The bright white light flickered out, plunging the make-shift office into darkness, leaving only the faint scent of mildew but hiding the sight of peeling putrid green paint on the metal walls. A single bed with rumpled grey sheets tucked away on the far side of the wall was the only hint of comfort in the otherwise austere office.
Katherine Murdock stared at the plethora of documents spread before her on her desk, waiting for the lights to eventually and consistently flicker back on. Her bleach-blonde bangs, which had escaped their ponytail long ago, hung in front of her face, framing her eyes, but she, didn’t seem to notice as she remained too focused on the problem at hand.
Time stretched out, an unbearable weight, before she finally groaned, her voice thick with weariness, the sound reverberating in the silent darkness. The room remained in its darkened state as the lights refused to come on. Placing her report down on the desk, she felt around for her com under the pile of papers, the smooth metal of it cool to her fingers, before placing it on her ear.
“Sergeant Keenan?” she said, her voice filled with a mix of frustration and urgency.
“Kitty-Kat? It’s been what…two hours and you’re already missing me? You’re really making me blush now,” the sergeant purred over the line, his voice carrying a hint of amusement.
“Cut the crap. Why are the strakes down?” she growled, her fist tightening around any paper she could grab, the sound of its crinkling filling the stillness of the room. The success of the mining operation was crucial for her. Her father’s legacy and her own standing hung in the balance, depending on the outcome of this endeavor. The air seemed to crackle with tension as she waited with bated breath.
She heard his deep, weary sigh before he replied. “The drill needed the last fully juiced strake. We’ve been using the recycles on the base.” His words, like icy claws, dug into her, leaving a chilling mix of fear and confusion that tightened her stomach into a knot.
Katherine, or Kat as she preferred to be called, found that explanation illogical. The short, ugly, mole-like Qhauls, with their overly large shovel-like claws that could dig through the hardest rocks, finally found a vein a few days prior. The pungent aroma of mildew filled Kathrine’s nostrils, reminding her of the vile creatures infesting her station. She yearned to eradicate them but was bound by the Intergalactic Pact, signed by the human government, preventing her from exterminating the nasty vermin. Instead, she puts their blind beady eyes and long snout with sharp claws used for burrowing into thick rock formations to use in the mine below.
Unfortunately, their recent discovery caused them to lose half their Qhauls in a cave-in. The collapsed cave was devastating, shaking the ground from even where Kat worked nestled in the compound’s safety. That cost them a drill. It took the crew four days to reopen the vein. This particular vien was big enough to provide for their small operation for the coming months and equip thirty military ships.
“We’ve lost that vein,” Sergeant Keenan reported. “One of the Shanker discovered a comb.” The Shankers were the species she despised the most, even more than the Quals. The silent creatures, bound by chains, could perceive dangers that lurked in the shadows. Their gentleness towards the Quals was useful. Shankers’ grotesque face would be the stuff of nightmares if they were not a Pacific race. The black skin that hung off them in hundreds of string-like substances, giving off a smell of decay and rot, didn’t help with their appearance.
Kat’s breath caught in her throat as she realized the danger the comb posed. It wasn’t just a harmless object, but a potential home to sleeping Crek. The thought sent a chill down her spine, the hairs on the back of her neck standing on end. She quickly assessed the situation, her mind racing with a mixture of panic and determination.“How many? Any active?”
“Non active thank the stars, but there were about fourteen maybe fifteen sacs.”
“Fuck. Schedule a meeting with the quadrant leads, starting in twenty minutes.” The vein was the linchpin of her report, the one piece of evidence she needed to impress her father during her presentation that evening. With a quick flick of her wrist, she cut the connection before the other end could respond.
As she ended the call, the abrupt silence seemed to suffocate the room. She leaned against the desk, feeling the cool surface against her overheated skin, rubbing her fingers in smoothing circles around her temples. The faint buzzing of the lights returning to life filled the room, accompanied by a subtle flickering.
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With frustration mounting, Kat returned to reviewing the documents in front of her. The photo of the swarm surrounding a strake transport caught her eye, the image conveying a sense of danger and urgency. Her headache intensified, a throbbing sensation that pulsed behind her temples. She longed for the convenience of her wrist-tech, but it was stashed away to conserve energy. The feel of physical papers in her hands served as a reminder of the outdated technology she had to rely on. She smiled remembering the upcoming meeting necessitated the use of her wrist-tech, the sole device allowing communication with their mother vessel, the Vahala.
With enough light to properly navigate, Kat decided against grabbing her jacket. The dry heat of the planet enveloped her, even in the tunnels. The air felt heavy and oppressive, a constant reminder of the inhospitable environment they were in.
Leaving the bunk, Kat walked down the clanking walkway, the sound reverberating through the metal railings below her, creating an echoing clang that pierced the air. The Qhauls released their keening grunts, their cries filling the corridor, their presence felt in the controlled cages. Chains rattled with their movements, the metallic sound blending with the fridged stale air that blew down from above vents, adding to the rattling of the chains. A quick glance to her right revealed through the one-way glass panel the vast wasteland of dark grey rocks, the hills stretching endlessly before her. The metallic steps she descended served as a constant reminder of her time spent building the mine on the forsaken planet they called Zoria 849.
Approaching the air sealant portal, Kat had to pause and take a calming breath before stepping out into the world. The thin oxygen made her lungs feel heavy, each inhale a struggle. The walk to the entrance of the mining site felt like a grueling cross country race, the dry air causing her lips to chap and her throat to parch. As she reached the cave entrance, she saw one twin sun peaking above the horizon on one side, casting a warm glow, while the twilight light of the other sun hinted at its descent beyond her vision on the other side.
She met engineer Nelson, his yellow hard hat perched on his head, his whip snapped securely into its holder at his side. His thin cotton jacket, more like an over shirt, was drenched with sweat that rolled down his face and nose. He stood next to Keenan, who wore an outdated wrist-tech, their hushed tones cutting out when they saw her approaching. Her narrowing eyes conveyed her growing agitation.
They conversed in hushed tones that cut out when they saw her near. Her narrowing eyes were all the two men needed in order to know her growing agitation.
“Have the others arrived yet?” she asked, her tone tight and clipped.
“They’re near the holding cells,” Nelson said, his breath haggard, the words escaping his lips in raspy bursts. Kat observed as he hastily pulled out a worn cloth from his pant pocket, its once-gray fabric now marred with brown splotches, evidence of countless uses. She could almost smell the stale scent that clung to it, mingling with the heavy air of the underground tunnel before them. Despite her reluctance, Kat knew she had no choice but to descend into the depths. The consequences of not retrieving the vein were too severe, her father’s wrath too daunting to face.
As they ventured forward, their path illuminated by intermittent yellow lights, Kat kept her gaze fixed on the ground beneath her feet. She felt the rough texture of the tunnel floor beneath her boots, careful to avoid any loose rocks that threatened to trip her. The memory of her previous stumble still fresh in her mind, she had learned to direct her attention downwards, focusing on the immediate surroundings. And with each step, she reminded herself that she would soon leave this desolate planet, regaining her sense of authority and control. Confidence, she believed, was easier to maintain when one met others’ gazes head-on.
Despite the tunnels’ seemingly vast width, Kat always positioned herself at the rear, allowing her subordinates to lead the way. She despised the suffocating sensation that enveloped her as they moved deeper into the tunnels, the dry earth seemingly closing in on her from all sides. Even when they reached a larger cave, spacious enough to accommodate four jager jets, the pounding in her head persisted. She wondered if her companions noticed the strain in her breathing or the beads of sweat accumulating at her hairline, causing her bangs to cling uncomfortably to her forehead. She wiped the sweat from her brow, thankful for the stifling air, which gave her a physical reason for her dampness instead of her own emotional turmoil.
Along the walls, five-foot-tall cages lined the cave, looming just above Kat’s shoulder. She knew the Qhauls, their captors, would still be toiling away at this time of day, only retreating when both suns dipped below the horizon. Yet, a groan from her right caught her attention, drawing her gaze towards one of the occupied cells. A Qhaul, confined within, lay on its side, its agony apparent. A makeshift tourniquet had been hastily applied to stem the flow of blood from its amputated arm.
“Survivor of one of the cave-ins.” Keenan interrupted her perusal of the thing. ”Resilient fuckers. The rat apparently chewed through its own arm. And crawled its ass back bloody and all.”
The dimly lit cave echoed with the sound of boots scuffling the rocks below it. Disgust curled her nose at the thought of the rat’s gruesome survival story, the stench of blood and decay seemed to hang in the air. Determined, she pressed forward towards the center of the cave, her footsteps joining the chorus, echoing off the damp walls.