Page 71 of The Space Between Stars

{This will get you barbed.} The Survivor tried to suffocate him. Sweat poured over Calver’s brow. He stifled a groan as his vision blurred.

This is my body.

{You’ve done this before.}

His breathing labored. My mind.

{Every time you choose this battle, you lose it.}

You can’t have it.

{I already do. You are weak, Calverous. Weaker than you want to believe.}

Calver hunched, collapsing to his knees in the empty hallway. He held the sides of his head, nearly dropping the lamp.

{He’s coming now.}

Whether it told the truth or not, Calver wouldn’t take his chances. He wouldn’t be subject to Cul’Mon’s whims for another day, wouldn’t kill another slave, and wouldn’t be forced back into that lab for them to do Fates knew what with his genetic material.

The rumble coming from Calver’s throat was so low, it took long moments to recognize he was screaming. Another teeth-clenching reminder that he’d aged. That he’d been controlled for years.

He ran for the maintenance ward before his sounds attracted anyone to him.

{It does not matter. He always knows where you are.}

Calver threw open the door. A grate to the aqueduct channels lay in the floor’s center. He rummaged through the cabinets for the same tools he’d used last time.

The passageway was half a man’s height in diameter, a nightmarish crawl through unknown depths of water. The tunnels might contain six inches of liquid, or enough to submerge him. There was no way to predict how long the floods lasted, either.

He imagined who would be the one to recover his body, face down, cold, and swollen.

He voided the thought. Death would be better than the way he lived. He found a screwdriver and pry bar and began working at the rivet in the grate.

Footsteps sounded from the home’s entryway directly above him.

{He’s returned to collect you.}

Calver’s stomach turned to stone. He worked faster.

With all four rivets tucked into his pocket, he removed the enormous grate. It was easier than the last time—he was stronger. He held the lamp in one hand as he dropped into ankle-deep water below, then used the other to shift the grate back into place with a screech he imagined all four Fates could hear. His fingers fumbled as he pressed each of the rivets back into their spaces.

He moved for long minutes on hands and knees, fearing every splash would carry. Time warped, similar to when he settled into the void—except he very much felt this. The air was stale. Every slosh, every breath, every grunt of discomfort reverberated back at twice its volume. His knees ached. The disciplinary barbs in his back pulled and tore at his muscles. It was hard to discern whether the tunnel was growing smaller or if his claustrophobia was playing tricks on him.

His hands became numb and his wrists ached. The walls were slick with slime—the water here had not been run through the manor’s filters—and he slipped, splashing face-first into the water repeatedly. With each slip, a fraction of his calm chipped away.

He would need to get through a league or more of tunnel to be sure he was safe. How long would that take at a crawl? A day? It was as though a belt had cinched around his diaphragm. The tunnel might flood. Or—his mind reeled—the distortion orb might somehow break or extinguish, trapping him in the darkness. He paused to steel himself. If he died here, he was still getting a better end of the deal.

Just keep moving.

An impossible amount of time passed. Then the tunnel curved sharply before dipping directly down. Calver stopped. This was where he had failed the first time.

He held the lamp aloft and gazed into the pool. It went deeper than the tunnel. How deep, he couldn’t tell—the water dissolved into blackness. There was only one way to know where it led. Calver dipped his body into the water, colder than death, his feet flailing for a bottom he couldn’t reach.

He took a breath he hoped wouldn’t be his last, and plunged below the surface.

Holding the lamp as his guide, he opened his eyes. It was difficult to see more than an arm’s length ahead. Calver felt for the walls of the span-wide vein and swam down.

The world around his lamp was like a night without stars. Further. Further still. The vein angled to run parallel to the ground. He swam far enough that, should he turn back, he didn’t think he could make it.