Brice reached a hand round to his neck, searching for some kind of sign, like the usual flare of heat beneath his skin’s surface. But he found nothing.
There were more sounds now, maybe a few metres from his feet. Someone was tapping, or maybe it was tools or some other kind of equipment. But he couldn’t hear voices. Hadn’t done since Tris cried out in fright.
<Anyone?> he called out. <Cathal? You okay? Keelin? Ryann? Hey, Tris, you need a change of underwear yet?>
Nothing.
Pain jolted through his thigh, like someone had kicked him. It wasn’t hard, but Brice winced anyway.
“You staying there or what?”
That was Tris, and he was standing over Brice. He sounded out of breath.
“You need to kick me?”
There was no response, but Brice heard more steps. He felt pressure on his arm, and was about to pull away when fingers squeezed.
“You okay, Brice?” said Keelin, and she sounded close, like she was right by his side.
“Don’t know. It just me, or is it dark down here?”
Again, there was no response. Then Keelin spoke again.
“Did you hear that?”
“What?”
“Any of it.” She paused. “Did you hear what Tris called you?”
Brice took a breath. He suddenly realised how cold it was.
“I haven’t heard anything since…since whatever the hell happened.”
“Did you see it come for you?”
“See what come for me?” Something leathery, with foul breath and a stomach that could withstand a blast from a lash.
“It ran right into you. I thought…we thought you were going to be next.”
“Next?”
There was another pause. Another part of a conversation that did not include Brice.
“Can you walk?”
Brice nodded, assuming Keelin could see him, and rose to his feet. His legs were fine, if a little shaky, but he swayed, and might have fallen if not for Keelin’s grip. He brought a hand up to his head, feeling the tenderness to one side, where it had struck the rock. His fingers came away damp.
“Can’t see where I’m going, though.”
“I’ll guide you.” Her hand moved to his elbow, and another reached across onto his forearm.
“Brice, you ready?” This was Ryann’s voice, and she sounded more distant than usual. If that was possible.
“Sure. What for?”
“We’re leaving. Tris, you want to get Cathal with me?”
What was up with Cathal? That was the only voice he hadn’t heard.
“Let’s go.”
The tone was wrong. Cathal’s voice was gruff and sounded disinterested. But Ryann’s voice was light and uncertain. It didn’t sound right, Ryann giving the order.
In the darkness, Brice shuffled, trusting Keelin to guide him. He had no other choice.
“So what happened?” he asked.
Maybe her fingers twitched on his forearm. “Not yet. Let’s get out first.”
She squeezed his arm. Brice felt that, but only through his jacket. He received no message from his lattice, and couldn’t isolate the synapses that had been triggered. It was like his lattice was no longer keeping him informed.
And the noises around him were off, too. He heard boots striking rock, but the sound was smothered, like his ears were stuffed with cotton wool. He couldn’t even distinguish individual treads, not even Tris’ normal clomping. When Brice counted the sounds, he thought he heard five sets, but the muffled echoes confused him.
Keelin pulled Brice’s arm back, and they stopped. “Tunnel’s narrower here,” she said. “Put your hands on my shoulders. And try not to step on my ankles.”
She took one of his hands and placed it on her shoulder. Water oozed out as he pressed down. He hoped she wasn’t this wet inside, and then realised that was a stupid thing to think. They’d been in the water—of course she was soaked. But her jacket would be helping, along with her lattice. It would be keeping her warm.
He shivered again, cold seeping into his whole body. His jaw shook, and he knew that if he relaxed it his teeth would start chattering. He didn’t want Keelin to hear that.
“Keep your other hand out,” she said, “and your head low. We’ll take it slow.”
“Okay.” Then thinking he should say something else, he added, “Thanks.” It didn’t seem enough, but he could imagine her smile.
“Let’s go.”
He shuffled on, one hand running over rock. He hunched over, his head forward. He could smell something…not exactly fresh, but comforting, and he realised this must be Keelin. He tried to picture her. Hair fell over her collar, but he couldn’t remember if it was dark or light, and he felt bad about that. He tried to remember the colour of her eyes. But they were usually half-hidden by her hair, so how was he supposed to notice details like that?
He should have been able to call up an image from his data store.
Brice’s neck felt sore. He assumed that was down to the angle at which he held his head, but he wasn’t sure if his neck muscles were cold or warm. He took his hand from the chilled rock and placed it on his skin, just beneath his hairline, and he rubbed.
He needed to attempt a reboot.
Brice took a breath and delved inside, thinking of a pattern he’d been shown and told to remember. The sequence wasn’t numbers or letters. That might appeal to someone data-driven like Tris, or even Keelin, but Brice needed something more physical. His sequence involved…levers, that was it.
He saw them now, in a dingy, dust-thick hut with no windows. The levers themselves reached up to his chest, and sat in a frame that was not as rusty as it should have been, although the paint was peeling in long, sharp flakes.
He grabbed the first lever in the sequence, the furthest to his left, and pulled. He tightened his arm and leaned out, using his body weight, and the lever moved with a grinding creak. Then it clicked into place, just before it hit the frame.
Brice moved on to the next in the sequence, then the third, running through the pattern without thinking now. Seven levers, because seven was a good number for memory. Or so
