Shadowfall: Shadows Book One
Page 6
Cathal stepped towards Brice. “Hard transfer, just to make sure.”
“Keelin, Tris, the same. Ryann, we’ll triple-log.”
He reached out to Brice, placing a hand on the back of his neck, at the lattice’s focal node. Then he did the same to Keelin and Tris, before turning to Ryann. His hand was warm and calloused. She felt the data run like liquid.
He removed his hand, and for a moment her neck was cold. She resisted the impulse to use her own hand to rub some warmth back into it. Instead she shrugged her pack higher.
“Okay,” Cathal said, sweeping a hand round at the rock. “Three tunnels. Any thoughts?”
“This one,” Tris said, pointing to the left. “It’s the biggest. Don’t want to be all crouched over.”
The tunnel was biggest, but the floor was uneven and stony, in contrast to the smooth undulations of the cave itself. To Ryann that indicated a tunnel underused.
“Smaller one might be more interesting, though.” Brice pointed to the middle route, and from the lift at the corners of his mouth, Ryann knew he was making this suggestion only to push Tris. The tunnel was more of a hole, no higher than her thigh. It looked like the hole rose sharply, so they’d be climbing as well as crawling.
“Keelin?” Cathal asked, and Ryann realised how little she had heard from the pilot.
“I’m not good at this.” She shrugged, and looked away. The loss of the Proteus was hitting Keelin hard.
And yet Keelin had chosen to explore the caves.
“Ryann?” Cathal asked.
She focused on the trails, and followed them. Some climbed into the hole, and more used the larger path. But the majority filled the path to the right. The rock on the ground was smooth, although this spread to the walls, and so Ryann doubted it was from the tread of many feet. It was more likely that this tunnel had been carved by water.
One of the other foundations of life, she thought. The moss and lichen clung to the edges of the cave, where they could pull moisture from the air, and drink heavily from the rain that streaked the rock. If whatever left these traces could survive with reduced light, it would still need water. So this tunnel made sense.
“This one,” she said, and might have justified her decision, but Cathal nodded instantly.
“Okay,” he said. “Everyone, keep recording. We travel slow. Capture anything of interest and broadcast. Ryann, you’re on point.”
She nodded, and stepped into the tunnel.
In the confined space, the trace was stronger, and the death stench a constant background note. She ran a hand over the rock, imagining how water once flowed over it.
Follow the water, she told herself. It must have come from above. And whatever left that trace would need to drink. Follow the water to find life.
But a small voice at the back of her mind told her that life needed more than water.
It also needed to feed.
Cathal felt better when he was moving. Always had done. Sitting down made him think of paperwork, and that pushed him into apathy. But when he walked, blood flowed better, and his thoughts moved faster.
Ryann was holding out on him. Not lying exactly, but covering up her thoughts. Cathal could go through her data, but she was smart. He knew how she could hide the important stuff in plain view. He’d look too deep, and he’d miss what she really thought.
He checked his emotions. His annoyance wasn’t with Ryann, or with any of the others. True, Tris was wimping out, Keelin was retreating, and Brice was a whole swarm of concerns. But Cathal could deal with that. Easier than playing politics back at Haven.
No, he was annoyed at the situation. And, yes, the lies—no, misinformation—Kaia-bloody-hive had fed him.
There was the missing crew, for starters. The mission briefing said they were to check out irregular signals picked up by a long-range drone. That was it. No details on these signals, and no indication of how the crew should respond. Usually, something that far from Haven, there were strict protocols—search in half-hour bursts, feed back reports regularly, only split up in certain, pre-defined situations, yadda yadda yadda. The mission briefings were usually full of bullet-points some desk-jockey on Metis had vomited up.
But the briefing for this mission had none of that.
When Cathal dug deeper—and he hated having to call in a favour from Piran, that slimy bottom-feeder—he was surprised at how quickly the crew were dispatched. And how little additional information they were given. Nothing about the spread or nature of these signals. Or about the dead warth, further along the gully. According to the drone’s data, there was no sign of broken bones, so a fall seemed unlikely. There was a deep wound in its neck, but little blood.
The crew’s commander was Nels Kollias, and although Cathal didn’t know him well, he knew of the man’s reputation. Solid, but he wasn’t one to work hard. He wouldn’t have dug any deeper. He wouldn’t have a clue about the warth.
He’d led his crew blindly into the gully, searching for something capable of killing a warth.
Cathal had no doubts that Nels had led his crew to their deaths. His own mission wasn’t search-and-rescue, but recovery of assets.
If Kaiahive expected him to lead his crew as blindly as Nels did, they had another thing coming. Screw the mission—crew always came first.
But he wasn’t sure this lot were up to it. Oh, they weren’t a bad bunch, but they were too young. Kids. Keelin was a great pilot, maybe one of the best he’d seen, but she was still wet behind the ears. Separated from the Proteus, she was dead weight. And Tris—the lad was a genius with tech. Cathal got that. But he’d be better off in Haven, or even back on Metis. He wasn’t cut out for action.
Then there was Brice. The most troublesome of the three, undoubtedly, but also the one with the greatest potential. Ryann might have been ribbing him earlier, but Cathal did see some of himself in the greenest of the crew. The defiance of authority, the disdain for others—dangerous attitudes, but in small doses Cathal knew they gave an edge where it mattered. Like earlier, when Brice had fired his lash. Yes, it was a bloody stupid thing to do, and Cathal had to hold himself back from ripping the kid to shreds over it. But he’d seen a threat, and he’d responded. He’d taken the initiative.
But if his lattice was playing up, he’d lose that edge. Cathal didn’t want to be carrying more dead weight. This wasn’t going to be a stroll in the park.
Ryann led them along tunnels that, to Cathal, seemed too smooth. And the roof was too low. He would have preferred the larger passage, but even then he knew he wouldn’t feel settled. He didn’t like the thought of having so much rock over his head, just waiting to come down.
If it happened, he hoped it would be quick. Better a sudden, final blow to the head than a drawn-out death in a sealed tomb.
Cathal almost asked if she meant ‘won’t’ instead of ‘can’t’. Instead, he sussed,
That was too vague, even for Ryann. And she was choosing her words with too much care.
The newbies were oblivious to this, and Cathal watched them trudge along, scanning to the left and right. Only Brice looked up, he noticed. Seemed to be a little unsteady when he did so, but at least the lad was keeping his wits about him.
Not that there was much to see, even with night-vision filters. Ryann pushed through the black, and it was like the darkness opened for them, only to close up behind Cathal. He saw it enveloping them, like some malignancy. They were a bubble in the depths, only surviving because nature let them. And nature was ever-fickle.
Oh, hell—he was getting all fancy. He shook his head to clear his thoughts. He’d put all that garbage behind him. Facts—that was what mattered. Leave the poetry to the old and the weak.
The rock was further from his head now. And the tunnel became a long, narrow chamber. There was a narrow ledge some five metres up, and Cathal saw dark patches that he was certain were holes. How far back they went, he couldn’t say.
Ryann slowed her pace, following his implied instruction.
The tunnel was about five metres across now, and the crew spread out, then formed a circle. At least they’d all paid attention to his training.
They started to scan. He’d trained them well, even though they were rough round the edges. But what could you expect after a few months? The last crew, he’d held together for over a year.
But now wasn’t the time to think of that.
He ran his own hand over the rock—undulating and grainy, like it had been filed down, and not simply water-eroded. Yet above the ledge Cathal saw cracks and bulges, the kind of thing he’d expect from rock. And the roof, way over their heads, was far from smooth.
Cathal didn’t know the exact make-up of this rock, but if there were stalactites, shouldn’t there be corresponding stalagmites? As water dripped from above, it must land. Yet the ground was as smooth as the lower part of the wall.
It wasn’t natural. It couldn’t be.
He focused on the ledge, then glanced across to the opposite wall. There was a matching ledge, with more holes. And higher up, a second ledge, only that one was more ragged, or maybe it was less manufactured.
Ryann’s voice was a sharp whisper, and Cathal instantly dropped his stance, knees bent and legs ready. One hand rested near his lash, although he knew he wouldn’t draw it. Not yet.
The others copied his stance, although only Brice fell into it naturally. The lad’s head moved slowly, whereas the others jerked one way then another, and their eyes were too wide.
No, Cathal thought. You don’t think, you know. You’ve been tracking it.
She should have mentioned it earlier.
He looked behind, pulling up filters. But he caught nothing.
He still couldn’t see anything. Whatever Ryann had sensed must be hiding. Unless she was mistaken. But Cathal didn’t believe that.
It was wrong to snap, but goddamn that kid could be dense at times, especially for someone so bright.
But if it wasn’t a warth—which it wasn’t—what was it?
That was too vague for comfort.
There was a slight hesitation before she nodded, turned, and walked slowly away. The others fell into line behind her, keeping to the dead centre of the path.
So it was up to inference and logic. The thing moved from hole to hole without using the ledge, which meant the holes were connected. Most feasible explanation—a second tunnel, running behind the ledge.
And, again, that couldn’t be natural. Especially not when the holes seemed too evenly spaced. Like observation posts, or some strange theatre.
What did she mean by that?
The distance between the ledges was pushing ten metres now. Was it possible for something to jump that gap without making a sound?
The lad looked down, almost surprised, then holstered the weapon. His hand shook without something to occupy it.
She paused.
That was no comfort at all.
So, analyse. The ledges were ten metres up, with smooth rock that offered no clear climb. But—if he trusted Ryann on this—their watcher could leap a distance like that. And there was no certainty it was on its own. They didn’t know what lay beyond the holes.
Cathal had insufficient data to form a clear assessment. He wasn’t going to make the same mistake as Nels.
He could feel the relief flowing from the crew.
That didn’t come across as light as he intended, and he doubted the smile helped. But she nodded and took a step back, behind Keelin.
He turned, pushing his fears deep down. If the thing had been following them, they were now approaching it. But there was no avoiding this. Without a map, they had to retrace their steps.
Fifteen minutes, and he’d see the open air again.
Even the bloody rain would be pleasant after this.
He looked up to the roof. For a moment nausea rose, and his vision swam. He shut his eyes and brought
his head back down. This place was getting to him. At least on the Proteus he could call up external sensors and pretend he was outside. But down here, not even the air moved. It was like a tomb; stuffy and dead.
But it was logical to explore. They had part of the tunnels mapped now, even if it was only a small part. And they knew of another creature. That would surely be of interest to the company. That might make up for failing to find the missing crew.
The tunnel narrowed, the walls closing in, green-tinged in his filters. The roof would be lower, too. He could sense the weight of the rock above him.
Cathal glanced up, one arm out to balance. He saw the ledge, and the shadows.
His vision swirled as the shadows moved, and darkness crashed down on him.
Brice heard a yell as the black shape fell on Cathal. The man disappeared, pinned down by shadowy limbs. A howl cut through the air, and Brice saw a mouth, wide and black, lined with fangs. The mouth jerked sharply, and the fangs vanished into the shadows as Cathal screamed in agony.
Brice dropped to a crouch and raised his lash, crosshairs ready. He heard voices; curses and yells, maybe instructions. He pulled up more filters, desperate to see into the shadows. To see what he was aiming at.
There was a crack, and the air by Brice’s head surged forwards with an ozone blast. For a moment his vision burst with light, and a deep rolling roar filled his ears. There was more shouting. Brice shouted too, waving his lash in the air, and only now realising he could no longer see the sights. Or anything else.
Something barrelled into him, forcing him back. Brice threw his free hand forward, and it struck something leathery and cold.
There was a dry, rasping hiss in his ears, and a coppery, rancid stench smothered his face. He felt warm splashes on his skin, and he didn’t want to know what they were.
Brice brought his lash up and forward, and when it met resistance he pushed harder. Whatever was there pushed back, and Brice squeezed the trigger. For a moment he felt a call to his lattice, requesting targeting, but the call was too far away, and he repeated the squeeze, going into automatic manual override. He felt the surge of energy, and then his arm flew backwards, twisting his body.