Chapter 107

Chapter One Hundred Seven

On Yemi’s third walkthrough of the Badger’s controls, Connor finally got the feel of things. It wasn’t the sort of simple design he was used to: pedals, steering wheel. Everything was controlled through a couple joysticks and a stick mounted to the floor.

There was a uniform charcoal gray about the vehicle, except for the seat covers, which were a faded black. The thing had seen service and carried scars: dents, scrapes, and scuffs that exposed the ceramic and metal shell.

Any slight movement was enough to send fasteners and hooks rattling, louder than the squeaking seats.

It even smelled old, like rust, piss, and vomit.

The team had left its own signature on it, as had the scorpions. Their poison was a sharp, rotten sulfuric tang beneath the layers of sweat.

Yemi patted the console. “Connor watches the dials on the dashboard.”

“Right. Speed, bearing, battery power, proximity alerts, tire pressure.”

The mechanic smiled, then pushed out of the passenger seat, squeezed past Connor, and drifted back until at the sliding side door.

Yemi checked that the tools were secured for the thousandth time, rattling them in their brace until the thumping reverberated through the vehicle’s skin.

Then he saluted Connor and stepped out.

A moment later, the door slammed shut with a deep, shuddering boom.

Connor glanced back at the Moon twins, wondering if they felt the same sort of choking anxiety, as if they’d been sealed inside a tomb. Already, the air was growing thicker.

Imagination, Connor scolded himself.

He waved Elise forward. “If you’d like a ride in the passenger seat…”

She undid her harness with a little effort, then hurried forward, sneakers barely making a noise. “Thanks.”

“I think I’m the one to be thankful.” Connor powered on the systems, and listened for the soft hum of the motor.

Bright green lights flared across the dashboard console.

How strange was that: everything operational.

He chuckled. “Taking bets on how long we go before something goes wrong.”

Tom’s head came up. “Five minutes.”

Tim snorted. “The second we reach the bottom of the ramp.”

Connor smiled at Elise. “And you?”

“I think it’s already gone wrong.” She looked away.

“Well, I say we make it all the way to our destination without any serious problems. Ten scales?”

Everyone muttered agreement. Connor pulled out his pocket computer and started the stopwatch.

Then he put the vehicle into drive.

Using the dashboard, he didn’t need to look out the front window. The outline of the Lucky Sevens glowed brightly in the dim, stuffy interior.

He guided the Badger down the slope, pulling back on the main stick to brake.

A minute later, they were headed toward the three abandoned ships.

Before he could joke about Tim losing his bet, dots blinked in and out on the proximity detector.

Connor leaned closer. “Is that a malfunction?”

Elise squinted. “Oh. No.”

“No? Those dots are above—”

“That’s the scorpions.”

A buzzing leaked through the armor, louder than the clatter of clasps and hooks.

Tom popped the magazine out of his assault weapon. “Well, I guess I win.”

The dots weren’t immediately overhead but trailing.

Connor pushed the speed a little bit, trying to find the sweet spot Yemi had talked about, the point where the extra speed actually outweighed the extra use of battery power.

Seconds passed, and the gap between the Badger and the flying bugs opened.

He chuckled wryly. “Six minutes, Tom.”

The clone set his weapon back down. “Lucky.”

At first, Connor wasn’t so sure about that assessment. The bugs were still in pursuit, and if they continued, even a good lead would become meaningless when it came time to leave the archaeologists’s ship.

Then it dawned on him that this was a major discovery.

He pointed to the display panel and glanced at Elise. “What do you make of that?”

“The scorpions coming after us?”

“Yeah.”

She bit her lip. “I’ve tried to figure them out ever since those giant things stormed our camp.”

“I mean the scorpions, though. They’re actually pursuing a vehicle, not just people.”

“I get that. View things through the broader context, though.”

“Broader context?”

“Don’t see it as the scorpions in isolation. Look at the behavior of those giant bugs, the scorpions, those spider things—the biosphere of the planet.”

Connor sat back. “You have some sort of theory?”

“Well, I’m not a biologist, but I know enough to make some observations.”

“I’m listening.”

She pinched her lip. “Observation one: I don’t think they’re indigenous to this planet.”

“What, someone flew them here?”

“That’s a possibility. They seem hardy enough to adapt to a world like this.”

“Your team had no idea they were going to be here?”

“None whatsoever. Our benefactor provided data that was several years out of date. There were data points: the imagery I showed you; some survey data the Directorate government had on file; some other video and pictures I’m not so sure about now.”

“And none of that mentioned these threats?”

“Everything focused on the moss carpet, the spines growing out of the ground, and the parasitic bird things. It was all insubstantial and shallow.”

“But you took the job. Why?”

The archaeologist brushed grimy hair back from her soft face. “The opportunity of a lifetime, I guess. We wanted to see these ruins, to make sense of an alien species that must have predated us by at least centuries.”

“That’s noble enough.”

“I’m not sure science is noble. Most of us have the same motivations as anyone else: fame, leaving a legacy, money.”

Connor had never heard anyone from the academic world speaking so frankly. “You got to see the ruins. Was it worth it?”

“No.”

“Because of all the death?”

She bowed her head. “That amplified the pain. But the problem is that these ruins aren’t…I don’t believe they’re indigenous, either. As far as I can tell, the stone has been transported from somewhere else.”

“Somewhere on planet?”

“That’s possible. I think it’s more likely the stone is fabricated.”

“Artificial?”

“I didn’t get to do a thorough analysis, but there are elements of it that seem very similar to some of our more advanced composites. It’s so worn by time, certainty is out of the question. I’d need to get samples to a lab.”

“So, there’s a goal: secure samples. Right?”

“A goal.” Elise nodded.

Connor’s eyes drifted back to the dashboard console, where little green dots continued their pursuit of the armored vehicle.

He had a goal, too, but it was more vital: survive the pursuing bugs.