Transformation Space - Marianne de Pierres [19]
‘Shit,’ said Jo-Jo. ‘What now?’ The sky was lightening, with sunrise imminent. Already the air felt like it was blistering his skin.
Randall pointed to a low-set catoplasma building still intact, on the near side of the port, at the base of a bare red-rock mountain. ‘Pellegrini buildings. For a bunch of nobles, they were big on bureaucracy. Been in a couple of their offices when we first arrived here. Franco liked to show off his stuff. I say we head there. Should be coolers and water, might even be some food left.’ She looked at Catchut. ‘You make it, Cat?’
‘Sure, Capo,’ the mercenary rasped. ‘Not dyin’ out here.’
Rast nodded. ‘Let’s move then. Keep low.’
Dropping down behind the last line of dunes, they skirted the breadth of the landing port until the sand became the rocky underlay of the mountain.
A faint hot breeze prickled against Jo-Jo’s sweat-drenched skin. The relief wouldn’t last long. One ray of direct sunlight, and every drop of moisture in his body would evaporate in the blink of an eye.
‘Rest, Capo?’ pleaded Catchut.
Randall glanced to the horizon. ‘Not unless you wanna change your mind about dyin’ out here.’
Jo-Jo glanced up. About a hundred metres of climb to the building, and only precious minutes before sunrise. He reached for Catchut’s arm again and hooked it around his neck. Randall did the same on the other side.
Between them, they clawed their way up the already burning red rock. Their time trapped in the Medium had atrophied their muscles, and Jo-Jo struggled to make headway, each movement the result of willpower, nothing else.
One more step.
One more step.
One more.
One.
By the time his hand touched the base of the catoplasma wall, Catchut was moaning with distress, and even Randall didn’t have the energy to tell him to shut up. She pointed to the far side. ‘Should – be – stairs.’
The two of them crawled along to the edge, dragging Catchut behind them. To Jo-Jo’s relief, stairs jutted from the side.
As Leah burst above the horizon, they crawled up the stairs, clinging to the shade of the building overhang.
Randall made the top first, turning around to pull Catchut up behind her. The injured mercenary rolled into the doorway. By the time Jo-Jo joined them, Randall had popped the door seal and dragged Catchut inside.
Jo-Jo resealed the door after them and fell back onto the floor, alongside the others. The cool wash of air was like a fever breaking, allowing him to sweat. The environmentals were still working. Thank fucking Crux!
But after a few desperate lungfuls of cooler air, Jo-Jo gagged. The place stank of death.
None of them spoke, though Catchut retched as well.
Jo-Jo rolled away from the other two and fell into an immediate exhausted sleep. Cramps woke him at some stage and then he fell back to sleep, dreaming that his legs were trapped in the hardening Extro gel. He started awake again, thrashing.
A sharp kick to his thigh stopped him. He scrubbed his face and coughed out watery vomit.
‘Get up. I’ve found some food,’ said Randall. ‘You been out for hours.’
She was standing an arm’s length away, leaning on the railing of a stairwell. Closer to him, Catchut was sitting up, eating something that looked like dry dough and drinking from a bucket.
‘Hope you don’ mind,’ Randall drawled sarcastically, nodding at the bucket. ‘They’re a bit short on cups.’
Jo-Jo took the container from Catchut and gulped down some tepid liquid. ‘Cheers.’
Catchut broke off some stale dough and gave it to him.
While Jo-Jo ground a piece between his teeth, he marvelled again at Randall’s resilience. Hair caked with dirt and clothes ragged with filth, her lean face still looked alive and determined.
‘Most stuff’s intact here,’ she said. ‘Even a place to wash. Haven’t found an AiV yet, but a coupla days holed up here should give