Frostbite

Okay, here's a story that'll make you shiver. Unless, of course, you're from Alaska, or a penguin from the Antarctic. Actually, you'll shiver, too. "Frostbite," by newcomer Jack McKeown, is a short, but chilly science fiction tale perfect for those of you who believe in the old warning: "Be careful what you wish for!"

     Mining Captain Ander Raul stood watch over the rescue operation.
     As he calmly surveyed the scene of large heat rays mounted on moving platforms melting the snow and ice, he lit a cigar and stuck it in his mouth as if nothing was wrong.
     A few moments earlier an avalanche had occurred, burying six mining team members under twelve feet of snow and ice.
     To Ander, the mound was already serving as an icy tomb to those trapped inside. The only reason he let his staff stop work and try to dig them out was because they needed hope. It was the only thing that kept him going.
     Ander envied those who died in that avalanche, nearly to the point of wishing he could have been caught in it.
     They were free of the frozen planet Zarkon, of its cold and bleak wastelands, where the only civilization for miles was that of the rival mining camps that dotted the surface.
     Even if the dead had truly gone to hell, if there was one, at least they would have the luxury of staying warm.
     The staff of the camp was hand-picked by the president for their mining skills on Earth. Trained extensively for their mission, they were sent to this planet to extract the precious element Freneium.
     It was an incredibly useful gas that could power engines, electronics, even cities for months. To top it off, it was environmentally safe.
     The only problem was that it was only found in the coldest places, and even Antarctica was not freezing enough to sustain much of it. The only hope to find a lot of it was on the planet Zarkon, a planet located a few million miles out of the orbit of Pluto.
     Every country on Earth had sent miners to bring back the gas, and soon the camps took to sabotaging and fighting others to gain the best spots. Ander, in his many years as Captain of the American camp, had often seen the red blood of his comrades stain the white snow and blue ice like a bizarre testament to the American Flag in these battles.
     It had hardened him, to the point that his personality was as cold as the ground beneath him.
     To him, his staff was just another resource to be used and expended however he wished to get the job done.
     Under his almost tyrannical leadership, the Americans got much more Freneium than other camps, at the cost of more human lives.
     He worked them to the bone, sometimes even forcing them to work during the deathly cold nights. Few opposed him, for he would kick them out of the camp and into the insane temperatures of the planet.
     Ander took a deep drag of his cigar and sighed deeply as the work continued on.
     He was about to continue with his thinking when one of the younger miners called out.
     "Sir! They're alive!" he yelled to Ander, a large grin on his face.
     For the shortest moment a look of shock flickered across Ander's features. He looked closer at the mound of snow, and saw a hand sticking out of the side which had been dug away, then a leg, finally some heads. The other miners rushed to their comrades and pulled them letting out a big cheer.
     The trapped miners were blue, shivering as if they were in an earthquake, sneezing and coughing, but very much alive.
     Ander chuckled to himself. Let them have their moment of happiness. They would only come back to more bone breaking work.
     For a moment his thoughts shifted to what would happen if the miners did die. The staff would mourn, and would use it as an excuse to take a break from their duties. They would get lazy and fat, and America would fall behind in the mineral race.
     Ander took this unexpected miracle as a true blessing instead of just a bonus.
     Then he took to thinking about what it would be like if he died. Probably no attempts to save him would be made. Hell, the staff would probably dance on his grave.
     A solitary tear formed in his eye, and he wiped it off his face, tossing it to the ground. It crystallized into a tear of ice.
     Now the workers let up another huge cheer, and a rumbling noise from above made Anders blood run colder than it already was. On the cliff above the camp, snow was falling off for the second time today.
     Directly onto Ander.
     Before it hit, he thought about the irony of it all. Looks like grave dancing tonight, he thought to himself. Then he was buried in snow.
     All that was left of him was the crystallized tear he had thrown on the ground.

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