Exigency Page 11

  Angela: You’re a bad ass. Watching you in training and our first couple years made me a stronger, more confident person. In reality, John has you to thank for me making his life miserable. Ha ha. I always loved how you owned what you know and said “how the hell should I know?” to what you didn’t. Also, I could never tire of the banter between you and Tom. Heart.

  Pablo: You know how much I love WYSIWYG, and that has always been you. It’s super weird to have one of my best friends doing my OBG checks, but you skillfully made them seem like a haircut. Also, you give great haircuts. No idea why I think of OBG and haircuts first, but I guess I feel so close to you that it doesn’t matter. You’d laugh and shrug. Wish you could’ve bought me that first beer.

  Ish: You’re super cute. (Wanted to say something nice. I’ll save my other thoughts for when I find you, you silly, irrational, selfish, daffy, murderous bitch.)

  John: You’re less than 50m from me right now, and hurt so badly. But somehow talking to you, real talk, seems like the scariest thing imaginable. Maybe it’s because, as much as I’ve always resisted and denied, you really are like a father to me. This is especially rough for me to swallow, given each other’s past and present relationship statuses. Combine that with your enviable logic, problem-solving, insanely broad knowledgebase, and impenetrable calm, one can see why the psych analytics threw red flags about us from the start. I’ve often wondered why you went to bat for me to keep me on in training, and whether you later regretted it. And if so, because you’re a better person than me, I know that you’d never say so. I couldn’t possibly explain it, but I am so thankful to have you with me right now. We’re surely the last human beings each other will ever see—the sole remaining connections to our own humanity, because if someone else isn’t there to see it, are we still human? I believe I’ll disappear. Since we both know I’d never say it aloud: I love you, John.

  Aether: I wish we’d met sooner; I could have loved you longer.

  1.9

  Beep … beep … beep … beep …

  How long had it been going off? Was it a wake-up alarm? Someone needed to turn it off. Would someone turn it off?

  Beep … beep … beep … beep …

  Minnie felt her warm breath reflecting off something just in front of her face. Her whole head lay in a snug cocoon of enchanting warmth.

  Beep … beep … beep … beep …

  The sound echoed in the cave.

  In the cave, Minnie repeated in her head.

  Good grief someone needed to shut that thing off. But who else was there but her?

  John.

  Could John get up? Was he still hurt? How long had he been healing? Five days? Ten? Thirty? Time felt so inestimable—intangible.

  Beep … beep … beep … beep …

  She wished she could snooze it. Just five more minutes, Dad. Five more minutes of sleep was all she needed. Could she wirelessly connect to whatever it was? That would be the ideal. Not leaving the tent—no—that would be the absolute worst-case scenario. No leaving the tent just yet.

  A list of available devices popped up in her fone’s basic standby interface. Two MWs, one MS, the heater’s diagnostics interface, John’s suit, Minnie’s suit. An orange dot flashed beside John’s suit, indicating it was low on power and in powersave mode. He certainly hadn’t been moving enough to provide any significant charging. Next to Minnie’s suit, the blinking red dot revealed that it was the source of the alert sound. Almost dead power cells? How could she have less power than John? She connected to it and silenced the alarm.

  About to disconnect, she reread the alert.

  ENVIRONMENTAL ALERT – Advise close visor, seal suit.

  Minnie sat up, bare arms instantly chilled by the frigid air outside her covers. She didn’t even remember taking off the suit the night before.

  Wait, what time is it?

  She fully activated her fone and the usual border of icons filled the top and bottom of her view. It was almost sundown—32 hours had passed since she’d left the message on the supply pod. Something was very wrong. She’d never been able to sleep more than seven hours. And what about urination? Had she gone in the tent? She felt the mat beneath her and it was dry. Her stomach, too, didn’t hurt, despite the fact that she still hadn’t had her first movement. And why was the suit advising about seals?

  Eyes still heavy, a soothing voice encouraged her to relax, to just be glad the beeping had ceased, to go back to sleep for just a little while, that she deserved it. Minnie fought the temptation and connected to the multisensor somewhere in the dark outside the tent. She had it run a new environment analysis. At sea level, oxygen was always lower on Epsy than it was on Earth, but in the cave it had apparently gone down 3% over the past two weeks, simulating an extreme rise in altitude. Stranger still, it wasn’t replaced by nitrogen or carbon dioxide.

  O2: 12.2%

  N: 66.8%

  CO2: 4.6%

  Ar: 1.04

  Oth: 15.36

  Well that’s a whole lot of “other,” Minnie thought, still struggling to focus. What the hell is it?

  She expanded the “other” line to see what they’d been breathing, but didn’t recognize the mixture. Whatever it was, she guessed it was toxic. After downloading the values, she switched to the med app and dropped the gas mixture into a typimale of John’s height, weight, and age. It sped through simulations: 5 minutes, 30 minutes, 4 hours, 24 hours, 1 week. It didn’t even have to go that far. Right away she grasped that, for humans, the gas mixture would be received as a potent anesthetic.

  I wonder …

  The warmth and peace of her bag calling to her, she drove on, running through the list and selecting each compound to pull up the details. Nitrous oxide, propofol, several others without names that would surely have some sort of medical significance back on Earth. She blinked slowly. So much of the past two weeks suddenly seemed to make sense. Maybe. Or maybe this was a dream. Some fresh air would be nice. Some cool outside air … but it was so far. Maybe after a little more rest.

  Cripes … of course!

  She violently slapped her face, unzipped the door, and staggered out of the tent, clumsily pulling on her suit. It was like untangling a hundred cables tied up in fishing net. Eventually, feet found their way to boots, hands made it through sleeves, and her helmet surrendered to her sealing efforts.

  After only a few deep breaths, her muddy head already began clearing. And after a few more, some of the “other” elements struck her as familiar, after all. She pulled up the acid slime sample she’d taken from one of John’s parasitic worms and compared the elements. The substance contained many more compounds than the air—more than two dozen—but all six of the unknowns in the cave air existed in the slime.

  The air hadn’t always been that way. This was certain. When they’d first arrived, it was only slightly off from the outside mixture.

  The heat!

  That was absolutely it. Raising the cave temp had activated the worms. She’d even said it. She’d said it and never looked back. But had she inadvertently poisoned the air by killing all the worms? Like carbon from deforestation? She switched to therm and moved her head through a full scan of the floor, walls, and ceiling. All appeared clear until red streaked across her optic as she glanced past the smaller subcavern. She looked back and walked toward it.

  Indeed, speckling the subcavern’s walls, floor, and ceiling, plus entirely coating the half-barricaded tunnel, there were thousands of the things. In therm, it looked like someone had lit up the place with red holiday lights.

  Minnie rushed back to the campsite and began shoving their gear into the backpacks. Food, clothes, SSKs, weapons. She needed to carry it all in one trip out. And that’d be the easy part. Getting John into his suit and helmet, dragging him across the cave, out through the underwater tunnel, and then somehow up and out the sinkhole—probably still unconscious the entire time—it all might pose a small challenge.

  * * *

  An abrupt scritch.
Again, longer. Nausea. Neck pain, legs sore, side burning, jaw ... so much burning. Hunger. Dry mouth. Unable to swallow.

  Strangely, among all the new pain, the pressure behind John’s fone was still relentless. He wanted to rip it from his face, but needed it to keep contact with Minnie. Minerva.

  Scriiiitch!

  The sound pierced his helmet and he suddenly sensed his orientation: upside down and buried beneath something.

  His body lurched reflexively when his boot knock something that wasn’t a wall. He woke up his fone to see where he was. Low power alert from his suit. Everything felt wrong. Something pushed his feet again and his helmet scratched once more against coarse rock. He was in the water tunnel. How had she gotten him into the tunnel? What was the last thing he remembered? Hadn’t he taken off his suit at some point?

  JOHN: What’s happening?

  MINNIE: Hey! Good morning! Just sit tight, okay?

  Assigning inflections to text was generally ill-advised, but her M looked downright chipper.

  Light appeared at the end of the tunnel. Apparently daytime outside. He used his hands to guide his body through the tunnel and keep himself from banging up against anything. His arms felt tender and weak, as if they’d been punched all over a thousand times. An unseen Minerva continued to push him forward from behind.

  MINNIE: Almost there! You still doing OK?

  JOHN: For the most part. Care to share the plan/situation here?

  She shoved him out of the tube and into the wide pool of green-hued water. He tried to right his body into a proper feet-down orientation, but the attempt only served to reemphasize the uselessness of his muscles and to light up sore spots on his legs, side, neck, and chest. Minerva appeared before him, took hold of his shoulders with her hands, and used her legs to set him upright. Facing helmet to helmet, he saw her grinning face. He watched as her eyes skittered about—movements indicative of typing. A few seconds later, he received the M.

  MINNIE: I was going to tie your limp body to the rope and then lift you out. Now, same plan, but with you awake you’re much less likely to be damaged in the process.

  She followed up with a winky face emoji. The only emoji Minerva had ever sent him in the past decade was that of sarcastic slow-clapping hands. He’d long since forgotten what it had been for, but he still remembered those hands, and he remembered the sour mug on Minerva’s face when he’d looked at her to inquire. She’d been seriously pissed. While surprised and perplexed by her current friendly nature, he didn’t want to do or say anything that would cause it to stop, if at all possible. And knowing himself (and her), it’d only take a single M.

  One of her hands moved to the grip on his chest and she began to swim upward, dragging him behind her to the blinding light above.

  JOHN: How are you going to lift my weight? I don’t think I can contribute much.

  MINNIE: The skimmer.

  Both of their helmets breeched the surface, water sheeting down their visors as fog formed at the edges. Minerva reached back and produced the soggy end of their rope.

  He’d tried to get out before, but failed. His arms had been too weak. Much stronger then than now, but he just couldn’t heft himself up.

  JOHN: You found the EV.

  He watched her face change an instant later when she received the M. She frowned and shook her head.

  MINNIE: We apparently have a lot of catching up to do. For now, know that I found EV5 but no Ish, we have comms but no messages, we have an op skimmer, and that we almost died. Several times.

  JOHN: I look forward to elaboration. What happens after you lift me out of here?

  She began tying gear bags to his waist, followed by the end of the rope around the grip in his chest.

  MINNIE: Moving to a safer spot. Mt. Duck Rock. Where Ish was, and might return to if she isn’t already a lump of Hynka feces. I’m not sure which one I’d prefer.

  John resisted the urge to scold her for such talk. For the time being. He watched as she tested the strength of her knot. The suit tightened around his shoulders and torso, pinching into his right side, and slapping the area with searing pain. His eyes instantly teared up.

  Minerva must have seen him wince and flinch.

  MINNIE: I’m so sorry!

  MINNIE: You OK?

  JOHN: Yeah, just surprised by some sensitivity here.

  He pointed to his ribcage.

  MINNIE: Yeah, that’s where the worst wound is.

  She glanced up toward the light, considering, then faced him once more, stricken.

  MINNIE: I don’t know how else I can get you out of here. It’s seriously going to hurt.

  JOHN: It’s fine, really. Let’s do it.

  He forced a confident smile.

  MINNIE: I don’t know. What if you go into shock?

  JOHN: Ready when you are.

  He saw the rise and fall of a big sigh and she gave him a concerned mother look before turning and grabbing the rope. She climbed it with impressive ease. Their exercise regimen must have worked out nicely. How long had it been since that failed attempt to get out? He glanced at the clock and date in the upper right corner of his fone.

  What the hell? Two weeks?

  Minerva’s feet disappeared over the top of the sinkhole, her helmeted face reappearing in its place. She flashed an inquiring thumbs up.

  MINNIE: Everything still securely attached to you? That’s nearly all of our gear.

  He looked down, saw the bags floating gently at his sides. The suit pressed at his neck. More agony.

  JOHN: I think we’re good.

  She disappeared again and a moment later he watched his side of the rope slacken and drop, gathering around him. The bottom of a skimmer appeared overhead, about 20m above the top of the sinkhole. The other end of the rope was fastened to an anchor loop and slowly rising, straightening into a perfect bar. He stiffened his body just before the first yank.

  He rose a full meter in a second, the wound at his side feeling as though someone ripped a massive piece of duct tape from it. Dangling gear weighed him down and knocked about his legs. Something very bad had happened to his left calf. Still in the water, his boots stirred a circle.

  Another upward jolt as Minerva found the proper throttling for a full cargo load, and then everything smoothed out, the vined walls of the sinkhole falling around him.

  MINNIE: You OK? I can’t see you.

  JOHN: Fine, let’s finish this.

  MINNIE: Meaning set you down? I can set you down, have you lay on the platform, or I can carry you like this to the new spot. It’s a 2-minute ride.

  JOHN: Just go please.

  He was sure he came off terse and snappish, but the pain was unbelievable. She’d make him pay later, but for now he could think of little else but escaping this pulling, stretching, tearing. At any second his flesh would rip free and drop with the gear to the ground, his skinless body somehow remaining bound to the rope.

  MINNIE: I’m so sorry! Going now. Just keep taking deep breaths.

  A whole new Minerva.

  John’s body dangled from the chest loop and oscillated as they flew above the forest. To redirect his screaming mind, John tried to imagine how this would look to an observer on the ground. He’d probably appear dead. How high up was he? He didn’t want to know. Some other distraction. A song? He couldn’t summon a single tune.

  His eyes remained shut tight for most of the way, intermittent peeks revealing only a purple mountain, growing larger with each glimpse.

  It felt much longer than 2 minutes, but he was measuring by pain time, an abstract measurement existing outside normal space-time. No, his clock confirmed more than 5 minutes had passed. Probably a 2-minute ride without a spec-defying load.

  When his feet finally touched something, his legs followed, folding beneath him, his body spreading out on a crunchy, semi-soft surface until all of his weight rested on his enflamed side. It was as though he’d been lowered into a brim-filled bathtub of agony, and time ceased to exist at a
ll.

  * * *

  Minnie liked this new cave. Its wide-open nature brought obvious security concerns, and the distance from a water supply was rather inconvenient, but the abundance of life-sustaining air, lack of determined parasites, the ability to come and go without negotiating an obstacle course, and not-to-be-discounted killer view made up for it all. They’d moved into the Hynka Country equivalent of a penthouse apartment, and if Ish had been correct about Mount Duck Rock’s sacred nature, Minnie and John wouldn’t have to worry too much about security. Surely this had been Ish’s thinking when she selected this site. Her EV had landed precisely where she intended.

  Minnie sat leaning against the smooth stone wall at the cave’s entrance, watching the sun set on another Epsy day. Far to the north, the towering front of a major storm loomed beyond the mountain valley. According to historical weather patterns, the cell would gain significant strength when it reached the mountains. The new cave was in no danger, but floods were likely in the basins below. Their old sinkhole would surely overflow.

  “Hey,” John’s voice from the darkness. He’d been unconscious for several hours. She’d given him a couple rounds of pain meds.

  Minnie smiled and walked inside, grabbing a heater and flipping it on. Orange light slowly brightened the cave. “Welcome to our new abode.” She reached the bend and sat down beside him, curling her feet under her legs. She rested a hand on his survival bag. “How’s your pain? Best to wait another hour before another dose, but if you’re in agony—”

  “No, no, I’m fine. How about you?”

  “Me? I have no issues at all. I was lucky … well, being in the tent …” She sighed, feeling guilty once more for making him sleep outside the tent. Well, she hadn’t made him, but by telling him he could have the tent to himself, and then him insisting she keep it—she knew it was her fault he was injured. “The parasites only got to you because I didn’t want to share a bunk.”