The Achilles Heel floated across the sea of liquid methane, its reinforced syntethetic hull cutting a line through the incomprehensible cold. Jessica watched the surface carefully, fingering the release on her air-powered speargun. There was no telling with the worms around here.

It had been almost 3 days since the damn fool Mark stuck his hand in the methane. A tiny crack in his suit allowed the frozen liquid to get in, scalding his skin. He was lucky they had a transport in low orbit. But Jessica was here for the worms.

The worms they had captured were smaller than her little finger, and while any instrument you stuck in the sea was a lost cause, there was one image from before the Golden Apple burned up that showed something at least four meters long.

There was a knock on the hull of the Heel. Jessica watched the edges of the skiff carefully. Another. Then she saw a shape dart across the surface of the sea – and fired the speargun.