“Have you found anything?” Althea’s voice cut through the static buzzing in his ear. Traejan had to dial up the gain again, as the additional layers of walls weakened the signal. He screwed the dial up to maximum, hoping that would serve.

“Nothing yet,” he replied.

He had been teamed with Amek Goa; didn’t complain, although the man did walk too close to him – smiled too much.

The chamber around them was strewn with fragments, real micronics – but – pieces, just pieces.

They swung the beams from their torches, illuminating the signs of what was no longer there. Gutted blocks might have had trinary systems, might have been an element of the city’s main communications nodes. Goa stood at a wall, hands going over the ports, empty tubes, burned conduits. The black, brown and green oxidization and floor to ceiling water stains suggested the chamber had been cleared out decades ago. Traejan kicked at a pile of plates, dislodging some of the micronics boards that had fused together.

They were all useless, closer examination revealed. He shined a light through the scratched surfaces, examined the broke edges, snapped the brittle material in his hands. It was damp, cold, six levels beneath the surface of the city. Decade upon decade of temperature changes had fractured their delicate structure. Goa returned from his investigations, wiping his gloved hands.

“The woman seems to have missed out.”

Traejan shrugged.

“It’s a big city,” he replied without much enthusiasm.

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“Yeah,” the tall man replied. “Maybe too big.”

The bud in his ear buzzed.

“Traejan?” It was Althea again, a little strain in her voice. “Have you heard anything from Nur bek Nur and Peca?”

He hadn’t.

“Try contacting them,” she ordered. “I think they’ve gone deeper than my signal can reach.

He looked at Goa, swore, fiddled with his transceiver.

“What is it?” the man asked, watching Traejan.

“Althea’s having trouble contacting Nur and Peca,” he replied. “Probably they’ve gone behind a reinforced wall or floor or something.”

He pressed down two buttons again.

“Peca, Nur bek Nur, can you hear me? It’s Traejan.”

Static filled his ears. He tried to dial up the signal – repeated the request; closed his eyes, concentrating.

“Please respond.”

“…Not clear…” That was Peca.

“Where are you?!”

“…Supposed…in the control…” The signal was faint, distorted.

He turned to Goa, who was standing close by – too close, again – tried to relax.

“They’re where they are supposed to be, I think,” he told the man, fingering the buttons again.

“I’ve reached them,” he told Althea.

“Where are they?”

“In the lower control center, I think. There was a lot of static.”

“You are the closest to them. Check it out and let me know as soon as you can.”

Great, down into the depths again. At least it wouldn’t be as claustrophobic as his last rescue. He hoped.

“We goin’ down.” Goa raised his thin eyebrows.

“Yes,” Traejan confirmed, then called back to Althea. “On our way. You may want to get over here, so that we can stay in touch.

“We will,” she confirmed.

He heard a click, saw that Goa had his weapon out.

“Mech country,” the man explained. “Gotta expect the worst.”

Traejan had to agree, pulled out his weapon, headed out in the direction of the lower control trunk systems. Soon, they could see signs of the others’ passage– open stairwell door, wet footprints in the semi–frozen puddles of water. The only sounds were their breathing, footsteps, dripping water. A couple flights down, he tried the transceiver again.

“Can you hear me now?”

“…Hear you better…” he heard Nur reply. “…problem…”

“What sort of problem?”

“…Hear…what?… That?” The man’s voice sounded alarmed. Traejan turned to Goa – worried, anxious.

“We’d better move!”