Avery Quence liked field research. Or, more precisely, he enjoyed the idea of field research when it meant he could analyze the results from a position of comfort aboard the Shadow.
He did not enjoy being part of the away team exploring Naroli II’s entirely unspectacular subterranean cave system.
“I’ve read your research, and I….”
It was dark. It was damp. And something about the echo of their footsteps sounded wrong.
A few feet ahead, Livaković and Kelmaran were involved in a somewhat heated debate about the potential of subterranean lakes, and it rankled Quence that they hadn’t once thought to ask his opinion on the matter.
“What I’ve found particularly fascinating….”
That only confirmed that sending him down here had either been an administrative error or part of a personal vendetta against him. As if he were personally to blame for Valdes’ decision to leave the Shadow.
“… and I’ve been wondering…”
…
“Doctor Quence?”
Quence’s head snapped toward the direction his name had come from. For a moment, he simply regarded Ensign Marais, who – for some reason – had insisted on staying by his side and had continued to try and involve him in conversation from the moment they had entered the shuttle.
Quence’s head snapped toward the direction his name had come from. For a moment, he simply regarded Ensign Marais, who – for some reason – had insisted on staying by his side and had continued to try and involve him in conversation from the moment they had entered the shuttle.
“Yes, Ensign.” Quence said. “What is it?”
“I… nothing, sir,” Marais replied.
Quence was about to ask him why, then, if it was nothing, he had interrupted his thought process, but the words never left his mouth.
No warning. No tremor underfoot. No time.
The ground lurched and the world tipped.
“Take cover!” Livaković called over the sound of deep cracks coming from above them. “Over here!”
Quence tried to make out where her voice was coming from, but Livaković’s flashlight lay uselessly on the floor, barely visible as the dust rained down on them and turned its light into a thick, directionless smear.
Quence tried to make out where her voice was coming from, but Livaković’s flashlight lay uselessly on the floor, barely visible as the dust rained down on them and turned its light into a thick, directionless smear.
He clambered back to his feet, only for something – or someone? – to crash into him and drive him against the nearest wall, the impact slamming the breather hard against his cheekbone. Quence threw his arms over his head and pressed himself flat, and stopped thinking entirely because there was no way to rationalize the groan of the structure above him as it gave way, and then the high ping of smaller fragments hitting the floor. He didn’t move until those were the only sounds left.
“Quence?”
Quence opened his eyes and lowered his hands. He turned toward the flashlight, realized he was still crouched on the floor. He got up slowly, gripping the wall for support.
“I.. I’m alive…” he said. He straightened his back and wiped dust and debris out of his face, but failed to mirror Kelmaran’s commanding tone.
“Good,” Kelmaran replied. “Marais?”
Silence.
“Marais?” Livaković’s voice joined in. A moment later, she picked up her flashlight.
Marais’s voice was barely a whisper. “Here…”
Marais’s voice was barely a whisper. “Here…”
“Ensign, where-… ” Livaković said. Her light moved over the heap of debris that had moments ago been their exit, then across the walls, and eventually…
“Shit.”
Livaković moved first and rushed towards the half-buried Ensign. Kelmaran followed. Quence meant to do the same, but his legs didn’t obey. He tapped his badge instead. “Quence to Shadow.”
“Sh-…. w-… readi-….ed?” the Shadow responded. Quence gritted his teeth.
“We need help. Part of the cave collapsed. Ensign Marais is injured,” he said, articulating each word slowly and carefully. And hoping, against hope, that enough of it made it through.
“W-… trouble-…. ho-… ble…….”
“Doctor Quence, we need you over here,” Livaković called. “Now!”
Quence’s body moved before his mind could come up with a good reason not to. He knelt down next to Marais, who looked up at him with wide, dark eyes in a face gone pale.
Quence looked away.
“His vital signs are stable, but blood flow to the lower extremities is obstructed,” Livaković said. She handed the tricorder to Quence and took Marais’ hand instead.
“Can we get him out?” Quence asked, trying his best to keep his gaze fixed on the readout.
“Can we get him out?” Quence asked, trying his best to keep his gaze fixed on the readout.
“Not a chance.” Livaković shook her head.
“Comms are down. I don’t know how much of what I said reached the Shadow.”
Nobody answered.
And somewhere in the dark behind them, a fragment shifted and fell.
I love the mood of this introductory story for Fogg Station. The nebulous, smokey experience feels especially fitting for the name of the station. I liked how deeply you stayed in Quence\'s POV for the cave-in. It let the reader sort out what was happening, immersed in the sensory input, just as Quence was doing the same. The distorted comms messages were similarly frustrating, telling us no more than Quence would know in the moment -- keeping a mystery open for us all to keep reading. The line \"Quence’s body moved before his mind could come up with a good reason not to\" especially amused me, given the deep reluctance Quence had to even be on this away mission in the first place. And then you left us with a LITERAL cliffhanger, with whatever hanger-on fell from the cave wall, leaving us to wonder who\'s safe and what the significance will be. Judging by the description of Fogg Station\'s mission, it\'s going to be a doozy!