Hyde arrived too late. Stumbling to the crest of a rocky white dune from which he had a good vantage of the moon-rat, he knew before he even magnified the focus on his visor that his target was dead. The black speck he could see against the hushed, ossiferous desert was for the first time in its recorded history not moving. He adjusted his visor to make sure, and, just as he had suspected, the rat was turned over onto its back, its six sharp legs curled up, still. Half-sliding, half-scrambling he descended the dune and approached the corpse, the containment pod heavy on his back.

This is when he met Death. They were sitting by the moon-rat’s body with their knees drawn up. At first Hyde could only see the silhouette of a figure in a black robe with a rusty, bitter hunting rifle slung over their shoulder, but as he came within a few metres Death turned to look, and he saw their skeletal face and long red hair. Death gave a little nod and turned back to gaze at the body.

Hyde stood somewhat stiffly for a while, in silence. He had unclipped the containment pod from his back during the loping hike across the plain, and was now holding it in front of him in both hands.

Some silence passed, until Death said, hesitantly, “Sorry about this.”

“It’s fine,” said Hyde. “I’m sure it’s not your fault.”

“Oh no, of course, yeah…I know, it’s just a shame. I mean.”

Some more silence, then Death said, “So what are you going to do now?”

“Well,” replied Hyde, “They said dead or alive, so I can still send it back, but…it’s a shame, like you said.”

Neither of them had moved, and they remained static. The only movement about Hyde was the hidden flapping of his tongue and lips, and the vibrations these affected via the speaker in his helmet. Death did not have a tongue or lips to flap, so was quite still.

Once again, Death turned to look at the moon-rat, before saying, with a little cough. “Would you…like to say a few words?”

Hyde paused a moment before he spoke, “Well, I never really knew…I suppose…well, it’s just a shame really. I can still send it back, but they were quite keen to observe it, I understand…alive, that is, and, since my ship’s malfunctioned, I can’t go back, so it’s…well it’s not a waste of course, but…yeah. It’s a shame.”

Death nodded solemnly. “She had a good run.”

They continued to look at the little black creature, perhaps in the numb thought that it had twitched, or clicked, or in some seconds would begin to shed, or anything, but of course, being dead, it did not.

Hyde kneeled and began unsealing the containment pod. “Well I suppose I should start-”

“Hm?”

“-packing it up. To go.” Hyde reached for the corpse.

“Yes. Of course. Ah-” Death raised one of their thin fingers.

“Yes?”

“Before you do…can I…have a piece?”

“A…piece?”

“Yes. Just a piece. A leg or something. Of course it’s fine if not, but I thought maybe…because she has six of them, you know, and they seem quite identical…”

Hyde leaned forward and broke off the moon-rat’s back left leg, and gave it to Death.

“Thank you,” said Death, “I appreciate it.”

Hyde shrugged. “It’s not like I’ll be back for them to ask about it, so…”

“Yes. Yeah. Well, thanks anyway.”

“Is that all?”

“Yes. Yes, of course.”

“So I can pack it up now?”

“Oh yes, go ahead.”

Hyde lifted the corpse into the pod, wordless and focused. As he was doing so, Death crushed the leg into ash, bones and exoskeleton rattling against each other. When it was broken down completely, they tipped the ash onto the ground. From the trough a curling, wiry plant budded and grew, its ascent measured and exhausted. When it had reached maturity, Death plucked the choicest leaves from its stem. They produced a paper and filter from the sleeve of their robe and fumbled for a minute or so in attempting to fold and macerate the leaves whilst their hands were at the same mostly full of the aforementioned rolling paraphernalia. 

After this brief spectacle, Death finally succeeded in assembling a cigarette. Death brought it to their teeth and its tip began to burn with a tepid orange flame. 

Death took a deep, dense drag and said, from behind the dilute nimbus, “It’s a bad habit, I know. I’m trying to cut down. Oh, I’m sorry, I should’ve offered you one-”

“It’s fine. I don’t smoke.” Hyde was unsure why he lied about this. He did indeed smoke, and had a supply of cigarettes in his ship. He didn’t feel particularly bad about it, though. Lying.

“Alright. It’s ready to go off,” grunted Hyde, as he finished the re-sealing procedures on the pod. He held a button on its side, and numbers from 20 began to count down on a small display. When they reached completion, the pod began to slowly lift, its initial movement more that of buoyancy or levitation than a ‘takeoff’. When it had reached sufficient height, it screamed away in a glare of heat and light, disturbing a great deal of white dust as it went. Hyde’s suit shielded him from the glare, but he was coated in the dust. Death, somehow, had avoided being dusted in any way. Their cigarette was unscathed also.

Hyde and Death both watched the pod in silence, and when it had disappeared they watched the spot in the dark where it had been.

Then Death said, “What’s your name anyway?”

“Hyde.”

“I’m Death.”

“I thought so.”

**

“So what are you going to do now?”

Hyde shrugged. You already asked that. Between his suit and the still-intact life support systems on his ship, he could stay alive indefinitely. Both were solar powered. Both were indifferent to his choices, but if he pressed a button they would give him the fluids, substances, and other assorted matter his body required. Indefinitely.

As a hobby, Hyde enjoyed landscape photography. He had brought a film camera with him, and there was a functioning darkroom in the ship. By mistake he had ordered a huge amount of film just before his trip, and having nowhere else to store it except in the cargo hold, he now, ironically, had a lifetime supply. 

“Well, the suit and ship can keep me alive…I don’t really have anything…I think I’m going to take some pictures. I have a camera…maybe it’s a bit silly…just as something to do, you know,” mumbled Hyde.

“That sounds nice,” said Death, “you shouldn’t be embarrassed about it.”

“I’m not embarrassed about it.”

“Ah, well it sounded like you were-”

“Well I’m not.”

**

There was a small jeep in the ship, for transport and hauling samples and that kind of thing. Hyde cringed a little when he saw that it was two-person. He had been sure it was a one-seater. 

Death climbed into the passenger seat. “So where are we going?”

Hyde shrugged. “I hadn’t really decided. I was just going to drive around and see what looks nice, and then take a photo. I think I’m going to try to take photos of as much of the landscape as possible, so it doesn’t really matter where I start.”

“Ok. Oh- I know a nice spot or two,” said Death.

“Really?”

“Yeah. Oh- and when it’s night-time, remind me to show you something.”

“Alright.”

It was always night-time on the moon.

**

“Well, this is it,” said Death, sweeping their white hand over the horizon. “How is it?”

It wasn’t very good.

“It’s good. It’s nice.” Hyde took a photo.

“Is that it?” said Death.

“Yes, well, I mean…I don’t want to waste film, so…”

“Oh yeah, of course.”

He had effectively unlimited film.

They’d driven for a long time. Hyde suspected that Death didn’t really have a spot, and was just waiting for something remotely acceptable to turn up. He cursed internally as he realised that he was now bound to take only one photograph of any given landscape.

The sky was bloated with stars. “There was something you wanted to show me?” asked Hyde.

“Oh! Oh yes!” Death seemed very excited. They unslung the old rifle from their shoulder and aimed it to the sky. “Ok, now watch…that one,” they said, pointing to a particularly bright star. They pulled the trigger and there was a loud bang and a fair amount of smoke. Hyde watched the star. Nothing happened.

“Wait,” said Death, apparently a little flustered, “It’s out of tune…” They fiddled with the sights and took another shot. Again, nothing happened. Again they took to the sights. Hyde stood in silence. He wasn’t sure what to say. “Ok,” said Death, finally. “Watch this.” They took a third shot, carefully, and the targeted star was snuffed out. It ceased to glow. It was gone. Hyde still  wasn’t sure what to say. Death turned to Hyde. It is impossible for a skull to grin any more than its usual, but something about Death suggested that they were beaming with self-satisfaction. “Shooting stars, get it?”

It took Hyde a moment to respond. “Ah, yeah. Ha ha.”

**

This driving/photography became a routine. Hyde picked up a collapsible shelter and mini-reactor from the ship, which he kept in the back of the jeep, so that he could simply settle down to rest and pick back up whenever he felt like it.

Death was constant, and always had suggestions for ‘spots’. Some were fine. Most weren’t. Hyde was now convinced that they were completely making these spots up. Most of the time Hyde would barely look down the lens before his finger jabbed the shot-button, at which point he would swiftly turn around and return to the jeep. Even though the film was unlimited, Hyde genuinely felt that it was going to waste, and this was frustrating. Sometimes he toyed with the idea of pretending to take a photo, perhaps loudly tapping the roof of the camera, or even making a clicking sound with his mouth, but something told him that Death was too attentive for that kind of trick. 

Death would usually take pot-shots at stars and smoke, and talk to themselves. Apart from the moment of capture of one of their spots, they didn’t actually seem to have much interest at all in Hyde’s activities, which made him wonder why they didn’t just spend the time alone, when there wasn’t really any difference in what they would be getting up to anyway. 

This went on for two weeks. 

After he had burned through the pocketful of film he brought with him on what he liked to internally term his ‘expedition’, Hyde returned to the ship to develop the photographs. As he waited for them to mature he lay on his mattress, twitching, attempting to read. He was unusually and unreasonably excited. He could barely wait.

As he finally plucked the completed photos from their clips, he was ecstatic. He revelled in the weight of the stack, its mass directly proportional to how much time he would be allowed to sift through, to re-absorb himself through the solid images, the captured light, between his fingers. For the first time since landing he was glad to have company, and rushed to show Death. He had picked out a few of his favourites based on his first, frenzied inspection, (one of which was, surprisingly, a spot which Death had suggested), and was now standing proudly in front of Death whilst they pinched the photos in-between their fingertips. 

Hyde was impatient. “Well?”

Death shuffled their feet slightly. “Ah…well…I suppose I really should’ve told you this before, but…ah, I couldn’t really find the right time, and…” they scratched their face, “well…I can’t actually see photographs.”

“What?”

“Well, you know,” mumbled Death, pointing to the cavities in their skull, “I don’t have eyeballs, so I…yeah…I can’t see photos. I’m sure they’re great though.”

They both stood in silence. Between the two of them there had been a lot of this, standing in silence, sitting in silence, sometimes for very extended periods of time. For some reason this silence felt to both like the longest yet, even though it was probably no longer than forty seconds.

Hyde broke it by clearing his throat. His face was downcast, the visor on his helmet expressionless as always. “You know, Death…when I took this job, it was really because I felt like I want…I needed some time alone.”

“Ah.”

“Do you understand?”

“Ah, I think so…”

“I think…we should spend some time apart. I’d appreciate some time to myself. Am I being clear?”

“Ah…yes, yes of course. Yes. Perfectly clear. I understand- ah, how much time?”

Hyde paused himself. “I’ll let you know…when I’m ready to…to…”

“Yes, yes, I understand. Just let me know, whenever.”

**

Hyde felt relieved. He realised that he hadn’t been able to properly relax for weeks. He’d been permanently on edge. Now, however, in the arms of solitude, he was quite content. 

He moved forwards with purpose. He travelled incessantly. He improvised a mobile dark-room. He barely slept- there was no need. The suit could keep him awake, well-fed, and alert. He never tired of taking photos. He never looked at the sky, only at the horizon, at the great whiteness of it. He felt that he could step into the whiteness and be comfortable, comforted. But not yet- he became more and more fascinated by the idea of touching it, of touching the horizon itself. A photograph would not work. It had to be the real thing. 

He wouldn’t act on this new fascination, however, until he had resolved his first, that being the near- comprehensive photography of the landscape. This project was completed surprisingly quickly. When Hyde completely ran out of film, he was genuinely shocked. He had been working much faster than he’d expected. He hadn’t accounted for his own enthusiasm.

He was not, however, by any means stumped. He began work on his next venture- touching the horizon. The preliminary stage of this project was building a massive wall, twice his height and immeasurably long. He used the local terrain as cement and mortar, the various sample-collecting-and-moving machines to assemble it. He did not stop until at the centre point of the wall, he could look both left or right and not see its end. This took a very long time.

The secondary stage was to gather the photographs, all of them, innumerable in their total bulk, and stick them to the wall, so that it was completely covered. There was some slight concern that he wouldn’t have enough photographs, but there were just enough. This also took a long time, but not as long as building the wall itself.

He returned to the centre of the wall to inspect his work. It was good, but it didn’t feel complete. The overall effect was dazzling, but it was not the one he had been searching for. Now he felt stumped, and, in all honesty, a little depressed. It really had taken a long time.

Hyde kneeled in sombre contemplation, and swore when he remembered the dust which would now be all over his shins and knees.

The dust which seemed to stick to everything.

Hyde scrambled to his feet. The third and final stage of his grand project was about to begin.

Using the aforementioned sampling equipment he gathered a huge amount of dust. Then, using his ship’s fuel, he burnt half of it. He had gathered so much dust that it formed more of a field than a mound or heap. Half of the field was white, the burnt half was a deep black. Then Hyde went to collect ice. He chipped away at great, frozen lakes, and dragged elephant-sized chunks behind him in a variety of all-terrain vehicles and exoskeletons. When he had all the ice he wanted (a lot), he melted it, and he mixed the ice-water with the dust, and he had paint. 

He shaved his head to use the hair for brushes, and broke off pieces of piping for their handles. He began to paint the wall, over the pictures, from one end all the way to the other. He painted the horizon, in black and white. 

He painted the horizon, in black and white, in line with how he would have been able to see it if the wall had been transparent- or at least, how he imagined he would be able to see it. It didn’t really matter. He was meticulous. His previous fever had dispersed, and he now allowed himself to enjoy the gentle moments of each brush stroke. 

When he had finished, painted across the entirety of the wall, he stepped back. It lined up. It was indistinguishable from the horizon itself. He turned up the sensors on his glove to maximum. 

He reached out and touched the horizon. It was rough.

He felt that he had used his time wisely.

**

“Death?”

“Yeah, I’m here. Long time no see.”

After touching the horizon, Hyde had returned to the nearby cave where his current shelter was set up. Now he had a console plugged into his suit and was making various adjustments.

“I need your help with something.” said Hyde.

“Really. What is it? More photos?”

“I’m going to turn off the life support functions in my suit, but it needs two inputs from different fingerprints.”

“Ah….yes, I understand.”

“There’s also going to be a randomly generated code which only shows up whilst whoever activated the console is looking at it, understand?”

“Yeah. Yeah, I understand.”

“Ok. So I’ll just finish preparing yours…”

Hyde tapped at the console for a little longer. Death absent-mindedly rolled a cigarette, but then seemed against smoking it. They tucked it into the sleeve of their robe.

“Ok.” said Hyde, “It’s ready.” He handed Death the first console. “So first I’m going to read out the code on my screen, and you enter it into yours, then you do the same for me, ok?”

“Ok, yeah.”

“Alright, ready?”

“Yeah, ready.”

“54-77-71-90-00-38. Got that?”

“Yeah, I think- yeah. It’s in. It says ‘confirmed’, is that-?”

“Yeah, that’s it. Now you read out yours.”

“Ah, ok, it’s…60-00-01-43-92-47.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah. I’m sure, yeah.”

“Ok.”

Hyde did not enter the code. Instead, he lay on the ground, facing the ceiling.

“Actually, Death, I’m not going to do it just yet. I think I’ll wait until I feel like it. You don’t have to stick around, but could you read out the code again so I can remember it?”

“Yes. Yes, of course. It’s 60-00-01-43-92-47.”

“Great. Thanks.”

“Sure you got it? 60-00-”

“It’s ok, Death. I got it. I know the code. You can go now.”

“Ok, yeah. Bye…it was, uh, it was nice meeting you.”

“You too. Bye.”

Hyde waited a little longer, maybe an hour or so, and, when he felt like it, entered the code into his console. He closed his eyes. The suit gave out a little mechanical sigh, the layer of pressurised air underneath its surface being let out through millions of microscopic valves.