I stand at the top of a snow-covered rock, hands on my hips as I keep working on my mental map of this place. Yes, it’s more or less a shit-load of trees and snow, but it’s kind of like navigating the wasteland of sand and rubble beyond my bunker back home. At first, it doesn’t seem like much, but once you look closer there’s plenty to orient yourself.
Even the few levels I’ve gained have sharpened my senses noticeably. I can see farther, move faster for longer, and I even seem to be healing more quickly than usual.
I’ve survived a night alone out here and now I’ve even found and hunted fresh food. With what I’m carrying, I’ll have enough to keep myself going strong for at least a week, if not even more. I’d be lying if I said the thought of just… staying out here on my own didn’t cross my mind.
Yeah, maybe this place is a horror show to the others. It probably should be to me, too. But it’s not as if I’d go back to my bunker if given the choice. Even when I know this most likely ends with me dead before long, it doesn’t change a thing. This is where I want to be.
The problem is I can’t go back to my home outpost. Not yet.
The only way I’ll head toward them is if I’m absolutely certain I’m not being followed. That, or if the snow is coming down so hard I can be sure my tracks won’t linger. So for now, I need to keep searching both for any sign that I’m being pursued or signs that James and the others are heading out to look for me.
If I catch a hint they’re coming toward Merrick and his people, I’ll have to find a way to divert them.
Bugbug makes a dramatic grunting noise, driving his ship in restless circles around me.
“Do you mind?” I whisper as I kneel, scanning all around for any signs of activity.
“Human is sponsored now. Should be gathering power, not playing in snow.”
“Yeah, well, I happen to care more about keeping the people I met alive than the approval of some alien dude in a power suit I just met.”
“Should care more about alien in power suit,” Bugbug says, his tone slightly sullen. “Species rarely survive inner rings without clan support. Friends are not so important.”
I stand, brushing the snow from my palms.
“What’s in these inner rings, exactly?” I ask, being sure to keep my voice low as I follow the tracks I left yesterday, but this time I’m on top of a ridge a few dozen feet to one side.
“The challenges are… custom. Harvesters study each species, then design trials to grow the stones.” Bugbug looks over at me, seeming surprised. “This was not censored?”
I shake my head.
“Hm. Good. Clan is helping already.”
“Can people actually survive this like the emissary said?”
“Survival is rare. Promising subjects are sometimes spared and removed before the final rings.”
“Removed how?” I ask.
“Placed in positions of service,” Bugbug says. “Like Bugbug.”
I glance up at him. “You were in the harvest?”
“Yes.”
“So you had a core? What was your power?”
Bugbug shakes his head, almost violently. “No. Bugbug was unmarked. Survival was not handed to him. Had to be… wise.”
That’s curious. It means there’s a way for people like Lana, Frederick, and the other unmarked to survive this. Then again, I’m not sure if they’d all be happy to survive only to be cast into service of our alien overlords.
“What did the emissary mean by leading a clan?”
“Human should focus on hope of early extraction. Absolute victory is… Human should not aim for this,” he says.
Call me stubborn, but Bugbug’s doubt only makes me want to prove him wrong. Still, I can hardly disagree. There’s plenty of ways I could die today, let alone in the coming months or even years, depending how long I’m here. Focusing on the “now” can’t hurt.
I stop a few times to snack on the meat I managed to carry by sacrificing a layer of my furs and turning it into a bag.
Eventually, the charges of fire I’m holding in my core start to itch. I’m used to the feeling already, and know it means they’re expiring. If I don’t let them out now, they’ll come out one way or another.
I find a safe place a ways off from my original tracks, gather up a pile of wood, and expel my remaining charges to make a fire.
“Why stopping again?” Bugbug complains. “Human is always stopping. Always playing with wood and fire.”
“I can’t hold it in forever,” I say, sticking my left arm in to absorb a fresh fire charge. “It’s like they go stale. Or get unstable, or something. The stronger the power, the faster it happens, I think. So I’ve got to keep refreshing it when I can. And I want to make sure I’m using at least one of my fire charges to keep a fire going. Can’t say I’d be able to start one without my power.”
“Human cannot make fire,” Bugbug says. “Is no wonder civilization collapsed.”
I frown as I watch the flames seem to sink into the blue of the shield around my arm. “Also,” I say, choosing not to engage with his taunts. “I can still only block four attacks for now. Once I do that, I’ve got to wait like half an hour. So I have to be cautious. I can’t suck in four fire charges all at once, or if I get ambushed in the middle of it I’ll be caught with my pants down.”
Bugbug squints. “When do pants come off in this scenario?”
“Point is,” I say, sitting back and waiting once I’ve stashed two charges. “It takes time to be careful.”
Once I’ve got four charges of fire loaded and two blocks ready, I begin walking again. I’ll have all four blocks available in about twenty minutes, and if I spot trouble before then, I’ll just have to make do.
“Why is human going this way now?” Bugbug asks when he sees I’m heading back the way we came.
“Because I’m being paranoid. It was something of a specialty of mine where I came from. I always had to make sure I wasn’t followed back to my bunker, so I learned to walk in circles. This way, I get a chance to find out if someone’s trying to trail me long before I lead them where I’m going.”
“Is boring,” Bugbug complains.
“So is getting captured and killed.”
Bugbug doesn’t complain further, letting me focus on what I’m doing. For roughly an hour, there’s no sign of anything in the cold forest. I spend my attention on working on my mental map of this place, filling in details as I go.
I’m almost convinced I’ve been too paranoid by circling back when I smell something. Smoke.
I crouch lower, taking a moment to scan the horizon. Just to my left and ahead maybe half a mile, there’s a trail of gray drifting upward against the white-blue sky.
For all I know, it could be a newly arrived marked one. It could even be an entirely different outpost. The size of this damn place is a complete unknown to me, but I know better than to assume the fire so close is a coincidence. I need to be sure, so I make my way closer while staying as quiet as possible.
I eventually see them. Two figures huddled by a fire with their backs to me. One is big. Not freakishly so, but big like the strongmen in old tapes who would pull trucks with their teeth. If I had to guess, he could bend me in half with his bare hands.
The other is a slender woman with her hood drawn, but some blonde hairs trail out from the fabric.
I creep closer until I can hear their conversation.
“...moves unpredictably,” the man says. “We need get closer.”
“I have no interest in catching up to him. I still say we keep our distance and tell Merrick we couldn’t find him. You saw that thing. Vaporized Enzo and Tiaga like they were nothing. Trader my ass.”
“If Merrick finds out you lie, he kill you,” the man says, his accent heavy.
“And if that trader finds us, he’ll kill us, too. I’d rather take my chances with Merrick.”
“Trader ran. Maybe is coward.”
She shakes her head. “A cornered coward will still fight. And he never looked scared that whole time. Had to guess we weren’t bringing him in to trade, but he looked calm. That’s a man who knew he was never in danger. Fuck. That,” she adds, as if closing the conversation.
There’s a long silence, and for a moment, I let myself feel a touch of relief. If they decide to give up tracking me, there’s no need to hurt them. But if they’re going to follow me… if they are following me, then they’re a threat to my friends. And if they’re a threat to my friends…
I wait, swallowing in a suddenly dry throat.
“No,” the big man says. “We follow. Merrick will torture, then kill. Trader will just kill, I think. Follow is smarter.”
The woman lets out a heavy breath, then actually nods her head. “Dammit. You’re right.”
Bugbug drifts in front of my face, points at them, and then drags a finger across his neck, eyes wide.
As much as I hate it, he’s right. I can’t be merciful. If there’s one way I can help my friends because of where I came from, it’s this. I know better than to let a dangerous enemy live only for them to sneak back in the night and slit your throat. Just ask Earl.
I gather my nerve, then creep closer. My pulse races as I think about attacking these two. I have no way of knowing what powers they have. All I can know is nobody in that outpost seemed to be higher level than Merrick, who was level 15. That means, at worst, they’re probably only a little above my level. And based on their groups’ reaction to my S+ potential, it’s safe to assume their powers have a lower potential ranking than mine, too.
I hesitate, hiding myself behind a tree. It’s a lot of assumptions and “if’s.” But what choice do I have?
I count to three in my head, then pop out from behind the tree and spray fire from my index finger. There’s an orange glow as my finger transforms and the fire lights the forest.