TA-3 Research Drilling Station: Shower and Sanitation Facility
A short, stubby tail gave a faint, irritated twitch. Attached to the tail, a stocky behind, hind legs, and arctic boots completed the view.
Down on all fours, General Marvin Huxley tapped his way along the pipe gently with a hammer.
The remainder of his tools were laid out in a neat, deliberate line.
A thin crust of frost had formed along the exposed pipes.
Tap, tap… crack! A lump of ice and biomass gave way somewhere inside the pipe.
Huxley muttered in quiet satisfaction.
Huxley: …there you go, you little crap-turd.
He heard the sound of footsteps approaching.
Rebecca stopped just behind him, taking in the scene with a practiced lack of surprise.
Rebecca: Sir? We do have engineers for that.
Huxley didn’t look up.
Huxley: I’m aware.
A moment’s silence, then, with a slight huff, Huxley pushed himself up and returned to his full height in one fluid motion.
Huxley: I also have a sanitation system here that’s about to lose flow and freeze solid if this backs up again.
He shifted his weight slightly and gave the toilet a flush.
Which makes it my problem.
Another flush. He paused and listened to the steady flow of water in the pipes.
Huxley watched the water in the bowl for half a second longer than necessary, then gave a single, satisfied nod.
There. Sorted.
Collecting his tools, he returned them carefully to their proper places in the toolbox.
Rebecca folded her arms lightly.
Rebecca: Recommend washing your paws, Sir.
Huxley glanced down at them briefly.
Huxley: Noted.
Then, already moving past her—
Status on the new drill site?
TA-3: Drilling Site-2
The drill cut into the frozen ground, the rig vibrating under load as Matthias supervised its progress.
Matthias: Progress steady. Depth five-zero metres.
Markus stood beside the rig, eyes on the gas analyser. He tilted his head slightly, lifting his nose, interrogating the cold air.
He caught Matthias’ eye and raised a paw.
Markus: Hold it there.
He sniffed again, more deliberately this time.
Something’s different.
The gas analyser registered a solid detection a second later.
Volatiles increasing. Methane—above nominal baseline.
Elena didn’t look up from the screen giving continual readings from the thermal probe.
Elena: Temperature’s shifted up slightly—not significant, just a couple of degrees. We’re getting into something warmer.
The tone of the drill shifted—not that it was working harder, more a slight increase in rotation that indicated it had encountered softer material.
The vibration dulled, with the resistance easing noticeably as the bit moved into something less rigid than ice or rock.
Matthias: We’ve changed layers.
Markus: Judging by the methane increase, I’d say we’ve definitely hit something organic.
Lucas stepped in closer, his sample canister already open, his brown eyes bright with anticipation behind his goggles.
Lucas: Now there’s a sentence I like hearing. Say it again—like you mean it!
The core sample was recovered cleanly from the borehole. Lucas took it carefully, sliding it free from the casing.
It was not ice, and it was not rock.
Strands of recognisable darkened fur clung to partially frozen tissue. Pale fragments of bone could also be seen embedded through it.
Lucas: Oh my… I mean, just wow!
He turned it slightly, studying it.
If this is what I think it is, then we just found something incredible! You don’t find mammoth leftovers every day.
Elena moved in beside him.
Elena: Careful Luc. Remember to use all standard precautions.
Lucas tried not to let his irritation show. Although still only just out of university, this expedition gig had been his dream job.
And it appeared that he had just struck ancient biological gold. He was already starting to daydream about a new species of mammoth being named after him—Mammuthus Lucigenicus.
Elena had just broken his little private reverie.
Lucas: I am being careful—you’re starting to sound like Becks.
He turned, waved his gloved hands, then gave Elena a silly grin.
“Wash your hands before supper!”
He eased the sample into the canister, carefully adjusting it to fit without forcing it in.
He turned the seal with a firm twist—but the first attempt didn’t click. He immediately saw that there was some grit from the drill casing preventing the seal from engaging properly. He brushed the grit away with his fingers and tried again. As he worked, a tiny tear opened in the thumb tip of one glove. Finally, the seal clicked into place.
The exertion and excitement had made his breathing heavy, it was fogging lightly in the cool air.
Lucas: Sample depth logged at fifty metres. Sample secured, transferring to primary crate.
Elena glanced across briefly, then back to her probe readout.
Elena: Organic megafauna residue confirmed.
Preservation is—
She screwed up her nose.
Exceptional.
Markus gave a small nod, still watching the gas analyser.
Markus: That’ll explain the volatiles.
Lucas was still in a buoyant mood and gave a knowing nod.
Lucas: Mammoth farts.
Matthias was as ever entirely focused on what still needed to be done.
Matthias: Drilling continuing, rotation steady, passing one-zero-zero metres.
The drill pushed on, and down.
The tone shifted again—slower now. Higher resistance returning as the drill bit into deeper rock.
Matthias: Back into solid formation.
The next core sample came up dark and dense, very clean-edged.
Lucas checked it, his previous enthusiasm had waned, showing less interest this time.
Lucas: Rock return. Igneous.
He slid the core sample into a canister and placed it into the primary field crate.
Elena: Temperature’s climbing—it’s a steady increase.
There was no concern in her voice, her tone more routine observation.
The drill continued its descent.
One hundred and fifty metres. Two hundred.
The rig held steady, the machine responsive to Matthias’ every adjustment. Hunde and machine in perfect synchronisation.
Then—
A subtle jolt. Nothing violent. Just a slight release.
The drill string dropped half a fraction, resistance falling away.
Elena looked up this time, her tone slightly elevated.
Elena: Sharp temperature increase!
The thermal probe readout had jumped significantly. They had found something hot. Very hot.
Markus quickly checked the analyser, then the rig readouts.
Markus: Pressure’s building in the borehole.
Matthias reacted immediately, his paws moving over the controls like a concert pianist.
Matthias: All stop!
Two-five-zero metres.
The load on the rig eased, pausing the descent.
Holding.
The pressure gauges were reading significantly higher—pressure was now pushing back up the borehole casing, still contained but rising.
Elena had her eyes glued to her readings.
Elena: Temperature spike is confirmed—holding at 120°C.
We’re in a geothermal pocket.
Markus: Bore pressure is stable.
We’ll secure drilling here until we can fully assess the data.
Elena: I concur, readings are levelling and stable.
Markus gave a small nod. He looked at the depth readout—250 metres.
Markus: Yeah. Cap the casing.
Matthias: I agree.
Matthias capped off the bore casing with his massive torque wrench.
Lucas stood just off to the side, one hand resting lightly on the primary field crate.
He glanced down at it briefly, then back to the rig.
Lucas: That’s a great day’s work—m’lady and associated gentlemen!
Matthias allowed himself the smallest exhale.
Matthias: Yup. Good work everyone.
The borehole was now capped and secured.
TA-3: Laboratory
The laboratory air temperature was carefully maintained—a steady 21°C, with humidity controlled at 50%; a steady hum came from the ventilation unit powered by the diesel generator outside.
James was already waiting inside the iso-tent; a man focused on his task.
Rebecca looked up as Lucas entered the laboratory with the primary crate.
Rebecca: I heard you got a biomass core. Depth fifty metres?
Lucas: That’s the one—bang on fifty. It stank worse than a blocked crapper.
Rebecca’s ears perked forward for a moment.
Rebecca: What do you know about that…?
Lucas quickly changed the subject.
Lucas: Got another sample too—but that one is just igneous.
With work still to do, Rebecca didn’t inquire further about the blocked toilet.
She knew.
Rebecca: —Anyway, let’s get these samples processed through to decontamination and isolation.
Lucas gave a small nod, and moved toward the negative pressure tent.
The insertion flap parted, sucking in slightly with a soft pull as the pressure shifted. He passed the two sample canisters through to James.
James took them without a word, turning them over slightly in his hands.
Lucas lingered just outside, watching through the plastic windows.
James checked the seals.
A momentary pause.
James: There’s something on the rim of this one.
Lucas leaned in slightly.
Lucas: Yeah—it was a bit gritty out there. Drill’s been pulling through all sorts of stuff.
James didn’t respond immediately.
He ran a gloved finger lightly along the edge, clearing a faint line of grit.
Lucas: It didn’t seat cleanly the first time, I had to have another go to make it click.
Lucas gave a small shrug.
It’s sealed now though.
James nodded once.
James studied the biomass canister carefully, a little longer than was strictly necessary. It was indeed an exciting find. Darkened tissue. Strands of fur. Fragments of bone. Some structures clearly still intact—a time capsule frozen and preserved across millennia.
He paused for a moment—should he flag the seal as potentially compromised? He checked the seal carefully again; it looked right.
James completed the external decontamination procedure, and then carefully placed the canister into the specialised, climate-controlled secondary storage unit.
Outside, Rebecca tapped on the tablet recording it in the specimen log.
Rebecca: Fifty metres. Organic layer. Secondary storage, decontaminated and secured.
TA-3 Communication Annex
In another annex, Eugene sat at the comms station, eyes and ears on the incoming stream of data from the Now-Sat.
The door opened, and Huxley entered, shaking the snow from his hood.
Huxley: How’s that weather system looking, Gene?
Eugene: A new weather update just in, Sir.
Huxley nodded, indicating for Eugene to continue with his report.
Eugene: The low-pressure system is deepening, Sir. It’s starting to move faster than earlier models.
Eugene turned slightly towards his boss.
It’s still tracking to miss us, but only just.
Sir, I recommend we halt drilling operations and prepare the camp for a potential storm.
Huxley: Confidence?
Eugene: High, Sir.
Huxley held Eugene’s gaze for a fraction longer—drilling operations were not halted lightly.
He then gave a single nod.
Huxley: Very well.
We’ll make preparations.
Keep me updated.
Outside, there was the faintest uptick in the wind. The fabric of the tents acknowledged the change with a slight rustle.
The generator throbbed steadily, and inside the systems hummed gently.
Screw Pile Developments 