"The ground has been our cradle for millenia, but one cannot live in a cradle forever" - Pioneer of Geological exploration, Krattak Welt

It is best to start at the beginning.

In the dark, in the deep deep dark, far, far from the light of the stars, far below the crust of the planet, there lies pockets, tiny pockets, pockets in the rock, in this pocket, a cell writhes, and the dance begins.

Thousands of years pass , and above the planet the stars spin a million times in all their radiant glorious light, but none reaches them.

On the walls of the pockets, a seam of minerals lie, and a clump wriggles onto it, and beings the process of extracting energy from it, across the world, in so many pockets it begins again, and again, and again, and again, they writhe, they crawl, they take from the dead earth, The grand mother sires her children.

She will name her favoured child "Torrik", and such is the way they came to be.

Thousands more pass, The clump grows, and grows, and it learns, it learns of itself, of others, the dance becomes a choir, the choir swells, and there are others, the wild, the dangerous, they learn to love, and to fear, to cling and push away, the children split, arguments become bitter, and time erodes their memory.

Then, the elation, sprung from chains of subsistence, they learn to use tools, and then the cities, and then, the lines.

Across the massive realm of rock, beyond their pocket, bored larger with time and effort, to the universe beyond, their stalks hear a quiet, click, click, click through impossible distances, they respond in kind, and to their amazement, the clicks return.

Both are frantic now, the march begins, boring, endless boring, the long search, and then, the break. And the Torrik found their family again, and embraced.

- The Creation of Torrikka 1:25

"It'dve been a damn lot faster if we had the erosion disk" Krattak Welt, on the Creation of Torrikka, and the Falling of the Rubble.

Four Torrik sit in climbing chamber, above them, lies some of the most violent acid that has ever been perfected by their species, below them, one of the largest boreholes ever made. They lie in pressure suits, by nessecity, but they're all keenly aware of one thing.

Everything they're going to say will be retained, regardless of what happens.

Clicks eminate from the lifeline, the long cord connecting them back to civlisation, it says "2 minutes until Topsoil", pressure is attempted to be maintained here, it is fighting a losing battle, it comes through muffled. They're vaguely sure that, despite the intense lack of pressure, breaching topsoil will not kill them, probably.

All of them know this risk, and, in the manner of the very qualified, they have taken it on board, and universally stated "I do not care." One of the geonauts, Tokkik, was quoted as saying "I will not miss the second falling of the rubble", and the others agreed, at least in sentiment.

They feel the chamber chunk, the wheeled exterior that had clung to the rock near permanently, was now activating the back up, Chossik would need to remain in the saftey module, below, as it stabbed itself into the walls, he would coordinate, but he would never see the strange state tenatively named "Unbound Porous", what lay further up.

Chossik had trained his entire life for this moment, Torrik would debate how he felt about not being there, he'd reply "Mission Control worked just as hard, and we were no diffeent."

Tokkik, Makar, and Kakket sat for a few moments, as the disc's constant industrial humming ceased, and the wheels once again began their assent, they felt the final vibrations of the disc retracting into the structure.

"Well, looks like the disc beat us to the punch" joked Makar, in a voice that sounds like it was filtered through water, his fellow geonauts radially moved their antenna, which roughly translated to chuckling.

Kakket sent readings down the line, and activated his recorder, Pressure, stable, hitting around 15 Kors, slightly falling but that's probably instrument catchup, suits, holding, can report mild nausea, but generally, suits hold"

The three connected a second line to their suits.

"Check, Check, Check" - tested Chossik, from the rump chamber.

"We'll get your Bill when we're ready Chos'" replied Tokkik, to further radial antennae movement.

"Hah, my Bill? grab me some shale when we're done Tok'" it wasn't funny, but the antennae continued circling.

They heard the wheels stop, and chunk once again, solidifying themselves against the wall.

Kakket stood, slowly, and began his egress.

"Final checks, Chos'"

"14.78 Kors, expected drop of five, you're good to go, enjoy Clikikik*"

*Can be roughly translated to "Heaven"

He turned a wheel. Lighter, it felt so much lighter, and he already vaguely sensed the Unbound Porous, free, disorientating

"Initial Clakcliclick* raditation, lot stronger than expected."

*Early, antiquated Torrik word, most commonly translated to "Light"

"Are you still good for the walk?" - asked Chossik, monitoring vital signs, he was panicked, but not panicking.

"Well it'd be a shame not to, been a long trip huh boys." replied Kakket, to general amusement of the crew.

"Well, Mission Control's cleared you, she's all yours."

Kakket walked onto the frame of the door, and scanned the surroundings, looking for the ceiling.

He found none, endless shell theory, probably debunked, incredibly mild sensations from some directions but whatever it was, the shell was either further away than they'd ever get, or non existent.

Kakket had rehearsed it, of course he had, they'd practically workshopped it for months.

"I see you, you are like me, and i see, Hello."

He'd kick himself for the second "see", but historians, and the public, still thought the line landed.

All in all, the procession went well, they collected top soil samples, established a vibrational sensor to get a better idea of what those strange, "ceiling fragments" above them were, they joked, they laughed, they looked out into the space they'd never needed words for, before.

Then they returned.

It was the end of pre-topsoil Torikka. At the time, nobody thought to mourn.

39 - Torikka.