Arela might be able to pull a few strings, but she wouldn’t stick her neck out too far, and they all knew it.
The lights flickered again.
“Tris, help run diagnostic,” Keelin said.
“On it.”
Silence descended on the bridge. Everyone had their eyes down as they retreated into their lattices, pulling up data or rifling through reports. Brice shrugged, and plugged into the craft’s systems once more.
Nothing was ideal. If he stayed in the bridge, the grey walls felt oppressive. But if he connected with the sensors, and saw the world outside, it only reminded him that he was stuck on the craft.
He looked to the trees, longing to be amongst them, even in this weather. The leaves were thick, and they’d keep off most of the rain. The wind wouldn’t penetrate too badly, either.
There were the warths, of course, but Ryann would sense them, and would guide the crew around the beasts. They were only a danger when provoked, anyway.
The Proteus vibrated, and Brice felt the wind pushing down on them, funnelled by the trees. The water churned below, and Brice followed its flow, towards the line that stretched out, where the river ended and the clouds began. A branch—no, a fallen tree—was swept past, and it teetered on the edge for a moment before disappearing from view. Maybe he could hear the roar of the Tumbler. Or maybe that was the thunder that constantly rumbled.
And then the sky burst open with lightning.
Brice saw it in a negative freeze-frame, the trees suddenly brilliant white, before the intensity slammed into him. White-hot pain shot through his body, pulling every muscle rigid. His heart stuttered and his lungs squeezed.
The Proteus twisted and fell.
Ryann felt everything.
The moment the lightning struck—because that surely was what had happened—her lattice switched to hyper-sensitivity. The illusion of time slowed as she analysed all inputs.
The Proteus slammed into the water. It twisted, almost lazily, and the engines spluttered. Keelin cried out inside. Ryann felt her mind shift as she dived into the craft’s controls. Tris flared with anger and panic. He wasn’t controlling his adrenaline, but letting it consume him.
<Tris, work on power. Help Keelin,> she sussed, giving him the distraction he needed.
Cathal’s heart-rate jumped, but he forced a barrier up, sealing his emotions until later.
The craft tilted to port, a down-draft pushing from the stern. They faced up-stream, and Ryann saw the water push the Proteus’ nose, forcing them towards the waterfall.
Brice was dark, and that was a concern. When Ryann pushed, there was only the suggestion of a lattice. It was like trying to grab at mist.
The hull creaked as their nose lifted, water forcing the Proteus upright. She dug into the data, and read how their stern was trapped against a tangle of rock and a web of wood. The river pushed them vertical, and for a second they teetered, the craft groaning in complaint.
And then they fell.
The seat restraints pinned Ryann in place, and for a moment she was weightless. Then, the Proteus spinning, pressure drove into her chest, and a roar filled her ears. She gripped the arm-rests, and found it hard to swallow.
They tumbled, over and over. The sensors showed the swirling water, angry streaks of foaming white amid the darkness. Then the sensors cut out, and the Proteus lost power.
Ryann closed her eyes.
There was nothing they could do. The water pummelled them from all sides. She felt collisions, and heard hideous scraping sounds—other debris smashing against them. And within the bridge, when she pushed out to the others, all she tasted was their fear, sharp and pungent.
And then they shot forward, with such force that Ryann feared she would lose consciousness. She swallowed vomit, her face cold and clammy, and her chest squeezed tight.
But she continued to analyse. She understood how they had been forced along the huge stopper at the base of the waterfall, until they had reached a weaker spot. Then, the force of the water had been released, and they had been rejected into the river.
They spun, but gently now. The water tilted them at times, and now they rolled and tilted to starboard, and came to a stop with a grinding crunch of metal on rock.
The fear from the crew settled, and relief pushed it down. She heard breath being forced from between pursed lips, and the stuttered shaking of something close to laughter.
They’d survived the Tumbler.
<How we doing?> Cathal sussed, wide to the whole crew.
<Alive.> That was from Keelin, and Ryann knew it was a flippant mask for her true emotions. But it meant she was fighting. It meant she was not giving in to the fear and panic that—if her high adrenaline signals were anything to go by—was still coursing through her. Ryann read the twitches of her hands and fingers, as if she were pressing buttons and swiping screens, and she knew Keelin was running through checks on the Proteus. Doing what any good pilot would do after an emergency landing.
<End of the day, that’s all that matters,> Cathal sussed. <Okay, standard protocol. Scan and send to Ryann.>
That calmed Tris. Cathal knew what he was doing, slipping into routine when things went awry. Known tasks gave the illusion of control, if nothing else.
The scans came to her, and Ryann stored them after giving each a brief but intense read.
<What do we look like, Ryann?> Cathal’s voice was clearer when he sussed directly, cutting the others out.
It took her a couple of seconds to summarise each report.
<No physical injuries.>
<Good. Wouldn’t expect any.>
<Tris is struggling. He’s holding it in at the moment, but he’s scared.>
<Not good. Suggestions?>
<On a knife-edge. We need to be careful. Give him things to do, but make them
