The notice came through the Academy administrative office two days after Cordin signed the order.
It was addressed to Squad 7 by designation, not by name. A single page, standard stock, with the survey corps seal at the bottom.
FIELD ASSESSMENT ASSIGNMENT
One combat-capable escort required. Ridge clearance required. Report to Survey Corps office, second floor administrative, fourth bell tomorrow.
Drake read it first. Then he handed it to Xander.
Xander read it and looked at the bottom.
"One."
"That's what it says."
Kara took the page from him and read it herself.
"One escort. For what?"
"Doesn't say."
"Then why us?"
"Semi-supervised," Xander said. "We're the only squad that can be assigned without a proctor."
She looked at the page again.
"Which one of us?"
Nobody answered for a moment.
"Ridge clearance," Drake said. "That's not a combat qualification. That's a terrain one."
"All five of us have it," Xander said.
"I do," Drake said.
"So do I," Kara said.
"I do," Luna said.
"I do," Xander said.
"I'll go."
They all looked at James.
He was sitting on his bunk with his back against the wall, knees up. He hadn't raised his voice. He'd just said it.
"You're thirteen," Kara said.
"I know."
"They want a combat escort."
"I know."
"For what? What's up there?"
"I don't know."
"Then why are you going?"
James looked at her.
"Because they asked for one person," he said. "And I can go."
"That's not an answer."
"It's the closest I have."
She stared at him.
"Drake has ridge clearance."
"Drake's the field leader. If the squad needs to move while I'm gone, he stays."
"Then send me."
"You're the squad's ranged pressure. If something happens here while I'm gone, they need you."
"You're making that up."
"I'm not."
"You are." She stepped closer. "You're finding reasons why everyone else should stay. Every time. And the reason is never you."
James didn't answer.
Drake was sitting on his bunk, unlacing his boots. He hadn't said anything. He didn't look up.
Kara looked at him. Then at Xander. Then at Luna. Nobody said anything.
James got his coat.
---
The survey corps office was on the second floor of the administrative building. James had never been up there. The stairs were narrow and the corridor smelled like old paper.
He knocked.
"Come in."
Cordin was at the desk. Vane was standing by the window. Brandt was on a stool in the corner with the survey chain across his lap. A fourth person was sitting at the edge of the desk, a brass-framed instrument folded under one arm.
James stepped inside.
Cordin looked up.
He looked at James for a moment. Then he looked at the page in front of him. Then back at James.
There was a pause. It was short, but it was there.
"You're the escort?"
"Yes."
"Name?"
"James."
"Ridge clearance?"
"Yes."
"Combat experience?"
"Yes."
Cordin didn't ask for details. He just wrote something down.
"Fourth bell was fifteen minutes ago. You're late."
"I came as soon as I got the notice."
"I know. I'm just noting it." He set the pen down. "This is Vane. He led the first survey. That's Brandt. He was with him. This is Vale — he's your specialist."
Vale looked up.
He looked at James. He looked at him for a moment longer than a greeting warranted.
He didn't say anything.
---
They were given an hour to prepare.
Brandt walked them through the route one more time — the blazes, the shelf, the scree, the plateau. He spoke the way a man speaks about terrain he's already crossed once. No speculation. Just landmarks.
He wouldn't be coming. He said it plainly when he finished. He'd briefed them because someone had to, and he knew the route, and that was the end of his part.
Vane didn't argue. Neither did James.
Vale went to the equipment shed. James used the hour to check his boots and his coat. He was lacing his left boot when Vale came back.
Vale set one of two packs down next to him.
"Food, water, cold-weather layer, one flare. Yours."
"Thanks."
Vale picked up his own pack and started checking the straps.
They were alone in the corridor.
"You've done ridge work before?" Vale asked.
"Some."
"Where?"
"Western boundary. Old service route. Above the tree line."
Vale nodded. He didn't ask anything else.
Then, after a moment, he looked at James again. Not at his face — at the rest of him. The coat sitting too loose across the shoulders. The boots broken in past the point where they should have been replaced. The way he stood, weight centered, not fidgeting the way most people did when they were waiting.
He read him the way he read a trail. Edges, wear, where the weight sat.
"You're what — fourteen?"
"Thirteen."
Vale looked at him again. He didn't say anything about it.
"I'm not asking because I don't think you can do it," he said. "I'm asking because I want to know what the Corps thinks they're sending us into."
James looked at him.
"I don't know," he said.
"Did they tell you what's up there?"
"Three-toed. Man-sized. No visible eyes. Blocks routes."
"That's all I got too."
Vale finished with his straps and set the pack down.
"One more thing," he said. "If we get into cloud, don't expect me to do anything useful."
"Why?"
"I need surfaces. Something for the light to bounce off. Up there, there isn't any."
James looked at him.
"So you can't see."
"I can see fine. I just can't do anything with it."
He picked up the brass-framed instrument and folded it under his arm.
They walked down the stairs together.
---
They left at the sixth bell.
The ridge was visible from the gate. Grey, low cloud still clinging to the upper half. The trail Vane and Brandt had taken was a thin line of slate disappearing into the trees.
Brandt stood at the gate when they left. He didn't say anything. He just watched them go until they were past the tree line.
Vane led. Vale walked second. James walked last.
Nobody talked for the first mile.
James was thinking about the creature.
Not the way Vane was — Vane was thinking about the route, the timing, the light. Not the way Vale was — Vale was thinking about the cloud and what he'd be able to do when they got there. James was thinking about what it would do when they found it. Where it would come from. What the first move would be. Whether the shoulder joint was still the place to hit it, or whether that had been the wrong place all along.
He didn't have an answer. He didn't know he was supposed to have a question.
The trail narrowed. The trees thinned. The ground turned to slate. The cloud line came down to meet them.
Vane stopped at the shelf.
The last set of ridge-hound prints was still there, faint from the rain. Beyond it, the bare rock.
He looked back at James.
"This is where we lost the hounds."
James walked to the prints. He looked at them. Then at the shelf. Then at the trail above them.
He didn't say anything.
He stood up and looked up the route.
"Then we keep going," he said.
Vane nodded and started climbing.