"How long?" she asks.
"Minutes." The tremors are growing. "Maybe less. Bebo, what's the structural integrity of the northeast passage?"
"Compromised. The impact damage Krilly documented two days ago has been exacerbated by seismic activity from the approaching biosignature. I estimate the weakened section will collapse inward with approximately three more direct impacts."
Three impacts. From something that hits hard enough to smash basalt.
"We need to move," I say. "The secondary canyon exit. If we can reach the open bowl before it breaches—"
A bellow splits the morning air. Deep enough to vibrate in my sternum, resonant enough to shake loose stones from the cave ceiling. Closer than the seismic readings suggested. Much closer.
Our heartbeats accelerate in tandem. Not fear; the synchronised adrenaline response of two nervous systems wired to face threats together.
"Perimeter warning triggered," Bebo announces. "The biosignature has reached the canyon entrance. It is—" A pause that manages to convey artificial dismay. "—attempting to fit through the northeast passage by the method of destroying everything in its path."
The impact hits like an earthquake. The northeast wall of the cave system shudders, dust cascading from the ceiling, and through the stone I feel the grinding shriek of basalt giving way.
"That's one," Krilly says.
"Move. Now." My hand finds her wrist, and the contact sends our shared adrenaline into a feedback loop that makes everything sharper, faster, more focused. "Secondary exit. Go."
We run. Through passages I've mapped by touch over three months, Krilly matching my pace with a surety that says she's internalised the routes as thoroughly as I have. Bebo bouncing on her belt, providing a running commentary that would be annoying if it weren't also critically useful.
"Second impact. Northeast passage integrity at forty percent. The biosignature appears to be using its cranial plating as a battering ram, which is both effective and deeply concerning."
The second impact shakes the ground hard enough to stagger us. Krilly catches herself against the wall, and the bond transmits the jolt of pain in her ankle, the old injury protesting, and a wave of stubborn refusal to acknowledge it.
"Your ankle."
"Is fine."
"It's not fine."
"Then stop monitoring it and start running." She's already moving, limping slightly, jaw set. "We can discuss my ankle when we're not being chased by a building with legs."
A building with legs. I file the description alongsideStompyin my growing catalogue of Krilly Baxter's approach to existential threats.
The third impact is the worst. The sound of the northeast passage collapsing reaches us as a sustained, grinding roar, stone on stone, the architectural failure of a system that was never designed to withstand this kind of force. Dust billows through the tunnels, choking and blinding.
Then the bellowing starts. Closer.Insidethe cave system.
"It's through," Bebo confirms, unnecessarily.
We burst from the secondary exit into the open canyon bowl. Purple dawn light. The hot spring steaming in its alcove. The wide, defensible space where we bathed yesterday and I traced a route down her throat with my finger and she asked me for a preview.
Yesterday. A lifetime ago.
The Stompy emerges from the collapsed passage thirty seconds behind us.
The first thing that registers isscale. I knew the dimensions from facility records. I've tracked its movements for three months, mapped its territory, calculated its mass from footprint depth and stride length. I thought I understood what I was dealing with.
I did not.
It fills the passage mouth like a ship filling a docking bay. Armoured scales the color of oxidised iron, scarred from old territorial disputes and scored by fresh plasma burns where the drones have been harassing it. Its head is broad and flat, cranial plating that functions as both weapon and shield, and the eyes set deep beneath the armour ridge are small, furious, and focused entirely on us.
The drones whine above the canyon rim. Three of them, running patterns that are clearlydrivingrather than hunting. They want the Stompy in this canyon. They want it angry and cornered and dangerous, and they want it pointed at us.
ApexCorp. Using the planet's apex predator as a weapon the same way they used me.
