Operation: Hollow Realm Chapter Excerpt

On route to Camp Barrow, Anesidora

Four hours into the trip, the two-vehicle convoy hummed through Anesidora’s untamed wilderness, their electric motors whispering beneath the dense, alien air. Anders steered the lead SUV along a faint trail that snaked through a landscape dominated by black, jagged spires, cliffs, and deep ravines. Massive crimson red mushroom succulents and sprawling plant fauna clung to every surface, their bloated forms casting twisted shadows under the Singularis’ pale light. Beside him, Chad, the young security contractor and convoy commander, sat vigilant, his SCAR-H rifle resting by his right leg for quick access, a Sig Sauer 228 hung securely on his chest rig. In the backseat, Bob adjusted his hat and leaned forward slightly.

“Should’ve let someone else drive, Anders,” Bob said. “Could’ve gone over the plan back here.” Anders flicked his eyes to the rearview mirror, catching Bob’s gaze. “What? And miss the scenery? Besides, I feel much more comfortable in the driver’s seat, Bob.”

Bob sighed. “Fine. We’ll review it at Camp Barrow.”

Mounted on the dashboard, Todd—the AI cube—glowed faintly in his cradle, silently observing. From the trailing SUV, Mariah Yates’s voice crackled over the open comms, her chatter filling the air. She was mid-rant about the camps dotting Anesidora’s surface. “…Camp Juneau’s the biggest,” she said. “They’ve got the most advanced solar arrays pulling energy straight from the Singularis. Makes our panels look basic.”

“Skagway’s the real mystery, though,” she went on. “You know about what happened there, right?” “Lost an entire team, didn’t they?” Chad asked, his voice even. “Yeah,” Mariah replied. “Eighteen people. They’d just finished setting up the camp. Then one day—poof. No distress signal, no warning. Just… gone.”

Anders frowned, his grip tightening slightly on the wheel. “How long ago?” “I think about seven years ago,” Mariah said. “They built the current Skagway camp later, but no one drives there. Almost impossible. Too much rough terrain. You have to fly in—low-level, nap-of-the-earth flying. It’s… dicey.” “Sounds fun,” Anders muttered under his breath. “Not really,” Bob interjected, shaking his head. “We lost a pilot last year. Mechanical failure during a run. They said it wasn’t related to the terrain, but…” He let the words hang, the implication clear. Chad shifted in his seat. “Nap-of-the-earth flying. Only ever as safe as your pilot. And even that’s a gamble sometimes.”

The trail opened into a barren-like field, the mushroom succulents thinning to reveal yellow soil stretching wide. The convoy rolled to a gentle halt as Bob pointed upward. “Look at that!” Anders slowed the SUV, tilting his head to peer through the windshield. Through the moonroof, they saw it—a massive, slow-moving line of manta ray-like creatures floating overhead, their vast shapes silhouetted against the Singularis. Thousands of them, maybe tens of thousands, formed a loose, undulating line that stretched as far as the eye could see. Even from the distance, Anders could tell they were enormous, their semi-translucent bodies shimmering faintly. He muttered, “They’re huge. How do they even fly?” “They’re mostly air,” Bob replied. “Flying pockets of gas that look like mantas. They live their whole lives in the sky. This is only the second time I’ve seen them up close. No one knows much about them.”

A low thudding drew their attention to the right. A herd of six-legged herbivores lumbered into view, their armored hides scarred and broad heads grazing spiky flora. The largest one turned toward the convoy, snorting protectively. Anders squinted at its flank. “I wonder what made those scars? Whatever it was, it must’ve been huge,” he said, then grinned. “There’s no T-Rexes down here, right, Bob?”