Unreconciled

by W. Michael Gear

  He lowered his wife to her feet, saying, “Keep a hand on my belt. The footing’s a little treacherous.” Then he fingered around for the rope, felt an invertebrate scuttle its way across the back of his hand.

  I really hate this place.

  “I thought I was going to die,” Dya whispered behind him. “God, Mark. I’ve never been so scared.”

  “You were almost to the bottom. It was only about a meter. I could see your silhouette as you fell. Told you I’d be here for you.”

  “Do you know how much I love you?” she whispered. “If I don’t make it . . .”

  “We’re going home to Su, Kylee, and the kids. You’ll see.”

  He felt it when Muldare’s feet found the rope. “That’s it, Briah. Just like basic training.”

  “Fuck you, Talbot,” she called down. “I was always your beat on a fast rope.”

  He held it for her, watching the flashlight beam darting this way and that as she descended, the light obviously held in her teeth. As she reached the bottom, he could see the gallery they were in. Sickly pale invertebrates kept fleeing like a receding wave before the light. The floor continued to slant down, a second tube coming in from the side to join theirs.

  “Supervisor?” Muldare asked, shining her light up.

  “Damn, it’s dark up here,” Aguila’s voice called down. “Okay, there’s a little light refracted. Hold the flash steady. Right there. That’s good.” And then, “I’m coming down.”

  Mark got hold of the rope, thankful that Muldare’s light was shining up. At least he’d have warning if the Supervisor’s body came plummeting down.

  “I should have been last,” Muldare noted. “I’m trained for this.”

  “Yeah? Fleeing through lava tubes on a planet thirty light-years from Solar System? Pursued by twenty-second-century space cannibals who are going to save the universe by dismembering and eating people? All the while knowing that if nothing in here kills us, we still have to survive virgin forest full of things that want to make a meal of us? What part of training did I miss?”

  Muldare gave him a wry twist of the lips as she said, “Asshole.”

  Aguila found the rope. He felt it whip as the woman clamped her feet on the first knot.

  Talbot grinned to himself as the rope snapped back and forth in his grip. Not that he needed to worry about Kalico. After the three of them had descended, no way the Supervisor wasn’t going to make it to the bottom. Didn’t matter that her heart was going to be in her throat, Kalico Aguila was going to hit bottom looking like she’d never even broken a sweat.

  And she did, almost stumbling for footing, as she stared around at the sloping tunnel.

  “How far do you think?” she asked.

  “No telling,” Talbot told her, taking the lead and feeling his way down the slope.

  “Any of the rest of you as thirsty as I am?” Muldare asked.

  “Dryer than the desert,” Dya agreed, seeming to pull courage from somewhere deep inside.

  “Turn the light this way. PA should be scrambling. We’re way overdue.” Aguila held up her wrist monitor in the flash’s glow. “Shit. It’s been ten hours since we started down this tunnel. How far does this go?”

  That’s when Muldare said, “Maybe you haven’t been noticing, but as the bearer of the light, I have. Eyes adjust to illumination so it’s hard to keep track. When we started, my beam was good for close to a hundred meters of tunnel. Now we’re down to maybe thirty. My advice, people, is that we make time while we’ve still got light.”

  Talbot glanced at the beam. Realized it didn’t hurt his eyes as badly.

  “Yep. Move it. Muldare, you’re right behind me lighting my way. Supervisor, Dya, you stay hard on her heels. Let’s go.”

  And he hurried down the sloping surface.

  Problem was, he had to have Muldare’s light tucked close behind him. He dared not step into a shadow—since on more than one occasion it was a hole that dropped away into unknown depths. Nor did he trust the occasional huge invertebrate that skittered from their path. The things were supposed to be bug-sized, right? So what was with the big ones—the size of lobsters—that fled this way and that? The things looked lethal with barbs, claws, and spikes sticking out of their bodies.

  Anyone who’d lived on Donovan knew that when it came to critters, anything that looked like a weapon was. They also knew that while Donovanian wildlife was deadly to humans, in many cases, a person’s only safety lay in the fact that said wildlife had never seen a human before, and usually didn’t know they were edible.

  But if so much as one of the big bugs figured that out?

  As the light began to dwindle, Talbot had to ask himself: Shit on a shoe, where’s the end of this thing?

  With the others crowded close, he edged around a vertical stone column, scattering a chittering horde of clicking and scurrying creatures. Here the tube divided. So, which way?

  “There!” Muldare pointed with the dying light.

  A faint arrow was scratched in the basalt pointing to the left-hand tunnel.

  “At least it’s not an A.S.,” Muldare noted.

  “A what?” Dya asked.

  “Arne Saknussemm.” Muldare glanced back and forth. “Didn’t any of you read Jules Verne?”

  “Who?” Aguila asked.

  Talbot hurried into the tube, stumbled, and almost fell headlong into a dark hole that dropped away on the left side of the cavern.

  “Dya?” Talbot called as his heart tried to hammer its way out of his chest. “How you doing?”

  “Okay, Mark.” But her voice was shaky, on the edge of panic.

  “Supervisor?”

  “You forget, Marine. I run a mine.” Aguila’s voice had a forced joviality. “I’m used to holes. And these don’t have explosives drilled into the rock at the end.”

  Yeah, but you also have elevators that you can ride out into the sunlight.

  Talbot shinnied past on the lip of the hole as Muldare’s fading light illuminated the way. Ahead, he could see nothing in the depths but an eternal blackness.

  Under his breath, Talbot whispered, “Get me out of here, God, and I’ll live the rest of my life in the out of doors under an open sky.”

  But the slanting tunnel just kept winding ever deeper into Donovan’s depth. They made their way, step by step, clambering over humps of rock, squeezing through tight spots, avoiding bottomless drops, for another three hours.

  As the light flickered out, they found the end of the line: a door set into the basalt. Wouldn’t have been a problem, but the damn thing was locked.

  From the outside.

  And then Muldare’s beam went dead, leaving them in the pitch black.

  51

  When did a nightmare end and mind-numbing terror begin? Where was the line? Nothing had prepared Vartan for the things he’d just survived. Nothing. Not even the Harrowing and Cleansing.

  During those terrible days people had been ritually murdered, their bodies carefully cut into pieces, cooked, and reverently consumed. If it was truly the universe’s will, it made sense.

  What he had just witnessed? Just survived?

  Incomprehensible.

  Vartan staggered back, away from the last of the trees and onto bedrock, making sure he kept his feet moving. That the thin roots here couldn’t take hold. Twisting, he turned the rifle to cover every approach; the fear-shakes finally took possession of his muscles.

  Tried to swallow.

  Couldn’t.

  That slimy feeling down in his guts urged him to stop. To void his now-liquid bowels of their fear. Breath chattered in his panic-spasming lungs.

  Nothing made sense.

  Stop. Think. What happened?

  Fifteen people had accompanied him down into the forest. Per orders, he’d broken them into three teams. Given each a directi
on to search. His team had consisted of Mars Hangdong, Hap Chi, Sima Moskva, Will Bet, and Tuac Sao. With Tikal’s teams, they had made the long climb down the south trail, the slow and awkward descent from the heights evidence of the poor physical condition they were in. They’d reached the bottom, exhausted. Were resting on a stone outcrop, away from the roots, when the airtruck had roared off overhead.

  Vartan had seen a body fall from the side. Thought it was a female. Tried to make sense as to who would be thrown out of the vehicle so wantonly, let alone why the thing was in the air. Svetlana and Hakil were supposed to be guarding the vehicle.

  Leaving that for later—once his party had caught their second wind—he had waved farewell as Tikal’s parties had spread out from the base of the trail.

  For him and his team it had been magical; the journey north along the basalt had been a revelation: the sights, the realization of life in every direction, and most of all, the colors, smells, and sounds. After so many years locked in the prison of Deck Three, here, spinning all around them in a tapestry of blues, greens, cerulean, and yellows and reds, the forest was like a dream come true. Just inhale and pull the perfume into the lungs. Listen to the rising and falling chime.

  Magic.

  They’d laughed, leaped from stone to stone, marveled at the roots that squirmed under their feet. Stared up at the brilliant blue of the sky and the beams of light cast through the branches by Capella.

  They’d located the door that marked the tunnel exit. Chained and locked, it meant either the Supervisor’s party had found it open, chained it to keep pursuit from following, or they were still locked inside. He’d studied the ground. Could see no tracks, but that didn’t mean anything. Vartan was a city person who wouldn’t know a track unless it was glaring.

  If his quarry was locked inside, well and good. He had them. If not, he needed to know. Leaving Mars Hangdong to guard the door, he’d taken Sima, Will, Tuac, and Hap Chi to run a quick sweep into the forest as insurance that Aguila wasn’t ahead of them.

  Nothing big, just check a couple of hundred yards into the deep forest. Besides, he wanted to see. To walk under the towering giants and marvel at the sights and miracle of the place.

  At the edge of the basalt flow, some weird plant had grabbed Will Bet as he stepped beneath it. What looked like giant yellow-black-and-red-striped flowers had fastened onto Will’s neck and arm. Jerked him up high and out of reach. The flowers had proceeded to bite down on the screaming Will. Damn thing wasn’t fazed when Vartan shot a couple of rounds through the thick stalk. The only reaction came from the plant’s roots as they slithered out of the ground in his direction, cutting off retreat back the way they’d come.

  In horror, they’d fled down the tumbled basalt and into the darkness of the forest. Scrambled across a tangle of giant roots. Realized the damn things were twisting! Slowly, but surely.

  Sima Moskva, mother of two, was next. Something resembling knee-high stalks, pale on the bottom and dark brown on the tips, exploded in some kind of spores that puffed into Sima’s face. Sent her into convulsions on the spot. She had fallen, bucking, gagging, her eyes protruding from her head.

  . . . And died within moments as the roots she lay on began to writhe and wind around her body. Trying to resuscitate her, Tuac Sao was seized by the same convulsions, having caught a whiff of the spores.

  With the roots slipping around their feet, Vartan and Hap had fought a battle to pull away. Barely managed to jerk their way free. Each got a grip on Tuac, tried to hoist the choking, gagging man from the encircling roots. Couldn’t.

  They’d stumbled back, watched in awed horror as the roots wound around the dead Sima and dying Tuac. Didn’t take more than ten minutes total before the thick bunching of squirming root mass had totally engulfed both bodies.

  “Vart?” Hap had said. “We’ve got to get out of here.”

  “Yeah,” he’d panted, consumed by fear.

  But trying to get back?

  Which way? He was all turned around.

  The faintest of screams carried through the chime. Had to be Mars. Vartan hurried off across the roots, realized that the ones that were squirming marked his back trail.

  Hadn’t gone more than ten meters before he heard the hollow impact. A sodden thud. Like someone dropping a melon from a height onto a duraplast floor. Vart had scrambled the rest of the way down the root mat. Turned, figuring that Hap had fallen, and he would help him back to his feet.

  Nothing.

  Hap was gone.

  Vanished.

  Looking up, Vart thought he saw movement up in the trees. Couldn’t be sure.

  Again, a scream from the direction of the basalt flow.

  Somehow Vartan had staggered up onto the basalt flow, panting, falling, tripping over his own feet. He’d kept the rifle, hadn’t lost it in his panic. He’d veered wide around where the flower-thing was chewing on Will’s head and arm.

  The door remained chained.

  “Mars!”

  Nothing but a slight variation in the chime answered him.

  Vartan paced before the door, looking for any sign. Blood. Scuffed dirt. Something dropped.

  But he found nothing. The only thing moving was the thin layer of roots that quivered and extended in sinuous patterns across the shallow soil.

  “Mars? Where are you?”

  Only the endless chime filled his hearing.

  Vartan came raggedly to his senses. Realized he was sobbing. Had been for some time.

  Terrified down to the marrow in his bones, he wiped tears from his eyes and turned his steps back for the trail. They’d been what, no more than fifteen or twenty minutes here? And he was the only one left?

  Veering wide around the gaudily colored plants—shivers wracking his muscles—Vartan tried to cover everything with the rifle. Not that shooting the monster-flower plant had saved Will.

  At the trail up, he flopped onto the exposed stone, panted for breath. Tried to find some sort of sanity down in his reeling and tumbling thoughts.

  I’m supposed to be the strong one. Trained in security.

  And all he had left was consuming terror.

  A scream. Barely audible, carried from out in the forest.

  Vartan turned to stare out at the vast expanse of green, blue, and turquoise. Was it human? It had been so faint, almost drowned by the chime.

  Tikal’s parties were supposed to be out there. They’d been sweeping the forest behind Vart’s group. Had fanned out from the bottom of the trail.

  Scarlet birds burst from the forest canopy, started flying his way.

  Vartan cried out, remembering the stories of some flying creature that sliced a man’s flesh from his bones.

  He pulled up the rifle, fired a burst. Missed. Nevertheless, the flying things veered off and dove into the trees.

  Got to get out of here.

  Some deep well of terror gave life to his exhausted muscles. Whimpering, sometimes sobbing, he scrambled up the steep trail. He climbed until exhausted. Flopped onto the unyielding basalt, unable to go farther. Panting, spent, he gave up. Closed his eyes, waiting for . . . what? Surrender?

  Death?

  Nothingness?

  He came to. A sound, a shadow, a hint of movement at the edge of his vision sent him scrambling in panic. Breath tearing at his lungs, he swung the rifle around. Couldn’t place the threat. Climbed. His feet kept slipping and sliding for purchase given his slick-soled city shoes.

  And he made it. Fell weeping on the basalt caprock atop the mesa. The sight of the domes and fields just past the solar collectors was like a miracle of salvation.

  After gathering his wits, he struggled to his feet; the heavy rifle hung from his trembling hands. Thirsty. So thirsty. Exhausted like he’d never been.

  He managed to stumble his way to the admin dome. Stared at the mangled remains
of a woman laid beside the door.

  Her face was a bloody wreck; the limbs were broken, rudely askew. The oddly short and contorted torso didn’t make sense—at least until he realized her back and hips had to be broken and compressed. Like a human who’d been crushed five inches shorter by a macabre hammer blow. Which explained why her left leg was dislocated so high up on her hip, as if growing out of her waistband. And then there was the bruising and blood.

  The scars. So familiar.

  Svetlana?

  He wavered on his feet, blinked. Kept trying to understand the impossibility of what he was seeing.

  This broken bone and meat wasn’t Svetlana. She was his lover. His friend.

  “She fell from the airtruck,” Marta’s soft voice said from behind him. “Shyanne and Tamil stole it. Flew it away. Svetlana and Hakil tried to stop them . . . were clinging to the outside. Svetlana landed in the garden. Hakil fell into the forest off to the east.”

  Svetlana?

  Could this cold and brutalized pile of maimed flesh be the woman he’d come to . . .

  The world turned glassy in Vartan’s vision: He saw it waver, fade, and slide slowly to the side. Thought he heard the distant chatter of automatic weapons fire from somewhere below the rim. Then a singing and ringing sound drowned it out.

  The last thing he remembered was his body hitting the ground. Even that faded into a gray haze.

  52

  As Kalico watched—hands clamped hard to her ears—muzzle flash worked to illuminate the door. Even so, the sound deafened in the confines of the lava tube. Talbot adjusted his aim. Fired another burst. Without hearing protection, the guy had to be in physical pain, given the way Kalico’s ears rang.

  Holes, shining light could be seen in the door.

  Talbot threw his weight against the door, slamming the thing open. Daylight spilled in and Kalico, holding Dya’s hand, stumbled out into Capella’s blinding glare. Here, near the base of the cliff, scrubby aquajade and stonewood—stunted by the thin topsoil—poked up through some curious species of ferngrass. It had a paler blue tint than what she was used to at Port Authority.