Mission Day 13

  2 km below Earth's surface

  Wind speed: 0.3 m/s, Temperature: +2°C, External pressure: 706 hPa

  The next few hours were thick with tension and silence. No, not because of Ken. Roland had steered the capsule into the canyon, and we were swallowed first by twilight, then by absolute darkness. Vesley switched on all exterior lights. Aurora began scanning our surroundings with sonar, meticulously mapping the canyon walls. I settled by the porthole with my smartphone—someone had to document this. Maybe my private video collection would be worth millions someday... heh.

  We were now ascending at a snail's pace—so as not to miss anything important. Even Ken eventually appeared on the fourth floor, pale and jittery. Realizing neither meditation nor tears would save him, he decided to work.

  Only Lara Barkroft sat idle, disassembling one of her Desert Eagles by the hatch. Occasionally, she'd glance up at a crew member with that vacant stare. Usually at me. Strangest of all? She didn't even seem angry anymore.

  Honestly, I had zero clue what was happening in that pretty, empty head of hers.

  * * *

  The slow ascend and constant reconnaissance had exhausted us all. By evening, we anchored the balloon to the wall and gathered in the kitchen for tea and strategy. The canyon stretched endlessly before us - mapping its full perimeter would take months we didn't have. We settled on retracing previous mission routes, searching for where the massive basalt slab that crushed New Zealand might have broken away. Who knows, maybe we’d get lucky and find another elephant?

  I kept one eye on Vesley and Aurora throughout the meeting, especially when they lingered near the teapot. To anyone else, they looked perfectly normal. I pretended to type on my phone while actually watching through my camera app. When Roland twitched, drawing momentary attention, Vesley made his move - a quick drop in my cup, then Lara's. Smooth. Professional. Utterly predictable.

  While I quietly debated how to avoid the poisoned tea, Vesley returned to the table. Then Aurora moved toward the teapot, clutching something in her fingers. Seriously?

  She needed Vesley and Roland to look away, but they were staring at that damned teapot like it held the answers to the universe. I coughed pointedly. As their heads turned, Aurora dosed every cup but her own. No way I was touching mine now. Still, I needed to protect Lara and Ken without revealing I knew their game.

  When Aurora brought the cups over, I blinked up at her.

  "I actually wanted coffee," I said, as if just realizing.

  Aurora shot me a sharp glare — shut up, or else…

  The truth was, I'd already written off Ken. His constant hyperventilation made him the perfect mark. Drugs would at least knock him out cold. After all, Aurora only planned to assault him, not kill him. And since when did anyone care about violations against men?

  No, what worried me more was innocent little Lara. But how to stop her without making Vesley suspicious?

  "O...oh! Me too!" Lara blurted suddenly. "I want coffee too…"

  I grabbed her cup before Vesley could react. Had she noticed? Unlikely. More probable she just liked echoing things.

  I pretended to sip from my tainted tea as I poured both cups down the drain, then set about making actual coffee. Strong enough to keep me alert through whatever came next.

  The men collapsed where they sat - Roland curled like a question mark, Vesley snoring, Ken about to get the worst wake-up call of his life. Lara found this hysterical, poking at Vesley with her gun barrel until I pulled her away.

  Let Aurora have her fun. We had bigger problems coming.

  * * *

  On mission day 14, half the crew woke up with pounding headaches and numb extremities. The other six coffee cups had been boiled under everyone's watchful eyes—no tricks this time. Aurora looked unbearably pleased with herself, while Ken kept scratching his ass and muttering under his breath, his phobias momentarily forgotten. Vesley was shooting Lara hungry looks, his gaze tracing her legs and backside with disturbing focus. Roland had just returned from the cockpit with a pressure gauge in hand and now sat curled in a corner, studying the instrument over his coffee—probably fantasizing about what he could do with it if I were unconscious.

  It occurred to me that in this situation, a titanium chastity belt with a digital lock would’ve been fantastic. I’d have deliberately forgotten the code—no amount of torture could make me spill it.

  The rare moment of quiet contemplation was shattered by an unexpected scraping sound against the capsule’s outer walls. The floor trembled faintly beneath us. In an instant, all six of us forgot our drowsiness and distractions, pressing against the portholes. Beyond the glass lay impenetrable darkness. Exterior lights were off while we rested, Vesley conserving hydrogen-ion batteries. Yet for the briefest moment, something seemed to shift out there... or maybe my fear-drunk imagination was playing tricks.

  Then we all heard it—a wet, organic scraping and snuffling from outside.

  Lara Barcroft alone showed no fear. Vesley and Roland bolted for the ladder like coiled springs, presumably to activate the lights. Aurora pressed her phone’s LED flashlight against the glass, peering intently. Ken Celsey Buckingham drew a shuddering breath and ducked behind me, fingers digging into my shoulders.

  "They're coming, aren't they?!" he wheezed. "Hell's demons clawing through the dark to claim us sinners! Nora... Nora, don’t be afraid, I'll... I'll protect you!"

  Within seconds, he was airborne—hurled backward into the capsule wall by simultaneous blows from Lara and me. Somehow, our thoughts had synchronized: Ken Celsey needed mandatory naptime. Thank Elon the capsule walls absorbed the impact.

  Support the creativity of authors by visiting Royal Road for this novel and more.

  "Why are you so cruel to me?!" Ken wailed, curling into a fetal position.

  "Stay down and shut up," I ordered.

  "Me?" Lara blinked at me in confusion.

  "Not you. Him."

  "Oh... What should I do then?" The armed blonde looked around expectantly.

  "You... stick close and follow my lead," I improvised.

  It took a full seven seconds for this command to traverse the lone synapse connecting to Lara’s decision-making cortex. She nodded, inexplicably pleased. I swear, I’ll never understand this woman.

  I activated my phone’s flashlight and moved to another porthole just as all eight exterior lamps flared to life. We found ourselves staring at barren canyon walls. The near slope ten meters away, its counterpart nearly a kilometer distant. Only swirling dust motes disturbed the void between them. No matter how we strained our eyes, nothing moved in that light-blasted wasteland.

  "Nothing," Aurora muttered, clearly disappointed as she turned off her light. "But that sound was undoubtedly biological. Judging by the vibrations, it must have been massive..."

  "Let’s hope it doesn’t pop our balloon," I said.

  "Not so easily done," she countered. "Besides, the capsule has four emergency parachutes. We’re safe."

  Vesley’s voice crackled from the cockpit, asking if we’d spotted anything. At our negative response, he announced we’d resume ascending. Sonar showed five and a half kilometers remaining to the canyon’s ceiling.

  Throughout this, Ken remained curled in his corner, mumbling what sounded like voodoo incantations. I decided to keep both scientists company—staying near the pretty ones seemed like tempting fate.

  * * *

  The next kilometer passed in deadly silence. Lara Barcroft followed my orders almost verbatim, sticking to my side like a particularly well-armed shadow—whatever that meant. While she hovered nearby, I updated The Paranoia Blog with our latest misadventures: Ken’s meltdown, my aluminum chair therapy session, and his sudden fascination with voodoo incantations. Unsurprisingly, I was promptly buried under an avalanche of hate from Ken’s fan club. Women, of course. According to them, I was a heartless monster for "bullying the poor, beautiful man in his darkest hour." As if I should’ve comforted him. Or, God forbid, offered myself up like some patriotic sacrifice.

  I shut them down with another post—this time dragging Elon Musk through the mud. Maybe next time he’d think twice about vetting his crew properly. Because clearly, what this mission really needed was more mommy issues.

  Having successfully ignited another internet outrage storm, I closed my laptop with a satisfied snap and joined Roland Foundland at the external camera controls. Still nothing. Vesley scanned the canyon walls for any trace of the basalt slab that had crushed New Zealand. So far, we’d found zero evidence of the previous expeditions. Not shocking. After all these years, even the canyon’s weak currents could’ve dragged their balloons elsewhere. Or maybe they’d just sprung leaks, vented helium, and crashed into some forgotten corner of the Goldilocks Zone. Who’d notice in the dead of night?

  As we finished our third kilometer into the trench, the scanners finally picked up something new—two small, distinct shapes that didn’t match the rock formations. Both were far off our current path and at this distance, the scanner couldn’t resolve details.

  But two "APAP pills" against a rugged canyon backdrop? We didn’t need wild imagination to guess what we were looking at. The first and second expedition capsules, separated by about a kilometer and a half. Vesley theorized the second team had likely followed the first—just like we were doing—until something happened to them.

  Luckily, we had far better toys. Our sensors were sharper, and our capsule was nearly impenetrable. At this point, we were more likely to explode from the inside than get breached from the outside.

  At least, that’s what I told myself.

  * * *

  "Well? What do you think, science bros?" Vesley asked when we regrouped to discuss strategy after lunch. The bastard was still trying to slip us his "special treats"—this time directly into the drinking water. At least Aurora Tromp had already satisfied her... appetites, so she wasn't a threat for now.

  "It was a warning," Ken Celsey muttered. "The demons warned us not to go deeper. We should turn back now—"

  I reached for the aluminum chair. He immediately shut up and scampered off to "check the toilet."

  "I'm trying to protect you, Nora!" his pathetic wail echoed from below.

  Instead of responding, I grabbed both mine and Lara's cups and dumped their contents straight into the hatchway. A loud yelp followed. Good. I went to make proper tea—this time without Vesley's drugs.

  "So," Vesley cleared his throat, shooting me a look that could curdle milk, "what's the plan? Follow the original route or detour to the first two expeditions? Completely different paths. One might show us where the basalt slab broke off, the other might reveal what happened to those missions. Personally, I'm curious about the second one."

  "Oh well..." Roland Foundland nodded. "I'd like to see what's left of them too. Maybe those twelve people are still alive?"

  "Our mission has a completely different objective," Aurora reminded us. "If we get sidetracked just to investigate them, SpaceX won't fund these 'findings'. We need proof of life up here. Don't forget that."

  "Agreed," I said after a moment's thought. "If we find evidence of life—which I hardly doubt after those sounds earlier—we'll probably learn what happened to the first crews anyway."

  "Fine," Vesley nodded. "Anyone else?"

  "We should go home!" Ken shrieked from the toilet.

  "I'll do what she does," Lara Barcroft said, pointing at me. I frowned. What am I now, her mother?

  "Three against two, plus one irrelevant vote. We stay on course unless we hit a dead end," Vesley concluded.

  "So we're not returning home?!" came Ken's voice from below.

  "Do you want me to give you a spacesuit and parachute?" Vesley lost his patience. "No guarantees you'll land where you're supposed to, though."

  Offended, Ken fell silent, and we soon dispersed to our tasks.

  * * *

  At the five-kilometer mark, those same creepy sounds came crawling back. Multiple somethings snuffled and scraped against the hull, occasionally jostling our capsule. They weren’t backing off. Maybe the lights attracted them?

  "Got visual!" Vesley called out, glued to the external camera feed. "Fast little freaks. Tell me these look familiar."

  He froze the frame. We all leaned in to see a giant bat with bloodshot eyes staring back.

  "What the fuck is that," I muttered, flinching as another screech rattled the hull.

  "Looks like my cat..." Lara offered.

  "That’s a seventh-circle demon if I’ve ever seen one," Ken hissed, his fingers twisting into some voodoo ward.

  Roland pointed shakily. "Look at its ears—think it can hear us?"

  Aurora’s face lit up. "Which means we can repel them with the right frequency."

  "Hold on, let me snap pics for Elon first," I said. "Not elephants, but still—"

  THUNK. THUNK.

  Thunkthunkthunkthunk...

  We all jerked our heads up at the strange sound. Of course, we saw nothing.

  "Oh you’ve got to be—" Vesley’s monitor showed the whitish snow dripping onto the capsule. "Are those bastards SHITTING on us?!"

  "Perhaps they marking their territory?" I snorted.

  Lara gasped. "Maybe they DID understand us!" She tilted her head back and shouted at the ceiling: "SORRY! I didn’t mean to offend you! You look nothing like my cat! Vesley’s sorry too for calling you freaks!"

  "They don’t have the brain cells to comprehend that," Vesley scoffed.

  Right on cue, the bat’s crotch smeared across his high-res camera.

  "Goddamn animals!"

  SCREECH!

  "Enough with this crap, fuck off already!"

  SCREECH!

  "Nobody asked you, you cockmongrels!"

  SCREECH!

  Aurora smirked. "Well, they definitely hear us. And Vesley’s fluent in bat."

  She hammered a key. The external speakers unleashed an ear-splitting sound.

  The bats scattered like vampires at sunrise. Silence fell—except for Ken, still muttering voodoo nonsense and taking full credit for their retreat.