The ice was the least of his concerns. John had been hired as a member of a scientific research team, embarking on a six-month mission in Antarctica. The stated goal was simple; continued research into dating the icecaps, ideally finding deep-seated soil samples. This, of course, was unlikely. Humanity had been digging into the ice for decades, never getting further than a half-mile or so. Day after day of mundane research is what he had expected, and frankly, looked forward to, after the divorce. He got exactly that, at first. The entire station had been awoken in the middle of the night, a bombastic rumbling shaking the entire facility. Scientists were not well suited to dramatic situations, as a general rule, so the hallways quickly turned to chaos. John awoke alongside his bunk mate, Peter. Sleeping on the top bunk, the shock nearly sent Peter falling to the floor. John had jumped out of bed almost immediately, his military habits kicking in out of habit. As we was jumping up, he had instinctually reached under his bed for a firearm, only to quickly remember he didn’t keep one anymore. That life was behind him. “What the hell was that?” Peter said in fluster from the upper bunk. He hopped down before John could respond. “I have no idea.” John replied. “Earthquake? Power transformer blowing?” “Slim chance of feeling an earthquake on a solid sheet of ice, bud. Good try, though.” Peter had started to put his boots on. He was otherwise still in pajamas. There was a commotion in the hallway, a young research assistant came barging through their door. “Get to the monitoring room, now! The whole base is meeting there.” He said, out of breath. “What happened? Is everything alright?” John said, starting to get dressed himself. “No time. Just get your asses there, now!” With that, the assistant was off, rushing down the hallway to warn others, room-by-room. The two men rushed out of their room, took a right and headed straight down the hallway. A sharp left, followed by a left hand entry to a door, led them to the monitoring room. A twenty-by-twenty circular room, its red insulated walls sheltering the 10 computers and two large screens from the harsh outside world. There were only a few hanging lights spread through the room, most of the light coming from the harsh monitors and screens. The head of research, a gruff old man with wispy gray hair and a thick mustache, addressed the room. “Good morning, everyone. I apologize for the rude awakening, I assure you, it was not planned. At oh-five-hundred hours, a craft of unknown origins crash landed about a klick from our present location. I have, of course, already been contacted by the United States military. Letigious lot, they are.” He walked over to one of the large screens, and tapped on it with a definitive whack. A security camera video filled the screen, fuzzy black and white. It showed a direct view out from the front of the base. Over the crest of a snow dune, a cloud of smoke was billowing in the air, the intense arctic winds blowing it in every direction. This was the first change in the landscape that John had seen since he arrived. “We are taking a scouting team to begin scouting the contact site, if you’re in this room, congratulations. You’ve won the lottery.” The head of research said dryly. “Just our luck, huh?” Peter nudged John with his elbow. “Yeah, just our luck.” John said, somewhat under his breath, suppressing a slight grin. He couldn’t help but feel a rush of excitement. He might have been here at the station to start anew, free of conflict and drama, but part of him relished it. They were escorted to the equipment room, where they were quickly outfitted with their regular kit. A triple-insulated red parka, replete with a wolverine fur hood. Equally as insulated red pants and black boots, and an ice pick for each hand. They quickly made their way out into the frigid cold, wind whipping at their faces. The sun had begun to rise as the made their way towards the snow crawlers. The icey snow crunched under their feet with each step, barely audible through the wind. It was an eight minute trip to the site by crawler. Everyone inside the vehicle was dead silent. John, Peter, the head of research and two others all exchanged the occasional glance, trying not to get too excited or frightened about what lied in store for them. As they crested the bank, it came into view. The craft was like nothing John had ever seen, outside of pop culture. It really was there. A flying saucer. Crashed into the snow at an abrupt angle, the object was lightly smoking, with flashing lights on its perimeter periodically highlighting its shape. Nothing about the metal seemed unearthly, though strangely the craft had no windows. The only entrance was a gaping hole in the side of the body, a harsh reminder of its unintentional meeting with the earth. The crawler came to a halt about fourty feet from the saucer, the size of it became clearer as they sat below it. “Right then, let’s make history, shall we?” The head reacher said to the occupants of the crawler. An awkward glance was exchanged between the rest of them, as they began to file out of the vehicle, one by one. The world had become strange. The wind whipped against John’s face, as it had prior, but the world around him was devoid of sound. He looked down at his feet and took a step. Silent. “What the hell?” John said aloud, again stunned by silence. His voice hadn’t made any noise. He looked around him, the rest of the crew had begun walking towards the craft. He tried to call out to Peter, but his friend couldn’t hear him. They all were moving slowly, uniformly. Was something drawing them in towards the vessel? Then, it called to him. His eye caught glimpse of one of the flashing lights. His mind was no longer his own, his body was no longer his own. He began to walk slowly towards the craft. He tried to open his mouth to scream, but he had no control. He took a step. He screamed internally. What was happening? Another step. The lights flashed. Step. Another step. He was at the craft. Up close the body of the vessel was slightly modulating, a single sound cutting through the silence. A light hum, emanating from the ship. He suddenly felt calm, as if he had meant to come here his whole life. He removed his right glove, unsure if his will was his own. He reached out and touched the craft. Then all was bright, and silent, and nothing.