[sb118-gorkon] Ensign Ethan Espinoza - Rumble in the Jungle (Part 2)
Ethan Espinoza
((Tanglewoods, Gateside Dimension))
Finch: What about over there, ::she lifted her head like a meerkat,:: do you see it? Where the trees are a bit more dipped?
The Ensign’s gaze tracked the line of Finch’s gesture. He saw the oddity well enough, though he couldn’t say whether they’d walked past it already. In truth, the distinction hardly mattered. They had no meaningful grasp of the tanglewoods’ scale and no way to know how far they’d drifted. But a marker that someone was confident was new was better than nothing, and certainly better than wandering blindly into yet another loop. He had to trust their intuition.
Neathler: It’s worth a shot. See how long it takes before everything moves around us again.
Finch: This way, then! Mind yourselves, now. That's it. Carefully does it.
And carefully they went, navigating through the brambles and thickets, ducking here and there, taking care this time not to step on any stray vines and trigger another disorienting shift. He kept a wary eye on the suit as well, and when it drifted too close to an outcropping of tangles, he gave its metal plating a gentle slap - a quiet clang to steer it away.
Another distant cry lifted his gaze, but once again, he couldn’t discern a direction or a source.
Neathler: There’s something there, not totally covered in vines or moss.
His attention shifted anew to the source of Neathler’s attention.
Finch: Would have to happen while I’m in this position, wouldn’t it?
And then it was back to Finch, who was… precariously posed a short way behind him. Ethan choked on whatever he’d been about to say, a flush of mortifying heat blooming across his face as he jerked his gaze elsewhere. He might have considered himself something of a connoisseur of fine wine (older women), a man with refined tastes, even, but being waist‑deep in brambles, grime, and existential forest horror was decidedly not the moment to drop game on the Lieutenant Commander.
He kept his mouth shut and helped Finch out and up onto her feet. He didn’t bother to dust himself down, because he suspected he’d be in a perpetual state of dirt-coated. With a huff, he eyeballed the obscured, strangled figure.
Finch: I'm getting flashbacks to the outpost.
Neathler: At least our environment didn’t change around us in the outpost as it does here.
Espinoza: It doesn’t make sense. Why hasn’t it attacked us once? All I can think of is that they can discern ‘neutral’ from foe, ‘n the scientists did somethin’ to really rile ‘em up.
The thickets and thorns shuddered and slid, shifting once more as if the entire mass of suffocating tendrils - and the thing buried somewhere inside them - had been quietly ferried away on a conveyor. The motion was smoother this time, and a partial rearrangement rather than a full upheaval. Their path remained intact.
Finch: They're gone. Or they've moved. ::She looked around.:: That's interesting.
Neathler: But making things difficult for us.
There was a beat, and the Chief of Security spoke again.
Neathler: They? Did you see someone?
Espinoza: It looked like there was a body wrapped up inside. They overlap so much, it’s hard to see exactly where they’re shiftin’. I suppose that’s probably the point.
Finch: Response
They pressed on along what he hoped was the same path, grateful that this stretch at least seemed unchanged. Even so, their pace crawled. Brambles snagged at sleeves, and every step demanded caution. For all they knew, a single scratch from the wrong vine could deliver some mind‑melting toxin, and the forest hardly needed more ways to slow them down. As if the shifting terrain weren’t enough, now even brushing against the wrong plant felt like a risk.
Neathler: With our limited tricorder range, there’s no way to track where a vine starts or ends, is there?
Espinoza: Not really, and we don’t know how much they shift, and where they start or end. Or even if they all start at the same place.
Finch: Response
Neathler paused, and he understood immediately what she’d noticed. There were sounds of movement where there ought to be none, but he recognised it as the same slithering of vines and thickets rearranging themselves.
Neathler: What if we focus on one vine, or one structure and follow it to the source? That would get us somewhere. Maybe mark it somehow, so when things changes again we can still spot which vine we’ve chosen?
Ethan considered that quietly, rubbing at his jawline. Then, struck by a sudden light‑bulb moment, he glanced over his shoulder at the shambling mech a few paces behind them.
Espinoza: What if we stick a tricorder or comm badge in the mech ‘n see if we can’t have the vines drag it off? Have it stomp on another vine or somethin’. With any luck, it’ll perceive the suit as a threat, not us, ‘n drag it off. We might be able to follow the signal and see where it leads us.
Finch: Response
He didn’t get the chance to chase the idea. A burst of motion ahead yanked his focus forward. The earth had tumbled from under the Security Chief, swallowing her in a slope of shifting soil and tangled roots that he was almost positive hadn’t been there seconds earlier. Instinct overrode thought, and the Ensign lunged, catching her wrist in a grip so tight it burned his knuckles white-hot, and the momentum dragged him down with her. The world tilted, dirt and vines sliding past in a blur. Desperate, he twisted his body and flung out a free hand, fingers scraping until they hooked around something solid. It was a thick root jutting from the collapsing wall. It held. Barely. Their fall jerked to a stop while the ground below them continued to shear away into the dark.
Espinoza: Jus’... jus’ stay real still. I got you. I think. Goddamn. Did you step on somethin'?
Neathler / Finch: Response
His body trembled with the strain, chest burning and muscles shrieking in protest as he struggled to hold both his and the Commander's weight. Ethan’s gaze flicked frantically across the collapsing terrain, and he recognised the shift for what it was. The tanglewoods weren’t merely the choking vines and towering thickets around them - they were the ground itself. A forest balanced on a shifting braid of living tendrils, and a woven understructure now pulling away in a retreating tide. Whatever the Commander had triggered had made that subterranean lattice withdraw, leaving them to plunge downwards. His feet kicked at the sharp incline to no avail, instead dislodging dirt and grime beneath the heel of his boots.
Espinoza: Don’t - don’t suppose you installed a portable tractor emitter in our metal buddy, Commander? ::he calls up to Finch::
Neathler / Finch: Response
His breath came in ragged bursts as he clenched harder around the root, pain lancing through his knuckles and spearing up his forearms. If the ground kept folding in on itself, it was only a matter of time before the root wrenched loose from the collapsing walls, and when it went, so would they.
Espinoza: Can you see anythin’ to grab onto? I dunno if this is gonna hold with both of our weight.
Neathler / Finch: Response
He couldn’t help but think they might be better served if he hadn’t dove in after the Lieutenant Commander, but they were both stuck now, for better, though far more likely for worse.