The inside of the Abyssal Trench-Eater didn’t look like a stomach. It looked like the nave of a drowned, giant stone cathedral carved from living, pulsating joint padding.
Ren hit the mucosal floor with a jarring impact that knocked the gum mouthpiece crooked between his teeth. He scrambled instantly, coughing wildly as a spray of high-pressure salt water and foul, rotten-egg mucus washed over his faceplate.
Beside him, Mira was dragged across the slick, corrugated tissue by the dying rush of the intake wave. Her smoky quartz arm slammed against an upright ridge of pale white joint padding. The impact was ringing with a sharp, crystal-clear ping that echoed through the cavernous space.
“Mira!” Ren choked out, his fingers clawing through inches of thick, warm slime.
Deep-Diver Ren was already on his feet. The smuggler moved with terrifying, sure-footed agility, his flippered boots finding purchase in the deep grooves of the mucosal lining. He lunged forward, catching Mira by the waist and hauling her upright before a backup surge of water could sweep her toward the dark, grinding valves at the far end of the chamber.
With his free hand, Deep-Diver jammed Ren’s mouthpiece back into place. He tapped the brass bypass valve on Ren’s copper collar twice.
