pee."
"Appreciate your concern, boys," said Garrett, "but we've got this covered." He gave Richelle a hand to help her to her feet. She thanked him, then sauntered past Trent and Hunter. Garrett started after her, leaving Trent and Hunter staring at each other, not a word coming to their lips.
Hunter went after them. He put a hand on Garrett's shoulder.
Garrett stopped and turned around.
"We weren't finished," said Hunter. "I don't give a rat's ass if she pisses on a mushroom. That's not what I'm concerned about."
"Then what?"
"It's the homing identifiers and coms. They're not working right."
"I'm aware of that," said Garrett. "Richelle only walked about thirty paces from me, and our communications went out, almost like a switch had been turned off."
"So, what do you think's wrong with them?"
"Not sure. But you need to do something about it." Garrett started walking away.
"Maybe it's the particular frequency we're using," said Trent as he came up behind Hunter. "As a precaution, I'd recommend everyone carry a Vimap at all times. We can set the HIDs for maximum signal generation and try some different frequencies. I'll run some tests."
When they got to camp, Richelle was already lying down and none of the others had wakened. The night proceeded without further incident, but Hunter kept the next watch, Trent and Edison following. Still, Hunter slept fitfully the rest of the night. He was worried something was wrong with their HIDs and coms. He was worried too about the actions of his team. It was as if a plague of quirky behavior was spreading through the group, the encounter with Richelle and Garrett more than enough to reaffirm his concerns. He was beginning to have second thoughts about taking this team to the shaft that killed Sid, which was what he hoped to do after they staked the velandrite claim.
After everyone had wakened, they had a quick breakfast and began hiking out of the Steambath Chamber as they now called the area. Within a short time, they were back in the tremendous Hall of the Great Lake as Isis had proclaimed it. Hours passed. When they finally had traversed the Great Lake, which at times seemed to stretch on into an inky infinity, they were confronted with three side-by-side exiting passages, all appearing similar in form, each passage being about two meters wide and three meters high. A small blinking light was attached to a wall in the far right corridor.
Trent reached up and tapped the light with his index finger. "What are we looking at from here, Hunter?"
"It's a bit more than what we did yesterday. Some low ceilings. Steeper gradients. A couple keyholes. Then a steep, narrow passage leads down into Level Two. After that, a short connector opens up into a long, long hall."
"Should we expect any serious climbing?"
"No, not yet," said Hunter. He started into the passage, Trent following. "Not until after the Long Hall."
"Good," said Trent. "It's probably going to take Renata another day to recover completely. She could do with as little climbing as necessary today."
"I still can't believe what Ramon did to her," said Hunter.
"Perhaps," said Trent. "But could there be more to that story?"
"What do you mean? It's just another one of his sad-assed jokes."
"That doesn't put my mind at ease," said Trent. "Ramon's a glorious liar. Renata, on the other hand, she's not a good liar. It's in the way she told the story. It was like she was corroborating rather than giving her own view. In its simplicity it seemed forced—no, contrived. She finds a spring. Takes off her boots and socks so she can soak her feet. Then she leaves them while she walks around the spring for a look. When she returns, they're gone. She cuts her feet. Ramon did it—case closed."
"Sounds plausible to me, but you know her better than I do."
"No. Logical," said Trent. "Of a logical
"Appreciate your concern, boys," said Garrett, "but we've got this covered." He gave Richelle a hand to help her to her feet. She thanked him, then sauntered past Trent and Hunter. Garrett started after her, leaving Trent and Hunter staring at each other, not a word coming to their lips.
Hunter went after them. He put a hand on Garrett's shoulder.
Garrett stopped and turned around.
"We weren't finished," said Hunter. "I don't give a rat's ass if she pisses on a mushroom. That's not what I'm concerned about."
"Then what?"
"It's the homing identifiers and coms. They're not working right."
"I'm aware of that," said Garrett. "Richelle only walked about thirty paces from me, and our communications went out, almost like a switch had been turned off."
"So, what do you think's wrong with them?"
"Not sure. But you need to do something about it." Garrett started walking away.
"Maybe it's the particular frequency we're using," said Trent as he came up behind Hunter. "As a precaution, I'd recommend everyone carry a Vimap at all times. We can set the HIDs for maximum signal generation and try some different frequencies. I'll run some tests."
When they got to camp, Richelle was already lying down and none of the others had wakened. The night proceeded without further incident, but Hunter kept the next watch, Trent and Edison following. Still, Hunter slept fitfully the rest of the night. He was worried something was wrong with their HIDs and coms. He was worried too about the actions of his team. It was as if a plague of quirky behavior was spreading through the group, the encounter with Richelle and Garrett more than enough to reaffirm his concerns. He was beginning to have second thoughts about taking this team to the shaft that killed Sid, which was what he hoped to do after they staked the velandrite claim.
After everyone had wakened, they had a quick breakfast and began hiking out of the Steambath Chamber as they now called the area. Within a short time, they were back in the tremendous Hall of the Great Lake as Isis had proclaimed it. Hours passed. When they finally had traversed the Great Lake, which at times seemed to stretch on into an inky infinity, they were confronted with three side-by-side exiting passages, all appearing similar in form, each passage being about two meters wide and three meters high. A small blinking light was attached to a wall in the far right corridor.
Trent reached up and tapped the light with his index finger. "What are we looking at from here, Hunter?"
"It's a bit more than what we did yesterday. Some low ceilings. Steeper gradients. A couple keyholes. Then a steep, narrow passage leads down into Level Two. After that, a short connector opens up into a long, long hall."
"Should we expect any serious climbing?"
"No, not yet," said Hunter. He started into the passage, Trent following. "Not until after the Long Hall."
"Good," said Trent. "It's probably going to take Renata another day to recover completely. She could do with as little climbing as necessary today."
"I still can't believe what Ramon did to her," said Hunter.
"Perhaps," said Trent. "But could there be more to that story?"
"What do you mean? It's just another one of his sad-assed jokes."
"That doesn't put my mind at ease," said Trent. "Ramon's a glorious liar. Renata, on the other hand, she's not a good liar. It's in the way she told the story. It was like she was corroborating rather than giving her own view. In its simplicity it seemed forced—no, contrived. She finds a spring. Takes off her boots and socks so she can soak her feet. Then she leaves them while she walks around the spring for a look. When she returns, they're gone. She cuts her feet. Ramon did it—case closed."
"Sounds plausible to me, but you know her better than I do."
"No. Logical," said Trent. "Of a logical
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