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Large flecks of snow softly drifted down from the thick clouds that hung above the rumored Jjaro ruins. Even without the snow's natural soundproofing, the surface was dead quiet. No howling winds, no distant sound of aliens getting into things they had no business in, no wildlife alerted to the presence of possible predators or prey.
Just the rustle of a lone security officer's gear and the crunch of snow under his boots as he made his way to the top of a hill.
This frost-bitten planet was so far out in the space-sticks that there was no record of a name in any of the files Durandal had on hand. So he granted it the name Boreas while the S'pht had unanimously decided to call it Jll'Kar, after the polar ice caps of Y'loa.
The two parties could never just sit down and settle on a single name. Ships, planets, bases of operations. Hell, even some of the parts in Durandal's core had two names, three if they happened to be of Jjaro or Pfhor make. If everyone else had the slightest speck of respect, maybe they could have given their over-worked security chief the honor of naming this out-of-the-way ice ball. He never got to name anything around here, not even his own guns.
Jack pulled a gloved hand out from the insulated pocket of his coat and opened it, palm facing up. He watched as one-by-one, snowflakes slowly gathered in his hand.
Finally, he looked out over the hill, seeing nothing but snow as far as the eye could see. They reminded him of the vast dunes of the Martian desert, only white. His visor's UV shielding protected him against snow blindness, but even with its help and the hill's height advantage, he still couldn't find any trace of the ruins he was sent to search.
If he had to hazard a guess, any entrance into said ruins was buried under a dozen or so meters of packed-in snow and ice. Both him and the TOZT-7 weighing down his back had a long day ahead of them.
"Why did the Jjaro have to hide all their junk in run-down worlds like this?" He grumbled under the scarf wrapped tightly around the bottom of his helmet. "If it's not filled with lava traps, it's a toxic swamp world and if it's not a toxic swamp world, it's some chunk of rock with no atmosphere. Couldn't they have hidden something on, I dunno, some beach planet? Preferably one that offers bottomless margaritas?"
"If I pick up any hints, you'll be the first to know." Durandal said. His voice was crackly with interference, no thanks to the massive wall of clouds that sat between them. "What's the hold up, anyway? I know it's cold down there, but I wasn't expecting you to literally freeze in place."
With a smile, Jack turned his head up. "Just taking in the view, that's all."
There was a simulated breath of laughter. "It's negative thirty down there, moron, there's no time for sightseeing. Start walking before your augments ice over."
"Beats the stuffy heat of the ship." Jack muttered and closed his fingers around the small pile of mushy snow that had settled in his palm.
"The default climate was made for the Pfhor, after all." Durandal stated matter-of-factly. "Insects tend to not like the cold."
Nothing had ever stopped Durandal from adjusting the Rozinante's climate controls. He could make it as cold as this planet's surface if he so pleased, but the S'pht never complained about the heat and Jack had lived in it for over twenty years without any detriment to his physical state, so the default settings remained untouched. Jack called it lazy, Durandal called it energy-efficient.
"That does explain why most of the planets they hole up on are either swamps or deserts." Jack thought out loud. He looked down at his ensemble. He rarely got to break out his cold weather gear. A stale, musty scent still clung to his stiff outer coat. "I'd take a little cold over sweating my ass off any day."
There was a low groan. "Yn'nos and I took bets last night on how quickly you'd complain about the cold. You keep this attitude up and I'm down fifty credits."
The security officer laughed, a plume of steam flying from his mouth. "Yeah, well, take it out of my pay."
"Are we going to get the show on the road or are you going to stand there until you become a cyborg-cicle?" Durandal's sudden sharp tone made it clear that he was done with their usual pre-mission banter.
"Yeah, yeah." Jack sighed and straightened out his gear. The napalm canisters on his back clanked against the flamethrower's charred nozzle. With something like that on his side, he wouldn't have to worry about the cold for too long. He just hoped the material of his coat was fireproof.
He trudged his way through the shin-high snow drifts towards his destination. The map overlay on his visor's HUD showed he had another kilometer and a half left to walk. He growled at the mocking numbers displayed over his eyes. The cold he didn't mind so much, but pile on the extra equipment and the extra effort he had to put in walking through this mess? This artifact had better be worth it.
"Y'know, I'd get these missions done in half the time if you just teleport me right where you need me." He huffed, pulling up his standard issue scarf before the cold wind could bite at his face any further. "I'm starting to think you do this just to torture me."
"Consider this your physical training for today." Durandal said cheerfully. "I don't detect any hostiles in the vicinity, so you'll have to get your cardio in somehow."
Jack craned his head up towards the clouds again and squinted. The visor could only shield so much of this damn brightness. "Yeah, and consider yourself lucky you're not within snowball-throwing range." He warned.
"With your strength, I'm certain you could make one hell of a try."
That sounded like a challenge, so Jack stopped, bent down, scooped up a big handful of snow and began to pack it down into misshapen sphere. "Wanna test that?" He smirked under his scarf.