The Rift Frequency. Amy Foster S.

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      I make my body straight as an arrow and nosedive through the tunnel of space and time. After a few seconds I begin to feel something else. My body starts to feels heavier, denser, and I can see a vertical light ahead of me. It’s clearly the new Earth’s gravity pulling me forward. On the previous two trips I’d thought that the Rift literally spat me out. I realize now that the kicking force I feel is simply the change in atmospheric pressure. Using the white light coming from the other side, I align my body accordingly. I’m now vertical, and my hope is that the exit is upright, too. I brace myself for the final release and take a step forward. My foot hits solid ground. I’ve done it. I’ve walked out of the Rift instead of landing on my face again. Levi isn’t so lucky. He tumbles out and rolls three or four times in the white sand at our feet, pulling me down with him.

      I disconnect and pop up, grabbing the Roone device on my belt that’s used to measure the compatibility of our human physiology with our current environment as I do. Thankfully, the air is clean and fresh without any toxins. And I mean totally clean. Not even our Earth is so free of pollutants. I push a switch on my oxygen mask and it retracts. I scream as it takes a layer of skin along with it. I’m usually good with pain, but this must be really bad. I wonder briefly if my face is going to be scarred for life. Given a Citadel’s advanced capacity for healing, I doubt it, and either way, scars don’t bother me. In fact, I wish I had more. I think it might actually be a relief to see on the outside what I feel so often on the inside.

      I don’t even know why I’m letting myself be distracted by something as stupid as a scar. Probably so I can ignore how bad our current predicament is. I shake myself out of it and go into crisis mode—say what you will about ARC (and believe me, I’ve said it all), but their training is exactly what we need right now.

      I look down. Levi is in bad shape, but before I can worry about him, I need to assess our situation. We are on a narrow stretch of sand bordered by a bright turquoise ocean. I pull out the binoculars attached to my utility belt, which are also enhanced with Roone tech. I see nothing but some palm trees and the sea for at least a hundred miles in every direction. Beautiful as it is, this version of Earth might be scarier than the last. I wonder if it’s sheer luck that the Rift happened to open on the one piece of land available, or if it’s some kind of fail-safe built into the system. I pray to God it’s the latter, and not just for our personal safety. The fact is, our packs are water-resistant against things like rain and what not, but they aren’t airtight. And that’s crucial because of our equipment, specifically our laptops. If they got wet, that would effectively end our travels and we’d be trapped. It really dawns on me in that moment how crazy this mission is and how much faith we’ve put in Roone tech. It’s one thing to imagine how it’s going to be in theory, but out here in the field I understand how truly vulnerable we are. What at first seemed like a miracle—a computer program to navigate us to other versions of Earth—is starting to feel primitive, cumbersome, and unpredictable. There are simply too many variables and too many potential situations that end with us being separated from our technology, and effectively stranded. I allow myself to imagine briefly what it would be like to be stuck on a desert island with Levi for the rest of my life. No family, no friends, no Ezra. Just me and Levi forever.

      That thought, along with the excruciating pain, brings bile to my throat.

      What the hell is wrong with me? I can’t be thinking about any of that now.

      Crisis.

      Mode.

      I have to deal with Levi. Since he’s lying facedown in the sand, I’m fairly sure he isn’t conscious. Thankfully, there is that small tree line behind me made up of a crop of swaying palms. They’ll provide enough shade for us to rest without having to set up the tents. I grab Levi by his pack, and because I’m in too much pain to carry him, I have to drag him the hundred feet or so away from the beach. My burnt hands touch his backpack, and the pain of this one small act, dragging my partner to shelter, almost brings me to my knees. I take a moment when it’s done, steadying myself on a tree with my elbow. I’d like to collapse, too, but there’s too much to be done.

      There’s no point in waking Levi until I can doctor his wounds, and I can’t do anything to help him with my own wounds raw and exposed. I take off my belt and unzip my catsuit-like uniform down past my belly button. Ever so gently, with just my thumb and index finger, I peel the suit down. When I get to my wrists I try to make the opening wide enough so that the material doesn’t touch my hands. I fail on both sides and I grind my teeth against the pain so hard my jaw starts to ache.

      I sigh with relief when it’s off. Beneath the suit I’m wearing nothing but a black sports bra. Ordinarily I’d worry about touching Levi dressed like this, about touching him period, but he’s in too much pain for his Blood Lust to activate.

      I hope.

      I gently tie the sleeves of my uniform around my waist and walk briskly to the ocean. I need to clean my injuries before I can put on medicine and dress them. I crouch down and swiftly blow air out of my lungs, then plunge my hands in the warm salt water. I actually scream it hurts so badly. I must be seriously injured. Citadels excel at many things, but most of all they are masters at fighting, lying, and enduring pain. The Roones say we have the ability to turn down the sensitivity of our nerve receptors, which is probably a version of the truth. So the fact that I’m ready to pass out right now says a lot about the magnitude of my injuries. I need real medical attention, but what can I do about it? There’s no one else here, and Levi is worse off than I am.

      I steel myself as I splash seawater on my face, bringing on another round of agony. I falter in the ocean, nothing but collapsing sand beneath my feet to steady myself on. I dig deep, mentally, trying to push through the sharp white pain without passing out, but I’m not sure how much more of this I can take.

      When it feels like I’ve sufficiently cleaned my wounds, which, as far as I can tell, are mostly second-degree burns wherever my skin was exposed, I race back up to the coverage beneath the trees. I dump the contents of both our packs out onto the sand. It’s easier to get what I need this way as opposed to rooting through them with my raw and damaged hands. I take our bowls and cups and run back to the ocean to fill them. I move so fast I manage to outrun the latest wave of pain as the water hits my skin. Or maybe more and more of my pain receptors are being turned off.

      A girl can hope.

      When I get back to our pile of stuff, I find my first aid kit and open it with my teeth. We have an ample supply of medicines and supplies for all kinds of injuries. Edo must have known we would encounter Earths like the last one, with dangerously unstable atmospheres. I find a tube that looks like toothpaste but is labeled as burn ointment. I unscrew it with my teeth and squeeze out a generous amount into my palms. The relief is immediate and palpable and I cover my hands with the medication. I do the same with my face and the pain becomes tolerable. I wrap my entire left hand in a bandage and most of my right, but leave my fingers exposed so I can treat Levi.

      I remove his helmet first. When the contraption retracts he wakes up with a yelp of pain. “Don’t try to be a stoic, okay? Just lie here and let me help you,” I warn him. By way of reply Levi nods his head. “This part is really going to hurt. Like, probably more than anything you’ve ever experienced. I have to clean the injuries and no, I’m not rubbing salt in your wounds for fun. It’s antibacterial, so grit your teeth and don’t punch me.” I gently pour the water I collected from the ocean over his hands. To his credit, Levi remains perfectly still, though tears are pouring down his face. I take a clean cloth and dab his face lightly with the seawater. Wearing a sealed helmet would have helped with bacteria, and even though there is an antibacterial agent in the burn ointment, given our situation, I must be doubly safe. I don’t want to return home before we’ve found Ezra just because of СКАЧАТЬ