, frozen water. Long, red sausages of plastic explosive were draped over their armoured suits. Despite the lack of gravity, the men moved slowly and awkwardly. Their armour had been designed for protection: to keep in heat and oxygen. Mobility and comfort had been secondary concerns - as Leutnant Friedrich Gustavus was finding out.

"My arm - it's stuck! Why do these joints always go the wrong way?" The flight officer's voice crackled over the common radio channel.

"Do you have a criticism of the design, Herr Leutnant?" Major Weber asked from the cocoon of the Silbervogel's cockpit. His tone was carefully neutral.

"Merely an observation, sir," Gustav replied.

"Here. Let me help." One of the armoured figures kicked towards Gustavus. From the insignia on the suit's helmet, Gustavus recognised the occupant as Leutnant Krüger. Gustavus pointed at his left arm. The elbow and shoulder joints were out of alignment, rendering it painfully impossible for him to straighten the limb. Krüger manoeuvred himself into a position where he could examine the arm. "I see the problem. We'll need to work this together - me on the outside, you on the inside. Just like in training?"

Gustavus nodded, then remembered that the gesture would not be visible to his colleague. "Ready." He braced himself against the pain. The two men wrestled for a minute, twisting Gustavus's arm and rotating the joints until they came free. Gustavus breathed out. "There. That is a relief. Thank you."

Major Weber's voice sounded in their earphones again. "When you have finished, gentlemen, we have a task to complete. Time is against us." The major glanced at the mission chronometer mounted on a panel above his head. The dial of the instrument showed both the time in the control bunker at Peenemünde and the time elapsed since they had been launched into space, carried aloft on an Aggregat-12 rocket. A smaller indicator within the dial was used to record other information. In this case, it showed the amount of oxygen available to the men on the ice. "There is only half an hour left before you must return."