That first day passed in a confused blur. There seemed to be no end to the tasks required of them, with work still continuing on the crawler even as it was under way. Jan lent his hand wherever he could. Finally as night fell all but a skeleton crew gathered in the improvised mess to celebrate. Flagons of cheaply distilled liquor were produced and somebody rigged music to play over the comms.

It was strange; even though Jan barely knew the crew he already felt a sense of camaraderie. What they were doing was insane, provocatory and dangerous, but while the tank drove on it was possible to feel invincible. He’d even joined in the cheer from the gantry when one of the guns opened up on the drone above, lighting up the night like an improvised fireworks display and blowing the small aircraft apart.

After a brief, perfunctory speech Christo had vanished, leaving Jan alone with the others. The man seemed preoccupied which had struck him as odd; Christo thrived in moments like these. But Jan dismissed the thought; Christo would be busy with the next stage of the plan – whatever that might be. Instead he resolved to enjoy himself, mixing with the off-duty revolutionaries. He’d heard a dozen stories of how each of them had come to Christo’s cause, every one different. They’d been disaffected Enforcers, engineers from the conurbations, plantation workers and more recruited by Christo from across the Americas. They in turn had listened enraptured as he told his own story, nodding sympathetically as he spoke of his daughter’s abduction and leaning in conspiratorially to hear of the mission to the reservation. The attention had made him uncomfortable at first, but as the moonshine flowed he’d found release in talking. He’d been on his own for far too long.

‘What’s the point of all this?’ Jan said, finally. ‘Stealing this machine, taking a Dyn hostage, heading north? I’ve tried asking Christo, but he’s a man who answers questions with more questions.’

There were a few knowing laughs at that.

‘It’s proof that we can fight back, that the human spirit will endure,’ a bright-eyed young man answered.

‘Christo knows what he’s doing. He always has. You just have to trust him,’ replied another. Some just shrugged jokingly or smiled as though trying to convey they knew more than the others. Jan didn’t know what to make of that, but he had a sense Christo hadn’t told the crew the whole story. This had to be more than a suicide pact, surely.

‘Christo tells you exactly what you need to know and nothing more,’ came Tuva’s slurred voice as she pushed her way clumsily through the huddle. She looked pointedly at Jan. ‘So that some… infiltrator can’t go blab to Arco.’

The group exchanged looks with one another and sniggered amongst themselves. Jan held her gaze impassively. Someone put their arm around her shoulders to lead her away but she shoved it aside.

‘Watch your back, wastelander!’ she called as she stalked off.

Sometime later, when the others had also stumbled back to their bunks and hammocks, Jan found himself standing alone out on the gantry with the wind whipping past his ears as the massive vehicle rumbled onwards. The Other Moon rose high enough to be visible over the horizon-hugging clouds while the lights of orbiting Dynic spacecraft and satellites glimmered, brighter than Jan had ever known them. They were descending, approaching closer to the Earth; he spotted the minute spikes of their rockets firing to bring them down. It couldn’t be a coincidence – the Dyn were descending because they wanted to keep a close eye on Christo and his revolution.

To flee would be the sensible, sane thing to do. He should be running as far as possible from the focus of that malevolent constellation. At any moment one of those lights in the sky might flare with sudden brightness, and they would all die in screaming fire. But Jan knew he wouldn’t leave. As ever, the culprit was curiosity; the same disease that had led him inadvertently to the revolution and in the end, taken Eva from him. She’d only wanted to learn about the world, and the world had punished her for that. He had to know what the plan was, even if it meant only the slightest chance that he might avenge his daughter.

Jan felt a little giddy; that crude liquor had unsettled his thoughts. He glanced at the ladder behind him, before looking side to side. He had often wondered just what the Dyn looked like, and might never get a better chance to find out. Before he lost his nerve, Jan walked over to the ladder and placed a hand on the cold metal, pulling himself upwards. The wind whistled harder as he rose.

He clambered onto the deck and turned up towards the projecting control room, eyes skating over the mostly empty platform. A few figures were clustered at the prow, spotting for dangerous lights in the sky, but otherwise he was alone. The night shift crew were all on the lower decks.

The Dyn lay in the exact centre, lower limbs secured to the deck by heavy pitons. Jan’s breath caught in his throat, the animal fear he felt at being so close to his oppressor rising again.

Jan’s first impression was of a bear. That impression quickly diminished as he drew closer. He got within a few metres of it, keeping to the shadows beyond the arc lights. The Dyn had a hunched, powerful torso, with four almost identical ropey limbs splayed in strange places. They were neither conventional limbs nor tentacles but some odd hybrid of the two. The forelimbs ended in grotesquely elongated claws while the hindlimbs could have almost been jointed tails, projecting seamlessly from the end of the torso. The pallid skin had the glistening texture of plastic where it was exposed but much of the creature was coated in some kind of mossy false life. The head was pointed and triangular with three thick plates for jawbones; more mechanical than animal. Two thin strakes of black jelly seemed to serve it for eyes. The head twisted in a queasy fashion that reminded Jan of a neck snapping, and it stared right at him. Those eyes seemed far too intelligent.

His jacket flapped about violently in the wind, and Jan lurched forward as a gust unsteadied him, tripping over a loose deckplate into the glare of the floodlights. A shadow loomed over. He looked up, confronted by the bottomless pit of an alien eye just inches from his own. As the Dyn regarded him a soft clicktrain bubbled up from deep within its throat. Jan’s courage failed entirely and he scrambled backwards, retreating down the ladder, head swimming. There couldn’t have been many people who’d come that close to a Dyn and lived. He stumbled below deck, navigating corridors and collapsing into his hammock.

As Jan fell into the bunk, he felt around in his pocket for the reassuring form of Eva’s photograph. With a lurch in his stomach, he realised it wasn’t there. He started and rolled off the hammock, to the muted complaint of the slumbering forms beside him, and began to feel frantically around on the floor.

‘The photograph! Where’s the photograph!’ he hissed.

‘What’re you on about? My shift’s in two hours.’

‘Shut up, I’m trying to get some sleep!’

Fighting back a rising headache, Jan dashed out of the bunk room and back onto the top deck, wondering if he’d somehow dropped it when he’d fallen. He hoped against hope that the photograph hadn’t been blown off the deck. As soon as he’d ascended the ladder Jan saw it, flapping in the wind, snagged on the deckplate. This time the Dyn didn’t stir as he approached, but that dark eye watched him all the while as he retrieved it. The figure of a smiling girl in a crumpled t-shirt, with a heart-shaped face, hazel eyes and long black hair was just visible on one side. Exhausted, he returned to the bunk and sank into a broken, restless sleep.

Not many hours later, a shrill klaxon woke Jan for the morning shift. His head pounding from the short night and illicit alcohol, Jan cleared away his hammock in the mess and helped unpack tables and benches.

The ‘mess hall’ was in fact several repurposed storage compartments, low-ceilinged and windowless. It was still the largest space in the crawler, aside from the rear compartment where cars and other bulky items were stored. The goodwill the others had shown Jan the night before had faded considerably; evidently his nighttime antics had not impressed. Jan was too exhausted and hungry to care; he knew there would be more backbreaking labour in the day ahead, and didn’t want to face any of it on an empty stomach.

Having readied the room Jan joined the queue for food. Today’s offering was grey gruel and potatoes, but at least he didn’t have to catch it himself. He had to admit that the knowledge he wouldn’t go hungry each night was a comfort. The regimented days and the cramped, foul-smelling rooms were the other side of that particular coin. Just as he reached the bowl-laden table, Tuva stepped in front of him, elbowing him out of the way.

‘Back of the line, wastelander,’ she hissed, pouring herself a huge bowl of the gruel. Someone behind Jan shoved him into Tuva, guffawing as he did – Pao. Of course it would be Pao. Jan jolted into her, spilling the gruel over her already stained overalls. Tuva turned around, features a mask of anger. She was thin, but Jan noticed the wiry muscles flexing under her clothes.

‘What do you say to me now?’ she smiled.

‘It wasn’t me,’ Jan said, trying to keep his voice level. He turned to see Pao grinning at him and Tuva, the others backing off. There was a hush in the room as everyone turned to watch the new entertainment.

‘You think you’re going to beat Arco with that attitude?’ she mocked, her voice turning high-pitched, mimicking his accent. ‘Oh, I’m sorry it wasn’t me. Oh please don’t hurt me. Please don’t take my lovely daughter.’

‘Yeah,’ said Pao from behind him. ‘Maybe if you weren’t such a pussy you could have stopped them from taking her.’

‘Drew quite the audience for your convenient little backstory last night Jan… and where did you go after everyone else went to sleep, huh? To go check in with Arco? Or up to the deck to plead with your masters directly?’

Jan made to leave, but Pao stopped him.

‘That’s if Eva even is who you say she is,’ he said, squaring up to Jan.

‘Don’t you dare say her name again,’ he said in a very low voice.

‘Eva’s probably just some Arco whore. Definitely pretty enough,’ Pao taunted.

The man might have built up muscle mass performing hard labour, but he’d never had to run exhausted for days on end. Jan’s fist caught his temple, collapsing him in a moment. Tuva’s foot smashed into Jan’s back. He folded over, spun and swung a fist at her jaw. There was a crunch and Tuva recoiled, spitting something onto the deckplate.

‘You’re a traitor.’

‘Hey, the wastelander’s alright -’ someone said, and there was the beginning of an argument around Jan. He groaned, trying to regain his breath, and rose to his knees. Tuva aimed another blow, grinning fiercely and egged on by the sudden crowd. He moved out of the way and stood, swaying. Pao was still on the ground, groaning and swearing, but Jan was in enough trouble as it was.

‘He’s an Arco spy!’ Tuva shouted over the crowd. ‘He’s working with the prisoner!’

She aimed another blow at Jan but he managed to lunge aside. Her knee swung up and doubled him over.

‘I say we throw him off the tank,’ said Tuva, stamping hard on Jan’s leg. ‘Won’t survive long, not this deep in the jungle.’ He bit back a yell and rolled away. There was an uncertain chorus which died away suddenly. Through his blurred vision Jan couldn’t quite see what was happening.

‘Step away from him,’ came Aurelie’s voice. ‘Everyone except Tuva. I want to speak to you.’

‘Don’t you care about the mission?’ someone said, their voice muffled. Jan thought it was Pao. ‘We can’t trust him!’

Aurelie made a sharp shushing noise, silencing Pao instantly. Jan glanced up as Tuva stepped over him and squared up to the smaller woman. Aurelie suddenly looked very slight, her delicate features contrasting with Tuva’s blunt face. Jan felt a sudden surge of worry and began staggering to his feet.

‘You don’t scare me-’ Tuva started to say. Jan thought he heard her voice falter.

She lunged forwards as if to punch Aurelie. The other woman didn’t move a centimeter, and Tuva never threw the punch. She seemed to deflate, as if afraid. Aurelie moved her face closer to Tuva’s, her whispery voice somehow audible over the groan of the machine.

‘You’re dispensable. Don’t forget that. Never imagine that you could matter. ’

Everyone was white-faced as Tuva took a step back and sat, though to Jan the smaller woman’s threat seemed faintly comical. He didn’t understand just what had passed between all of them.

Aurelie stood for a few more moments, surveying the hushed troops, as though daring one of them to speak. Nobody did. She turned to leave with an air of quiet satisfaction and Jan picked himself up dazedly, hurrying to follow.

He caught up with Aurelie just as she opened the doors to the mess and climbed up a gantry leading to the top deck. The air was humid, the smell of ozone and oil overpowering. Jan stepped away from the edge of the metal stairs upon seeing the sheer drop onto the rapidly scrolling land below.

‘Thanks,’ he said. They climbed together to the deck.

‘Don’t mention it,’ she said, proffering a handkerchief. ‘You’re bleeding,’ she explained, waving in the direction of Jan’s face.

He accepted the handkerchief, holding it up to his nose. He’d hardly noticed the dull pounding from Tuva’s punch.

‘I was in trouble there, and you -’

‘Really, don’t mention it. Stay out of trouble and keep your head above water.’

Aurelie’s lips twitched, as if aware of some vast irony. Jan followed her to the stairs, descending towards a part of the tank he hadn’t seen before.

‘I should not have left you alone with Pao and Tuva – they’re animals, but occasionally useful,’ she said after they’d walked a few more paces together. ‘You may as well follow me. Christo wants to have a word with you, and now’s as good a time as any.’

They both descended again into the hissing interior of the huge vehicle, moving towards the prow. They emerged inside a room he hadn’t seen before. Christo stood alone in the centre of a cramped, machine-filled space, dressed in heavy overalls and holding a large welding torch up to a strange machine. Aurelie led Jan down the gantry, stepping lightly over the uneven metal.

‘Is that a spaceship? It looks a bit… small,’ Jan mumbled, wondering if he ought to be more impressed. ‘Are you going to fight the Dyn with that?’

When there was no reply he turned to face Aurelie but she’d already vanished. He heard her retreating footsteps disappearing up the gantry.

‘She does tend to do that,’ Christo laughed, tapping his forehead. ‘Always focussed on the plan. So intense, like we’re all just shadows around her feet.’

‘Yeah,’ Jan said absently, descending the stairs and stepping towards Christo. ‘So, is it a spaceship?’

The craft was a four-metre shell of dull metal made of dozens of interlocking plates, with a few windows set into the sides and a complicated, thresher-like arrangement of rotors making up what he assumed was its back end. Gaps in the outer plating revealed a schizoid combination of primitive machinery and things Jan didn’t recognise at all.

Christo laughed, prising open a section of the hull with a crowbar as long as his arm. His muscles visibly strained with the effort.

‘This is a bathyscaphe.’

‘A bath escape?’

‘A submarine.’

Jan still stared, uncomprehending. Christo sighed in exasperation.

‘It’s a boat designed to go underwater, very deep underwater.’

‘So it’s a boat that sinks? It’s actually meant to sink? That doesn’t sound safe.’ Jan had never been very keen on boats.

‘It isn’t, but not for the reasons you’re thinking.’

‘What do you mean?’

Christo sighed, setting the heavy crowbar down on the deckplate with a clatter.

‘This,’ he rapped hard on the hull. ‘Is my great creation. Well… others helped. It’s the reason for all this circus, for taking this machine and chaining up the Dyn. It was all cover, protection. I needed a place to build this and deliver it safely to the ocean.’

‘And how will that help us defeat the Dyn?’

‘Could you give me a hand?’ asked Christo changing the subject. ‘Walk round to the tank and hand me the hose.’

When Jan had the pipe connected up, something thick and gloopy started to stream out and into the mesh of ducts underneath the skin of the submarine. Jan cursed as some of the substance spilled out onto the floor.

‘Biofuel,’ Christo explained. ‘Similar enough to oil – we need it to provide buoyancy control since it’s nearly incompressible even under enormous pressure and barely expands when you heat it. That way we can use it for temperature control as well. This stuff can be warmed like radiator oil, which we’ll need because down on the abyssal plain water can actually cool below freezing. We’ll attach the bags of lead ballast in a moment. They’ll control our descent.’

Jan tried to look as though he understood, but it was difficult. He’d never had the chance to discover such things for himself.

‘Then, we’ll attach the outboard floats and solid fuel rockets,’ Christo finished.

‘That’s a joke, right?’

‘Just shut off the hose,’ Christo laughed. ‘Some things are best left as surprises.’

Jan pulled hard on the lever and the flow subsided. He turned to see Christo manhandling a huge plate with the revolution’s logo emblazoned on it. A heavy steel mesh bag underneath was empty. Jan rushed forward to help heave the curved steel slab into its slot. When the plate thudded home, Christo snapped the dogs closed and it melded seamlessly with the hull.

‘When we met you told me that we were going to tear the Dyn out of the sky,’ Jan said. ‘It was crazy then, and I guess it still is. So what is going on?’

‘Look Jan, most of the crew doesn’t even know as much as you do. Compartmentalisation; Aurelie says that’s the key. The less anyone knows, the less they can tell Arco if this all goes south.’

‘But why dive under the sea when they’re in orbit; are you searching for something?’

‘Maybe,’ Christo laughed. He reached to the ground and grabbed a heavy lead ball, the size of a watermelon. He swung it into the steel bag on the hull with a grunt, then turned back to Jan. ‘You’re sharper than you look.’

‘Christo, are you compartmentalised too?’

‘Not as far as I know!’ Christo laughed, heaving another metal ball into the wire bag bolted to the hull. ‘We need to rely on each other. I trust you. Aurelie and I need you to trust me. I’m already working out the crew roster and you’ve proven more reliable than most, when you’re not getting into fights or sneaking upstairs to spy on our prisoner.’

‘You’re having me followed.’

‘Of course. Don’t give me that look; you haven’t failed me yet. Not unless you tried to untie the Dyn or threw the first punch in that fight.’

‘I did, but Pao started it. He insulted my daughter.’

‘Well, I suppose that’s forgivable. She’s no longer with you?’

On an odd impulse, Jan stepped away from the pipe and cleaned his hand on the jumpsuit, reaching inside his pocket to produce the photograph.

‘Sweet,’ Christo smiled weakly. ‘Don’t worry, there’s no need to say any more.’

Jan paused; the pain was like an old wound, easy enough to ignore but there all the same. He had to tell someone.

‘Eva was always smarter and faster to learn than anyone. She knew more than me or her teachers and she always loved machines most of all. In the end I took her to a conurbation to be tested for an engineering job. I had to help her escape the wasteland, any way I could.’

‘What happened?’

‘She got scared when they told her she wouldn’t be able to see me again. She found her way back, somehow. She told me they’d been taking all the kids that passed some test away from the conurbation. Arco wanted her back. It was so sudden; a whole army smashed our village to rubble. I lost her in the confusion; maybe she was kidnapped, maybe she got out.’

‘Really? Arco doesn’t commit massacres like that, not unless they’re utterly desperate.’

‘You haven’t lived in the wasteland – Arco may not do these things but their proxies don’t care,’ Jan said bitterly. ‘What could they possibly have wanted with her?’

‘I don’t know. We’ll probably never find out, all you can do now is avenge her.’

Jan nodded fiercely as Christo set down his wrench.

‘We’re done here. Go upstairs and make yourself useful. And please, stay out of trouble.’

Just as Jan turned to leave, something on the photograph caught his eye. He turned away from Christo, doing his best to smooth the oil and anonymous detritus off the now hopelessly faded sheet of paper. He turned it over and saw something scrawled on the back. It looked like a scribble, written in an unfamiliar kind of ink, but there seemed to be some hint of structure in it, like a complex glyph in some unknown language. It didn’t look like anything a human would write. He squinted and the writing seemed to pop out, stereographically. It was Americano, written in clumsy capitals, in a strange, drifting layout;

‘I KNOW HER’