World of Fire (Dev Harmer 01) (37 page)

01:32:51

Nothing to be gained by worrying about it. Keep going, that was the only option. Keep going and keep hoping.

He helped Trundell to his feet, and the three of them set off across the boulder field.

Tripping, slipping, squeezing between the rocks when possible, crawling over them when not. Hopping across from one to the next when they were flat enough to allow it. Straddling them when they were small enough to allow that.

The constant effort began to take its toll. Dev’s breathing became laboured. The air in the shieldsuit grew insufferably stifling. The temperature inside was rising, now a feverish 38º Celsius thanks to his exertions. The cooling system worked hard to bring that down, but the external temperature was rising too, so it was fighting a battle on two fronts.

He paused to take a drink from the water recirculation unit. What he was sucking from the valve-tipped tube was his own sweat and the moisture from his breath, which had been drawn in through ionic membrane pumps, then condensed, filtered and purified. It tasted more than a little salty. It was welcome nonetheless.

While he was stationary, the shieldsuit recalculated its continued viability time. It was factoring in the heat his body was giving off in addition to the mounting heat outside as daybreak drew nearer.

On the faceplate HUD, 01:23:17 suddenly, in a blink, became 01:16:09.

Seven minutes gone, just like that. Not much in the general scheme of things, but for someone in his predicament, every minute – every
second
– was vital.

With renewed vigour and will, Dev resumed traversing the boulder field.

After a while, the rocks grew smaller and fewer. The ground between them was scattered with sharp, gravelly pebbles. These were treacherous underfoot but, after battling his way across the larger boulders, Dev didn’t mind. The going was much easier now. A walk in the park by comparison.

Trundell caught up with him.

We’re doing all right, aren’t we, Harmer?

So far.

Do you think we’re going to make it?

I’m just putting one foot in front of the other. As long as we’re moving west, we’re in with a chance.

They’ll be searching for us. They’ll find us.

Yeah. Definitely.

Umm, where’s Stegman?

Dev turned round. He performed a 360º sweep of the vicinity.

No sign of Stegman.

Shit.

We’d better go back and look for him.

All right. Yes. It’s getting lighter, though, isn’t it? Have you noticed? The rocks are growing shadows. I can actually see what I’m doing.

Dev was finding the nascent daylight uncomfortable. It made his eyes ache. He imagined it would only get worse. The shieldsuits’ faceplates weren’t polarised or even tinted. They didn’t need to be; the suits were intended for subterranean use. Nobody – apart from Beauregard – had ever considered that they might be pressed into service as ‘lifeboats’ on the planet’s surface.

Dev retraced his steps, Trundell with him.

Stegosaurus? Stegman? You there? Answer me.

Here, Harmer.

Give us a clue as to your whereabouts. What’s happened? Why the hold-up?

I’m among these boulders still. My knee’s not playing ball. Blasted thing hurts like a bitch. Painkillers have worn off. I’m doing my best, but it’s hard with only one leg fully functioning.

We’re coming back for you.

No. Don’t do that. If I can’t keep up, that’s my lookout.

Fuck’s sake, Stegosaurus. You after a medal or something? There’s no room for any hero stuff. We’re all getting out of this mess together, or not at all. Simple as that.

I mean it, Harmer. I can manage.

You think I’m going to leave you behind? Can you see me explaining that to Captain Kahlo? “Where’s my sergeant?” she’ll ask, and I’ll say, “Er, well, about that...” She’ll kill me. Skin me alive. With a nail file.

Ha! I’d pay good money to see that.

So get yourself up somewhere where we can see you. Top of one of the boulders. Go on.

Arriving at the zone where the rocks became dauntingly large, Dev scanned left and right.

Nothing. How far had Stegman lagged behind?

Then Dev spied a hand, an arm, two hands. Stegman hauling himself strugglingly to the summit of a boulder the size of a garden shed.

He was only fifty or so metres away. Dev wended towards him through the jagged, rugged rock maze.

Stegman slithered off the boulder, and Dev guided him out, back to where Trundell was waiting.

The policeman’s leg
was
in bad shape. He could barely put any weight on it.

Dev couldn’t help glancing at the shieldsuit timer.

00:52:41

Less than an hour, and that total would be recalibrated and reduced on a regular basis once Iota Draconis cleared the horizon. Continued suit viability was a moveable feast. Time was short, and shortening at an unfixed rate. There could be just over fifty minutes left; there could be far less.

Just for a moment, Dev was overcome by a sense of futility. Everything was against them. The sun, the terrain, Stegman’s knee. They might not make it after all. Rescue might not arrive in time.

Their deaths would be gradual and not pleasant. First the cryo-coolant would pack up. The sun’s rays would then barbecue the suits’ occupants like lobsters in their shells. Not long after that, the suits themselves would melt. In the end, there would be nothing left of Dev, Trundell and Stegman but three pools of bubbling ceramic, clotted with human ashes.

All at once, Dev hated this world. This fucking Alighieri. Hated it with a passion. It had tried to kill him in so many ways. It was trying again, really hard this time.

“Screw you, Alighieri,” he said inside his helmet, to himself. “You’re not getting me.”

He hoisted Stegman’s arm around his neck. He didn’t say anything further, just started walking again.

39

T
HE SHADOWS SHORTENED
and sharpened. The light whitened. The landscape ahead was thrown into sharp chiaroscuro relief. Every detail stood revealed, every bulge and crack, every ridge and pinnacle.

Iota Draconis was coming up, and with it, Alighieri was waking up. At the sun’s touch, rocks began to glow like flowers blooming. The heat haze grew thicker, becoming an iridescent shimmer. Fumes arose from cracks in the ground, creating palls of low-hanging, sulphurous mist. There was a deep cacophony of creaks and rumbles as basalt expanded, rock rubbing against rock.

Inside the shieldsuits, the temperature gauges read 42ºC. The cooling systems were operating at full capacity, but the figure crept inexorably further upward. The viability times, meanwhile, ticked down, occasionally jumping by a whole minute in the space of a single second.

00:31:13

The three men tramped on across the fiery landscape. Now and then, Dev would broadcast an encouraging message to the other two – That’s it, good work, on we go – but it became more and more of an effort. Not just to formulate the words, but to believe in them.

Stegman was more or less a dead weight on Dev’s arm. He hopped and hobbled along, frequently stumbling and falling, dragging Dev down with him. He asked several times to be left alone. He could make it without help, he insisted. Dev didn’t bother to reply, just lugged him onward.

Trundell sometimes chipped in to help, supporting Stegman on the other side. The xeno-entomologist was himself struggling, however. He would send out short messages every so often that tried to be upbeat, even amusing, but were mostly nonsensical:

At least I’ll be getting a suntan, no more Mr Pasty Face for me.

Now I know what I know what a beef brisket feels like. Brisket, brisket, brisket; that’s a funny word, brisket.

“How did you manage to survive on Alighieri’s surface for so long, professor?” the journalists will ask, and I’ll tell them it was by dreaming of snow and icebergs, snow and icebergs, so white, so cold, ice and snowbergs...

Dev let him ramble on and didn’t ask him to be quiet, although he would have preferred not to have to listen to his gibberish. As long as Trundell was communicating, as long as his mind was active, he was still in the game.

00:24:08

Dev reset his looped beacon message to say: We’re running out of time. Someone respond, damn it. Mayday, mayday, mayday. Three men about to be burned to a frazzle.

He wondered whether the sun’s intense UV radiation might be interfering with commplant signals, scrambling them or at least reducing their range and effectiveness. If that was the case, then their chances of being rescued had dropped from low to nearly zero.

The light was dazzling now. Dev had to squint just to be able to see. Every footstep was a trial, a test of endurance. Stegman weighed a ton. He was a human ball and chain. Walking was like wading through hot tar.

The temperature gauge was nudging 45ºC. Outside, it was five times that. Dev was bathed in sweat, slick with it, dripping, as though he was standing out in a tropical rain storm. His throat was raw with a thirst that the recirculated water couldn’t quite slake.

Abruptly Trundell halted. He stood like a tree in a breeze, swaying.

Trundle, what is it? What’s the matter?

Feel sick. Want to throw up.

You’re in a shieldsuit. You can’t throw up. It’s nausea from the heat. You’re not actually going to be sick. Drink some more.

Trundell didn’t appear to hear. He grappled with his helmet, making a cackhanded attempt to remove it.

Dev lowered Stegman to the ground and hurried over to the xeno-entomologist. He took Trundell’s hands and brought them down before he could disengaged the shieldsuit’s airtight seal.

Look at me.
Look
at me.

Through their faceplates, their gazes locked. Trundell’s eyes were huge and scared. He was blinking so profusely it was as though he was transmitting Morse code with his eyelids.

Drink. It’ll help. The nausea won’t go away completely, but it won’t get worse either. These are just early signs of hyperthermia.

Hyperthermia. Yes, hyperthermia.

You know what that is?

I know what that is. It’s... It’s...

It’s heatstroke. Your heart rate’s probably high too.

Yes. Uh, yes. Racing.

That’s all right. That’s natural. Just your body trying to cope. Accept it. Don’t let it feed your anxiety. We’re going to be okay.

No one’s coming for us, are they? Are they?

I don’t know. I expect they are.

They haven’t said. We haven’t heard.

Doesn’t mean a thing. Maybe our commplants are misbehaving. The sun is fucking with everything.

They’d have said, wouldn’t they? By now? If they were on their way.

If we stop, if we give up, we’re doomed. It’s that simple. So we’re not doing that. You get me, Trundell? We’re not giving up.

Trundell. You only use my proper name when things are serious. When you want my attention.

Bingo. And that’s what I want now. Your full attention. Stay sharp. Stay with us.