Chapter 10: Feldspar

(Earlier)

No time to talk.

No time to think.

Bursts of light from Feldspar's jetpack dance over the cavern walls. Walls that, until about ten seconds ago, had seemed so lifeless. Until they came horribly, terrifyingly alive.

Feldspar weaves a frantic path between grasping roots and falling rocks. They barrel roll to avoid a stalactite, with inches to spare. Gabbro is jabbering in their ear, but the signal's gone patchy, and Feldspar's a little busy actually. Below them gleams the lake, but Feldspar doesn't want to think too hard about that.

They're pushing their jetpack too hard. They'll be overheating the thrusters, causing who-knows-what damage. Up ahead, out of the dark, looms a sheer stone wall, with three chutes jutting out above the foul lake. They're stained oily black. But there's no other option. And maybe - stars willing - the roots won't be able to reach them there. They grit their teeth and aim for the center chute, tucking their limbs in tight. It's a narrow fit, and inside it slopes sharply upwards. Feldspar slams their pitch thruster all the way back. Their jetpack sputters and goes out.

They hit the chute hard enough to drive the air from their lungs, grasping vainly for a handhold, a foothold, anything to catch themself. There's nothing - only sheer, slippery stone and a dizzying drop beyond. In desperation they strike out with their legs, catching the walls, grinding to a stop. It costs them; they gasp as a sharp knife of agony shoots through their ankles.

They fumble their torch on and shine it up into the darkness. The mouth of the chute is maybe ten feet above them, tantalizingly close. Now they just have to figure out how to get out.

Their helmet's HUD peeps shrilly at them. 10% oxygen remaining.

Feldspar curses softly.

And the chute bursts apart in a rain of dust and stone.

Through the haze, Feldspar sees those hideous pale roots crawling down the walls. Squirming toward them. A shrill voice in the back of their mind wonders what they will do when they reach their prey. Crush them? Impale them? Drag them to the bottom of the poison lake?
Their instincts finally kick in, and they reach out and grasp a root protruding from the stone, perilously close to their head. Peeling bark squishes beneath their gloved fingers. Climb. Climb. Eyes forward, don't look back. One hand in front of the other, ignore the pain. Ignore everything.

5% oxygen remaining.

Somehow, somehow, they make it to the top. Heave themself over the lip of the chute, and stagger to their feet. What they wouldn't give to simply collapse, and never have to move again. But no - they're in some kind of angular, smooth antechamber, and they can feel the floor vibrating, even through their suit. Not out of danger yet.
Tunnels shoot off in every direction. It's dizzying, trying to tell them apart. Their ankles twinge with every step. Their head's spinning…

1% oxygen remaining.

Oh. So this is what it's come to. Suffocate in their suit, or choke on poisonous fumes. Not the way they thought they'd go, to be honest. They utter a giddy laugh, then realize they're probably already oxygen-deprived, and laugh again anyway. It's impossible to catch their breath, but what else is there to do? Might as well go out with a smile on their face. They drop to their knees, idly watching the dust in the air eddy and swirl in their torchlight -

- wait.

Their hands fly to their helmet, tearing at the seal. Their vision blurs, fingers refusing to cooperate. But at last they fumble it off, gasping, sucking down lungfuls of air. It's… well, it's pretty terrible. Their throat burns, their eyes already stinging as if they're full of smoke. But they can feel a cool draught against their face coming from the closest tunnel. It's all the invitation they need.

Just inside the tunnel entrance is a… Thing. It looks bizarrely like a large metal barrel that's been sawed in half and attached to a set of wheels. Huh. It's attached to a long beam in the ceiling that seems to go on and on, further than their torchlight can reach. Set low into the wall is a shining gem-like inlay. It's shaped something like a hand, if Feldspar squints. Too many fingers, and with oddly rounded fingertips.

The tunnel trembles. This time, Feldspar can feel the noise shudder through them. When the first cracks appear in the ceiling, the Thing inches forward along the beam, wheels creaking.

Feldspar is no expert on alien gizmos. But they sure as sky know a button when they see one, and, honestly? They're out of options. They slam their fist down on the weird hand print, their hearts pounding. Stars, please, please let it do something …

A low hum fills the tunnel. The Thing jerks forward on its wheels as the beam starts to shimmer. Once again, instinct takes over. Feldspar makes a running leap for the Thing and hauls themself over the side. Their limbs scream for mercy. But they're in, and the Thing is picking up speed, the hum rising to a crescendo, and then it's careening down the crumbling tunnel, bouncing them around like a dice in a cup. A corner, taken too fast, sends them slamming into the Thing's side, landing heavily on their torch. It flickers and dies, plunging them into darkness. They roll themself into a ball, arms curled protectively around their head. All they know is the whistle of wind and the screech of metal on metal, and the all-encompassing rumble of the ceiling giving way beneath the onslaught of angry plant life.

The Thing gives a sudden, violent lurch as something smashes into it.

For a single, blissful second Feldspar feels weightless.

Then they're tumbling head-over-heels in the dark. There's no up or down, only noise and pain and their own hoarse voice rising in a scream.

And after that, there's…

nothing.