3Blinking three times fast to activate my sun lenses, I carefully open my eyes again. The light dims, the bright metallic halo resolving itself into a circular clearing set with duro-steel tiles, perhaps a few hundred meters in diameter. Bits of greenery dotted with tiny flowers sprout up between the tiles, while self-cleaning solar panels ring the outer edges.
I slowly walk across the circle, marveling at the sound of my shoes ringing against the hard metal after trekking over soft dirt for so long. Solar panels—a few broken, but most intact—are set into the tiles at various intervals, while leaves, twigs, and other assorted refuse litter the platform. A small metal hub set into the edge of the circle looks to be the remains of an enviro-shield generator. Grime and corrosion indicate the generator has been dead for some time, but apparently it was active long enough to carve out this small niche within the jungle. Though the surrounding trees have slowly started creeping into the area, their branches sport the distinctive look of those forced to flatten and grow against a shield for years, maybe even decades.
Other than that, there’s nothing here. No buildings, no vehicles, not even a road leading up to the platform or any signs that there ever was one. Just the lone duro-steel path I followed.
I purse my lips. What is this place? I walk the platform again, kicking randomly at the refuse in the hopes of uncovering something useful. Leaves and dirt sprinkle across the toes of my sandals, and I make a mental note to wear boots the next time I decide to spontaneously charge off into the Rainforest after a former nemesis. Stopping in the middle of the platform, I put my hands on my hips and frown. It makes no sense, putting a metal platform in the middle of the jungle for no apparent reason. Could it be that this wasn’t jungle when the platform was originally laid down? But Iolanthe has always been jungle . . .
No, I correct myself. Not always. Almost always.
A theory takes shape in my mind. Ignoring the loose stuff, I rip at the flowering greenery growing, I’d thought, up between the tiles. Only they’re not sprouting from between the tiles, but from deep grooves within the tiles themselves. Together, the grooves form a circle around the center of the platform, approximately three meters in diameter. Yanking away the final few plants at the center, I reveal three words etched deep into the metal.
celestial terraforming corporation.
I know what this is now. This isn’t some random platform, but a landing pad harkening all the way back to the earliest days of the planet’s terraforming. With conditions on the surface unstable and often downright dangerous during the initial stages of the changeover, the workers lived and worked in bunkers underground, only leaving when their work required it. To limit the workers’ exposure to the surface, terraforming ships would lock their landing ramps into the grooves in the pad, creating a seal for workers to pass through to the bunker below.
Which means there must be a bunker directly beneath my feet.
I raise an eyebrow. An underground bunker on a backwater planet at the edge of the galaxy? Sounds like the perfect place to hide out from the Spectre invasion. If Shar is indeed hiding here, she’s a hell of a lot smarter than I ever gave her credit for. Although, the relatively undisturbed condition of the platform makes that possibility seem unlikely. Then again, maybe there’s another way in and out of the bunker. Only one way to find out. I drop to my knees and start examining the hatch.
Once I have a chance to concentrate on the bunker, it turns out to be surprisingly easy to break open. A close examination reveals pressure points situated in each groove of the pad. All I have to do is exert pressure on each of the points at the same time, and the door to the bunker will automatically open. I’ve seen hatches like this before, though usually with a good deal more security. But then, this is from the early days, when the environment itself was so toxic it would kill an unprotected human in five seconds flat. Random trespassers were probably not the number-one concern.
I spend the next fifteen minutes collecting rocks and branches, anything heavy enough to trip the pressure points. Soft clicks sound as the they engage, until finally there’s only one left.
“Ready?” I ask myself softly, a rock poised over the final point.
Then I let it go.
At first, nothing happens. Then, with a low hissing noise, the panels of the hatch begin to retract, grinding slowly open with the reluctance of hydraulics gummed up by years, even decades, of dust and disuse, to reveal a long vertical tunnel. I stare at the opening in disbelief.
I can’t believe that actually opened.
Tiptoeing up to the very edge, I stare down into the maw. Sunlight illuminates the top of the shaft, revealing the tarnished rungs of a ladder. They extend down one side of the tunnel before vanishing into the darkness. As I contemplate the sheer idiocy of climbing down a ladder of questionable integrity through a pitch-black shaft into what may or may not be a seventy-year-old terraforming bunker, a whirring rumbles up from the depths below. Air hisses as the ventilation system kicks in, while lights flicker on with a breathy popping sound, taking the tunnel from darkness to light in a single instant. Perhaps a third of them sputter out again almost immediately, but enough remain to light the shadowy reaches below. So there’s a bottom, at least, even if it is really far down.
I contemplate the tunnel for a long time, recognizing that for the third time today, I find myself at a crossroads between being smart and being mind-numbingly stupid. I’m already two for two on the bad decision front. Do I really want to compound my deficiency by going down this shaft?
Then again, with two in the bag already, I might as well make it three for three.
Scooching over to the hatch, I awkwardly maneuver myself around until I can get my hands on the top rung and my feet a few rungs below that. With a deep breath, I go down.
It’s the sunlight that disappears first, shining hotly on my back for all of five seconds before it slides away above me. I climb carefully down the shaft, picking my way from rung to rung with careful left-side, right-side motions. Strange shadows flicker within the mottled light, disappearing and then reappearing as I travel through dark and light spots, while cool air wafts up around me, bringing with it the brittle scent of expired oxygen and the desperate hum of machinery well past its prime. The sounds war briefly with the humid noise of the jungle outside before enfolding me completely, cocooning me in a world not of this place or time.
I shiver, keenly aware that in this tunnel, vacuum-sealed against the years, I might almost be traveling back in time for real, descending into a dimension created a lifetime ago and then frozen from time’s passage until today. It’s a strange contrast to the place I’ve just been. The Rainforest, in all its wildness, brims with life, wrapping the present in overgrown tendrils that hold fast and never let the moment go, while this passageway is merely a hollow specter of the past, empty and devoid of life.
On and on the tunnel goes until my arms are aching with the unaccustomed work. My feet slip and slide on the grime-encrusted rungs, and more than once I have to make a quick grab at the ladder to keep from falling. This must have been an antigravity shaft in its time; surely the workers wouldn’t have wanted to make this climb every day. I’m starting to wonder just how deep they dug this thing when all the lights go out.
Panic seizes me. I freeze, clutching the ladder tight as I hang there in the pitch black, too terrified to move. Whimpers dribble from my mouth, low and desperate, and deep down in my chest, a scream begins to bubble up . . .
Pop! Pop, pop! Just as suddenly as they went out, the lights return. Still hugging the ladder tight, I chance a glance down.
The bottom of the shaft is only a meter below me.
I laugh, half in relief, half at the ridiculousness of it all. My laughter bounces against the narrow passage, echoing back to me in waves that somehow sound both scornful and scared. I frown, not liking that unexpected evaluation at all, and abruptly stop. Finally working up the courage to let go, I release the rungs and jump down to the floor.
The doors at the bottom of the shaft don’t even attempt to open when I swipe my chit past the scanner, but there’s a manual release just beside it. I grip the lever, first in one hand, then in both when it proves stubborn. I’ve put half my body weight on it before it finally moves, oozing down with the reluctance of one who isn’t fully convinced. The seal on the doors pops with a low whine, and I jerk my head back as a burst of stale air puffs through the crack to strike me square in the nose. All that’s left to do now is to wedge my fingers into the gap, slide the doors open, and step inside.
I whistle softly as I enter the room. So this is the bottom of the rabbit hole. But what sort of rabbit lives here?
I’m in what appears to be a central decontamination chamber. Though the room was emptied decades ago, the structural remains—cleansing stalls, racks for assorted gear, self-sealing laundry bins—tell the story easily enough. I wander through the room, idly touching a cleansing unit here, a laundry bin there. My fingertips come away dirty, and only now do I see the thin layer of dust lying over the room, adhering to walls and floor in equal measure despite their dust-resistant coating. I wrinkle my nose, as much from the painfully dry air as the aging filth, sneezing several times before I manage to get it under control. Eyes watering, I look around for an exit.
Four equidistant doors line the circular walls of the chamber. Apparently, the entrance hatch, with its attached decon chamber, serves as the central point of the shelter with the remaining sections radiating out from it. It makes sense. With the dangerous terraforming conditions, they no doubt required everyone to de-con before returning to duty rather than risk contaminating their fellow workers. With no idea of the layout, I choose a door at random. Forcing the manual release, I pause at the entrance to listen for signs of life.
Nothing. Only the drone of machinery humming once again after decades of disuse.
The wall between this section and the next is a full meter thick. I take a step into the doorway—and stop. My breath catches. The air brushing my face isn’t the dry, stale draft of the decon chamber but the warm, moist currents of the jungle. Air is being exchanged with the surface, which can only mean—
Someone has been here.
And not seventy years ago, but recently.
My heart quickens. Carefully, I ease through the utilitarian passage and step into the bunker beyond. The rooms beyond are disappointingly empty. No Shar, no other people, no furniture at all except for some built-in closets and cupboards. Whatever was once here, it’s gone now—and something was here. I can tell by the patterns of dust on the floor. While the dust in the de-con chamber was spread evenly across the floor, here I find multiple clean spaces, indicating that something was here in the not-so distant past. Some very large somethings, judging by the size of the spaces. Maybe some sort of heavy equipment or machinery? Terraforming equipment is the obvious answer, considering where I am, but then, why only remove it decades later?
The north end of the bunker is mostly caved in. I stand in the doorway as close as I dare and inspect the room. It looks like some sort of explosion happened. Black scorch marks stain the walls—at least the parts that are visible around the piles of dirt, rock, and debris—and some sort of nasty-looking substance clings to every available surface. A putrid odor, chemical and unnatural, wafts from the room.
I shudder slightly, wondering what the hell happened here. Surely this couldn’t be related to the terraforming. That was finished decades ago, and all maintenance is conducted from a few buildings on the surface. But if the explosion wasn’t related to the terraforming, then who was down here, and what were they doing?
Uneasiness creeps through me. I should just leave. With the bunker already compromised, there’s no telling what could happen—another cave-in could occur, or the bunker could collapse completely. It’s not safe here. But even as I tell myself to go, I can’t help drifting through the remaining rooms, looking for any sort of clue to explain the situation. Nothing sticks out until I arrive at the final room: a defunct control room at the east end of the bunker.
Unlike the other chambers, this one actually has furniture. I slowly walk through the room. Dusty processors dominate the circular space, covering the walls from floor to ceiling, while control consoles are spaced at even intervals in front of them. Metal chairs are welded to the floor before the consoles, still here after all this time, though the cushions have been removed.
I examine the equipment piece by piece. All of the consoles are dark, but lights glow on a few of the processors. Indications of basic ventilation and lighting, triggered by my unsealing of the bunker, I presume. As an experiment, I hit the display key on one of the consoles. Immediately, a log-in prompt appears on the wall above it. I raise an eyebrow. So the bunker walls are covered in smart film. A common enough feature nowadays—even the academy has it—but I hadn’t realized it was already in use back then. I play around with the controls, but without a user ID, I’m unable to access anything. The remaining machinery is silent, lifeless in the absence of any seeding drones to track or weather equalizers to control. Having finished my circuit of the bunker, I’m about to head back to the decon chamber when I catch sight of something in the corner of my eye.
It’s a door. I missed it the first time around, too distracted by all the machinery to notice, but now that I’m looking, it’s easy enough to spot. My chest twinges, and I suddenly have a feeling I’m not going to find mere sleeping rooms and hygiene units in the reaches beyond. Taking a deep breath, I reach for the manual release.
The lever doesn’t want to move, some demon inside it resisting even the slightest shift, and I have to push up on my tiptoes and put my full weight on it before I finally feel some slight semblance of movement. Encouraged, I shove down hard.
Scccrreee!
The release gives with a massive squeal, and the door swings wide. My mouth drops open. I’m standing in an empty tunnel stretching as far as I can see. Fresh, humid air hits my nose, and my mind suddenly flashes back to the decontamination chamber with its sealed doors and stale air.
This is where whoever it was came in, I realize, and where they got out. That’s why the main entrance was still sealed up tight when I arrived. The question is: Where did they come from, and where did they go? To what destination does this tunnel lead?
Only one way to find out. Stepping through the door, I begin walking.
Aside from some vents, the tunnel is empty, a simple metal tube that eventually leads to yet another door. However, unlike the door I came in, this new one is locked—and not with just any lock, but a high-tech one with both chit and biometric scanners. Definitely not from the days of terraforming. Not only is it rigged with enough alarms to raise the dead, but there’s something else sitting outside the door that tells me this is not only new, but less than three years old.
A force fence post.
A chill sweeps through me. Involuntarily, I take a step back, then another. Every instinct is telling me that whatever I’ve accidentally stumbled upon, I shouldn’t have. I don’t know what’s going on here, but the very fact that someone put a fifty thousand–cred lock and force fence on an underground door no one was ever likely to find tells me I don’t want to know.
I should get out of here. Now.
The impulse is strong enough that I’m running down the tunnel before I even realize I made the decision. I don’t bother to shut the door, just make for the exit, climbing up the shaft and back into the world above. Only when I’m back in the jungle, and the hatch has ground shut once again, do I pause to take a breath. I should leave as fast as I can, go back to school, and forget I ever found this place. That would be the smart thing to do.
And for the first time today, I actually do the smart thing.
However, as I lope through the forest toward school, I can’t help wondering if the smart thing came just a little too late.