Spirit Caravan, part 6. Bark. The boys have a plan, and they're sticking to it.
All the good things belong to MonolithSoft.
Frye went at that wall in a way that would have made even the roughest Reclaimer proud. A multi-tool, one last gift of his pockets, made short work of the exposed screws (H.B. noted that there was an attachment suited for Ganglion hardware and put just such a tool on his Christmas wish list). Then Frye dug his utility knife into the top of the panel and peeled it downward. His own weight did the last of the job.
Next floor, H.B. pointed to a door that was almost directly behind them when they entered it. Frye didn't question, but charged forward with enthusiasm. A screen of creepers split the corridor, but Frye's Gatling sectioned them in turn.
Third stage, another wall, and Frye repeated the same sequence. Fourth floor was wet, sucking at the treads of their feet. H.B. pointed at a flat wall, no panels this time, and Frye hesitated. Not out of uncertainty, but to wait for the ripples in the water to disperse. He dropped a screw, one of the many he'd been collecting as they went, into the shallow liquid and watched the new wavelets. Something must have informed him of a flaw in the wall, because he took his longsword and stabbed the seam of the floor precisely and the wall cracked. The utility knife did the rest.
Seventh, or perhaps the eighth, level and the knife gave up with a ringing snap. H.B.'s own personal knife, perfect and polished, was in Frye's hands before Frye lifted an ice-blond eyebrow.
Three levels after that, H.B. loosed Frye down a winding corridor, with instructions to make noise. Frye didn't just sing or hum, he barked. H.B. followed at a distance, keeping the true heading in his mind. The room they entered had several doors, some very tempting. H.B. didn't point immediately, not until Frye nudged him. "Don't make me whine. Because I will, and I don't think you want that lodged in your memory hole."
H.B. pointed unwavering toward the correct panel.
The borrowed knife was showing the strain when they reached the gallery. That floor was a ringed balcony, facing inward, with a floor that twirled and broke. H.B. put a firm hand on Frye's elbow. "Stay. Make noise, but for the love of my sanity do not bark."
"You're sending mixed messages," Frye said with a grin.
H.B. edged around the circle, testing the options against the map clear in his head. The balcony was large, too large to fit inside the structure they had entered. He could barely hear Frye reciting a precise and endless litany. "Harassment may include offensive jokes, epithets, ridicule or mockery, insults or put-downs..." He broke off the moment H.B. gave the signal and rejoined him.
"Off by an angle?" Frye asked.
"No." H.B. knew it looked wrong. The door they had entered was clearly to their left. But this was the correct choice.
"Didn't think so," Frye said with comfortable satisfaction, walking through the chosen exit.
"Did you memorize military code as part of punishment detail?"
"Nope," Frye said, then pressed himself against a wall. One deep breath and he lit up the space ahead of them. A ragged wall of something flowed away as fast as it had approached. "I'll tell you someday."
Eventually the second knife gave out. Frye pointed to a slot in the wall and nodded to H.B., and they discovered that shields work quite well as battering rams. H.B. put aside regrets for the imbalance that would result in the blows and slammed hard whenever Frye requested. It wasn't as necessary as he'd feared. Something was shifting, and several times the panels shattered from a solid kick from Frye's solider boot.
The 84th floor (approximately, because as clear as H.B. had kept the map, he hadn't counted every level) was simple. They entered the floor and directly across from them was a doorway. A doorway with a door half-open, skewed off its tracks, with a sift of sand over its sill and a breeze moving the creepers. A low slant of light that looked like dawn cut into the floor of the room.
Frye took a step toward it, then froze. H.B. joined him at his side and looked at the exit bitterly.
"No?" Frye asked with longing.
"No," H.B. said, then pointed to a spot just off from the frame of the doorway, a monotonous panel untouched by morning light. "There." Frye went in with longsword and all ten fingernails.
Something around them ripped and spat, and the floor heaved. Shards of panel and door and ceiling and creeper rained down around them. H.B. did his best to block the attack with his shield, but he was cut off from Frye almost immediately. Opening his mouth to shout for his companion only resulted in a mouthful of debris that choked him. The whirlwind was filling the room, blackening his vision. He was certain that the structure was collapsing, thereby erasing itself and all of its contents. At least Frye was probably close enough to that last break to be able to escape.
He came to lying on his back, a sky full of Miran stars overhead. Frye was face down a few meters away. H.B. struggled and failed to stand, or even sit. He chose instead to begin the slow process of rolling over to his friend. He was relieved when he heard snoring before he'd managed to get half way to Frye.
"The obvious correct plan of ..." thought H.B., falling asleep before he could finish the thought.
a/n: My inner editor appeared and said I wasn't allowed to explain why Frye has memorized the code about harassment, but basically it turns out it isn't harassment if you recite it to someone repeatedly, at every opportunity, at mess or on runs or in the hallway, to point out what they shouldn't have done.
Next up: And then they had candy. Or maybe I WILL WRITE SOMETHING ELSE.