By Pamela Love
Snowflakes swarm the shuttle I’m flying to my first assignment. Scientific Outpost Six—wonder if those SOS initials are a coincidence? If so, they’re appropriate now. I shiver as I struggle with the controls. It’s winter on this world and though I’m dressed accordingly, this much-used craft has a broken heater. I grimace. I’ll be lucky if this blizzard doesn’t break the entire vehicle before I arrive.
Two hours into the trip, fierce wind gusts shove the shuttle noticeably. Now the stabilizers are damaged! Land it and travel the last few kilometers on foot? Or keep flying? Both risky. Since I’m no yeti, I choose the latter. Unfortunately, I’m not much of a pilot either…
I’m able to remain aloft until the outpost’s beacon comes into sight. I hoped to reach its shuttle hangar where I could unload my luggage and equipment under shelter. Instead, my vehicle all but crashes almost fifty meters away. Blessings on the snowpack for somewhat softening the landing.
Leaving everything in the shuttle, I head outside. Time to slog through the knee-deep and growing ever deeper snow, heaving a teeth-chattering sigh of relief at the shelter door. Warmth is tantalizingly close, though I might have to endure the chilly reception any novice meteorologist should expect at her first outpost assignment. Okay, I can handle that while I finish my thesis research.
On the screen beside the door’s handle appear the words: IDENTIFY YOURSELF.
“Emilia Korhonen.”
Dr. Olav Strom’s face pops up on the screen. He’ll be my supervisor.
“Welcome, Ms. Korhonen. I am Dr. Strom. I’m sure you’re eager to start your research, but I must ensure you’re qualified first. When you come in, bring me two identical snowflakes. That is all.” His face blinked out.
My groan is louder than the wind. A snipe hunt? It’s a long tradition for the “new guy” at any job or posting to be sent in search of something non-existent, like a left-handed screwdriver or bucket of steam. Who cares if he thinks I’m a poor sport? It’s too cold for this hazing. “Outpost AI, contact Dr. Strom immediately.”
DOCTOR STROM IS NOT RESPONDING.
What? He must be aware of the weather. He won’t let me freeze out here. I bang on the door. “Dr. Strom! Let me in!” No response.
Spotting a window, I look through it. Strom is slumped in a chair, apparently asleep. I bang and scream. He’s not responding to me, either. Make that unconscious, not asleep. At least, I hope he’s just unconscious…
“Outpost AI! Dr. Strom is having a medical emergency.” And I soon might, due to the weather. “Let me in to assist him.”
PRESENT TWO IDENTICAL SNOWFLAKES TO ENTER.
The epically bad timing of Dr. Strom’s gag means I must go through the motions. Of course, no two snowflakes will be identical, but I hold my gloved hand in front of the screen anyway. Maybe that will be enough for the AI.
IDENTICAL SNOWFLAKES NOT DETECTED. ENTRANCE DENIED.
Sputtering with fear and frustration, I stomp back to the shuttle. I try to raise the emergency channel, which would connect me to people who could override the AI from half a world away at the capital. The radio is dead.
On to Plan C, or whatever letter I’m currently up to. Yanking open one of my cases, I fumble through it until I find my box of samples. Strom knows there are different forms of snowflakes, different categories into which their infinite varieties fall. Haha. I will show the AI a sample of two in the same grouping. Maybe that will work. It had better.
I labor my way back through the drifts. I place the plastic Stellar Dendrites card against the screen. When you imagine a snowflake shape, it’s approximately this shape.
IDENTICAL SNOWFLAKES NOT DETECTED. ENTRANCE DENIED.
Furious, I rattle the door handle. “Emergency! Emilia Korhonen requires entrance. I repeat, this is an emergency!”
DOCTOR STROM REQUIRES PRESENTATION OF TWO IDENTICAL SNOWFLAKES.
“Dr. Strom is sick! He requires my help!”
PRESENT TWO IDENTICAL SNOWFLAKES.
Dr. Strom may be dying in there. I could die out here. I can probably make it back to the shuttle again, but I’ll quite likely die in there too, just a little more slowly. I don’t know how to build a fire. Even if I did, not much on it is flammable, as a safety feature.
I forge my way back to the shuttle anyway. Cursing Strom and his AI with all my strength, I don every piece of clothing there, and apply lip balm, as if that will help much. “That AI and its wretched eyesight. I can barely see anything out there, but it can tell the difference between snowflakes?” Then I had an idea.
Once more I stumble through the snow over the path I’ve created. “If this doesn’t work, we’re both in big trouble, Doc,” I mutter.
When I reach the AI’s screen, I smear lip balm all over it. Now let’s see how picky you can get about snowflakes.
“Outpost AI! This is Emilia Korhonen, presenting identical snowflakes.”
IDENTICAL SNOWFLAKES NOT—
“Wait! Can you detect any snowflakes?”
A pause.
NO.
“Can you detect anything through this screen?”
NO.
“Yet I am presenting two snowflakes. You require maintenance to evaluate them. However, Dr. Strom is not responsive.”
Another achingly long pause. YOU MAY ENTER.
I lunge through the door as it slides aside. My frosty boots skid, sending me sprawling. Scrambling to my feet, I stride to Strom’s side. He’s breathing, but doesn’t wake when I shake him. I pull his medical info chain out from under his shirt. He’s got Villette syndrome, which I’ve never heard of. If he’s unconscious, he needs an injection of equally unfamiliar medicine. I couldn’t find two identical snowflakes, but if I’m lucky, I’ll find what I need in the medical storage unit to save his life.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
very suspenseful…
Glad you enjoyed it!
I’ve always been a fan of snowflakes!
This is great! I love how you took the oh-so-relatable frustration with stubborn technology and upped the stakes. (Note to self: keep lip balm handy at all times!)
I never go anywhere without it!
I think something was wrong with the doctor before his attack! Identical snowflakes?
His request for identical snowflakes was a way of “hazing” a newcomer, since he knew no two snowflakes are alike. If he hadn’t been taken ill suddenly, he would’ve let her in after a minute or two.
I’ve read articles about people at a variety of workplaces sending interns or new hires for something that doesn’t exist as a joke. That’s how I got the idea for the story. Google “snipe hunt” for more examples. Fun fact: People used to be sent to get “polka dot paint” for this reason. Then somebody really invented it!
Ooh thanks the insight!
A thrilling take! Glad Emilia got in. I hope the doctor is okay.
Thanks for the compliment!
Wow, that sure kept me on the edge! I had no idea how she could escape her doom! Nice resolution. Now we need a sequel. 😊
I’m pleased you want more. It might happen, if I can think of another story that works.
I could feel her frustration! Great story.
Thanks so much!
Great story. The multiple threads of suspense (doctor’s, Emilia’s) were fun.
I appreciate your opinion.
What a fun combination of past, present, and future! My grandfather STILL tells the story of the “left-handed monkey wrench” he was sent to find once…
Glad you enjoyed it! And I hope your grandfather didn’t mind too much his snipe hunt.