A Claim of Cultural AppropriationWe drop from orbit in the Sundowner's huge armoured exosuits. Every surface on the suits is black and angled, to deflect projectile fire and offer optimal stealth performance. We look like aliens. Which I suppose we are. Humans do not belong on Muspelheim. No life does. This place is hell.
We didn't detect any satellites in orbit, so any listening devices they have will be down on the moon's surface. That means we can send updates back to the Sundowner in aimed data bursts. But Braden won't be able to signal back.
The moon's thick atmosphere does a splendid job of braking our descent. It also heats my suit alarmingly fast. I watch the heat-sensor readout climb from near absolute zero to over a thousand degrees Centigrade as we fall.
“It's hot out there,
