Antarctica’s once white landscape now fluctuated in pale shades of grey. In moments, the day turned to night, and the night turned back to day. Looking like two fleas in a bowl of ice-cream, the scientists traversed the snowy ice-capped glacier firing their extinguishers upwards and slowly bobbing forward.

At last they reached the crash site. Hans and Alarick surveyed the green and blue ice crystals that lay scattered across the whitewashed scene. At the center, in and among sparks of light, the severed Axis seemed to sputter a vociferous hiss.

“M’aidez!” They heard it say, “m’aidez!

“Is the Axis screaming ‘mayday’?” Alarick inquired, as he climbed the ridge, littered with crystallized fragments.

Cries for help continued from the Axis’ direction until they heard it say, “s’il vous plait!”

“Was the Axis made in France?” asked Hans, as he clambered to meet Alarick at the peak.

“Nien,” answered Alarick. “But she was.”

Hans peered over the ridge into the cavern far below – at a woman with blue-green eyes.

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