Lifting a hand above her head, fingertips seeking the ceiling, she carefully straightened to her full, Amazonian height and found at least a foot clearance. Well that was a bonus. Twenty or so yards ahead, tiny aquamarine stars dotted the sides and roof of the dark tunnel. She flicked her torch on low, panned the beam over the floor of the cave, and tread cautiously over the smoothed rock towards the miniature lights. The gentle splash of flowing water became louder.
The green-blue points of radiance pulsed with her ever-nearing presence, then suddenly strobed into kaleidoscopic, dizzying, garish colour. She halted and turned her head from the discomfort. The psychedelic show ceased though ghostly echoes flickered across her vision for a moment then blessed shadow soothed her retinas. She blinked a few times, then turned her gaze back to the wall and found bare, hard rock.
And one rock carving.
Oh, wow!
Was this possible evidence of previous sentient life on the moon? The excitement of first discovery caught her breath and tripped her heart. Her practical side pointed out that the engraver could have just been a passer-by, someone who paused on the moon on their way to somewhere else. She played the mellow light of her torch over the artwork. It looked kind of like a treble clef merged with a bass clef. Sort of. Lines flowed away to form curving, stylised branches and the trunk of a tree.
Of course she couldn’t ignore the possibility that the marks had been made by the bio-luminescent creatures. She twisted her lips to one side and considered the idea.
Doubtful, but you never know.
She panned a searching gaze into the softly lit gloom.
Well, whatever they are, they’ve dispersed.
Perhaps the strobe effect was a survival mechanism meant to disorient a threat and provide time to disappear. Pity she hadn’t captured them on her camera. She made a verbal note in her recorder, described the creatures’ position, apparently latent state and startling reaction to the possibility of being something’s next meal.
And I can record the carved image.
She stepped closer to the rock wall and studied the smooth, even depth of the etching.
Done with a laser?
She lifted her camera, waited a moment for the device to adjust to the lack of light, and took the image.
The continuous, murmured hum of running water, amplified by the confining tunnel, tempted her forwards again. After a quick glance at her scanner, she obeyed the eager urging of her explorative spirit. The cave led her around a gentle bend, the afternoon light snooping in the mouth of the cave gradually faded at her back. Her torchlight glinted silver on a slim ribbon of falling water, its hollow, rustling echo a peaceful, timeless sound.
About two hand-spans in width, the crystal-clear water fell over a ledge at head height and disappeared into a deep, narrow chasm on the far side of a smooth, large rock guarding the cave floor from the drop. She frowned. Surely she hadn’t travelled far enough into the cave to have descended below the level of the lake water? Perhaps the water came from a natural cistern in the crown of the boulders that collected rainwater? Maybe.
Another one for the camera.
She took the shot then turned her attention and torch deeper into the cave.
What other mysteries do you have, my beauty?
The tunnel floor sloped down in a gradual degree, gravel crunched softly beneath the soles of her boots. In the far distance, seeming suspended in the blackness of the cave, a diffuse teal light glowed like a shimmering mirror.
Or the moon on the surface of still water.
She treaded cautiously on, panning her torchlight from left to right. The floor levelled out, the walls curved inward in almost symmetrical regularity, as though this were a lava tube.
Extinct, one hopes.
Her light joined the teal—What’s causing that?—glow, and reflected from the same glass-flat surface. A few more steps and she stood beside a table-sized, still pond, but the source of the mysterious light remained an enigma. To her right, a stalagmite fashioned like a surreal water nymph, long hair flowing down her back, curvaceous figure sparkling like crushed pearl, guarded a narrow path to a stone slab bridging the water.
She stared at the natural bridge and then at the nymph.
Is my imagination getting the better of me again? Neither looks random.
She inhaled sharply and brushed her fancies aside.
Don’t project creative explanations on ordinary formations.
She walked past the nym—stalagmite and placed a cautionary boot on the rock plank. Easing her weight onto it, she tested its reliability. Everything remained firm. With a few quick, light steps she crossed to the far side. Teal light, now so bright she hardly needed the assistance of her torch, streamed down a short tunnel.
Okay, so the bridge mightn’t have been natural. Could have been placed there by the same person or persons who carved the rock art. Maybe they left behind some sort of chemical light, or pollutant.
Either way, the mystery bore investigation. Anything toxic could potentially contaminate the villagers’ water supply. She tightened the focus on her torch and directed the narrow light to the floor. The white beam cut through the teal-hued air, delineated a level floor with traces of . . .
Great Scott! Are they tiles?
Her heart leaped to her throat, exhilaration pounded through her. She knelt one knee to the hard ground, brushed away grit and dirt from the shapes that caught her eye. Beneath her fingertips, glass-like smoothness tantalised with untold possibilities. Her light reflected sharply from the glossy surface and she refocused the beam to a less intense radiance. Clear, deep-green, isosceles segments about eight inches on the long sides, inlayed the floor of the tunnel.
Ho-ly cow!
She lifted her head and pointed her light down the short, rocky corridor.
Evidence that the light is artificial?
She frowned, considered the possibilities and the wisdom of continuing. Images from the Indiana Jones movies sprang to her mind with disturbing effect.
One way to find out.
She took an image of the tiles then straightened, consulted her scanner, and crept forwards. Absolute silence hung heavy in the air as though every sound was rigorously absorbed, a transgression against the stillness. She placed her hand on the rock wall and leaned cautiously out to peer around an angular bend.
A teal-shaded wall sconce met her gaze.
She tilted her head, raised her eyebrows, and stared at it.
Well that’s . . . unexpected.
Formed like the carapace of a bug—a very large bug—another five dotted the nearby walls.
At least that answers the question of the source of the light, more or less, but what’s powering it?
She took a reading from her scanner—Still no life forms, rock mass stable—and stepped into the small cavern. Two more tunnels, misted with teal light, lead off at oblique angles. She eyed the light fixtures then lifted a hand and ran an exploratory stroke over one. Miniature striations scraped the pads of her fingers.
Not as smooth as the eye perceives and the ridges would enhance the amount of projected illumination, minimising the number of lights needed. Clever—and an indication of intelligence—possibly longevity?—if they’d planned to stay here long enough to require constant light. Were they hiding from something? Or someone? The Bluthen?
Anger laced with a rime of anxiety hardened her mind.
She withdrew her hand from the light fitting. The teal hue of the sconce altered to transparent buttery-white, clear radiance flooded the chamber. For an instant, a distant drone whispered enigmatically then was gone. She turned off her torch and eyed the cavern.
What next?
She could continue her exploration, but for some reason the two tunnels, bathed in white light, now seeme
d somehow menacing, an undertaking to be embarked upon only with company.
And I’m being fanciful again.
She sighed, walked to the nearest tunnel, and stared down its short length. At the far end, three rock-cut steps led up to another cavern dimly lit by the surfeit from the tunnel. The chamber seemed sizeable. A good distance from the entrance, bulky, indistinct shapes loomed in the near-dark. She took a slow step forwards. Another. She toed the first tread and still she could not make out what occupied the cavern.
Her fingers tightened on her torch as if to remind her of its existence. She lifted her foot, placed it on the first step. Sudden white light bloomed in retinae-searing intensity. Sharp pain drilled into her eyes like the stab of hot needles. Tears sprang forth. She jammed her lids shut, flung up her arm up, and ducked her head into her shoulder. Her muscles tensed, anticipating assault. Her senses strained to detect any threat, a hint of sound or rush of air across her skin.
Nothing. Carefully, with minute increases in the rise of her lids, she opened her eyes, blinked them free of moisture, then lowered her arm. Soft, golden light illuminated a large cavern.
Long, hoary roots hung from a vaulted ceiling, stretched down thirty feet or so to embed themselves in console-like equipment lining the far wall. Astonishment hijacked her thoughts. She stared. Blinked. Her brain resumed function and curiosity stormed her. She mounted the remaining two treads, rested a hand on the thick rock lintel of the entrance and leaned forwards.
No indication of life from the machines. No hum, no lit display panels or interfaces, just the polished, white surfaces shining in the mellow light and highlighted by the dark-red rock behind.
Something scuttled over her fingers. She half squelched a scream and ripped her fascinated gaze from the machines to her hand. A pale, spider-like creature hunched on her wrist, back pumping as though preparing to drill a sting into her. The other half of the scream erupted. A sudden, narrow beam of golden light streamed by her face and landed on the insect. It exploded into vapour. A burst of soft warmth brushed her skin then was gone.
She snatched her hand from the wall and swung towards the laser source. A . . . something hovered about two feet from her nose. Her lungs began to insist on air and she hauled in a careful breath. The last thing she needed was to provoke the . . . whatever. About half as large again as her spanned hand and formed like a miniature stealth fighter with a Concorde nose, ragged patches of iridescent dark blue and green glowed on the deep, glossy black of its—hmm—skin. Fiery points, like the red-orange swirling surface of the sun, crowned needle-like attachments with the disturbing appearance of—
Oh, Lord! Are those weapons?
She froze, unable to tear her gaze from the slim, possible armament.
The contraption oopled at her in a muted, enquiring tone, for all the world as if asking solicitously after her well-being.
She stared at it in wide-eyed astonishment and alarm.
“Um . . . hello?”
~ ~ ~
What in Frack’s stones does she think she’s doing, exploring by herself?
In the pale, coloured light of early morning T’Hargen tramped towards Kathryn’s last reported position on the northwest side of the lake. Anger stomped through his gut and he refused to acknowledge the rub of fear that accompanied it.
Pitballs! She had no right to threaten the Alliance’s future. This was bigger than her. He pressed his lips against his teeth. Okay, so she wasn’t aware of her significance to the cause. Yet. And he would not contemplate how he—how the Alliance—would cope without her. He’d curb his impatience—he twitched an eye-ridge dryly at that thought—and explain to her . . .
Explain to her, what? That he had a gut feeling she was pivotal to the Alliance enduring and that she had better curb this outgoing behaviour?
Hmph. Quiet and unassuming she might be, but the likelihood of such an approach succeeding with the stubborn woman would be less than stellar. She’d want facts.
He trudged by her canoe, gave it and the trampled flowers a cursory glance, and continued to the last coordinates her automated beacon had provided. He brushed past a tree with unusual trunk markings and ducked into the shadowed mouth of a cave. Kathryn’s backpack leaned against a rock wall not far from the entrance. No sign of her cooking equipment or bedding.
Or her.
A shiver pricked up his spine, scraping over his spinal plates like an ice-thorn. He squelched the unpleasant sensation and moved further into the darkness of the cave, pulling his scanner from a vest pocket. Life sign. One. Twenty meters. Heading this way. Human.
A tiny string of warmth wriggled around his heart. He frowned.
A residual affect resulting from the explosion? Something unperceived by the trauma couch?
The crunch of unhurried footsteps gradually neared. Torchlight filtered into the gloom from deeper inside the cave. A patient sigh with an undertone of frustration floated to him.
“TL, I have to go back to my gear.”
Kathryn’s composed tone reassured him of her well-being.
“No,” she continued, “I’ll come back and explore, I promise . . . Yes, I’m sure the food you offered was, ah, wholesome, but you have to understand that I need to report my well-being to my friends and let them know about this cave system.”
Indignant possessiveness burned through his chest. Who in Frack’s guts is with her? And why does the scanner not detect them?
A sharp, piping peal cut through the quiet. The footsteps halted.
“Hello?” Kathryn’s voice echoed from the dusk-dark of the cave. “Someone there?” Then a hurried, hushed whisper of, “Get behind me. No, you mustn’t.”
Anger tightened his chest. He flicked on his light.
“T’Hargen!”
Kathryn stepped into the beam of his torch and stared at him with surprise and—hmph—no approval.
It’s of no consequence. “To whom are you speaking?” On some level the harsh demand in his tone surprised him, but he remained focused on her, and her answer.
“What are you doing here?” she countered.
“Answer my question, Kathryn, to whom do you speak? I detect no other life signs.”
She maintained her distance from him and his suspicion grew. A look of assessment settled on her face, her elegant eyebrows lowered a fraction.
“That’s a rather long story, T’Hargen. Perhaps you will tell me what you are doing here?”
Irritation flared at her refusal to answer him. They could dance around this all day, but his resolve would outlast hers. He aimed the beam of his torch a little higher. A stealthy dark-on-dark movement behind her lit his protective instincts and he leaped forwards. A stream of golden light sailed over her shoulder and nailed him high in the thigh, disturbingly close to body parts he’d prefer not be subjected to weapon’s fire. Heat lanced in debilitating jabs into his muscles.
“Get down,” he roared at her, sweeping his torch in a frantic effort to sight the attacker and keep between it and Kathryn.
He reached a hand towards her, but she dodged away from him. Another shot landed on his arse.
“TL, stop it!” she . . . scolded?
Was that a giggle?
Affronted anger nudged aside his fear for her. He stilled. Kathryn stood against the cave wall, a hand clamped over her mouth, eyes alight with shock, surprise, and the unmistakable glint of—he clamped his jaw hard—amusement.
“What is going on?” he demanded.
“He didn’t mean it.”
She bobbed her head from side to side in that way of hers that meant the statement she’d just uttered might not be entirely true. He clenched his fists as though gripping his temper.
“Well, he did,” she admitted, “but he was only protecting me.”
“Who, what,�
�� he ground out, “is ‘he’?”
Her gaze flickered around the tunnel. “He’s, well, he’s a friend, but you’ve alarmed him and he’s in camouflage mode.”
Now it’s my fault?
Indignation fired his anger while every muscle in him vibrated with unspent tension. “Kathryn, tell me immediately what form of creature he is.”
“Stop sounding so hostile.” Her calm poked his exasperation. “You’ll only incite him.”
T’Hargen managed to not grind his teeth to dust. g’Nel’s handmaidens, is she bent on giving me a seizure? “Is this an attempt on your behalf to annoy me?”
She snorted at him. “Why would I bother?”
He pulled in a long, slow breath, and scraped patience together from g’Nel knew where. At least the damned thing isn’t still trying to unman me. “Kathryn, will you please identify your friend?”
“Of course. You had only to ask.” The amused sweetness of her tone vibrated tauntingly along his nerve ends.
g’Nel save me from human women’s sense of vengeful humour.
Sandrea had once nearly had him off the side of a cliff with her ruthless provocation. He’d probably deserved it. No, on reflection, he had definitely deserved it.
But why would Kathryn feel the need to retaliate? Unless . . . unless she felt slighted in some way by some action of mine?
~ ~ ~
Remorse for her somewhat immature, though admittedly satisfying, behaviour cooled Kat’s amusement. She should have tried harder to contain TL’s protective response. The dear little drone had not strayed farther than four feet from her all night after annihilating that ‘spider’.
He’d ‘told’ her he liked the feel of her brainwaves. Oddly enough, when his whistles and trills manifested into thoughts in her mind, she liked the feel of them, too. They felt comfortable, dependable, like the psychological equivalent of the aroma of home-baked cooking, or holding an adoring puppy. Unfortunately, the poor little tyke’s memory core was virtually empty. He didn’t know any more about this place than she did, and he’d seemed so lost. Friendless.
Alien, Awakening (Alien, Mine Series Book 2) Page 4