Disclaimer: Characters portrayed in the following are not mine and I did not create them.
Isolationism:
What a basic mistake to make. Elementary error for someone like him. Maybe Cable had other things on his mind, other anxieties, but getting white-out from the Point Barrow tundra midday was dense. He wouldn't even be able to make lunch, the blindness so severe. He had stepped off the ladder, promising himself not to gaze out on the miles of desert permafrost when his receiver fired up just inside the door. One swift turn of surprise -- who'd be contacting him over private comm. channels anyway? -- and straight to his one good eye a visual headfreeze which left him more partially sighted and so stunned he fell thud onto his backside, shovel digging dangerously close to his privates. Canisters scattered, a yell swallowed in on/off wind and snow and his pride wounded, he got up and perched on the side of the steps. It had taken him so suddenly he had to get back his senses. He felt like an old man, slipping on the first frost in cheery old Chicago and cracking a hip. He felt for the items, brushing off frozen earth and frozen freeze, tossing them roughly through the door which had blown open and which no doubt would have chilled the entire cabin by now and staggered blindly up the stairs making them creak like a fat three-year old on an adventure. The wind screamed abuse at his retreat, Stooges playing the northerly gale and battering him breathless.
He struggled with the door. It shut, mercifully, and he could relax somewhat. The light had shifted; silhouettes no longer cast by the log fire for it had blown out, rendering ash and splinters in a pile at his feet. The signal went off again and his hand went out to grab for the small grey device, knocking something off the stand. 'Yes? Online, receiving, go ahead.'
'Nate?'
Domino's voice.
'Nate?' It repeated. 'You there?'
He shuffled, feeling the shivers already rattling his neck. 'Yes yes receiving Dom go ahead.'
'Nate! Nate? Pick up.'
'Yes Dom! Receiving, can you hear me?'
'Nate! Shaky signal -- I'm about a thousand miles off Tuktoyaktuk heading west -- there are no discernable landmarks -- how do I know if I've flown right by you?'
That's what he'd set out to do was put down a beacon, but this damn desert was unforgiving. He'd have to try again somehow. He still had one eye working, even if it was encumbered with techno-organic virals.
'I'm deploying the beacon now, tune in to our wavelength and it'll register. Dom? Keep looking, it'll come up in a few minutes. Tune in to 159.76. You still there?'
Static.
He cursed, and kicked the lump of insulated down at his feet, clambering around essentially in the dark and making sure he had at least the beacon and a shovel. His foot tread on something else, and he lent against the doorframe, bracing himself for a second bout of arctic courage. Not knowing where she was or how long she would take or even if she were going in the right direction would be mind-numbing. The whole idea was for the two of them to get in before the sun disappeared, as the astronomical twilight at Point Barrow dwindled to a few short hours at this time of year. Cable's safehouse here had no external lighting, and shining the flare up at a vacant sky in the dark was bound to attract all kinds of attention. Domino would have a hilarious time zipping this way and that in high winds with no LZ in sight and even less thermal protection on board. He tried to push those thoughts out. What is... is, he rationalized, ignoring the fact he was lacking one of his senses. His fingers activated the panel and the door zuh-zunged its way open knocking him back with the unleashing of the wind. His telekinesis kept most of the gale away, but stepping off the ladder while it shook reminded him how poor the upkeep of this, his most northerly hideaway, was, and how long since his last stay. The abandoned cheese in the fridge was cheese no longer. Why he would choose to store cheese let alone forget to take it with him when he left was one more thing to add to his paranoia of aging. He staggered about thirty metres outside, hearing his feet crunch solid mud when snow wasn't packing his ears, and stopped, very conscious of the fact he had to get back to a cabin he couldn't really see. Although the virus had partial command of the left side of his body he could still see out of his left eye, but with much of his concentration diverted to making sense of this nothing environment, the images being received were corrupted, ensuring a digital loss in whatever it did pick up. Cable unhitched the canister and set it in the ground, really forcing it hard and deep into the frosty earth. It wouldn't go in very well. He couldn't make out the imprint of the instructions next to the cap even though he'd fired more of these off than eaten hot meals. What a time for his wits to go walkabout. He might as well be a decaying octogenarian, sucking stewed carrots through a straw and drooling over Channel U dancers into a bib. Exhaustion bit him in the ass. 'Just fire, you bastard...'
Cold wind knocked him on it and he swore really loudly into the writhing maelstrom of white wind.
Blaquesmith's face came out of the mist of his troubled thoughts. Focus, it told him, focus, focus, focus. He bellowed inwardly, his Ben Kenobi Hoth vision not helping: he hadn't used those Askani teachings in a long time. The face and the words played again, a movie reel of memory flickering across his brain and kicking him up the backside. See with your thoughts, perceive with your perceptions 'not with the gel and the sinew of an enemy's clay' he intoned stubbornly. In other words, 'use your brain, not your eyes.'
'For they can be compromised' continued the incorporeal Blaquesmith, fading into the ether as clichéd as he'd come. His fingers found the tab, and he yanked it out, unsure of exactly how close Domino's ship would be. Would she see the signal hit the sky -- furthermore would it register on her radar? It always had in the past but recollecting the times he'd been in Point Barrow before, he either journeyed there with her or alone, never picking anyone else up and not having to worry about them none either. The beacon gave an audible blip and the top half skyrocketed away, the plume of chemical smoke instantly dispersed in the wind. Cable stood and made back for the safety of the cabin.
By the time he hit the steps the sun had gone down. He was still dazzled. He locked the door and sat down, wrapping himself up and sulking and setting the comm. device loud.
Sometime later he awoke to the smell of spitting fat. His thoughts turned to an infinitely colder and harsher landscape, dug in deep and surrounded by log-lined trenches and blue faces of friends not yet made. The sight wouldn't leave him -- he tried to open his eyes but it again was still there, unpleasant and shocking. His wife he saw, shaking with the permanent chill of Mali's nuclear winter and great great gauges of earth, drought-scarred and unnaturally shifted. The Pan-African vanguard, Gao City, heading east for Akkaba. He was twenty-nine. A long, long time ago.
'Where...?' He muttered, leaning off the fur-lined sofa.
There was soft music playing. Cuban. And the smell of sausages? He hadn't eaten since yesterday morning. Whenever that was.
Sight still hadn't returned, he groaned. But with the bionic eye images began to form, a serious orange glow to the right; he stared at the mesh fireguard and its dancing demons shining over the ceiling. He felt his bum. There was a slight bruise, nothing that would stop him sitting on it if the worst came to the worst. Ibrahim Ferrer soloed from the kitchenette. Footsteps -- a padding noise -- as two feet shuffled in well-shielded slippers around the stove and clicked in rhythm while the piano cha-cha'd. Cable flung the wrap away, aware now of the sweat inherent in whatever you wore in Alaska, and got to his feet. Her voice called out from beyond.
'I'm ok,' he said 'but I can't see.'
'Lights on!' She chimed.
'No Dom,' he said, the cabin flooded with ambient yellow 'I can't see proper. I got white-out out in the snow.'
'Shit, are you ok?'
And then she was at his side, a palm touching the side of his face, flesh grazing grey stubble. Appropriate, he thought. 'What?' She said.
He must've had a funny expression on.
He heard her make a clicking noise with her tongue and then she wasn't next to him. 'That explains the mess then; I thought there was a reason but didn't really expect to hear you say that. White-out, hmm? God Nate, you're losing it.'
'Aw get lost Dom, I got confused when the comm. alarm went off and it's been so long since I was last here, I just forgot.'
She was in the kitchen again.
'Your opponent won't get lost Nate, why should I. You made a stupid mistake.'
She cracked an egg.
'Lay off will you, I'm getting old. I know it was dumb, give me a break.'
He heard her crack an egg. There was silence. The fire spit. 'Thanks for clearing up the ash.' Another egg cracking. 'How did you get in? I locked the door.'
She cracked another egg. 'Just how many eggs are you going to use? I need them for the rest of the week.'
