18: Brice
Brice
Light so bright it was dark. An aching, white-hot coldness that numbed. Adrenaline surged, and Brice remained calm.
Data exploded, from the system and from his senses. He was aware of everything, and it was all too much, so he shut down.
Easier that way. Shut down, let his body do what it wanted. Let his screwy lattice work this all out.
The Proteus was a wreck. It lay half-buried in soil, fallen trees in its wake. The front section was buckled beyond belief, metal pushed inwards so violently Brice knew the pilot and her co wouldn’t have felt a thing after the initial impact. The door between bridge and cabin was twisted and torn, flaking and blackened. Not fire, but heat—electrical, a release of power. The air tasted of ozone, sickened him.
Fragments of activity en
