The massive refectory began to empty as workers finished their meals and headed to their stations. Amid the deafening chatter around him, Soren enjoyed the last bites of his breakfast, relishing the satisfying fullness.
The sharp ring of the bell jolted him. Time to move. Grabbing his tray, he sorted his trash and stacked it neatly onto the towering pile near the kitchen entrance. Workers were already cleaning and preparing for lunch, a job Soren had done more than a few times.
'I'd rather do something physically demanding than peel potatoes for three hours straight.' he thought with a shudder, recalling the mind-numbing repetition.
As he left the refectory, the constant press of people created a chaotic bottleneck at the exit. The crowd jostled him as if it were a packed festival. He stumbled forward, finally bursting free from the crush. Taking a deep breath to shake off the stress, he grumbled,
"They really need to redesign that damn entrance. No wonder the kids eat somewhere else, there'd be casualties every meal."
Navigating the steel corridors, Soren hopped into an elevator along with a dozen other workers. The shelter extended three kilometers underground, and the ride up to the surface preparation floor took about a minute.
'I heard elevators used to be slower,' he mused. 'Not surprising, since they didn't need to climb this far.'
The elevator doors slid open, and the group filed into the thermal insulation room. Rows of bulky polar suits hung along the walls, their thick layers essential for braving the bitter cold above. Soren grabbed one, slipped it on, and double-checked the seals before stepping into the airlock.
When the outer doors hissed open, an icy wind sliced through the group, biting at any exposed skin. Soren quickly pulled on his gloves, following the others outside into the blinding white expanse.
"Gather round, people!" the team leader shouted over the wind. She began dividing them into smaller groups.
"Mark, take three east. Eve, you take three north. Jay, head west with ten. The wind was hitting from there for 24 hours yesterday, so expect a lot of ice buildup." She gestured toward the others. "The rest of you, you're with me.
Turning toward Soren, she added, "Soren, take the new guy, Paul, right? Show him the ropes."
"Sure," Soren replied with a shrug. He glanced at Paul, a younger man who looked both eager and nervous, bundled up awkwardly in his oversized suit.
"Let's get to it," Soren said, motioning for him to follow.
In the shelter, every individual above the age of 15 was required to work. Paul, at 17, had likely been doing cooking or cleaning chores until now.
He and Paul followed the group south toward the solar plant. They boarded an electric sleigh pulled by a snowmobile, dropping off workers in pairs every two rows to inspect and clean the mirrors.
During the short ride, Soren and Paul struck up a conversation.
As the snowmobile rumbled across the icy expanse, Soren turned to Paul. "So, first day working outside?"
Paul nodded, adjusting his thick gloves. "Yeah. I've mostly done kitchen duty and cleaning before. This is… different."
His thoughts confirmed, Soren smirked as he felt the excitation in Paul's voice. "You'll get used to it. The cold's the worst part, but at least it beats peeling stuff for hours."
Paul let out a short laugh. "You have no idea. I swear I peeled enough to last a lifetime."
"Oh, I do," Soren said, shaking his head. "That job still haunts me."
They sat in silence for a moment, the faint engine's hum filling the space.
The snow compacted under the tracks with a steady, rhythmic crunch, the icy surface giving way beneath the weight of the vehicle. Each turn of the treads pressed fresh impressions into the frost, the sound crisp and sharp against the vast silence of the solar fields.
Now and then, a firmer patch of ice crackled under the pressure, sending tiny shards skittering away across the frozen ground.
Then Paul spoke again, more hesitant this time. "To be honest… I was surprised when they picked me for this. I thought I'd be stuck indoors forever."
Soren glanced at him. "Means someone saw potential in you."
"Maybe," Paul said, rubbing his hands together. "I just want to do my part. My mom and little sister depend on me, you know?"
Soren's expression softened. "Yeah, I get it."
The snowmobile slowed as they neared their drop-off point. Soren patted Paul's shoulder. "Come on. Let's make sure this wasn't a mistake, yeah?"
Paul grinned. "Yeah."
Hopping off the sled, Soren grabbed his tools, Paul close behind, and headed toward the first of the towering solar panels in their row.
As he walked, his thoughts drifted to how work assignments were handled in the shelter.
Jobs weren't chosen but imposed, a system designed to develop versatile skills and shape future leaders. Although you could request less dangerous jobs, taking up the risky chores did give bonuses. Even more so if one was a student. More importantly, it kept minds occupied, a necessary defense against the mental toll of living underground. Even so, suicides still happened—a grim reminder of human fragility.
'Enough of these depressing thoughts,' Soren told himself, shaking his head.
Dropping his tools, Soren started his warm-up, jumping and flailing his arms inside his thick coat. He probably looked ridiculous, and Paul couldn't suppress a laugh.
"Laugh all you want. We'll see who wakes up tomorrow feeling like they fell off a cliff !" Soren mused.
Paul's smirk vanished as he hastily started his own awkward jumping jacks.
Panting slightly, the two young men strapped on their harnesses, grabbed their ice scrapers, and secured their boot grippers—a special material designed to latch onto surfaces.
'Something about lizard toes… Geckos, I think? Whatever they are, nature always amazes me... not that there's any traces of it now though...' Soren thought.
Soren briefly instructed Paul on how to use the tools, and together they climbed the ladder of the 20 by 40 meter solar panel. The panels had to be this large; at their latitude, the daylight hours varied dramatically, from just 4 hours in winter to a full 23 hours during summer. Which was also why they were given a 45 degrees incline, for greater storm resistance and the efficiency at this latitude. The shelter—or "Hel," as the residents "affectionately" called it—functioned primarily thanks to the immense geothermal activity in the region. But the generators still had to provide energy for survival: for the humans, the plants, the animals, and the research and development departments that created tools and technology for everyday life. They also worked towards terraforming the planet to make it habitable once again. Therefore the energy surplus from summer, stored in gigantic gravity batteries, was a must to resist winter.
Leaving that aside for the moment, the two friends reached the top and secured themselves with ropes attached to their harnesses. These had to be made of a special material to avoid becoming brittle and snapping in the biting cold. Once they were ready, they descended in rappel, scraping the ice from the panels as best they could.
Soren took the opportunity to give Paul some tips. "Hold your scraper with both hands, about a 30-degree angle to the surface, and make small circles with it."
"Right, that's a lot more effective!" Paul exclaimed, improving his technique. After a moment, he added, "But won't we scratch the surface of the panel doing this?"
"That's a good question," Soren replied. "The glass is specially designed to be extra resistant to wear and tear. They have to be, to withstand the storms. Plus, aside from the annual polishing in summer, we've only had to replace two of the 4,000 panels since they were installed—pretty solid construction."
Turning toward Paul with a grin, Soren added, "Come on, let's get to it! The faster we finish, the more time we'll have for university projects."
Once they completed their first pass, they hoisted themselves back to the top with a small electric motor and resumed their work, the cold wind gently blowing on their suits as they carefully cleared the panels.
Depending on the time of year and the frequency of storms, the ice could vary in thickness. On a good day, they could scrape a panel clean in about 15 minutes. But in the worst-case scenario, it could take up to two hours and require a full set of specialized tools—tools that Soren would have to request from the operations department.
'Just thinking about it gives me a headache! Those geezers work as fast as turtles ! Which, if you think about it doesn't make sense since turtles don't work...' Soren groaned internally.
Slowly but steadily, the two of them worked for another five hours under the weak sun, taking regular breaks. Fortunately, the weather had been unusually calm for the past few days, so the ice remained relatively thin. As they finished their last panel, the portable radio suddenly crackled to life, but all Soren could make out was garbled static.
"Probably nothing. Some bloke must have gotten stuck with his hoist again," Soren muttered, rolling his eyes. "Happens all the time."
Then the radio buzzed again—still just an unintelligible mess of sound. Frowning, Soren grabbed it and pressed the transmit button.
"Soren to Operations, I read you one-by-five. Can you repeat?"
A burst of static.
"Shit… Soren to Operations, still barely reading you. Can anyone relay the message?"
This time, a voice cut through the interference, screaming:
"EVACUATE! EVACUATE! UNPREDICTED STORM—CATEGORY SIX—APPROACHING! RUN!"
Soren felt his stomach drop.
"Ah, FUCK!" he shouted.