Transmigrant - Chapter 23
Copyright © 2024 Stephen B. Anthony
Some storms come without warning, but it’s the ones that brew in silence, in the aftermath of loss, that leave the deepest scars.
—Christine Silman Decker
CHAPTER 23
A storm rolled in from the southwest, dark clouds churning as Ray dragged the render bodies to a ravine and tossed them over. The chilly rain stung his skin, adding to the morning’s dreariness. He returned to the ship to dry off and sat on the bridge, reading through more ship logs from Ichiro’s prior excursions to Tempus and Tellarius. Kaylie went to take a nap following the trauma of the render attack. Estia hadn’t come out of her room and was presumably still watching old films.
Ray hoped to get the artifact outside to try more powerful means of opening it. He worried he might be missing something. As he stared at the logs, frustration gnawed at him. This artifact was an enigma, and every attempt to unlock its secrets felt like a shot in the dark. Was he overlooking a crucial detail, some key to its mechanism?
His thoughts drifted to Niruku. Five centuries ago, they had also encountered a similar artifact on Mars. What if their failure to open it wasn’t because of a rough landing, but the desperation of scientists who had run out of ideas? What if, in their frustration, they had forced it open with explosives? Ray shuddered at the thought. Would he be making the same mistake, driven by impatience and the pressure to succeed?
He also considered that there were no useful personal weapons on board the ship, which he thought was an oversight by Ichiro. Kaylie’s pistol used nine-millimeter rounds, which was good news. It meant he could strip the rounds from the assassin’s discarded magazine and reload Kaylie’s pistol. They were down to fifteen rounds. Ichiro possessed a katana. Ray had some familiarity with the weapon, having studied sword fighting in simulations. If push came to shove, he might make use of it.
He slipped back outside to work on the landing gear door, but finally gave up on it. He was going to need a new panel. Instead of trying to fix it, he used a cutting torch to cut it up into bits, planning to turn it into a nasty surprise.
Kaylie found him working on it under the starboard wing of the ship, where he had worked out of the rain, grinding charcoal and creating a mixture of black powder. It had stopped raining by the time she came out to find him.
“I can’t find Estia,” she said, her voice tinged with worry.