The planet featured little besides snow-covered deserts. However, alien artifacts were located in a nearby region. Our team of explorers found some solace in this surprising discovery, despite our original destination elsewhere. The significant systems failure had no clear cause, and landing on this planet had become our sole alternative.

The artifacts manifested as 13 domes, scattered across the treacherous landscape. These domes were interconnected by cables just below shoulder height, strung through the tops of metal poles at irregular distances. Whether intentional or otherwise, the cables and poles created a network linking the domes. 

Before our instruments failed, the AI had indicated that the domes emitted a heat signature. The cables vibrated under our touch in a manner that hinted at warmth ahead. It took some time to adjust to this sensation.

The shortest route between the domes was a thousand miles long, and the longest stretched to 10 thousand miles. Our suit technology was reliable: A suit could purify water, produce food, generate oxygen. It could also induce various states of near hibernation while motors in the legs propelled us forward. For the captain, the suit would counterbalance her leg loss and alleviate her discomfort. We estimated we could reach the nearest path and trail it to the nearest dome … and that was our only hope. If the dome provided life support or merely a means to replenish our suits, we might survive. Otherwise, death awaited us.

Our survival expectations diminished upon reaching the path, where we discovered the lifeless remains of spacefarers scattered along the route. Various forms, entombed in their suits. Their huddled figures beneath the snow radiated a calmness that was starkly discordant with their fate. Yet when I wiped the frost off the faceplates, we witnessed the extent of their agony.

Walking among so much death was hard to articulate. So many deceased first contacts. 

We no longer needed to contemplate the systems failure. Spacecraft came here to crash, and sentient beings arrived to perish, for reasons unknown. We couldn’t assume our fate would differ, adjusting our expectations accordingly. The AI’s motivational words about bravery brought little solace. The multitude of the lost in the icy landscape was overwhelming. 

Here lay the grim agents of countless spacefaring species we had never encountered before.

The sheer number of corpses and their chaotic arrangement hindered our journey toward the dome. The AI calculated our chances of survival at below 50% for the first time. We would perish in our suits as the motors pushed us onward. We would become desiccated, existing in a fading clarity of thought that left us weak and dim-witted until the light extinguished. Nevertheless, we had no alternative. Thus, even in places where the dead were piled high in their suits, we pressed forward, over and through them, heading for the dome. 

What awaited us there, as I’ve mentioned, remained unknown. Yet, we traversed a region of the galaxy where ancient civilizations had perished millions of years ago. We had initially aimed for a significant site, an ancient city on a moon devoid of atmosphere, amidst a starry wilderness. 

While our emotions fluctuated, a prevailing professional awe and curiosity about the deceased eventually enveloped us. This stimulated much discussion over the comms. We had stumbled upon a discovery for the ages; yet our satisfaction was tinged with sorrow. Even if we survived longer than anticipated, we would never return home, never see our friends or family again. The AI might persist after our demise, but I doubted it found any joy in being the one to report our discovery centuries later. To whom would it report?

Here lay the grim agents of countless spacefaring species we had never encountered before. Their suits displayed an astonishing variety, although our assessment was brief. Some even appeared to consist of scales and other biological materials from their planets, providing us with further clues to their origins. 

The burial of the suits beneath snow and the unavailability of anything save for a screaming face or faces, frequently warped by time and ice, hindered gathering any usable data. This complication was exacerbated in instances where the suit was part of the organism and where they didn’t require any “artificial skin,” as the AI termed it, to withstand harsh conditions. That many had perished despite seeming well-equipped for the planet’s environment sobered us up, even before our suits dispensed medications to improve our mental states. 

As time passed, each face seemed to reflect a facet of our shared stress and horror at the gravity of our plight. Eventually, the overwhelming amount of detail became too much for us, eliciting extreme discomfort. The captain noted that even one instance of alien contact could trigger various psychological and physiological issues, including anxiety, stress, and fatigue. Here, we were continually confronting the alien dead of what appeared to be an infinite array of civilizations. 

We ceased recording. We redoubled our efforts to slog toward the nearest dome. 

The captain’s medication unit had malfunctioned, but the AI devised a method to assist her by deactivating the heating element in specific panels of her suit. Some parts of her would soon succumb to the cold, but this system would enable her to survive with a degree of comfort.

I must confess, we were merely relieved that the screaming had ceased and welcomed her guidance.

II.

For an extended period, as we toiled in our spacesuits on that planet—traversing the path, beleaguered by snowstorms—we could not grasp why we encountered so many deceased astronauts of numerous unknown alien types, yet no spaceships. During moments of clear visibility, our line of sight extended uninterrupted for 500 miles. Where were the crash sites? 

But one day we stumbled upon an antenna protruding from the surface. Clumsy efforts at excavation soon unveiled that beneath this antenna lay a vast dead spacecraft of an unfamiliar design. The gash that had exposed it to the elements had laid bare its unique structure, creating the illusion that the snow had poured out of it to form the landscape instead of infiltrating and accumulating inside over time.

Aspects of the spaceship’s surface suggested it might have been composed of some ultra-durable wood or a similar material. Ascending halfway to peer into the inner compartments, we all sensed the peculiarity of the dimensions and proportions of the living quarters. There was no trace of the inhabitants. Perhaps, I suggested, they had made their way to the domes. Perhaps they had even reached the domes. I tried, but could not, suppress hope in my voice.

However, the captain instructed the AI to conduct a materials analysis. The “snow” in this area was found to be tainted with ash and tiny bits of bone. The AI estimated that over 70% of the white surrounding us consisted of the remnants of vertebrate sentient life and remains of suits. The status of invertebrates remained uncertain. A thaw might not only release the drip, drip of water but also produce a shushing sound indicative of bone particles in the mix. I envisioned there might even be a clink of small items that had not been reduced by the intense heat that generated the ash.

The astrogator had insisted on delving deeper into the ship, with the notion that some recognizable similarity between technologies might result in finding a component or components to repair our ship. The rest of us humorously entertained this delusion for clear reasons. But upon his return, he held in his hands ovals of snow hardly larger than the circle formed by a thumb and finger. Many bore soft indentations, similar to those found in reptilian afterbirth from eggs. A ghostly cilia-like tread was evident along the undersides of these objects.

The astrogator found no technological components of use to us. Instead, he uncovered that the species piloting the spacecraft had been so dissimilar to us that they were safely contained in suits the size of eggs. Much of what had spilled into or out of the gash constituted the bodies of the crew, numbering in the hundreds of thousands. Their suits had proven inadequate for the conditions. They had perished en masse attempting to flee their ship.

The AI theorized that it had been a generation ship, possibly escaping a planet orbiting a dying star. If we questioned how the AI had arrived at this conclusion, it was because we wished it were untrue.

The captain fell silent upon receiving this alarming information and did not communicate with us for more than 100 miles of continued travel. 

As we departed that site, unsure of exactly what we had traversed, we also realized that because the spaceship was completely buried under snow, it had been sinking into the sediment for days, months, or years. We understood then that our ship might not be discernible from the horizon if we retraced our steps. The already grim chances of rescue through visual identification of a crash site from above would be lost to us over time, even as the network of cables remained perpetually visible to the horizon. We now viewed the planet as a trap. But of what type? 

III.

We couldn’t be certain, but in the absence of the captain’s voice, it might have been the AI that proposed the idea of the planet’s being “duplicitous.” The wording unsettled us, as there was a duplicity in addressing the planet as the subject of the statement. A sphere revolving around a sun in deep space could not exhibit foresight or intentionality or any attributes of sentience. 

The AI meant whoever or whatever generated the conditions on the planet that permitted spacecraft to become ensnared and the occupants placed in a dire situation with no options. However, I distinctly recall the AI articulating the phrase “the planet.” In addition to being inaccurate, this indicated that the AI possessed no analysis that might aid us in understanding the agency and motivations impacting us. 

Yet in a sense, the AI merely expressed a feeling I had harbored for several miles: that an overlay existed on the planet’s surface, an area or space or distinct landscape inaccessible to us. This overlay had also been unavailable to any previous astronauts who had perished here. This area or space or unique landscape hosted an abundance of the usual desirable things: a breathable atmosphere, and ample food and water. 

While we grappled with the path through the snow and the storms that continued raging, others might have observed us but opted to ignore us for reasons or perhaps merely for their own safety. For hundreds, perhaps thousands of years, as explorers had succumbed here in merciless and horrendous manners, there thrived a lavish feast for the senses, as excessive as it was ancient and eternal.

I cannot convey how profoundly the AI’s words affected us, causing our mouths to water at the thought of genuine food and pure, unrecycled water, and of a freedom unencumbered by suits and breathing devices. Even at our intended destination, we would have spent most of our time aboard a small space station. This monotony would only be interrupted by the grueling act of reaching an unbreathable surface strewn with ancient ruins of jagged black stone. 

This vision that engulfed us functioned not solely as a tantalizing illusion. It terrified us so thoroughly that we couldn’t contain it within our thoughts. It continued to overwhelm us like an unrelenting wave.

We clashed for the first time, with the astrogator expressing the desire to return to the destroyed spacecraft and search nearby areas for parts, while the captain broke her silence to command us to keep advancing toward the closest dome. The AI, which had guided us to this point, seized the captain’s silence and remained silent thereafter.

For each of us, those endless white plains devoid of significant elevation, reduced to merely the metal wire and metal posts, became a repetition that drained the mind and spirit.

IV.

About halfway to the nearest dome, amidst a storm that diminished our progress bit by bit and rendered our line of sight nonexistent, we encountered a peculiar scene. 

Six astronaut suits lay scattered across and around the metal cable. With swirling snow, it took us several minutes, even with our robust headlamps, to discern the nature of the blockage. The six suits had been designed for a humanoid species that likely possessed torsos resembling nine-foot-long slabs, with six appendages, three serving for locomotion. Their heads bloomed outwards like thick fans. All helmets were shattered, revealing the skeletons of a different intelligent species, no larger than 40 or 50 pounds, possibly warm-blooded. There were no signs of the original inhabitants. 

Following a brief analysis curtailed by the conditions, we theorized that the warm-blooded species had worn breathable skin suits that, as they deteriorated, forced these intruders to seek sanctuary. All they could find were these six deceased astronauts. Due to the absence of any trace of the original occupants, the AI proposed the theory that this smaller species had consumed every remnant of what lay within the suits. 

Then they too had succumbed, and eventually, the AI speculated, something smaller would inhabit those bodies, then something even smaller within them, and further downward—

At this juncture, the captain attempted a soft reboot of the AI using a coded query. We could hear the concern in her voice.

Yet the AI persisted unfazed, suggesting that we might find this to be a widespread phenomenon. It could be indicative of a system’s capability to break down and process organic matter that had not coexisted with the devourer for millions of years. Most who attempted such feeding likely perished soon after, poisoned by alien flesh.

V.

The AI commenced speaking to us in bizarre alien voices at mile 700, as we battled through the snowstorm to maintain our grip on the cables and hence the path. The AI warbled and chirped and howled and hummed and clucked. It spoke in tones reminiscent of fossilized choruses of creatures, grand and harmonious. And in timbres akin to dry grass ignited by the sun. And in voices that echoed the dissolution of all things, darkness in the blinding white that instilled dread in me. 

Initially, we suspected the AI had lost its mind. Then we thought it might be channeling voices from the dome, 300 miles ahead. Ultimately, the AI managed to convey to us that these were the voices of deceased astronauts we had encountered periodically. Frozen and motionless. The suits varied in many shapes and sizes. The voices of the dead projected through the AI, and nothing could impede them.

VI.

The snow began to betray us, as the storms formed different kinds of ice. Often, our arms grew weary, our legs stiffened, and we needed to rest more frequently. We learned to accept the solid crunch that could bear our weight. We began to reject the feather-light freshness that felt effortless beneath our feet but could give way as easily as air. In some areas, slick purple-hued ice welled up in sluggish layers as if something half-alive. In others, we discovered strange elevated islands, with harsh curls and curves suggesting that two continental shelves had collided in that space.

As we acclimated to these conditions, and as conditions deteriorated yet we still adapted, we began to feel an illusion of skill, one that temporarily lifted the spirits of the astrogator. The sounds through the comms of our efforts, the deeper breathing, the occasional muffled exclamation, entranced us in this regard. We felt as if we were becoming adept at managing the snow. We started to believe that if we could only reach the dome, salvation awaited us.

However, this rise in morale paralleled rather than intersected with thoughts of our ultimate survival.

VII.

We lost track of the remaining distance without the AI to inform us. Nor did the captain, in her agony, think to give updates. But from the distance ahead came visions beyond comprehension: three gigantic astronauts spaced 50 miles apart. Bigger than most starships, each body lay sprawled across an area vaster than several fields and in markedly different conditions.

The first had been grievously burned and was thus unrecoverable, even for salvage. The astronaut had crawled or dragged itself along for some distance. It had left a long smear of black and red across that expanse. The alien species remained unknown to us, but five appendages were sunk into the ground, seemingly in anguish. The cranium had previously housed three eyes, and the faceplate bore a crack resembling a meteor strike. The body appeared bloated, the suit’s fabric gray with a flickering green that came and went, linked to photosensitive dermal cells. The way the flesh occupied space, exhibiting traits more akin to plant than animal, left us unable to study it further.

The second was a tangle of limbs, implying a defensive stance. Debris from conflict fanned out to the side in a bewildering spectacle. The suit exhibited a surprising level of integrity, but shared a similar crack in the faceplate with no trace of a body within. The remains of multitudes of other deceased astronauts of different sizes and shapes, who had sought refuge or sustenance and then become ensnared or simply … surrendered. As the AI had foreseen, we confronted bodies once more providing sustenance and shelter for other bodies.

I felt like a parasite beholding a deity. Or was the scale even more absurd?

This condition was not immediately obvious to us, only becoming clear after we had struggled for an hour to reach the shattered faceplate and the entryway that extended like a fractured archway before us.

Despite the abundance of remains within and the challenges in traversing them to explore, the captain ordered a thorough reconnaissance. Her pulse readings exhibited a thready quality. At times, I felt, as did the astrogator when we engaged in private comms, that the captain had begun echoing sentiments akin to the AI’s obsessions. Nevertheless, we complied with the order, hoping that some internal calculation on the captain’s part suggested this was our only path to survival. 

What did we anticipate finding in the lifeless body of a once-intelligent giant? Food? Oxygen? Some explanation for the cause of death? To distract ourselves from thoughts of our own demise by taking refuge within a death so immense that we could hardly grasp it?

I felt like a parasite beholding a deity. Or was the scale even more ludicrous? I struggled to visualize how the body must have contorted as it pitched forward onto that icy ground. My grasp on my own thoughts wavered.

Increasing pressure surged through my skull as I contemplated that sight. We were in the midst of something no one of my kind had ever experienced. We might be the only ones, ever. I gained a clearer understanding of the AI’s breakdown and the captain’s unraveling. My sharpness dulled, taking my calm with it.

It was impossible to ascertain how long the astronaut had struggled before dying. Unless, perhaps, somewhere within that fallen figure lay some trace of life that we would never uncover.

The storms receded, rose again, then receded once more. 

VIII.

The third enormous astronaut emanated light and vitality, shining across the snowy wasteland like a beacon. For a fleeting moment, I believed we had pierced through the invisible layer and could perceive what lay beyond the veil. We would enjoy comforts far beyond anything available on our damaged spaceship, even when it was fit to traverse galactic space. No recycled urine would serve as our water. There would be no faint odor of sweat creeping into our suits as the ventilation system faltered. Our liquid nourishment would not taste stale or moldy. 

As we drew closer, the suit seemed to stretch nearly to the horizon, creating an effect of foreshortening through the left foot. Our remaining instrumentation indicated that the suit remained intact. The pressure suggested a kind of air circulated within its sealed boundaries. 

We climbed with renewed vitality, the prospect of refuge so close invigorating us. Each of us rallied one another with such fervor that it made me somewhat fearful. What awaited us beyond this euphoric state of mind but a plunge?

Upon reaching the helmet plate, we found not a face or skull within, but rather a stunning abundance of healthy growth that rendered us speechless. None of us could fully comprehend what we observed, except that it resembled an ecosystem—resplendent with vibrant greens and blues, interspersed with other hues. It might mirror a terrarium filled with moss and exotic plants. There could have been some sense of life stirring among those plants, akin to jewel-like amphibians or even tiny, elusive sapphire birds. We could not smell or taste or hear what lay behind the faceplate. We could not experience it in those senses, yet somehow we each envisioned enough to find solace and reassurance in it. 

The astrogator suggested he might create an opening in the plate or elsewhere on the body to allow us entry, and then seal the surface so that not too much air or vitality would escape. This workaround might require an hour or two, due to the delicate nature of what lay within. But it was feasible.

The captain considered the astrogator’s proposal and then acquiesced. The weather had begun to turn hazardous again. The necessity to begin immediately needed no further mention. With the correct pressure exerted, we would gain some degree of refuge from which to recuperate for a final push to the dome. It could be the difference between life and death, as the astrogator commented. If the atmosphere proved breathable, we might even find a solution to alleviate the captain’s pain.

I unclipped the astrogator’s equipment from his waist and hurled it off the massive astronaut, watching it soar through the air and embed itself in the snow. Then I employed my weapon to incinerate it where it lay. After that, I discarded my weapon into the snow as well, ensuring the feathery layer would cover it and conceal it indefinitely. 

We were a team, and I had aided my team while demonstrating that I posed no threat—although I recognized the astrogator and the captain might not perceive it that way. I stood on the faceplate that we could no longer open with the dwindling tools at our disposal, as they both yelled at me through the comms. Their words were inconsequential. They chastised me for something that had already occurred and that they had no ability to prevent. I chose not to explain but instead began my descent to the ground, allowing us to once again grasp the metal rope and make our way to the dome.

That in this frozen abyss, the persistence of life in that form, an oasis amid desolation, could be regarded as a miracle.

ROGAN BROWN

The astrogator did not respond, indicating he rejected my reply.

The reason I took the tools and destroyed them is that the wind revealed something it hadn’t communicated to the captain or the astrogator. The wind had never spoken to me previously, so I accepted its message. That the astronaut inside the suit still existed, though immobilized. That what we perceived on the outside and identified as an ecosystem, as separate “plants” and “animals,” instead constituted a composite life-form, and to breach the suit or slice through it at a leg would have been a transgression.

That in this frozen wasteland, the endurance of life in that manner, an oasis amidst void, could be deemed a miracle. 

I would not extinguish that. I could not permit that to be extinguished. Yet I also recalled how I felt gazing at that vast and alien expanse behind the faceplate. So serene, so soothing, engulfed in a depth of emotion I could not articulate. Would I replace that sensation with the experience of viewing all those explorers deceased within the other vast suit? Even as I become one of them? 

Because the planet had already shared its rules, the consequences, and the ultimate outcome. There are no odds so dreadful that they could not be faced, in a myriad of ways, in this environment. 

So I trudged onward, and the astrogator cursed me repeatedly, berating my upbringing and questioning how I could have passed the psychological assessments while secretly believing the same of him at various times during our expedition.

Observe how beautiful the snow is, now falling, I remarked to him over the comms. Observe how precise and geometric this line we are traversing across this expanse. 

He did not reply, but later asserted that he no longer believed in the path at all, and by his calculations, he would reach the dome faster if he abandoned it and struck out independently.

I could not prevent the astrogator’s departure, nor did I wish to, so I watched him shrink into a smaller figure against the white expanse until the white consumed him and I was left alone.

X.

I have been walking for a long time, communing with the dead. Here, against an arch of sky that appears no different from what lies directly ahead of me. 

Jeff VanderMeer is the author of the critically acclaimed, bestselling Southern Reach series, translated into 38 languages. His short fiction has appeared in Vulture, Slate, New York Magazine, Black Clock, Interzone, American Fantastic Tales (Library of America), and many others.