The Cardinal Directive: Mission Log #31

The world whisper

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>> Now playing Mission Log #31

The footage crackles into clarity on an open stretch of Martian desert, the midday sun hanging in a sky stained red-orange this morning from a steady wind blowing in from the East that’s kicking up red dust particulates into the air.

Sebastian, Jovis, and Ulysses are all just ahead of the sled in a staggered v-formation that leaves just enough room for Oreo and the sled to fit between them all, just a step behind. The padding of their draconic feet kicks up plumes of sand, but thankfully the wind carries them low enough that no one’s visual is obscured.

A few times, the wind would pick up and the billowing dust would grow to small clouds, but their formation kept anyone from being engulfed in the dust kicked up by their allies — at least so long as the wind didn’t change.

Sebastian was on point, though to say he was “leading” them all might’ve been stretching it, even if it was how he wanted to think of himself. They all knew the way to Menkiida Station, after all.

Jovis had taken up position still a few paces ahead, but almost next to the sled, where she could easily protect them from an attack coming from any direction. She scritched Bam’s neck idly, keeping a watchful eye out on the desert.

Ulysses had ended up in the middle mostly just because it was the only spot left. He shifted uncomfortably in the saddle but didn’t dare complain of any discomfort. He was newer than the others to all of this. Wendy would go so far as to admit she didn’t really know him. Buuut she needed someone that knew a thing or two about comms systems, and he came highly recommended despite his inexperience with their line of work.

There were still several hours left of travel when she suddenly frowned, sure that she could sense something. She reached up, pressing a button on the collar of her helmet to deafen her surroundings.

In the relative silence of her own breathing and the muffled noises outside her helmet, something familiar came to her.

It was a low feeling — hard to explain. A hum in the bottom of her boots. A needling at the edges of her skin. Something drumming at the seams of her suit and the locking mechanism that held her helmet in place. Something she recognized well enough to keep from seeping into her skin or weaving its way into her ears.