Exigency Read online

  So what was the big deal? After all, the probes were designed with the assumption that an IL would eventually discover one and crack it open.

  Minnie stepped from the ladder’s last rung to the lab floor, and noticed Ish sitting in her own lab area across from Minnie’s, her hands in a combox, manipulating some object on the planet surface. A workaholic even more obsessive than Minnie, Ish had apparently rushed straight here after group.

  Ishtab Soleymani was the mission’s lead specialist on the primitive Hynka race that dominated the northern hemisphere of Epsilon C, or Epsy, as it had come to be known. Though the Hynka were brutal predators, Ish was extremely protective of them. She even refused to call them Hynka.

  The Threck, for whom Minnie was lead specialist, had recently begun dabbling in transoceanic exploration, and at some point encountered these terrifying behemoths. They branded the creatures “savages”: Hynka. At the time, as Ish had yet to determine a single name by which the team could refer to her ILs, the Threck word became the default. Once Ish finally ascertained what her darling predators called themselves, Hynka had already become ingrained in the team’s heads. And besides, the hissing, guttural Oss-Khoss just didn’t roll well off the human tongue. Minnie didn’t think the bloodthirsty beasts would be all that offended.

  She’d once told Ish, “Go down and stand in front of one of those things and see if Oss-Khoss gets you devoured any slower, or with more compassion, than Hynka.”

  Petite, doe-eyed Ish had merely stared at Minnie with a thoughtful air, seemingly perplexed by the notion that standing before a towering, chest-heaving, wheezing, drooling Hynka would be anything other than a dream come true. In that species, Minnie surmised, Ish saw only a brilliant hunting machine—the highly successful top of the food chain in a land the size of Eurasia.

  Minnie (and everyone else) observed a hulking, too-fast, energy-squandering, gorillagator beast that owed its survival to the rapid breeding and bounteous litters of a few of its surviving prey species. And that balance wouldn’t last. The Hynka population continued to maintain steady growth and dispersion. Within 200 years they’d eat their way to their own extinction, leaving behind a vast, fertile land for Threck expansion. It was inevitable. There simply weren’t enough huntable calories to sustain the population once its size doubled, and the beasts didn’t appear to be within a thousand years of agriculture.

  Minnie approached Ishtab’s combox and peered over her shoulder at the screen. “Whatcha got there?”

  Ish was surprised, but thrilled to answer. “It’s actually a discarded tool. I’ve got vids of a female using it to pry roots away from a burrow, and then as an extension to spear the hiding rodent inside.”

  “Aww. Poor bunny.”

  Ish glared. “Is it more humane how your people consume living worms or suffocate their fish?”

  Minnie shrugged. “Just saying poor bunny. Got a soft spot for fur. Find me a fuzzy Hynka and I’ll ‘awww’ right there with you as it devours its own brother’s guts.” She turned to go, ignoring Ish’s stammered protest.

  “Siblings would never … Conspecific cannibalism isn’t…”

  At her main console, Minnie accessed her alerting system and cleared the queued probe events. She pulled up the language database and looked at the breakdowns. 114 new words or usages. Reviewing them in their recorded context, she felt that same elated ear buzz she’d enjoyed over the past two weeks. As usual, a few of the definition suggestions were a little off, but she listened to the audio, watched the Threcks’ body language in the vids, and input her corrections. The computer always had difficulty pairing gestures with audibles to form single words. Not only were the Threck dependent upon head and arm movements to convey meaning and inflection, the identical word could have two entirely different meanings if spoken during inhale or exhale.

  After six playbacks, Minnie discovered a new modifier: a sort of doubletake head gesture with a subtle shrug. “I miss those days” became “I mourn [that person].”

  As she had yesterday and the day before, Minnie decided she’d kill the probe tomorrow.

  * * *

  Minnie gnawed a chewstick while watching from their bed as Aether sponged her face in the mirror. Her eyes perused Aether’s long body in the dim light.

  “You have a bruise on your butt,” Minnie said.

  Aether twisted and observed it in the mirror. “Ooh, that’s an ugly one. That stupid workbench in Engineering. On the left when you enter.”

  “It’s crazy how high your butt is. That corner always gets me on the waist. Hurry up.”

  Aether leaned into the refresher nook, the soft hiss of microjets as it dried her face.

  Minnie rolled onto her back and stared at the perforated ceiling. “How about that drama in group today? Pablo and Zisa.”

  “They worked it out well.” Getting Aether to engage in petty gossip always proved challenging. She tossed back a swig of mouthwash and swished it around in her mouth.

  “Yeah, eventually, but sexual harassment? Really? He complimented her. I was there when it happened.” Minnie deepened her voice. “‘Oh, hey Zees. Been putting in extra time on the legger?’”

  Aether spat the mouthwash in the sink. “Well, it does imply he’s just looked over her body, and she’s always been sensitive to that sort of thing. We all know he was only talking about her legs, but he should know better with her. It’s over though. What matters is they’re still friends, and he’ll be more conscious in the future.”

  Minnie’s gaze had lost its focus at some point, the ceiling holes blending and merging with the glazed metal’s faux wood coating. What time was it in Threck City?

  Aether crawled into bed.

  Minnie rolled on her side to face Aether and engage, but additional language advancements could be happening right that second. Her mislaid observation unit was down there, hard at work, like some tireless assistant working for her day and night. Joy mingled, in equal portion, with her fear of being caught. She wanted so badly to tell Aether about the OU, but it’d put Aether in a bad spot having to either betray Minnie or lie to John. Better she didn’t know.

  “Pensive face,” Aether said, and tried to mirror Minnie’s expression. “You’re worried about what to do for my birthday, aren’t you?”

  Uh-oh, is it this week?

  Minnie pulled up the calendar app. “Yeah … exactly. You psychs just see right through a person, don’t you?” Two days away. She’d have to make her something. Something physical.

  Aether squinted at her. “You just opened your calendar.”

  “Yeah, busted. But wow! You’re fifty-five!”

  Aether’s speechless face rapidly morphed to a quivering stink-eye. “Chron-age? How … dare … you!” She pushed Minnie’s shoulder back and climbed atop her, pinning Minnie’s wrists into the mattress. “You just violated rule number one, m’lady.”

  “Well hello there, Ms. Sensitivity,” Minnie beamed, relishing the moment. “Shall we hack into the system and edit this inconsiderate birth year entry?”

  “Not a bad idea, actually. Nineteen years in a metabed equates to around two years of physical aging, so … just subtract seventeen years from both of us.” Aether sat back, releasing Minnie’s wrists.

  “Nah, I’m okay being forty-five. So much wisdom tied to that number. But man, oh, man, fifty-five! Talk about wisdom.” Minnie sighed with mock reverence. “Verily, thine eyes hath beheld such wonders.”

  Their gazes locked—a battle of penetrating stares that gradually devolved into juvenile face-making.

  Aether finally gave in and flopped back down beside her. “So, what were you really stewing on?”

  Can’t tell her about the probe…

  “Oh, just wondering how many other teams were actually reading my research guides. I know I won’t receive feedback from the first installment for another couple years.”

  “Well, we all think it’s brilliant. Everything you’ve published so far. And you know I’m not just saying that. Tom
and Pablo, even as backups, absolutely incorporate your methods. I’m sure Ish, too.”

  Minnie popped her eyebrows. “Ish? Seriously? You think she’d read a word of something I wrote?”

  A note of disappointment in Aether’s face. “She looks up to you; it’s just hard for you to see past the wall she’s built up. But you can change that. I’ve always said you can change that.”

  “You say the same thing about John.”

  “And I mean it!” Aether said, sitting up. “You were thinking about him again, weren’t you?”

  Oh jeez. Come on.

  “I was so not … Can we not—”

  Aether stroked Minnie’s arm. “I really think you need to get it out more. Talk to me more. Tell me what you dislike about him. Tell me what frustrates you. I’d rather do it here, with you, then have it rear up in the middle of group or assembly.”

  Minnie sat up and faced her. “Listen. Really hear me right now. You see me thinking, or I’m frowning or something—chances are, I’m down there.” Minnie nodded out the window to the violet planet as it rolled by. “I’m not like I was eight months ago. I don’t think about him anymore. Honestly. Do you believe me?”

  “Of course I believe you.”

  “Thank you.”

  They sat quietly, sharing a smile. Aether tilted her head a little. She was waiting. She was doing that psych thing where you just wait for the patient to say more. But it wasn’t going to work on Minnie. She was immune to such transparent tactics. Minnie would simply stare at all that exposed olive skin and wait it out, thinking other thoughts.

  Minnie broke the silence. “You know he has thoughts, though—that he misses you.” Aether raised her eyebrows. “And I guarantee he has vids of you in his fone. Gross stuff. He could be watching them any time, you standing there right in front of him, and you’d have no idea he was overlaying the real you with some … some—”

  Aether blinked, stunned. “He’s not like that.”

  “Of course not.”

  The soft monotone of an impending announcement sounded in Minnie’s ear. She could see Aether got it too.

  Qin’s voice spoke in their ears. “Supply pod on final approach.”

  Minnie frowned. “Has it been six months? What day is it?”

  Aether smirked and crawled out of bed, grabbing clothes from the closet. “It’s the fourth. Two days from my birthday, ahem, ahem. Time flies, right?” She dressed and pulled on her runners. “I’m just going to check on them; make sure everything’s good, okay? He’s showing Ish how to run final approach. We’ll resume this vid business when I get back.”

  “No, please, I’m done talking. Disregard everything I just said. Seriously. Just hurry back, you.”

  Aether stroked Minnie’s sandy hair, the way Minnie liked, the way her father used to, and then left the room.

  Lying back, Minnie scolded herself once more for letting the crap in her head come out of her mouth. Even if asked directly, she needed to lie. And why couldn’t Aether ask about something else? Ask her about the Threck and Minnie would blab her ear off for hours! Ask her more about Ish! That was actually kind of eye-opening for a second. Maybe Ish’s standoffishness was a direct result of Minnie’s reactions to Ish’s standoffishness. Maybe if Minnie was nicer, Ish would relax and act somewhat normal. Hell, violate policy and ask her about food.

  Minnie felt a sudden wave of ghost hunger and clutched her belly skin. She felt around the sheets and under her pillow, finding the chewstick beneath. Back in her mouth it went. She considered opening her game to sneak a virtual snack. It was strictly forbidden, of course, but Qin had showed her how to trick the system into presenting food. It even activated scent receptors.

  But no good would come of it. She had to think like a recovering alcoholic. The just-a-little-sip mentality was highly destructive.

  Like the eight other individuals on the station and the dozens of others sent to distant planets on similar missions, she hadn’t consumed a solid for almost 27 years. Meds in the water shut down the majority of the digestive process, nutrients and calories supplied by supplements also infused in the water. It was the most extreme part of training and transition on Earth, and it wasn’t optional. Quite simply, there existed no practical way to feed a team of 8-12 people on an orbiter, light years from home, for the rest of their lives.

  Even though the meds blocked the processes and signals that led to hunger sensations, it was difficult to comprehend the psychological impacts of food, the social importance of eating. The teams still gathered twice daily for this very reason. “Assembly” remained one of the few mandatory entries in everyone’s calendars, despite the fact that they drank from their canteens throughout the day. You sat around a table, drank your water, socialized. Many of them munched on chewsticks. There was nothing to swallow, but they kept the teeth and gums healthy, and satisfied latent oral fixations. Some avoided chewsticks as they only reminded them of what they couldn’t have, preferring to utilize them as any other hygiene tool before bed.

  In training, everyone had been put on the meds right away, meals tapered and cut off two weeks in. Many brilliant, high-potential candidates dropped out at that stage, dreams shattered over food. Others washed out for the sudden stark reality of a one-way trip. They’d thought they could handle leaving home forever: sever ties, say good-bye. But when it came down to it, a truly unique psyche was required to accept that daunting future and consistently remain on task.

  Even though she was close with her father, Minnie had always been fine with leaving him, and likewise, he with her. He’d said he wished they could both go off to different ends of the Orion Spur, each knowing the other was fulfilling their greatest dreams. But he was too old for the program, and so they’d spoken their tearless, ecstatic goodbyes when he dropped her off at the training center. She was 16. As the weeks passed, she found herself only vaguely troubled by the realization of what she missed most about her father: the way he’d stroke her hair until she fell asleep.

  How fortunate was she, Minnie thought, having found love on a journey she expected to live out alone? And how sad was it for John Li, who came with his wife—the person he believed he’d share the rest of his life with—to end up alone, and with no way home? Perhaps Minnie could forgive him a yank or two as he watched those vids of him and Aether.

  “He’s not like that!”

  BS. He’s got vids.

  Minnie’s dulling thoughts shifted to the surface, to Threck City, the stirring architecture, the grand harbor, their Thinkers and artists, their theories about the stars and mathematics, the Fishers out at sea riding on behemoth afvriks trained as fishing boats. She imagined life in the city, and, despite Aether’s absence, eventually fell asleep.

  1.2

  John Li reclined in his office chair, perusing the incoming pod’s inventory. Scrolling past the usuals—supplements, meds, power cells—to the extras section, he quickly scanned for the object of his interest: fone upgrades.

  John’s fone had been giving him persistent pain for months. Pablo had pulled it out and run diagnostics but found nothing wrong. John remembered the look on Angela’s face when she entered sick bay and saw John’s hollow right eye socket. He’d watched with his left eye, the real one, as she blinked and rubbed her own fone eye. It seemed that despite their complete dependence on the technology, not many liked to be reminded of their implants, or the amputated bio eye they’d replaced.

  “I think it’s in your housing,” Pablo had said. “Not the fone itself. Don’t see any physio problems. Maybe a firmware upgrade will alleviate though … whenever they come …”

  John had nodded and thanked him. Pablo didn’t think it a critical issue because John didn’t convey it as such. “Some occasional pulsing behind the cavity,” John had described.

  “How bad? Would you consider it debilitating? When it’s at its worst?”

  John had forced a convincing laugh. “Not remotely. Just something I thought I’d put on your radar.” Would it h
ave helped to describe the pain as that of a thumb pressing in on the fone, harder and deeper? The sensation of building pressure, ever threatening to burst?

  John had had to live with the consequences of downplaying his pain, not the least of which was a lack of meds. Without a reportable override, Pablo was the only one who could program adjustments to crewmembers’ water.

  The throbbing behind John’s fone continued as he used the source of his pain to drill down into the pod’s tech manifest. He held his breath as it popped into view before him, virtually hovering in the air a dozen centimeters away.

  Brand: LEN Model: LEFONE 8.5 SW: 5.366 FW: 5.30

  Image: NS23-9 QTY: 12

  Their current software and firmware were in the 3s, so he looked forward to whatever improvements two generations had to offer.

  He switched back to the medical supplies in search of ocular housings, but found none. The chances had been slim, anyway. Adult housings were considered permanent, and new fones were expected to be backwards compatible all the way to the original 21st Century housings. Not many people were willing to take the risk, or invest in the surgery required. Once your housing was installed, replacing a fone could technically be done by yourself in a mirror, albeit unsanitary.

  On Earth, while the vast majority preferred a perfect color match (rendering an implanted fone indistinguishable from a bio eye), others opted for bold-colored irises, wearing matched contact lenses over their bio eye. Kids used them as fashion accessories, choosing fones not for quality or functionality, but for the special gimmicks the off-brands used to entice them, such as animated color-shifting irises, or shocking, full coloration such as all black or all red. Before entering training, John remembered seeing a teenager at the airport with a repeating message scrolling across his fone eye: JAX, MEDZ, SONDZ—a possibly ironic update to “sex, drugs, and rock n’ roll.”