City of Ruins du-2

by Kristine Kathryn Rusch

TWENTY-SIX

  It takes Mikk and Roderick nearly an hour to move enough rock for us to squeeze through. We have to slide past jagged edges that can destroy our environmental suits.

  I’m thin. I have no trouble getting past. But I worry about DeVries and Kersting. They’re big men—DeVries is tall, and despite the exercise he’s getting, Kersting is still too wide.

  I get through, sliding my back against the black wall, worrying that I’ll dislodge something else or that the groundquake will happen again and I’ll get buried under tons of rock. I continue to regulate my breathing, but it does little good.

  I’m as nervous as a new diver on a training run. It’s a good thing I don’t have to rely on my oxygen canisters. I’d use them up in record time.

  Finally, I squeeze out and there are Mikk and Roderick, their environmental suits on the floor, their shirts off, their bodies covered in sweat and black dust.

  They look better than they ever have. I want to hug them, but it would be awkward with me in my suit and them without theirs.

  “Boss?” Mikk asks.

  I nod, and then he does hug me, wrapping his powerful arms around me and pulling me close.

  Clearly he has no qualms about having my suit rub up against his bare skin.

  I step back and Roderick grins. He doesn’t hug me—people usually don’t hug me at all—and I smile at him.

  Then I realize he can’t see me through my faceplate.

  “The air’s okay here?” I ask.

  “It’s fine.”

  “The corridor’s open the rest of the way?”

  Roderick shrugs. “We were more worried about you. We didn’t hear. We thought you might be dead.”

  I thought they might be dead, too, but I don’t say that. “We didn’t know there was a groundquake.”

  “How could you not know?” Mikk asks. “That was the scariest experience of my life.”

  “The ground didn’t shake,” Roderick says. “It felt like it was coming apart.”

  I hear DeVries’s voice, but I can’t quite make out what he’s saying.

  “Let’s help them out,” I say. “Then we can debrief you.”

  We turn toward the opening and pull the Six out. Or rather, Mikk does, one by one. I step away from the rock pile and pull off my helmet. It’s warmer without the helmet, but I feel free. And I feel like I can breathe normally for the first time since I saw the debris.

  I look at the walls here. They are as unblemished as the walls inside the corridor.

  Roderick watches me. “It grew back,” he says.

  He’s not needed to help the Six out. Mikk just takes their hand, gives them a bit of encouragement, and then has them step out. Carefully he guides them to one side before reaching for the next.

  They seem as relieved as I am. All of them see that my helmet is off and remove theirs as soon as they can.

  “It was weird,” Roderick says. “It started as soon as the ground stopped moving. The rocks were falling all around us. They kept tumbling, but Mikk pointed to the wall. The black was filling in the ruined areas, and then it smoothed right out.”

  “You didn’t get hit or anything?” I ask.

  “We covered our heads and crouched—or I did. Mikk stood in the middle and looked up, figuring he could run to avoid it all. But it missed us, mostly. Some smaller rocks hit my back and shoulders, but didn’t do any damage. I don’t know if they hit Mikk.”

  I can imagine him, standing in the center of the corridor defiantly, as if challenging the falling rock to hit him.

  “We really thought you were dead,” Roderick says softly.

  “I’m sorry,” I say. “We didn’t feel anything. But when we got out…”

  I let my voice trail off. It would do no good to let them know how frightened I was. “Well, we’re not out yet, are we?”

  “No one has come down for us?” DeVries asks. He has joined our conversation. His face is shiny with sweat. I can’t tell if that’s from the exertion or the warmer temperature in the corridor without our suits on.

  “No,” Roderick says.

  “That’s not a good sign,” DeVries says.

  “It’s not?” Roderick asks.

  “Think about it,” DeVries says. “What would you do if you had a team underground and the ground shifted?”

  “I’d try to get to them,” Roderick says slowly.

  DeVries nods. “No one is here yet.”

  “Does that mean we’re trapped?” Quinte asks from behind me.

  “There’s no way to know,” I say.

  “What else could prevent them from coming?” DeVries asks.

  I look at him, surprised. He’s usually so level-headed. He sounds levelheaded, even now. But he’s not thinking clearly.

  “We’ve had damage down here,” I say. “We have no idea what’s happened on the surface.”

  The others have joined us.

  “What do you mean?” Kersting asks.

  “We only know a few facts,” I say.

  Rea starts, “The ship, the—”

  “Ship?” Mikk asks.

  “In a minute,” I say, just like I had to when we met up with Quinte and Al-Nasir. “What we know about Vaycehn is that it’s plagued occasionally by death holes. We have no idea what happens underground when a new death hole appears.”

  Mikk breathes out a curse.

  “You think there could be a new death hole on the surface?” Roderick asks.

  “I think anything’s possible,” I say. “And there’s no sense in worrying about what could be. We have to concern ourselves with what is.”

  They’re all looking at me. Quinte and Seager look frightened. Even DeVries seems uneasy.

  “And the only way to know what is,” I say, “is to carefully make our way out of here.”

  “I don’t like being underground,” Roderick says softly, speaking to me.

  “I’m not fond of it myself,” I say. “But this is where we’ve chosen to work. Let’s just be smarter about it the next time we come down here.”

  If there is a next time.

  If we get out at all.

  ~ * ~

  TWENTY-SEVEN

  We walk.

  We walk through the darkened corridors, stepping over fallen rock, dealing with dust that remains even though the walls are still covered with black. The air is humid and a little too warm for my taste, although I know it is cooler than the air on the surface.

  Sometimes I think I should put my environmental suit back on. But I don’t. Instead, I tell Mikk and Roderick about the ship.

  “I’m amazed you left the room at all,” Mikk says, but his eyes twinkle. He knows that I’m a slave to the schedule, but he also knows how tempted I can be by the unknown.

  “We had no idea that anything had changed outside,” I say. “We thought we’d take a break, sleep, eat, and come back to work.”

  Now I’m not sure when we’ll be back. I’m not sure what we’ll find when we get out.

  If we get out.

  I don’t say those things, but I know the others are thinking them. We all know they’re implied.

  Finally we reach the end of the main corridor, where we left one of the hovercarts. This area is dark, and my heart starts pounding as we get close. Something is wrong. I can sense it, but I’m not sure what I’m sensing.

  We round the corner—and stop.

  I can’t see the hovercart. There’s a pile of rock where we left it, a pile that reaches to the ceiling and stretches as far as the eye can see.

  DeVries curses. Quinte makes a small sound of dismay. I glance at Mikk.

  “Roderick,” I say, happy to have experienced people with me now, “you stay with the group. Mikk and I are going to see how far this goes.”

  Roderick nods. No one complains. Mikk and I walk forward, and as we do, he says softly, “We’ve been working with these rock piles. They’re incredibly unstable. We have to be very careful.”

  “Do you think it would be better if you and
Roderick investigate?” I ask.

  “No,” he says. “But you and the group will have to listen to me if we need to move rock. And you’re going to let me go first here.”

  I almost protest until I realize he’s right. He’s got a few hours’ more experience with this stuff than I do, and that’s a few hours more than any of us have.

  He slides into an opening along the left side—they all seem to have openings along the left side; I wonder if that means anything—and then beckons me forward.

  The enclosure is tight, almost tighter than the one we came through earlier, but it’s shorter. Mikk is standing in an open area. Another rock fall lies in front of him, and its haphazard pattern is what gave the illusion of an unbroken rock fall from farther back in the corridor.

  The back of the hovercart is here, bent forward from the weight of the rock on its front. The back end is unbroken, not even marred by dents or dust. The bench seats, however, are full of rock.

  “Where are the guides, you think?” I ask.

  Mikk shrugs. He knows as well as I do that they usually don’t wait near the hovercart. They often return to the surface while we work.

  The guides might be under the rubble. They might be just fine up above. We might not know until we get out of here.

  If the guards are under that rubble, they’re dead.

  We don’t say anything more. We walk across the unbroken part of the corridor to the next rock fall. There I peer through the opening, which is, again, on the left side.

  Through it, I can see natural light. The cave opening, up above. Several meters above, meters we’ve traveled only by hovercart so far.

  “We can get to the opening,” I say, “and there’s daylight.”

  “That’s one step,” Mikk says.

  We both know the next step will be even more difficult. Without the hovercart, getting to the surface will be incredibly hard.

  We don’t say anything, though. Instead, we return to the group.

  Mikk is going to lead them through the two rock falls. This time, I’m going to bring up the rear.

  It takes another hour to get us through this new series of fallen rocks. I don’t watch the group make its cautious way through the pile.

  Instead, I investigate the hovercart.

  The force of the rocks has crushed the front half. The back is mostly intact. The middle is damaged, but not as badly as I would have expected.

  Even though I touch the rocks and the ground near the cart with my bare ringers, I feel nothing liquid. No blood. I don’t smell anything rank either, and death without environmental suits would have a smell. When they die, people’s bladders void. Their bowels let go.

  And in this warmth, the blood itself would have an odor.

  It does not.

  I am more relieved than I want to say.

  I’m the last through the second rock fall, which is remarkably stable. I reach my group in the daylight-filled corridor. The Six sit, sharing a bottle of water. Mikk and Roderick are investigating the opening.

  The opening differs from the openings you normally find going into ships. It doesn’t come down in a straight vertical. It has a slope. The upper part of the opening is steep, but almost immediately widens into the cavern. The walls themselves go upward at an angle.

  However, that angle gets sharper and sharper the closer to the top one gets.

  There’s a built-in ladder. I’ve noticed it every time we come down. It’s precarious, and even more so now. The ground could shake again, and we’d be stuck. Whoever is on the ladder might get shaken off, might fall, might be crushed.

  Of course, the group waiting below might get crushed too.

  I saunter over to the Six as if I don’t have a care in the world. I glance up, see no obvious debris on the edge of the cave opening above, and see no visible cracks in the wall.

  “I’ll climb it,” I say.

  “Boss,” Roderick says. “We need you. If something happens…”

  He doesn’t finish the sentence.

  “If something happens, I’m in as much danger down here as I will be on that ladder,” I say. It’s not entirely true; being shaken off the ladder might make me fall, and the fall could kill me.

  “I’m not sure I can climb that,” Kersting says.

  “You don’t have to,” I say. “That’s why I’m going up. We’re either going figure out if there’s another way to lift you guys out or we’re going to pull you up with some kind of rope. I won’t know until I get up there.”

  “Boss, this isn’t like pulling someone out of a wrecked ship,” Roderick says. “We—”

  “I know,” I say. “Gravity isn’t our friend. But I need you and Mikk down here to help the others. You’re the strongest, most athletic members of this team. You can boost them if need be.”

  Roderick and Mikk can also tie rope properly, attach cable well, and can handle most emergencies. And, most important, Roderick knows how to pilot.

  “So, I’m the logical one to climb.” I sound braver than I feel. I’ve never climbed something like this in full gravity, but I have climbed, and I’m in good shape as well.

  Before I can change my mind, I stand beside the ladder.

  “I’m assuming you’ve tried to communicate,” I say to Mikk.

  He taps the communicator in his ear. “Nothing,” he says. “I shouted too.”

  I heard him do that.

  “No one has responded,” Mikk says.

  I nod. Those guides have never struck me as particularly trustworthy.

  “All right, then,” I say, and grab the rung directly in front of me before I can change my mind.

  I’m not wearing gloves. I’m surprised at the coolness of the black surface. The rung is carved into the wall, not sticking out of the wall. I expected the rung to be smooth as glass. Instead, it’s wavy, with a bit of roughness, something that will hold a boot.

  And there’s an actual hand-sized hole in the back of the rung, something I can easily grip.

  I’m going to be free-climbing, but I’ll be free-climbing with handholds and a relatively safe place to put my feet.

  “Don’t look down,” Roderick says to me. He’s speaking very softly.

  He’s right; I know that. I also know that if he had not reminded me, I would have looked down at some point.

  It’s not the same to look below you when you’re working in zero gravity. First of all, what’s below you might be above you if everything spins or shifts. But, second, if you lose your grip, you float.

  I will not float here.

  My heart is pounding.

  I take a deep breath—and climb.

  ~ * ~

  TWENTY-EIGHT

  Hand up. Foot up. Followed by opposite hand. Then opposite foot. I concentrate on each movement, marveling at how well constructed the ladder is. The handholds fit my fingers. The rough surface keeps my boots steady.

  The early part of the climb is easy. It’s almost like walking. The slope is gentle, the ladder more of a guide than a necessity.

  But a third of the way up, the wall’s angle gets steep. Suddenly, I’m climbing, hand over hand, foot on one rung at a time, with nothing to support me except my grip and my caution.

  I feel awkward, my torso hanging out in the air. I also feel heavy. I can feel the weight of my body with each movement.

  My arms are tiring first. Apparently, I lack upper-body strength, something I didn’t know. But my legs are getting tired as well. And I’m getting thirsty, which means I’m getting dehydrated. I have a slight headache between my eyes, caused by the growing dry heat.

  Sweat drips off my nose and chin.

  As long as I sweat, I’m all right.

  I should have left the damn environmental suit on, though. I hadn’t thought that through.

  I really hadn’t thought any of this underground stuff through, not until now.

  When I’m halfway up, I hear sounds. I’m not sure what they are—some kind of rustling, or maybe even conversation
. It’s not what I expect in any way, but I haven’t really listened before. The hovercart moved so quickly as it went into the caves that I couldn’t notice details like sound and distance.

  “Hello the top!” I yell as I pause, hanging there.

  I don’t like hanging. It feels precarious. It also makes me want to look down.

  “Boss?” I hear a relieved female voice.

  Then Ilona leans over the edge, her black hair surrounding her face. She’s not supposed to be here. She’s supposed to be collating the research and doing some work with the City of Vaycehn.

  “That’s me,” I say.

  “God,” she says, and stops so quickly that I hear the rest although she doesn’t speak it. We thought you were dead.

  Yeah, well. We could have been.

  “They wouldn’t let us go down there. They say it’s not safe,” she says.

  “They’re right. It’s not safe,” I say. “There’s fallen rock everywhere.”

  “Let me get you help,” she says, and backs away before I can tell her not to. I don’t want a rope or a guiding hand or some equipment sent down here. I want to keep climbing, one hand over the other, moving slowly, until I reach the top.

  I think—just for a moment—of climbing faster. But that way lies error, and error can cause death.

  I resume my pace—right hand up, followed by right foot. Then left hand up, followed by left foot. I climb another three meters before she reappears.

  “Are you the only survivor?” she asks, and in spite of my best intentions, I shudder.

  “The Six are fine. So are Mikk and Roderick,” I say. “If anyone else was below, we haven’t seen them.”

  Which is a polite way for me to tell her that any guides who were waiting by the hovercart have either fled or been crushed.

  “Are the others climbing behind you?” she asks.

  “No,” I say. “I’m coming up, then we’re going to figure out how to get them. I’m not sure the Six can climb this.”

  I barely can, although I don’t admit that to her. I’m not sure I like admitting that to myself.

  I continue to climb. I count to keep my pace steady. I make sure I breathe. I try not to notice as I’m getting light-headed with heat and the increasing light.