ShadowTech

Chapter 6

4: Brice

Brice

Brice was on the island for a week, and in all that time the noise never let up.

That was how he thought of it now‌—‌the noise. Even when he couldn’t see people, he heard them. They brushed against plants. They trod on twigs. They muttered to one another. Sometimes, Brice could hear them chewing.

But it was the internal voices that suffocated him the most. If it wasn’t the inter-personal sussing, it was their thoughts. Sometimes they swirled on the edge of hearing, a murmur he only half-understood. At other times they were full-blown, almost as if they’d spoken the words out loud. And so much of it was pathetic, petty whingeing, so bland and self-centred.

They didn’t find him, though. A couple of times, Brice heard their trackers talking, listened in to their confusion‌—‌they caught a whiff of his trace, but nothing more. And when anyone was close, Brice willed his lattice to quieten. No idea how he did that, but it seemed to work. If the trackers caught something, they assumed it was an old trace, and one from someone without a lattice.

The noise reduced, the further he moved from the extinct volcano, but it didn’t stop. The company still ran surveillance over the rest of the island, and Brice couldn’t rest. He grabbed a couple of hours sleep every day or so, wherever he could. He hid in trees, attached himself to sturdy branches with webbing, fixed his pack to the trunk. He hunkered down in rocky caves, the crashing of the waves almost smothering the noise in his head.

He hadn’t stayed in the bases, though.

Brice had found both of them, the smaller one amongst the trees and the larger one nearer the water. How could he miss them, with so many traces rushing around? Some were lattice-rich‌—‌Kaiahive, had to be‌—‌but others were dark, and Brice guessed this was some kind of opposition to the company.

Their opposition hadn’t worked. That much was obvious, from the chaos in the first base. Bodies still littered the place, and when he’d investigated inside, it was clear they’d been ransacked. Rooms that must’ve once held tech had been routed, everything taken. He found what looked like an armoury‌—‌there was a firing range next door, and spent cartridges on the ground‌—‌but no weapons. Not even knives.

When he recognised two of the traces, Brice stopped, momentarily shocked. But it made sense‌—‌Deva and Keelin had climbed from the crater, and had been taken in by these people, these enemies of Kaiahive.

Brice followed their traces, through the smaller base to what looked like a meeting room‌—‌broken table, and chairs tossed about. The traces also went outside, to a large, ruined building he took to be a deck, with its retracted roof and what could only be a burnt, deformed launcher on the main floor.

Keelin’s trace cut off by this launcher, but Deva’s continued through a door, into a tunnel that ended in the forest, then onto the larger base.

And Deva wasn’t alone. Other traces followed this route, but one struck out, familiar from the meeting room. A guard, or an ally, Brice didn’t know. And there was no way to find out, so he pushed those thoughts from his mind, investigated the larger, underground base.

It wasn’t easy. Yes, he found what must’ve been Deva’s room‌—‌not a cell, because it was half-decent, had good facilities. And Keelin’s trace appeared again, accompanying her.

Reunited. And not prisoners. They’d had some respite, then. But the base was in ruins, destroyed by the company.

Brice followed Deva and Keelin again. Once more, Keelin’s trace reached a deck‌—‌this time, a few decrepit craft sat around, one in such a state Brice couldn’t identify it. So Keelin had flown out, left Deva behind.

Deva’s trace crossed back and forth, and Brice couldn’t tell where she’d ended up. Especially when one of the corridors she’d travelled was now underwater.

Dark thoughts rose, of her lifeless body trapped in the water, and his stomach churned. He staggered out, felt better when he could breathe fresh air again. He forced himself to eat a ration bar‌—‌tasted of nothing, with the texture of cardboard, but it would keep him going.

He rested against a twisted tree, the sun pushing through the leaves to dance on the ground around him, and he opened his pack, checked his supplies. Enough food for a couple of weeks, if he was careful. A couple of full canteens, and a bundle of puri-tabs. Emergency aid kit, torch, a few tools.

And the Cyastone.

His hands trembled as he folded back the cloth and held the box. He could hold it in one hand with ease, but there was a strange weight to it, like it was dragging his whole body down.

He ran a finger over the catch. It would only take a second to flick it, another to lift the lid. Then he could see the strange block itself.

But there wasn’t anything worth seeing, was there? No obvious markings, no buttons. There was tech inside, apparently‌—‌Piran had said it could be accessed with a lattice, remote connect, but he hadn’t wanted to risk it.

The company reckoned it was a key of some kind, didn’t they? Something important. And they’d been after it for ages, had set the crew up, back in Athelios.

That was clear to Brice now. Porfirio Fay might’ve believed he was getting one over on the company, but they were using him, weren’t they? And Fay used the crew, manipulated Ryann so that she found the artefact, came up with the plan to get it out.

The plan that had almost got them all killed. The plan that now meant they had more enemies after them.

And Brice had the Cyastone.

A part of him wanted to toss it into the ocean, let it sink to the depths. But he put it back in his pack, along with his meagre supplies. He’d keep hold of it. If the b****y company wanted it, he’d do what he could to make sure it stayed out of their hands.

Spite? Maybe. But what else did he have now? No crew, no friends. He was alone, on an island governed by the company. Might not be locked in a cell deep underground, but he was still a prisoner, wasn’t he?

He pushed to his feet. The light from the sun filtered through overhead branches, danced in his eyes. His head swam as he wandered off.

Wandered. No destination in mind. No end in sight. Wandering was all he had‌—‌through the forest, through the noise. Walk until he dropped, or until they found him.

They wouldn’t do that while he avoided them, though. So maybe he’d let them in, stop his lattice blocking their tracking, or whatever it was he did. Maybe he’d let them do whatever tests they wanted, find out what the hell was wrong with him.

Or he could sit down, refuse to get up. Ignore his water and rations, ignore the stomach cramps and the dehydration. Shut his eyes and never open them again.

But he wandered on, thighs and calves aching, discomfort that merged with the noise, that told him he was still alive, and that life was pain.

And then he found the boat.