Xeno Xoo Lost Chapter 2: The Safety Video

With his duffel slung over his shoulder and the PDQ strapped to his thigh, Geddy and the others stood before the door to the Spine, Durandia’s only conduit to the spaceport and the outside world. The vault-like outer door, Bartok explained, was generally left open to aid ventilation. Only the metal mesh inner doors slid aside, affording them their first clear view of the tunnel.

Until he met Denk, Geddy never gave much thought to Durandia. It was just another of the worlds he knew a couple facts about but never had the occasion nor the interest to visit. When he pictured its tunnels, he could only imagine ragged dirt passages shored up by timbers with root tendrils hanging from the ceiling.

All that changed when the doors finally parted and the lights activated.

This thing was a reinforced concrete monstrosity big enough to fly a small ship through. Its semioval shape reminded him more of the Devil’s Transcending Colon on Thegus, though it wasn’t quite that big.

“So this is the famous Spine,” Jel said.

“Apparently, Asshole was already taken,” Geddy noted.

“Yeah, by you,” Oz said, earning a laugh from Jel and an appreciative smirk from Geddy.

Three tracks were set into the floor of the tunnel, two for small passenger trains and the third for freight. Between their notably retro design and the buildup of greasy dust on the underside, they’d begun to show their age.

Bartok gestured toward the train on the right, which probably held a hundred humans or half again as many Durandians. The front car had a bullet-shaped shield on the front to block the wind. “All aboard! Sit wherever you’d like, but the front’s a smoother ride.”

Jel and Krezek chose the second row of the front car, so Geddy and Oz took the row behind them. The seats were connected but had individual headrests. The plasticky covering was cracked in spots.

“This thing’s seen better days,” Geddy said, deciding he’d better not forgo the restraints.

“So has Durandia,” rued Bartok, hopping into the driver’s seat. “But she’s never broken down once. The train, I mean.”

— That seems reassuring.

— I dunno. It looks more like a rollercoaster to hell.

Bartok flipped a switch, and the train’s electric motor engaged. “Anyone need a bathroom? Because I am not turning this thing around.”

He cackled at his own joke and slid a big lever forward, and the train eased forward. As he did, screens in front of them lit up and started playing an Important Safety Message from the Ministry of the Underground.

“Ah, sorry about that,” Bartok said over his shoulder. “It plays automatically.”

“No!” Geddy protested. “I’m sort of a safety buff.”

Oz barked a laugh that echoed down the tunnel.

“You sure? It’s over twenty years old.”

“So much the better.”

“Suit yourself,” Bartok shrugged.

It was level for the first five hundred meters or so, then pitched about five degrees downward. The train accelerated to a point before a governor kicked in at what felt like around 100 kph.

The video faded slowly in on a crisply attired man a bit younger than Bartok, but much older than Denk, who was reading a large book at a small desk. As the camera panned into him, he looked up from the tome as though noticing he wasn’t alone anymore.

“Oh. Hello there. My name is Norrin Napthar, Minister of the Underground. On behalf of all Durandia, welcome to the Spine, nominated for six awards at the 2405 Tunnelies.” He beamed proudly. This must have been his crowning administrative achievement.

“My god, this is amazing,” Geddy patted Oz’s leg and rested his chin in his hands.

“I know him,” Krezek said. “He’s a good man.”

Napthar rose from his desk and meandered across the room toward the door. “Did you know the Spine runs fifty-eight kilometers under Durandia’s crust and serves all eleven cities in the Underground? It’s true.   The train you’re in right now brings visitors from all over the galaxy to our beautiful cities and can make it all the way to the end in just twenty-five minutes.”

Still smiling, the camera followed Napthar across the room. “Now, I can’t talk safety until I address the C-word — crypsid.”

— That is not the C-word.

— What is?

— I’ll tell you when you’re older.

He strolled toward the right edge of the frame behind a glass enclosure that came up to his waist. Inside the glass was either a life-size replica or a mount of a crypsid, which Geddy only vaguely recalled seeing back in grade school. This was where he also learned his severely limited facts about Durandia, mainly that it was entirely underground and that Durandians lived in harmony with one of the galaxy’s most deadly and populous creatures.

It was about the size of a large dog, with six legs and a segmented body that would’ve resembled the tunnel itself in cross-section — a flattened oval that grew more circular as it went back. Its top and legs were covered in steeply raked spines that looked sharp. The front and middle legs ended in flat, slightly curved hooks like the tines of an old tiller. The rear legs also ended in hook shapes but faced the other direction. Rows of glassy looking teeth protruded slightly outward from its surprisingly large mouth, with segmented, opalescent eyes.

“This is a crypsid. Specifically, a digger. Not so scary now, is it?”

“Are you fucking kidding me?” Geddy said.

Napthar put up his hands. “Crypsids are the oldest and most successful species on Durandia. They were here before we came and they’ll probably be here long after we’re gone. They’ve evolved to do three things very well — digging tunnels, eating other, much smaller insects and worms, and making more crypsids.”

— They eat roots with those teeth?

— Exactly. And how many are we talking here?

“How many crypsids are there, do you ask? Well, quite a few. We’ve only mapped the eighteen active colonies near the cities, but scientists estimate there are up to five hundred million on the whole planet.”

Oz’s eyes popped wide. She turned to Geddy with a horrified expression. “How badly we need the crew?”

“Not as badly as we did thirty seconds ago.”

The screen switched to a clunky animation of ancient Durandians walking around a village. “Despite their numbers, Durandians and crypsids have evolved a kind of symbiotic relationship. You might even call us BFFs.” He chuckled again. Smash cut to three men in red jumpsuits wearing headlamps and walking casually through tunnels just a shade higher than they were tall.

“Wardens have two very important jobs. One, they help ensure that the crypsids’ tunnels are structurally sound.” The men inspected a tunnel junction and pointed at things. “Two, they collect gamat, a honey-like substance that provides us Durandians with two things we need to thrive in the Underground — protein and vitamin D, which we cannot get from the sun.

“This is the myre, essentially a crypsid nest. There is only one queen per colony, and in this realm, she is the master. Second in charge are the guards, largest of the crypsids, followed by nurses and of course the diggers.”

Cut to a slow peek over a ledge into a shockingly large void shaped like an inverted cone with a flat bottom. Thousands of seething crypsids crawled around the edge, tending to football-sized eggs set into the gooey walls like teeth in gums. The nurses and workers were about the same size, but the guards were easily five times as big. They looked more like praying mantises and numbered perhaps ten, surrounding a queen the size and shape of an igloo, almost like a tick filled to bursting.

The wardens scraped the gooey, pearl-white substance off the wall and let it drip off spoon-like tools into jars. Then, as though signifying the end of a long workday, they scooped a bunch of it onto their spoons, clinked them together like giving a toast, and eagerly slurped at them, nodding with satisfaction as they swallowed.

“A well-deserved reward at the end of a hot, sweaty job,” came Napthar’s voiceover.

A smile split Geddy’s face so broadly his cheeks hurt. “Oz wants a copy of this!” he called to Bartok.

Oz slapped his arm and tented her hands over her mouth, as shocked by the unironic lasciviousness of it as he was.

— Am I the only one who thinks that looks like–

— Nope. And you ought to know at this point.

— A bit too well.

“Oh, the gamat bit,” Bartok lamented. “I think that’s why we got snubbed at the Tunnelies. It rubbed some people the wrong way.”

“Certainly not these guys,” he quipped.

The shot took an uncomfortably long dissolve to get back to Napthar’s mildly flushed face. “The stories you’ve heard about crypsids are probably overblown. Only the wardens are ever in harm’s way, and attacks are exceedingly rare. In fact, it’s been more than five hundred years since anyone was attacked by a crypsid.”

Geddy’s eyebrows arched at Oz. Thanks to Krezek, they knew for a fact that clock had been reset just fifteen years earlier. Six Durandians perished, he said.

The video delighted Geddy in a million marvelous ways, but not because it made him feel better about crypsids and tunnels. Even the giant Spine had started to feel like it was closing in around him. Just seeing the tunnel footage had made him queasy.

Napthar went on to present some of the more mundane aspects of Durandian life, coming to a close just as the train began to slow. Signs warned of the tunnel’s approaching end and indicated turns for the other Terminal Cities. At last, it slowed in front of a faded sign that read Randhra.

Now it was just Napthar’s smiling face on a dark background as the camera slowly tracked out. “Once again, welcome to Durandia, and to Randhra, my home. I look forward to meeting you. Until then, I’ll make sure your gamat is nice and fresh.”

He dipped a more ordinary spoon into an offscreen container, brought the dripping white goo to his lips, and took it with a smile. “Mmm hmm. Makes me feel like a kid again.”