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Mrennenimus Alpha Prime VI sucks. Somehow, it’s even worse than the other five Mrennenimus Alpha Primes. Way worse than the Beta Primes. Sure, it’s technically class M, and they can breathe, but it’s a complete chore. The air is absolutely frigid, and Hikaru’s breath freezes the second it leaves his lips. The other three members of the landing party wouldn’t even come with them. The team of supposedly highly trained redshirt security officers is still huddling back in the depths of their shallow cave, while Hikaru and Pavel brave the cold in the hopes of reaching hailing distance. They really need to get back in touch with the ship. They really need to get beamed back up. Hikaru almost froze to death once before on an alien world, and he has no interest in doing it again.
Pavel marches beside him, shuddering twice as bad. Over the howling winds fraught with falling snow, Hikaru shouts, “Chekov, check the map!”
“What?”
“The map!”
Pavel scowls, letting out a string of angry Russian before anything comes through in Federation Standard: “You expect me to take my mittens off in this cold?” He’ll need to to sort through his bag. They should’ve brought full bio-suits. They were not prepared.
Hikaru throws back, “You’re Russian, aren’t you? This should be nothing!”
Pavel actually looks scandalized, even though he’s normally over the moon when people mention his beloved homeland. Instead, he insists, “Mother Russia is newer this cruel!”
Hikaru can only just believe it. But Pavel should still be better suited to the cold weather than he is. Except Pavel’s knees crumble, and he hits the snow below him, already thigh-high. Hikaru sees the black smudge of his figure go down through the fog kicking up off the white landscape. Hikaru stops with him, reaching down to try and tug at his arm. Pavel whines, “I cannot go on! Tell the keptain I was proud to serve with him!”
“Damn it, Pavel, get up! You’re the navigator! I need to know where the beam up point was!”
It all looks the same to him. He can barely even make out the mountain that they came from. The cave opening has long since faded into the background. Pavel groans, “It is ower, Sulu. Thank you for ewerything.” He slaps his mitten down on Hikaru’s arm, looking up at Hikaru with tear-crusted cheeks and snot streaming from his nose. It’s all frozen over. He’s almost as pale as the snow. He looks like a living icicle.
Hikaru stares at his fallen comrade, wondering if it’d be smarter to fish the map out himself and carry on or try and drag Pavel back to the cave and hope a rescue party comes. Then he sees an upright figure lumbering towards them, and he snatches up his phaser, hoping he can handle the settings despite the density of his mittens.
Spock’s familiar face emerges through the storm. He takes one look at Pavel buried in the snow and lifts a brow. Pavel blushes—evidently, his blood hasn’t frozen solid yet. Spock asks, “Has the temperature proven untenable, Ensign?”
“No, Sir!” Pavel splutters, abruptly stumbling back up to his feet. He even solutes and squeaks, “This snow is nothing, Meester Spock, not for a real Russian!”
Spock nods tightly and moves past them, tricorder lifting and heading back for the cave. Pavel gives Hikaru a sheepish shrug.
Hikaru rolls his eyes and affectionately shoves Pavel’s arm, glad they’ll live another day.