Vikkat folded his arms and nodded, and I recited the important parts of Explorer Thex-Nol’s journal, up to the end of his entries. Vikkat occasionally made comments to his companions in rapid D’tran that I couldn’t follow. When there was nothing more to share, he looked up with an expression of grim satisfaction.
“Good information. Confirms much we suspected.” He paused, studying both Zara and me carefully. “But raises new questions.”
“Such as?” Zara asked.
“Traveler writes of Kythrans in this tower. Two of them, working to shut down weather systems. But they disappear before success.”
“We suspected they might have tried to reach another facility,” I said. “The atmospheric conditions make surface travel extremely dangerous.”
“Yes. But where they go?” Vikkat’s expression was intense, focused. “Only one place possible. Underground caverns beneath mountain range. Deep caves where air might be clean, where technology might still function.”
I felt something cold settle in my stomach. “You think there are still Kythrans alive down there.”
“We have narrowed evidence that there are. If any survive, that is where they hide.” He leaned forward, his gaze fixed on mine. “We have searched caves and found traces—footprints, pieces of tech, quickly abandoned sites. But we have no scanners or devices that can track them through tunnels.” He gestured to the device on my wrist. “We need help to catch them. To force them to fix what they broke.”
“And if theycan’tfix it?” Zara asked quietly. “Or if they won’t help?”
Vikkat’s expression darkened. “Then we make them understand consequences of their refusal.”
The implicit threat in his words hung in the air like a challenge. These people had been living with the results of Kythran technology for generations. They’d watched their world die, their people struggle to survive in poisoned air and chaotic weather. If they found living Kythrans, I worried their approach would be diplomatic.
“There’s something else to consider,” Zara said, her voice careful. “The traveler’s logs said the Kythrans in his tower were well aware that they’d lost control of the towers. Logic suggests that they were likelytryingto shut down the system—they were trapped here, too. If they’d had the knowledge and capability to fix the weather control system, wouldn’t they have done it?”
The question hung in the air, and I could see the implications settling over Vikkat like a weight. He’d been operating under the assumption that finding living Kythrans would solve their problem. But what if access to the controls wasn’t enough? What if the system was too damaged, too complex, or too far gone to be repaired, even by its creators?
“Genetic markers give access,” Vikkat said slowly. “But access is not same as control.”
“Exactly,” Zara said. “We might be hunting for people who are just as trapped by this situation as we all are.”
Vikkat was quiet for a long moment, processing this newperspective. Finally, he nodded grimly. “Then we find them and learn truth.” His gaze moved over her like he was assessing her for something. “You will try to fix the system.”
“Me?” Zara’s face scrunched up. “I can’t read Kythran, and I don’t know how the tech works either.”
Vikkat’s eyes turned from brown to red. “You are scientist. You will try.”
“I can try, I suppose, but—” Zara began.
I stepped in front of Vikkat, knowing my skin was turning all shades of aggressive colors. There was no helping it. “I want your word that no harm comes to her if she can’t alter the weather conditions.”
Vikkat took his time, meeting my gaze with calm measure. “No harm.”
After he and his advisors left, promising to show us the control room in the morning, where we could attempt to contact our crew again, Zara and I were alone once more. The weight of everything we’d learned—about the D’tran, about the potential surviving Kythrans, about the complexity of the situation we’d found ourselves in—settled over us like a blanket.
“This seems too easy,” I said, voicing the concern that had been nagging at me since we’d arrived.
“What do you mean?”
“Think about it. We crash on a hostile planet, get rescued by long-lost relatives of my species, who just happen to have the resources and knowledge we need to survive. They welcome us with open arms, offer to help us find our crew, and propose a joint mission to solve the planetary crisis that’s been plaguing them for generations.” I shook my head. “When has anything in our lives ever been that straightforward?”
Zara considered this, her analytical mind working through the same data points I was examining. “You think they have ulterior motives?”
“I think they’re desperate,” I said. “Desperate people sometimes make promises they can’t keep or ask for help with problems that can’t be solved. And when desperation meets disappointment…”
“Things can get dangerous quickly,” she finished.
“Exactly.”
Despite my concerns, though, I couldn’t deny the relief of being somewhere relatively safe, with clean air and adequate food and the promise of communication equipment that might help us reach our scattered crew. Whatever the D’tran’s ultimate agenda might be, we were better off here than we had been in the failing weather tower.
