Read Online Rifter (The Survival Project Duology Book 1) by Juliet Boyd - Free Book Online
Authors: Juliet Boyd
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would be so angry with her if he knew.
‘Why do you think we took you through all that training? For fun? No. We wanted you to survive in an alien environment. And what did you do? Missed off the first two things you should have done, to take part in a wild goose chase that made your situation even more dangerous than having nowhere to sleep.’
She could even imagine the crescendo that his voice would’ve reached by the time he ended his tirade.
Gordon wasn’t one for mincing his words.
And, usually, she was such a good student.
“That impulsive nature of yours has got a lot to answer for,” she chided herself.
Maybe they ought to include impulsiveness as a contraindication for becoming a rifter. There had to be a test they could devise.
The reason she should have found somewhere indoors to sleep, apart from safety, was because they weren’t given survival gear to take with them. It would be too bulky to carry around for a start, and the other reason was because it was thought unlikely it would survive the journey through the rift. She supposed they’d tried it and found that out, but she wasn’t sure. She suspected it might also pull you off course if it was too bulky, and mean you never got to your destination. She hadn’t looked to the sides as she’d travelled, she kept her vision straight and true, as advised. It was possible there were proper, solid walls in the rift, as you entered it looked like there were, but she had a feeling that wasn’t the case, even though it had felt solid enough underfoot. It was more likely to be a thin skin that when broken dropped you into a void, a bottomless pit, somewhere where the forces would pull your limbs from your body and eventually explode those, and your de-limbed torso, into tiny pieces. She tried to get that image out of her mind. It wasn’t helpful
Not that she could’ve pitched a tent in the centre of the city. She was sure there would be laws against that.
Even the clothes they wore weren’t optimised for warmth. They were meant to look average. Something that wouldn’t stand out wherever you landed. Denim. It was considered to be the least likely to cause undue interest or to look out of place, unless you ended up in a world where the dinosaurs hadn’t perished, and then, it was widely accepted by all concerned that you were never going to blend in. Denim could look fashionable and it could look like a manual worker’s clothes. It was the best compromise.
Denim jeans, denim jacket with lots of hidden pockets, plain white t-shirt, sports shoes. And now she had a shirt. Mayra’s shirt.
If she had to stay out all night, she was going to get very cold indeed. There had been no clouds in the sky, nothing to keep the warmth in.
Her stomach was beginning to grumble.
She looked longingly at a street vendor who was dispensing something wrapped in a bread roll, with a savoury aroma, to a constant stream of people. She seriously considered begging him to let her have one, but she didn’t think that would go down well. He was making too much money from those who had the means to pay. It wasn’t like her clothes were tattered, or her shoes had holes in. No one would believe she was destitute just to look at her. She decided to move further away. The smell of food wasn’t helping her state of mind.
There wasn’t even a water fountain from which she could drink, and she knew the river water was salt, and even if it hadn’t been, it didn’t look that clean.
She rubbed at her sleeves. The friction only gave her a moment of respite from the cooling air.
For a second, she seriously considered sneaking back into Leo’s block after he’d gone to sleep and bedding down in the lobby overnight. She soon dispensed with the thought. Far too dangerous. And she had no idea whether or not he’d called the police. By now, he had to know she wasn’t Mayra. Mayra, he had to have shouted Mayra.
She could try some other block, she had her lock picks, but what
‘Why do you think we took you through all that training? For fun? No. We wanted you to survive in an alien environment. And what did you do? Missed off the first two things you should have done, to take part in a wild goose chase that made your situation even more dangerous than having nowhere to sleep.’
She could even imagine the crescendo that his voice would’ve reached by the time he ended his tirade.
Gordon wasn’t one for mincing his words.
And, usually, she was such a good student.
“That impulsive nature of yours has got a lot to answer for,” she chided herself.
Maybe they ought to include impulsiveness as a contraindication for becoming a rifter. There had to be a test they could devise.
The reason she should have found somewhere indoors to sleep, apart from safety, was because they weren’t given survival gear to take with them. It would be too bulky to carry around for a start, and the other reason was because it was thought unlikely it would survive the journey through the rift. She supposed they’d tried it and found that out, but she wasn’t sure. She suspected it might also pull you off course if it was too bulky, and mean you never got to your destination. She hadn’t looked to the sides as she’d travelled, she kept her vision straight and true, as advised. It was possible there were proper, solid walls in the rift, as you entered it looked like there were, but she had a feeling that wasn’t the case, even though it had felt solid enough underfoot. It was more likely to be a thin skin that when broken dropped you into a void, a bottomless pit, somewhere where the forces would pull your limbs from your body and eventually explode those, and your de-limbed torso, into tiny pieces. She tried to get that image out of her mind. It wasn’t helpful
Not that she could’ve pitched a tent in the centre of the city. She was sure there would be laws against that.
Even the clothes they wore weren’t optimised for warmth. They were meant to look average. Something that wouldn’t stand out wherever you landed. Denim. It was considered to be the least likely to cause undue interest or to look out of place, unless you ended up in a world where the dinosaurs hadn’t perished, and then, it was widely accepted by all concerned that you were never going to blend in. Denim could look fashionable and it could look like a manual worker’s clothes. It was the best compromise.
Denim jeans, denim jacket with lots of hidden pockets, plain white t-shirt, sports shoes. And now she had a shirt. Mayra’s shirt.
If she had to stay out all night, she was going to get very cold indeed. There had been no clouds in the sky, nothing to keep the warmth in.
Her stomach was beginning to grumble.
She looked longingly at a street vendor who was dispensing something wrapped in a bread roll, with a savoury aroma, to a constant stream of people. She seriously considered begging him to let her have one, but she didn’t think that would go down well. He was making too much money from those who had the means to pay. It wasn’t like her clothes were tattered, or her shoes had holes in. No one would believe she was destitute just to look at her. She decided to move further away. The smell of food wasn’t helping her state of mind.
There wasn’t even a water fountain from which she could drink, and she knew the river water was salt, and even if it hadn’t been, it didn’t look that clean.
She rubbed at her sleeves. The friction only gave her a moment of respite from the cooling air.
For a second, she seriously considered sneaking back into Leo’s block after he’d gone to sleep and bedding down in the lobby overnight. She soon dispensed with the thought. Far too dangerous. And she had no idea whether or not he’d called the police. By now, he had to know she wasn’t Mayra. Mayra, he had to have shouted Mayra.
She could try some other block, she had her lock picks, but what
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