Running the Rift

By Paul Broatch

A novella for young adults. A rookie Guardian straight out of training and an innocent girl flee a group of relentless alien hunters along the giant rift valley on the surface of an ancient ice planet. An action packed non-stop race through an alien world as two young people fight to survive a group of killers inexplicably bent on their destruction.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Paul Broatch
• Release date: Jul 8, 2016
• ISBN: 9781311931801

Paul Broatch

Paul Broatch has had a lifelong fascination with technology and hard science fiction books. He wrote his first novel The Worlds Within in 2014. He started the Red and While Trilogy in 2015 with the City of Lights and The Demon's Hand. He has also written two novellas Running the Rift in 2016 and Little Girl Lost.

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PAUL BROATCH

RUNNING THE RIFT

This is a work of fiction. Characters, institutions and organisations mentioned in this novel are either the product of the author’s imagination or, if real, are used fictitiously without any intent to describe actual conduct.

All rights reserved. Paul Broatch asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.

This e-book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This book may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to your favourite e-book retailer and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

Published by Paul Broatch at Smashwords

Copyright Paul Broatch 2016

Table of Contents

Chapter 1 The Bar

Chapter 2 The Aqueduct

Chapter 3 The Train

Chapter 4 The Airship

Chapter 5 The Capital

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Chapter 1 The Bar

It was on the lowest level of Newton Town, deep in the Rift. A big, wooden building tacked onto the bottom of the town and secured to the native rock by large, steel pins that stuck out of the wall. There was a stained, wooden bar along one side, behind which stood a hard, grizzled looking man with a tattoo under one eye, and a middle-aged woman with bleached blonde hair and a worn-down expression.

The bar was reached by a long, steel staircase that was open to the night air. They had entered through the double-door entrance at one end. As they walked across the room, the floorboards moved disturbingly under their feet and in places, holes gave momentary flashes of dull red where the light from the molten lava far below shone through. Although the whole town was literally built on the wall of a cliff, Milo had never been anywhere that felt quite so precarious, so on the edge, so liable to rip clear of its moorings and plummet into the depths. Just being here made him nervous.

Char was sitting next to him. They were at the end of the bar furthest from the single entrance and exit, with their backs to the wall. Milo squirmed in his seat and played with a coaster. He tended to play with things when he was nervous, it kept his hands busy. The hard metal of his sword was digging into his back between his shoulder blades making him even more uncomfortable. He picked up the glass of water in front of him and had a small sip. It was slightly cloudy and had an oily aftertaste; he wasn’t sure if it was the water or the dirty glass that was the source of the unpleasant flavour. Looking around the bar he assumed very few customers ever ordered just water. Next to him, Char barely moved, but her eyes scanned the room relentlessly, watching for trouble, noting who was here and who was dealing with whom. Milo tried to relax and emulate her: he slowed his breathing and heart rate, and cleared his mind trying to enter a calm but alert state, to be in the moment.

The bar was full. Most of the patrons were human, but here and there, other species were mixed in. They were here to trade, deal, drink and gamble. It was a rough place, full of hard men, most of them drunk. Their entry, about half an hour earlier, had caused quite a commotion. There had been lots of unfriendly stares and even a few shouted threats. Char had just ignored them. Milo had noted that after their entry, some of the patrons had discreetly left the room.

The place was noisy with shouted conversations and drunken laughter. A band stood on a small stage in one corner. He called it a band, but it was just some sort of machine that was playing a beat, and woodwind instruments accompanied by a tall, female singer with scarlet-red hair and a deep, sultry voice. Milo had to admit she was good, even if it wasn't his sort of music.

Char tapped his arm. Look in the corner, air side.

In the Rift the ‘air side’ was the side of any building that was furthest from the rock face. The ‘rock side’ was, of course, the side of the building pinned to the side of the Rift. The same convention was applied to whole towns, even ones that weren’t strictly attached to the walls of the Rift.

Milo looked carefully where she had indicated. The light wasn’t good in the bar, flickering electric lanterns barely cut through the smoky gloom. Four humanoid beings sat around a small table in the far corner. All wore rough black cloaks and hoods. Milo could see they were Morians: the native species of the planet. There weren't many Morians in the human cities. They preferred to live in the raw parts of the great Rift or in the forests surrounding it. This was the first time Milo had ever seen one in the flesh. They had large, black eyes and two large slits in the middle of their faces that were the equivalent of a nose. The Morians were reputed to have an incredible sense of smell, which enabled them to track their prey over long distances.

Have you ever seen a Morian before? Char asked.

Only in a book.

There aren't many around. Be careful of them. They're aggressive and incredibly strong. They can climb like nothing you've ever seen. They evolved living on the walls of the Rift and in the trees on the edge of the ice. I’ve seen one go up a sheer cliff face like it was a ladder. They hunt in packs and they like to use knives, long ones.

Milo thought back to his studies. Is it true what they say about them 'fixing'?

Char looked at him. I've never seen it myself, but some of the older Guardians swear it’s true. No-one knows what sets it off, but my mentor used to say that something about some humans just fixates them and turns them into relentless hunters; it's like a drug they have to have. Once they have the scent you can't stop them, except by killing them.

Milo nodded. This was the sort of information you didn't get in the text books, you had to learn it in the field.

Char went back to her careful scrutiny of the room. A little fight broke out and Char leaned forward ready to move if needed, but things quickly subsided and she settled back into her seat. Milo tried to study her out of the corner of his eye. If she was aware of his scrutiny she didn't show it. Char was tall and brunette with an athletic build. She was in her mid-thirties and had been a Guardian for nearly twenty years. She would have been a classic beauty but for the large scar on her right cheek, courtesy of a knife wound she got while trying to stop a gang high on Azure from attacking a group of party goers. She'd nearly died in that fight and Milo had heard that the scar was only one of many ‘badges of honour’ she’d received in her career.

I met your father once, she said out of the blue.

Milo said nothing.

It was in the mine riots about twelve years ago. We were heavily outnumbered and things had turned ugly. We were cut off down a side shaft. He led a group of us and we fought our way out. Incredible bravery. He was a great man.

Yeah, was Milo’s only reply. Char glanced at him for a moment as if trying to work out what was behind the terse response, but said nothing. He'd barely known his father. He had died when Milo was still young, but Milo knew that when anyone met him they immediately compared him to his father, usually unfavourably. From the stories he was regularly regaled with, Milo had neither his father’s physical presence nor his courage or skill. He doubted anyone would remember him as a great man in years to come.

Milo saw the door of the bar open and two young women walked in. They were around his age, maybe seventeen. The first was blond, curvaceous and wearing a little, black dress and too much makeup. She strode confidently into the bar and looked around. The second, following in her wake, was dark haired, taller and slimmer than her friend, wearing a more modest white dress and a small shoulder bag. She was clearly very nervous. Two girls out for a bit of adventure and a taste of the wild side. Bad call, this was no place for two young girls. Milo heard Char's sharp intake of breath.

Fools, she muttered.

The girls’ entrance had drawn quite a bit of attention from the patrons. Most just stared but a few crude catcalls were shouted at them. The confidence of the blonde girl was evaporating rapidly. She had quickly realised that