It took Modro and Paraska a hantick and forty to reach the assigned coordinates of the lost cargo transport and another three hanticks of meticulous coordinated flight along a search grid, before Paraska came on the radio to point out the broken trees.
“You think they went into that?” Modro asked incredulously. “In a cargo transport? That canyon’s barely wide enough for me. I’m probably going to find them wedged in.”
“Maybe,” Paraska said. Her cargo transport was right off his wing, hovering so close they could almost have opened their doors and shouted at each other. “Still doesn’t explain the lack of contact.”
“They might have blown out their electronics,” Modro reasoned as he lined up the nose of his craft with the slot canyon.
“They must have blown out everything. Because I’m still getting zero readings on my thermal scanner.”
“It’s a steep canyon; you might need to be directly over them before the scanner can pick up the heat signature. All right, give me a few ticks. This is going to be tight.”
He pulled up even with the broken trees, then began a slow and careful descent into the canyon. Fortunately, the sunlight was coming from the right angle, lighting up the sharp edges of rocks that reached out for him.
“Yarnolio was insane,” he muttered, tapping the control just a hair to move away from the left wall. “He should have dropped someone in on a cable.”
“They were probably here right after sunrise. This canyon would have been dark as night. Maybe he didn’t realize how tight it was.”
Modro was watching his altimeter shift into double digits and continue spooling down. The canyon didn’t seem to be getting any narrower, though. He might actually be able to land.
At twenty-five vertical paces his hand jerked on the control, the sudden stop rattling through his body. “Paraska.”
“I’m here. What do you see?”
“This is definitely where that chunk of alien ship landed. There’s a big area of smashed brush, and it’s not from the transport. But…whatever landed here seems to have left.”
“Speak again? Did you say it left?”
Modro tapped the vidcam switch and began recording. The video, embedded with his coordinates and transport number, would be uploaded in real time to an orbital relay and sent from there to Whitesun Base. Paraska would be able to view it directly from his transmission. “I’m looking at a landing site taking up half the width of this canyon and what appear to be thruster marks reaching all the way to the canyon walls. There’s a trail leading upcanyon from the landing site. A big trail; I’m seeing entire small trees that were crushed. And there’s another trail leading toward me. Switching to the rear vidcam.” He tapped another control. “Confirmed, the trail continues downcanyon. Whatever made this was very large and very heavy. Activating landing cam now.”
Another tap brought up the vidcam on the transport’s underside. He blinked, not understanding what he was seeing.
The exhaust from his thrusters was stirring up what looked like dead leaves, except this was the wrong season for them, and these leaves were mostly white and gray.
White, like the exterior shell of a cargo transport. And gray, like pieces of a metal alloy frame.
“Oh, shekking Mother,” he cried in horror.
“Modro? What is it?”
“I think I found them.”