As the crawler lurched into motion, I pulled out my portable light and the small notebook I always carried. With my scanner destroyed, I was back to the oldest form of data collection: handwritten notes. I’d already started documenting everything we’d learned about the marks, the codes, the system architecture.
“You’re making notes,” Torven observed.
“Force of habit. Plus, if we survive this, someone’s going to want a detailed report.” I sketched out the pattern I’d seen in his marks when the Kythran had touched them. “And if we die, maybe someone will find this notebook and learn something useful.”
“That’s morbid.”
I shrugged. “It’s practical.”
The crawler picked up speed as we left the caves and hit the surface. Through the narrow windows, I could see the landscape racing past in a blur of tortured rock and stunted vegetation. The sky was getting darker, the clouds pressing down like they were trying to crush the planet beneath them.
The journey was tense and silent, broken only by the grinding of the crawler’s treads and the occasional crack of thunder from outside. I spent the time going over everything we knew about the weather control system, trying to prepare for what we might face at the nexus. At least I was able to pause use of my implanted translator for a while and give my headache a chance to abate. It did, a little.
The Kythrans had explained as much as they could about the system architecture. The weather towers were all connected, but the nexus was the central hub. If we could access it, input the correct control codes, we might be able to shut down the entire network or at least stabilize it enough to make the planet habitable again.
Might.Could.Possibly. My entire plan was built on uncertainties and hopes.
“Rivers,” Torven said quietly. “Stop spiraling.”
“I’m not spiraling. I’m analyzing.”
“You’re catastrophizing. I can feel it.”
Damn the bond and its inability to let me worry in private. “Fine. I’m catastrophizing. We’re about to attempt to shut down a planetary weather control system using improvised methods, partial information, and species that were trying to kill each other six hours ago. I think some catastrophizing is warranted.”
“Fair point.” He shifted carefully, wincing. “But try to ease up on yourself.”
“I really can’t,” I said. “My head is so full right now. I’d give anything for Cleo and Maya to be here.” They were the other two legs to the stool that was us. Maya, the natural leader with a clear, even head and a wide breadth of knowledge. Cleo, who was pretty fearless, plain-speaking, and whose tech skills blew mine out of the water. I was the analyst, the data aggregator, the one who gave them all available information sotheycould organize it and form a plan. Ilikedmy role. Never once had I wished I could take on theirs. But here I was, having to be all three legs to a stool with questionable structural integrity.
Torven’s large hand rested on my back and rubbed in large, warm circles. “We’ll figure it out, Rivers.”
To think there was a time when I didn’t like that phrase of his. Just then, it was exactly what I needed to hear. Each time that we’d had to “figure it out,” we had. I needed to believe we would this time, too.
The crawler shuddered as we hit a particularly rough patch of terrain, and I heard one of the Kythrans make a pained sound. They were holding up better than I’d expected, but they were clearly suffering. The eldest, Thresk, looked like he might collapse at any moment.
“How much farther?” I asked.
“Onetick,” Vikkat replied. “Maybe less if weather holds.”
The weather didn’t hold. Fifteen minutes later, the crawler was being buffeted by winds that made the vehicle rock on its treads. Rain lashed at the windows—not the acid rain we’d encountered before, but something worse. It was thick and oily, leaving smears across the glass that glowed faintly in the darkness.
“What is that?” I asked, staring at the substance.
“Atmospheric breakdown products,” one of the Kythrans said. “The system is releasing concentrated pollutants. This is what happens when the weather network goes through a failure mode.”
“Failure mode?” I didn’t like the sound of that.
“When the system can no longer maintain even the illusion of control. When it begins actively destroying the atmosphere rather than managing it.” They looked at me with those dark, sad eyes. “It usually corrects itself after a time.”
“Usually?” I pressed. “So it’s possible that it won’t?”
Thresk shook his head. “It’s always possible that each failure mode will be the final failure mode. Meaning, it will never end.”
I translated for the others, and saw the urgency settle over everyone like a weight. Even Dorek’s hostility seemed to pale in comparison to the reality of what we were facing.
The crawler pushed on through conditions that should have been impossible. The D’tran driver was clearly skilled, navigating by instruments and instinct through visibility that had dropped to almost nothing. Lightning cracked across the sky in patterns that looked almost like circuitry, like the planet itself was shorting out.
Then, through the murk and the rain, I saw it.
