The final lever was the central one. The rubber on the handle was starting to perish from years of sweat and neglect. He grasped it, feeling rough edges around the smoothness, and he pulled. The lever moved with a metal-on-metal grinding that set Brice’s teeth on edge, and when it slammed into place the pressure yanked at his shoulders.
For a moment, nothing happened. A few dust motes flickered as they fell to the ground.
And then his skin ignited as a million flames danced beneath the surface. The fire tore along neurons and blood vessels, a surge of intense power flooding through him. Every synapse fired, his limbs jerking rigid, and for a fraction of a second Brice could feel every single cell in his body, a torrent of data that flared and burnt out with a magnesium after-burn that made his eyeballs itch.
He must have clenched the hand on Keelin’s shoulder, because she gasped, and he saw her head twitch.
He saw her.
Her hair hung in night-vision green tendrils, and her jacket was a deeper shade, stark against the surrounding rock. Brice looked down, and he saw her boots, with one lace starting to slip free. Then he saw—and felt—her turn. Her eyes might have only been green because of his filters, but they looked at him.
He smiled. “Back on-line,” he said. The words felt anti-climactic, but they’d do.
She nodded, like it was the most common thing in the world. “So we can go a bit faster now?” She turned her head, and he caught her message to the others. <Brice can see again.>
<Good. Maybe we can get out before that thing comes back.>
Brice had never been so pleased to hear voices in his head. Even Tris’ angry tone couldn’t drag him down.
The tunnel roof wasn’t as low as Brice had imagined, and he straightened up. He could see over Keelin’s shoulder now, but what he saw didn’t make sense.
He reached for more filters. Many were unresponsive, and he couldn’t zoom in, so he had to focus manually.
Tris and Ryann walked at an angle, not quite sideways but twisted. At first Brice couldn’t make out why, but then he saw Cathal between them, his arms round their shoulders. They each had hold of a hand, and Cathal’s head hung down, lolling between them. His eyes were closed. His boots dragged along the ground.
And the side of his jacket was covered in a dark stain. There was a discoloured bandage on his shoulder and neck. Part of the tape was already coming loose, and Brice saw liquid oozing round it.
<Cathal?> Brice sussed, reaching out. He wasn’t surprised when there was no response.
Maybe if he had tracker training, like Ryann, he could reach out and feel Cathal’s lattice.
But he didn’t need to do that to know his commander’s condition was serious. His skin was pale. He was unconscious, and bleeding.
Brice shivered, and this time it wasn’t because of the cold.
They walked in silence. Brice kept his eyes on Keelin, directly in front of him. He didn’t want to look any further.
And then the air moved across his face. It carried a fragrance that brushed away the staleness of the tunnels, a staleness he hadn’t been aware of, but now realised had been all-encompassing, like the rock pressing in. He drew the aroma in—damp leaves, and something vaguely compost-like.
The others must have felt this too, because they increased their pace. And when they rounded the next corner, and the cavern opened up, cool refreshing air rushed over them, and to Brice it felt like life itself. He took a long, deep pull, and then ran towards the lip, jumping up the rock, barely brushing it with his hands. He lifted his head and looked to the sky, water spraying his face and trickling into his mouth. He’d never tasted anything so good.
<Thanks for the help, Brice!>
Tris’ suss dripped with angry sarcasm, and Brice turned to see him and Ryann dragging Cathal across the cave, boots scuffing on the ground. They reached the base of the lip and set him down, easing him into a sitting position.
Brice climbed down to join them, avoiding Tris’ eyes. Data-boy was just being pathetic. Brice would only have got in the way.
Besides, Tris wasn’t the one whose lattice had shut down, or who had that thing push into him. He needed to man up.
Ryann was by Cathal, crouched down, reaching for his neck. Brice watched, a step back. Cathal’s eyes, still closed, flickered.
<Keelin, the kit and another bandage from my pack? Thanks.>
Ryann’s fingers found the edge of the bandage, and she pulled it free. The sodden material came away with a sucking sound. The wound was deep. Through the crimson, Brice saw what he imagined must be tendons and, far down, something solid that might have been white.
The wound reached down to his bone.
Ryann took the medikit from Keelin, opened it and removed a vial that she attached to a needle-less syringe. She held the syringe over Cathal’s wound.
<Hold him. All of you.>
They did as Ryann asked, Tris on one side, Keelin on the other. Brice dropped to the man’s legs, placing a hand on each ankle.
As Ryann pressed the plunger and the liquid splashed into the wound, Brice struggled to keep his grip. Cathal’s whole body buckled violently. Tris cursed under his breath. The shaking intensified. Brice twisted his body to lay across Cathal’s spasming legs.
Ryann placed a clean bandage over the wound. She ripped off the side tabs and stuck it into place. Cathal shuddered, spittle flying as his head rocked violently.
<Few more seconds.>
The shaking subsided, and Briced eased off Cathal’s legs. He didn’t know if the warmth was from him or Cathal. But the man was still now, and he looked strangely at peace. Ryann had one hand on his forehead. Brice assumed this was some medical thing.
“What now?” he asked.
<So much for silence.>
Brice shot Tris a look. Tris sneered in return.
<You hearing us?>
Brice turned to Ryann and
