TRANSMISSION L-601-502.9
CLASSIFIED
Received 14:22 by FSS Distance, Attn: Colonel Sangha
Origin Point: University of Torene, Astrophysics department
I know you’re ignoring my messages, you absolute nuts-for-brains space colonists. Well, I’m done being nice about it, so listen up. You need to get yourselves up to a Code Black Deadly Emergency or whatever the hell you call a potential world-ending threat in Fleet jargon. That your captain out there managed to send a message out is incredible—seriously a miracle, it could save all of our lives, if you’d just listen to her, and to me.
You need to clear that whole sector. No humans, no drakes, get them all out. I don’t care what dinky little mines and settlements you have all set up, Broken Tether needs to be a NO-FLY ZONE. You need to QUARANTINE that shit, and everyone who comes out of the sector needs a PSYCHIC EVAL before they can be allowed within ten light-years of Earth.
I get it, you think I’m crazy! All your other pet scientists are telling you what you want to hear, that there’s no reason to panic, that the readings are anomalous but don’t necessarily mean anything. That all your little operations out there would be too expensive to cancel.
I’d say that I sympathize, but I don’t! You humans and your money obsession perplex and dismay me anew each day. And listen, maybe it just so happens things turn out in your favour. I’m not so far gone to admit I might be wrong. I suppose there’s at least a five percent margin that everything turns out fine!
But mark my words, if this turns out like I think it will, you are going to regret not listening to me. I’m telling you—get your people out of there, now. I’m not taking responsibility when the worst happens.
But then, I guess I won’t be alive to complain about it for long! I’m getting a will and testament in order and suggest you do so as well if you elect to ignore my warnings once again.
Signed with my eternal well wishes,
Your friend, Dr. Theoretical-Estuary.
END TRANSMISSION
Aven and Fallen drifted down, buoyed by warm air rising from the depths of the chasm. For a long stretch of time, the only thing they could see was the cliff wall they had leapt down from, its craggy, brown surface scattered with grass.
Eventually, a pale bluish mist rose to meet them, swirling in the wake of Fallen’s wings. Aven tried to scan the chemical makeup of the air, but it didn’t seem much different from the air on the surface, with just a trace more oxygen and humidity. Still perfectly breathable if she dared.
The further they went, the more the chasm narrowed, until they could clearly see the opposite wall peering at them through the mist. The grasses that crowded the cliff face were now interspersed with ferns and short trees growing horizontally out into the chasm. Fallen had to narrow her spiral considerably to avoid hitting them, occasionally making a swipe with her makeshift machete to clear the path.
And then, finally, the ground. The chasm was floored by a wide pool of water with a distinct pale blue tint, crowded in on all sides by plants, and wreathed in the same blue-white mist. Fallen found a small dry spot near the wall to land and took them down.
Aven immediately knelt to inspect the water. A quick analysis performed via a paper slip suggested the pool was safe. Even so, it was with the greatest caution that Aven extended the tip of her boot to touch the edge of the liquid.
It seemed a little thicker than normal water, but not dangerous. Fallen stuck a foot in as well, shrugging. Seems fine.
Now that they had reached the bottom, Aven could see no sign at all of the Oracle’s passage. She took a quick tour around the area, brushing purple ferns away from the walls. Any cracks and furrows that might have been caused by the dragging of a ship were indistinguishable from the chasm’s natural features.
There were, however, several tunnels in the walls, half-hidden beneath the growth. Most were small, just large enough to admit Aven and Fallen shoulder to shoulder; only one, gouged into the chasm’s floor at a slight downward slant, was wide enough to admit a ship. The tunnel was filled by a good two inches of liquid.
So, Fallen said with a prickle of anxiety, do we go down there?
Aven looked around for any other options. It would have been hard to drag an entire ship along the chasm, as the walls snaked around and narrowed at frequent intervals. If the ship had ended up in this area, the tunnel was really the only place it could have gone.
It’s possible we misconstrued the signs, Aven considered, resting one hand against the chasm wall as she peered into the vast tunnel. The scrape marks may have been from something else, and we jumped to conclusions.
Oh, now you say that, Fallen muttered.
Something caught Aven’s eye a little further down the tunnel: a slight iridescent shimmer responding to her light. She splashed her way over, a ceiling of rock closing in above her. A puddle of liquid had collected in a small crevice in the wall, leaking a ribbon of pearlescent chemical down into the water.
Another test slip found compounds common in Fleet-issue rocket fuel. Slowly, Aven turned to look at Fallen, who was still hovering at the tunnel’s mouth.
I guess that means we’re on the right track. Fallen took a moment to steady herself, then stepped into the tunnel after Aven. I hate going underground. Never did understand wyrms who spent all their time there.
I thought you spent some time as a wyrm before coming to Earth, Aven commented, tucking the strip away in an exterior pocket.
Yeah, in the ocean, not the dirt. Fallen offered a series of memories to emphasize her point: slicing limbless and swift through salt water, passing through the golden and turquoise coral structures at the bottom of the Draconae sea. Frankly, I prefer to be a wyvern. Much better flight stamina. But they said I needed hands when I came to work here for the Fleet, so drake form it was.
How inconvenient for you.
I know! Who needs hands!? Fallen exclaimed as she fell into step beside her.
The tunnel was crowded with plants which gently susurrated in the dark. There was a heavy quality to the sound, even to the air itself—the atmosphere felt close and soupy as they descended.
Sybil was somewhere down here. She had to be. Even if they only found her corpse, Aven needed to face the reality of it. Either Sybil was alive or she was gone forever. This unexpected vanishing, which left only a flickering afterimage in the space she should have occupied in Aven’s life, was untenable.
Are you also detecting an increase in heat? Fallen asked.
Yes. Already four degrees warmer than the surface. As Aven kept an eye on the readings, it ticked up to five. Fifteen minutes into their hike and it was twenty, causing the cooling system in the suits to engage. The mist was thick, blocking the glow from Aven’s helmet light only a few inches out from her face like a wall.
Aven’s suit should have been able to approximate the depth at which they were travelling, but the pressure readings flickered uselessly. Fallen’s readings were much the same.
It felt deep, anyway. The weight of all the rock and stone above their heads was like a hand pressing down, impossible to ignore. Fallen seemed to expect the tunnel to narrow and squish them in as they continued but, if anything, the path grew wider as they went. Soon, the walls on either side were obscured by the mist.
Aven’s foot hit something, hard, and she swore under her breath, staggering back. The suit dulled the pain of the impact, but the real danger was a puncture. For a few tense seconds, she watched the readings—no alerts for structural integrity. She was good, this time.
As for what she had kicked… she kneeled down, groping blindly in the mist. Her glove splashed through the shallow water and then bumped against something hard.
It was a giant hunk of white-chrome plating, several inches thick and twisted into a cruel, jagged point where it had been torn off a ship’s hull. Aven fished around and found more debris scattered in the water—metal shards, bolts, wiring, and scraps of cloth and plastic.
They moved ahead more slowly, occasionally forced to stop and shove heavier scraps aside. One nearly blocked the way entirely: a ten-foot tall curve of plate rising from the mist, reflecting their small, suited bodies in the scratched chrome.
Aven and Fallen put their shoulders to the blockage, managing to shimmy the massive plate toward one wall. Partway there, it caught on a snag in the rock. The massive plate fell to one side with a terrific clatter, announcing their presence to the entire tunnel system. They leapt away, Fallen yelping. The side of the plate that hadn’t been facing them was host to a thick, rustling carpet of ferns.
As they continued, the sheer amount of debris suggested the Oracle’s destruction had been total. It covered the cave floor in a thick layer and piled up against the walls. There were pieces from its inner mechanisms, canned supplies, and the crew’s personal effects: cracked picture frames and discarded tchotchkes nestled in the grass. It was as if the ship had been torn apart from the inside out.
Abruptly, the pressure changed. Aven instantly felt lighter in a way that her suit’s biometrics couldn’t verify—it only seemed that the insistent pressing hands of the earth had let up, giving them space to breathe.
The air was moving. It billowed softly, like breath, taking the mist along with it in viscous swirls. When Aven waved a hand, the mist parted, allowing her to see more of their surroundings. A dark cavern, wide, much wider than the tunnel entrance. Plants crowded every surface, waving minutely. There was enough space here to host trees as well, which grew straight as an arrow from wherever they were placed, be it horizontal on the walls or upside-down hanging from the ceiling. More pieces of the Oracle were strewn throughout the area.
The liquid they had been splashing through was deeper, nearly reaching Aven’s calves. Something about the floor underneath felt different under her boots. It seemed to have slightly more give than the stone that she had been walking on so far.
Aven! Look! Fallen was suddenly vibrating with tension beside her.
Aven followed her gaze and time stopped. Up ahead, wreathed by curling mist, leered a significant portion of the Oracle’s interior. A whole section of flooring, part of a wall, and several consoles had been ripped from the bridge in one chunk—or maybe this was all that was left of the ship after the rest of it had been shredded. A high-backed captain’s chair, facing away from them, was still bolted to the floor. Somebody was sitting in it.
Aven reached for her gun, heart pounding. Let’s approach.
That’s Sybil! Isn’t that Sybil? Fallen demanded. Aven could sense she wanted to rush forward immediately, but with an effort of will fell into step with Aven.
The person in the chair had the same short, red hair as Sybil, and seemed to be wearing a Fleet-issue uniform, but something wasn’t right. Aven could feel her own pulse buzzing. I don’t know, Fallen. Just stay with me here.
Always.
Step by step, they approached. It was impossible to move silently through the water, which gradually deepened to knee level, but the person in the chair did not respond to the noise. When Aven raised the gun to point it at them, her hands were steady.
“Identify yourself,” she said.
The body on the chair twitched. Slowly, its head rolled, one pale grey eye looking back over the headrest at Aven. “Captain Eleanor Sybil. You should know that, Lieutenant Bright.”
It looked like Sybil. It looked exactly like Sybil, yet all of Aven’s senses were screaming at her that something was wrong.
