The Scar
Planet Irkalla, Survivor’s Refuge
4452.2.21 Interstellar
Janus was having trouble seeing straight by the time daylight lit the upper edges of the canyons. The walls felt oppressively close, and the crystal formations black and sharp, until the headlights hit them and they exploded into rainbows, throwing crazy reflections and shadows that had Janus imagining bandits or triliths around every bend.
Being so far underground meant they’d have more hours of darkness to drive in. It was slow going, though. Between the fatigue and the narrow, twisting path, they were barely averaging sixty kilometers per hour. Janus pushed them on for one more hour, one more leg of the shattered labyrinth. They had almost reached the central north-south-running canyon.
“I’m going to need to stop, soon,” Lira said.
“Okay,” Janus answered. He was tempted to just keep pushing, but Janus could hear the exhaustion in her voice, and if they’d reached the point where she was admitting she couldn’t go on, they were likely past the point they should have pulled over. “Let’s get to the main passage and make camp near the western wall. That way, we’ll be able to get an early start.”
“I’m not sure if an early start was the first thing I thought of, after today,” Lira said.
He could hear the smile in her voice, and he mirrored it. They’d driven 1,224 kilometers, almost twice the daily distance they needed to, and avoided the detour of going north.
They stopped in a small hollow of crystals that looked like water splashing at the bottom of a waterfall, frozen in place. The crystals had smooth planes and sharp edges. Janus had no doubt they would rip a suit or a day tent open in a moment of inattentiveness, and he had Lira set up their shelter with the buggies between them and the threat.
While she was doing that, he checked the vehicles, removing dust and rocks where they had built up and adjusting the pressure on one of the tires. Then, he pulled the MFC from Lira’s buggy before heading inside.
He was particularly careful with the soft airlock since Lira was inside and might have taken her helmet off already.
As he unsealed the inner flap, he walked in on Lira, stripped to the waist and cleaning herself with a small towel. Thankfully, her back was turned to him, although he got an eyeful of skin and athletic shoulders before he mentally smacked himself and focused on closing the inner flap.
“Anything wrong with the buggies?” she asked.
“No,” Janus said, keeping his eyes to himself and putting his pack down on the left side. He took his helmet off and set that down next to it. “Nothing serious, anyway. I noticed a small problem with the lead buggy’s MFC. If I fix it now, it won’t be an issue later.”
“Right,” she said, looking at him over her shoulder, angling her body away.
He dug through the side pouch of his pack, grabbing the tools he needed to pop the case. It should simply be a matter of replacing the seal on the return valve.
“Thanks,” Lira said, pulling the top half of her suit back on.
“For what?” Janus said.
“For not staring like a teenage boy. Craig used to think that just because we were on the same team, I was fair game for him to hit on. It took me months to get that idea out of his head.”
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“Nothing sexier than a woman with a catheter,” Janus said without thinking, and then he winced.
Lira laughed. “Right? And after close to fourteen hours on the road today, I was… disgusting doesn’t do it justice, but some guys are pretty single-minded. Some girls are, too, come to think of it, but that’s not me, just so we’re straight.”
“Like a ramrod,” Janus said, pulling on a pair of latex gloves, then looking back at the MFC. “Speaking of clearing the air, this cell runs on waste, so when I open it up, it’s going to smell like a fart.”
“Did you just make a fart joke about my very serious discussion about boundaries?” Lira asked with a half-grin on her face.
Janus forced a smile back. He was glad she’d spoken up, because it would save them no end of awkwardness, and he was going to strip and clean himself, too, after their equipment was taken care of. Lira was a smart, wealthy, and attractive woman he had no romantic interest in. He trusted in her competence, but not much more than that. If she hadn’t insulted him, gotten him fired, endangered Callie’s scholarship, and still thought of him as an outsider, things might have been different, but they weren’t.
He popped the MFC open. It smelled the way he’d expected it to, which oddly enough made him miss his old job and the comforts of home.
***
Wayfinder Caravan, Headed North from Prime Dome
Planet Irkalla, Survivor’s Refuge
4452.2.19 Interstellar
Ryler Abraxxis finished downloading the reports on the different aspirant teams and disconnected from the uplink. The information at his fingertips was staggering compared to the access he’d had as an adept in Prime Dome. Even his parents, both of them deacons for as long as he’d known about their activities on behalf of the cult, couldn’t see as far as he did.
They’d been so proud when Architect Nikandros had promoted him to librarian. Their child had surpassed them—and so young! There was no limit to their ambition on his behalf. One day, he might leave Irkalla for greater horizons.
He didn’t tell them he’d been spying on Prime Dome for Nikandros for years, or burden them with the greater fears that came with a wider perspective.
“Anything interesting?” Nikandros asked, putting a hand on the back of Ryler’s chair.
“Two of the teams have fatalities. The aspirant from Meadwell lost her second; he drove his buggy into a crevasse. I think she’s going to keep going, but her chances of survival are significantly lower without him, so she’ll have to find a replacement.”
“Can we make sure she runs across someone suitable?” Nikandros asked.
Ryler turned to look at his direct superior in the cult’s hierarchy. Here in the crawler, they dispensed with formalities of rank, and the old man had changed out of his mask and robes into the same gray coveralls Ryler wore. The trappings of mysticism were reserved for interacting with laypersons and the lowest-ranking practitioners. “Doesn’t that go against the spirit of the Trials?”
Nikandros chuckled at that. “The Trials are one thing. Making sure we get enough data is another. We can penalize the Meadwell team for having assisted them, but it doesn’t serve our purposes or the Survivor’s if her journey ends.”
Ryler nodded. “I’ll make the arrangements.”
“What about the other team? You said two had casualties.”
Ryler sighed. “I’m afraid this one is past our help. The team from Bankole tried to intervene in what they thought was gang dispute and turned out to be an ambush. They were killed in Gamma Station and stripped of their suits. Should I inform local security?”
“No,” Nikandros said with a scowl. “Send suit-retrieval teams to both locations, and tell the team going to Gamma Station to be thorough.”
Ryler swallowed, but he did what he was told.
The soft suits used by aspirants contained a variety of sensors that collected data on everything from simple position data to what they saw, heard, ate, drank, and excreted. Each trial represented a treasure trove of information on the different domes as well as how the individuals faced the various challenges found or placed in their way.
The Cult of the Survivor didn’t mind if the aspirants were tricked, cheated, robbed, beaten, or stranded—seeing them react to that sort of threat was the whole point. But the deliberate targeting of aspirant teams, especially this early in the Trials and for the purpose of stealing technology from the cult, would not be tolerated.
When he was done, Ryler checked on Janus’s progress and was relieved to see he was doing well, pushing harder than he had to in order to stay ahead.
If he came up with his own challenges, the wayfinders at each station might give him a pass. Then again, they might not. The best teams were also the best rocks to throw at hard problems.