Page 22 of Love for Thea

Data point, she told herself, forcing her eyes to lock onto the flickering screen. Ground acceleration is spiking at 0.45g. Safe thresholds have been exceeded by twenty percent.

The stark figure pulled her focus inward, a cold mathematical anchor that steadied the rapid, erratic beat of her heart.

Data point: Steam vent activity is increasing exponentially: a pressure release.

With each new reading, the pit of urgency in her chest deepened, but she pushed the fear into a corner. Fear was a variable she couldn’t solve. Data, she could manage.

Her fingers began to pound on the keys of the console, desperate to make it respond. Sweat slicked her palms as the warning alarms blared around her, the air thick with the smell of burning circuits.

“The cooling intake on Monitor 4 is failing!” one of the other technicians yelled, his voice cracking with panic.

“Shut up and watch the pressure!” Miller screamed back, but he didn’t move. He stared at a scrolling red graph, paralyzed by the realization that his models were useless.

Outside, the mountain trembled violently, a low rumbling that shook the very foundation of the facility. It was a beast on the verge of waking, pushed to the edge by Vanguard’s greed. Every rising number on the screen tightened the knot in her chest, the disaster unfolding faster than she could stop it.

Thea’s gaze snapped to the reinforced glass of the cell block at the far end of the hub.

Data point, she thought, her fingers twitching against her pulse point. The faintest movement is visible behind the steel. Ben and Reef are still active. They are waiting for me to find the failure point in the system.

The thought was a silent reminder of the lives depending on her, a weight that threatened to trigger a “Data Loop,” but she forced her eyes back to the scrolling monitors. Time was bleeding away, every second a step closer to a phreatic burst.

“Miller, look at the frequency!” Thea commanded, her voice gaining a clinical sharpness that made the engineer jump. “You’re drilling into a closed-loop hydrothermal system, not a mine. A living, breathing geological entity. And you’re poking it with a stick.”

Beyond the glass, The Principal remained motionless, watching them like a predator. His silent scrutiny compressed the room’s air, each second under his watchful eyes a reminder that their fates lay entirely in his hands.

Data point, Thea whispered to the empty air. We are all going to die. Unless I can make the mountain breathe.

She turned back to the console, her mind racing through the calculus of failure. She didn’t have a rifle, and she didn’t have a team. But she had the data. And in the next twelve minutes, that was going to have to be enough.

TWELVE

GRIZZLY

01:30 Hours (Day 2) (Time Elapsed: 09 hours, 00 minutes)

Grizzly didn’t wait for the dust to settle. He ripped his rucksack from the security desk, the heavy canvas familiar against his spine. Beside him, Reef was already stripping his civilian flannel, revealing the dark tactical vest beneath. His movements were clinical, but his eyes were wide, tracking the ceiling as it groaned under the weight of a fresh tremor.

He checked his watch. 01:30. They had been inside the belly of this mountain for over an hour. It was time to get out.

While Reef kept watch, Grizzly jammed the bone-conduction headset against his temples and clicked the power. The Net didn’t snap into place with its usual military precision. Instead, it screamed with the static of the Vanguard jammer.

“Ranch, this is Grizzly. I need the Net. Give me the sky!”

Static filled his head, a digital wall he couldn’t kick down.

Then, Mace’s voice bled through, thin and distorted, like a signal from a distant star. “—zzly? We’re… receiving you. The jam… pulsing. Listen fast. Wolf is in... Diverted for civilian SAR. Picasso’s team is prepping...”

The line crackled violently. “ …on your own for now. Get to high ground!”

The line died with a sharp, electronic pop. The Ranch was dark.

“Movement!” Reef hissed.

Three Vanguard contractors rounded the corner, rifles leveled. Their eyes were wide, darting toward the ceiling as a fresh tremor rattled the light fixtures. They didn’t look like professional killers anymore; they looked like cornered rats.

“Drop it!” the lead guard shouted, but his hands were shaking so hard the muzzle of his rifle traced erratic circles in the air.

Grizzly didn’t drop his weapon. He stepped forward, his massive frame filling the corridor, his shadow stretching long and menacing under the red strobes.