Under the protective overhang of a huge metamorphic quartz formation, the squad established their first forward camp at minus nineteen thousand one hundred meters. The crystal-clear rock formed a natural tiered arena that deflected the searing heat-rising gales of the Sea of White Flame. That created a relatively calm pocket where the heat hovered at a manageable six hundred degrees.
The camp was established with the silent, practiced smooth speed of a unit that had survived dozens of underground bivouacs. Titus set his huge bulk against the windward opening of the quartz overhang, his towering black-ice spires functioning as an unmoving breakwater against the searing heat-rising gales. Beneath his wide belly, the ground was cool and dry, protected from the skin-burning sulfur dust that drifted across the open mantle.
Arthur laid out a heavy insulating groundsheet of woven quartz dust fiber, securing the corners with magnetic stakes driven into the rock. On the center of the sheet, he placed their portable power-coil cooker. A compact military unit powered by a micro-aether battery salvaged from an academy transport.
He poured three liters of purified water from their sealed supply into the silver-steel pot. That added dehydrated nutrient rations, dried root vegetables, and three cubes of packed beast-marrow broth. As the pot began to simmer. It filled the nook with the rich, savory aroma of beef broth and parsnips, Grimm’s ears right away perked up. The hound shifted his position, resting his chin on his front paws and staring at the pot…
