The terrain and the Jeep’s lack of seatbelts make reading the dossier tough, so Clemens just listens to the suit.
“You’ve heard the official story,” she shouts over the engine and wind.
“Yeah. Only there was no eruption. The explosion, as far as we can tell, came from something buried under the peak.”
“But there was that town. The lava wiped it out.”
“Well. Something did, anyway.”
They bounce over the crest, and the sun blinds him for a second. Then: a field of glass, smooth, amber, a mile across.
“We’re calling it the Lens,” yowls the suit.