But he’d see this through. Just the hatches to check, then he’d go back up front and give his report. Maybe make a spreadsheet, like Tris would, building a simple task into something important, making out it was life-and-death.
If Tris was so good at his job, why hadn’t he contacted Haven yet? Why were they stuck here?
Brice looked into the hatch. It was dim; green and murky. That was the filters on his lenses, he told himself. But the lines were indistinct. Usually, these settings gave him a crisper image.
Maybe that was because of the hatch being a cylinder. Maybe the curves distorted the filters somehow.
But when he looked back into the cabin, the murkiness remained. It was nothing he could put his finger on, just a general…haziness. Like he was looking through a semi-transparent film, or like he was underwater.
He almost laughed at that thought, remembering exactly where the Proteus lay.
Maybe it was a lens glitch, or something in the stale air from the hatch. It was nothing to worry about.
<Just the main hatch to check. No problems so far.> But he’d take his time. Go back too soon, and Cathal would find some other crap for him to do, like cleaning the heads.
The main hatch was large enough for three to walk through at a time. It had to be, in case they needed to exit at speed. That was the phrase used in training—not ‘make an emergency exit’, or ‘get the hell out of there’, but ‘exit at speed’.
With the angle of the Proteus, the hatch was way above Brice. He climbed onto the side of the table, balancing carefully as he reached up. He ran a hand round the outer edge of the door, where it sat smoothly against the inner hull of the craft, cool beneath his fingers.
But there was one patch, to his left, that felt a few degrees cooler than the rest. Brice let his hand linger, and he focused on the tilt of the craft. The Proteus lay not only on its side, but also facing ever so slightly nose-up. That mean the cooler patch was to the aft of the door. Brice knew that should be important.
He connected with the door controls and gave it the instruction to open. It slid to one side, opening up the hatch chamber.
Brice swallowed. They were in trouble.
On instinct he pulled up more filters, but he didn’t need to do that in order to see the darker patch. An ominous deep green ran from the outer door to where his hand still rested on that cooler patch.
And it did run. It flowed towards his hand.
Brice screamed for his lattice to seal the hatch, and it slid shut with a hiss. He took a breath, calming himself, and he wavered for a moment on the edge of the table, his stand still on the cooler patch.
It was larger now, and he could feel the moisture.
His mouth was dry.
Brice opened up his lattice to the rest of the crew, and sussed.
<We’ve got a breach.>
Brice got no response. He tried telling himself the dampness beneath his hand was just sweat, but he’d never been good at lying to himself.
He closed his eyes, the misty green after-image in his lenses fading to a washed-out black.
<Getting more power now. Enough to dive deeper.> It was Keelin. She sounded fraught.
<I’m getting it too. Directing some juice to seeker routines, see if we can throw something far enough.> That was Tris, although the words made little sense to Brice. He guessed it was to do with calling Haven.
<Don’t grab it all. First priority’s security. I want to make sure this baby’s okay.>
Brice swore under his breath, and shouted back at her. <We’re not okay. We’ve got a breach!>
He connected to the sensors within the hatch. At first they slipped from his grip, but he focused and held them, zooming into the monochrome image. The water—and he couldn’t pretend it was anything else now—flowed with mercurial slivers from outer to inner hatch. And where it started there was a kink in the metal. It was the slightest of misalignments, but it was enough.
<Brice. Anything to report?>
What the hell?
<Already reported, Cathal. We’re breached.>
What was the point of sending him back here and then ignoring what he said?
<Getting something,> Keelin sussed. <Raised moisture levels, rear of the craft. Focusing in now.>
Brice felt a chill run through him. And something dropped onto his head.
He looked up, moving his hand across to the edge of the inner hatch. Liquid ran towards his finger, pooling until it could no longer support its own weight, and then it fell, landing on his cheek like an icy pin-prick.
<Power’s pulling back, Keelin. I can’t raise anything. You doing that?>
<More important things to do, Tris. Back me up, will you?>
<Where we going?>
<Sub-route beta nine. Track fifteen to nineteen. I’ve got the rest. Patch any findings to core monitoring.>
The words flowed through Brice, but there was more, in the background, from two other voices.
<Thoughts, Ryann?>
<Already reaching out beyond the river. Warths in this area, but shouldn’t be a problem.>
<Safe areas?>
<Depends on your definition. A hold-out ninety minutes away, maybe more with current conditions. Have a look.>
Images burst into Brice’s mind, a series of maps and stills that blurred into a meaningless grey.
<Chances if we have to abandon?> Cathal asked.
<Gut reaction, pretty high.>
He shouldn’t be hearing this. Although he was receiving wide, this conversation was private. He shouldn’t be able to eavesdrop.
<The family?>
<Holding up, but I have my concerns.>
<About?>
<Brice.>
Brice held himself rigid, not sure if he wanted to hear this.
<Give me specifics.>
<It’s that distance I told you of. Dark, but not dark.>
<You’re not making much sense.>
<I know. It worries me. He could go either way.>
What did that mean?
<And yourself, Ryann?>
<Concerned. I don’t want us
