The Expanse - J.M. Dillard [60]
Immediately, he lost his balance. His other hand slipped free, and the sudden unequal distribution of weight forced his boots from their toeholds.
He fell downward, clawing at the slime-covered walls. His desperation was born not of fear, but of a single panicked thought.
Ican’t fall, I can’t die, I have to see this thing through for Lizzie. ...
He caught a swift glimpse of Archer, bracing himself lengthwise across the passageway with his feet and back. Beneath him was a dark drop down into infinity. ...
Trip flailed, grasping at Archer’s chest as he slid downward, but just missed.
Abruptly, he felt the sudden, solid grip of the Captain’s hand, catching his forearm. He gave a small gasp of pain; it felt as though his shoulder was being pulled straight out of the socket, but at least he was alive.
But Archer was himself being gradually dragged down the tube by his burden.
Trip gazed up, unable to help, and watched as Archer, teeth gritted with agonizing effort, pressed his legs and back hard, harder, against the walls. At last, the two came to a full stop.
Slowly, carefully, Archer began to pull him up.
“Easy ...” the Captain breathed. Even in the dimness, Trip could see the sweat trickling down his face.
They both managed to find handholds; Trip paused, panting, trying to gather his strength.
From high above, Kessick scolded them. “It’s very slippery—you have to be more careful!”
Trip looked up at him with a fresh welling of hatred: Kessick had done nothing to help them, and now merely sounded annoyed that they were slowing down his progress. Were all Xindi so self-centered, so lacking in compassion?
“Thanks a lot,” Trip said, his voice thick with disgust.
Once again, he began to climb.
The foreman sat at his desk, sucking on his inhaler and, with his free hand, busily working an outdated adding machine.
His superiors paid him a percentage for each new head he brought into the mining complex—and today was a happy one for him. He was about to bring in the largest number of heads ever. With that kind of profit, he’d be able to retire earlier than planned, and maybe even live long enough to enjoy his freedom.
He was in the midst of his calculations when the door banged open and the head guard tromped in.
“They’re gone!” The guards shout was muffled by his rebreather, but it was loud nonetheless. “All three of them.”
The foreman know who they were without asking. He stood, chair skittering backward on the metal floor. “That’s impossible.” At least, he willed it to be so. He would not be that close to that kind of money and permit it to slip away.
Despite his bulk and size, the head guard seemed suddenly deflated, helpless. “We searched the entire cell perimeter.”
The foreman’s tone grew hard, threatening. “Post guards at their landing craft. If they get back to their starship, I’ll lose nearly a hundred new workers!”
If the guard valued his life, he would not let such a thing happen.
Shuttlepod Two descended into the turbulent blue murk obscuring its destination.
Reed sat beside Hayes at the forward stations. Travis Mayweather had the helm; behind them in the jumpseats sat the MACOs, facing each other in two groups of three each.
Privately, Reed was impressed by the gear the MACOs had brought, all of it reflecting the very latest advances in technology: pulse rifles, scanners, ammo.
Reed turned to address the troops, and steadied himself as the craft experienced mild turbulence from the raging clouds.
“The lower levels are hypersaturated with ionized particles,” Reed said, “so you’ll have to get within a hundred meters to pick up their bio-signs.”
Mayweather glanced over his shoulder at them, his expression concerned. “And we’ve got a little less than half an hour to do it.”
The troops looked tense, but ready for action; as for Hayes, he was slightly less cocky than he’d been in front of T’Pol, but Reed still detected a look of condescension in his eyes. ...
Coated with grit and sweat,