Hellsky (Hunter-Killer #3)

Chapter 07 - When the Walls Talk, You Listen

Year 248 P.L. Rychter Calendar
Coordinates: 52.3°S; 77.2°W
Site Designation: Scraegar Labyrinth, Incident Site

II

Ivy could feel it in her gut. Something was wrong.

She hadn't heard from Ryke since his abrupt disappearance on their vid-call. While she was used to him having to rush off – a Hunter-Killer pilot didn't get a lot of down time – he normally kept her in the loop, even just with message.

But out here, deep underground and a hundred miles from any kind of human settlement, there was nothing she could do. Kelso promised to ask around, but who knew how long it would take for him to get an answer. It gnawed at her, making it difficult to sleep, invading her mind whenever she had a spare moment.

So she threw herself into her work.

Zipping up her Engineering Cadre overalls and buckling on her knee, and elbow guards, she clambered into the tight climbing harness, checking all its fastenings were secure. Sighing heavily, she ruffled a hand through her locks of brown hair, then swung on her heavy pack, feeling the reassuring heft of the gear held within. A set of blast goggles hung around her neck at the moment like the world's clunkiest fashion accessory. She scooped up her helmet and stepped out of the makeshift barrack tent, out into the sweltering heat of the plateau again.

The mountainous presence of the Scraegan team hit her like a physical thing, impossible to ignore no matter how many times she saw them this close. They stumped around from place to place, examining their bizarre machines, tracing the scorched lines in slabs of smooth stonework. She'd taken a close look at one once, but it didn't mean much to her. Right now she decided to leave the job of interpreting to the Blackwaters.

Ivy had to stifle a chuckle though, as she saw a couple of the Blackwater officers gesturing in frustration at one of the looming Scraegans. Their large data slate was doing its best to recreate Scraegan speech patterns, but something was obviously getting lost in translation. The Scraegan – a blocky, iron-furred brute – snorted bad-temperedly and flailed one set of blunt claws at the console, then back at its own slab of a display.

It's a miracle we made it this far, she thought.

"Heading down again, Corporal?"

The voice wrenched her attention away from the squabbling specialists. She glanced to her right to find Captain Kenyatta striding towards her at a diagonal, aiming to cut her off before she could reach one of the abseil lines fixed into the plateau edge.

"Yes, ma'am," Ivy replied, swivelling to salute without breaking stride. Kenyatta saluted back, though she could see the lines of concern on the other woman's face. Kenyatta had been Ivy's commanding officer since she joined the Engineering Cadre – a brawny woman with dark skin and a thick tangle of dreadlocks.

"Be sure your hydros are topped up," the captain advised. "Can't have one of my best engineers passing out at the end of a rope."

"I'm all loaded up." Ivy tugged on the strap of her gear pack. The thing was loaded with all the tools she needed for carving samples out of the rocks, all lashed to her body harness.

"Don't be down there for too long, alright?" Kenyatta's tone lost some of its levity. "You've clocked a lot of hours down in that pit this week already. Medics say we need to pace ourselves and rotate shifts, alright."

Ivy reluctantly came to a halt, knowing that the order was coming. She turned to face Kenyatta, standing to attention.

"At ease, Shanklin." The woman waved a dismissive hand. "I'm not here to chew you out."