Exigency Page 7

  She could have done something. She was Little Miss Think of Everything.

  But as much as her subconscious wanted to lay some amount of blame on her shoulders, she knew that software and guidance systems could only do so much. It wasn’t like she could have retrofit the pods with new launching mechanisms or propulsion. EV thrusters were next to useless if a pod experienced a dud launch (detached from dock without a booster blast), or was spinning out of control, or was shot beyond orbital arc by greater than 20, even in the hands of a skilled pilot.

  It was true though, and some small hope, that when it came to piloting, Qin was the most capable of the bunch. John had asserted that EV assignments were based upon “mission factors,” not skill and survival probability rating, but it was certainly interesting that the one person on the station that he cared about above all others was assigned to an EV with the individual most able to control and land it. Then again, John pairing himself with Minerva would seem to refute the theory. Despite her consistently superior SP rating, she was the last person he’d want to be stuck with, and vice versa. Oh, how he’d hated being number two at anything. And, oh, look how big of him to congratulate her each time she beat him.

  Exhaustion finally dragged Minnie into the black of a dreamless sleep.

  She awoke a little over four hours later—groggy, yet with a new determination. Exiting the tent without waking John, she shivered at the still-chilly air and quietly pulled her survival bag out with her.

  Two hours later, a list of if-thens continued growing in her fone’s project management interface.

  Communication with the rest of the crew was paramount, but without the Backup Habitat as a comms relay for the little transmitters in the SSKs, she and John would need to return to the EV to salvage the integrated comms units.

  If the BH did survive, then her first task was to attempt contact with it. If she established contact with the BH, then she could initiate comms with the other EVs. If she could communicate with other EVs, she could talk to Aether.

  While this seemed like a mission in itself, it wasn’t strictly for personal reasons. If Qin could set their EV on a course for entry, he could probably instruct the other errant EVs to do the same. Maybe he was already working on it, or maybe his judgment was clouded and he was sitting by doing nothing useful. They could simply need a nudge from an outside voice.

  To even attempt comms with the BH, they needed to leave the cave. And if they were leaving the cave, they might as well return to the EV and salvage all of the laser-based comms components.

  If Hynka were still scratching around the EV, then she needed to find a way to draw them well away from the area. If she successfully earned enough time with the EV, they could potentially recover one or both skimmers and fly the equipment back to their hideout. With a single passenger, the skimmers could zoom up to 180 km/h, and if they went out light on equipment, one flyer could support both of them, albeit slower.

  So it looked like the EV factored into every branch of her chart. More pure water, comms, power, transportation—the skimmers alone were essential mission assets.

  This branch was but one small section of the expansive, growing flow chart, all of its initial boxes splitting off into multiple options based upon various outcomes, and then branching off again and again.

  John either found it all too overwhelming or had decided to curb his commentary. Minnie found the process relaxing, centering. Until everything was all laid out, the future—both near and distant—was far too murky and anxietous.

  “We’re up to fourteen,” John proudly proclaimed from the other end of the cavern.

  “That’s great,” Minnie murmured as she sat nestled in her survival bag, leaning against the cavern wall, now fleshing out various foot-travel scenarios in her flow chart, in the event they were unable to recover one or both skimmers.

  “It’s amazing how quickly the temperature in here normalizes,” John said as he moved one of the tiny unisensors onto a head-height stalagmite. “If we’re still here in forty hours, I think I can have it stabilized at twenty-two degrees.”

  “Mm-hm,” Minnie replied, and then actually considered what he was saying. She looked up, frowning. “Do you think it’s a good idea to be raising the temp in here so much? I mean, it’s probably been essentially the same for thousands of years, or more.”

  John appeared to think it over. “I’m not sure what it could hurt. It’s not going to affect structural integrity, no animals to consider—”

  “Well, we don’t know what kind of microorganisms are in here. Maybe you’re affecting something’s metabolic rate. Just a thought.” She shrugged. “Also, we didn’t scan for dormant bacteria or anything. Remember, we still haven’t been inoculated against anything on Etsy.”

  “I’m well aware that we haven’t been able to do our inocs. And it’s true, we could have caught any number of bugs in here. I’ll have the heater standby at sixteen.”

  I know you’re well aware.

  Minnie shook her head and chuckled quietly, but, in the cave, no sound escaped the other’s ears.

  “What’s funny?” John said, walking back to their little camp area.

  “Nothing. Okay, something. It’s just that, I know that I’m a know-it-all, but you’re like the definition of Mr. Know-It-All. I guess it would be less distracting if we could have a conversation wherein you didn’t feel the need to assure me of what you already knew, thought, anticipated, etset. It’s unnecessary information.”

  John wasn’t amused. “We’re all know-it-alls, Minerva, or we wouldn’t have been assigned to the mission.”

  “Yeah, yeah, I know. Forget it. Now, please stop talking while I finish polishing this chart.”

  She could feel him simmering, see his hovering body in her peripheral, wanting so badly to argue with her or at least slip in the last word. But he remained quiet and eventually returned to the other end of the cavern to retrieve his dragonfly. It had followed fourteen different channels thus far, each eventually tapering down to a few centimeters. Now its battery needed a recharge.

  Minnie wanted to remind John that without sunlight, the heater unit was their only significant power source, but she was secretly glad he’d warmed the cave. It meant they didn’t have to spend another night together in the tent.

  She’d sleep “outside” tonight.

  * * *

  Fully suited up, John stepped carefully into the little pond from which he and Minerva had emerged the day before. Shifting his optics to IR, he opened a new M.

  JOHN: Activating IR emitters in a moment. Be sure to

  But he stopped and deleted the M. He needed to maintain minimal communication with Minerva. Her sensitivity to anything and everything he said or observed made it challenging to get anything done. It was on him to adjust, filter, and keep their interactions productive. Minerva most certainly would not.

  Exchange only the bare minimum of required information. He started the M again:

  JOHN: Activating IR emitters.

  MINNIE: OK

  He crept down the slope, his boot treads gripping the rock despite the slick glaze, and shifted his weight forward to ease all the way into the water. Strangely, it felt good to be swimming again, or maybe it was the warmth and security of the suit.

  What might they find outside the cave and around the sinkhole? There was no reason to believe the Hynka horde hadn’t tracked their scents to the hole, and now stood around the perimeter with 10,000 more friends. But once he reached the end of the tube, twisted upside down to look up, and flipped through various optics, it became clear that nothing awaited them. At least not near the rim of the sinkhole.

  JOHN: All clear out here.

  John slid out of the tube and watched Minerva follow. Now vertical, they both looked up and around, daylight illuminating the water and the sinkhole’s craggy walls. John kicked his way to the rope, still hanging against the side where they’d left it the night before, and tugged on it to verify it was still secured.
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  JOHN: I’ll go up rope first.

  MINNIE: OK

  Bare minimum was working nicely.

  John repositioned himself, planting his boots on the wall and coiling the rope around one wrist, then the other, and then pulled himself up. It was surprisingly easy despite Epsy’s 1.5 g. From day one, the station’s personal quarters segment had been set to 1.5 g to prep their muscles in the event of surface evac. Nevertheless, he’d expected to feel exceedingly weak, especially with the added weight of the suit.

  And then he reached the surface of the water and felt like a complete idiot. Of course it had been easy to lift himself while half-submerged in water.

  Now with torso above the surface, John replanted his boots, took a deep breath, and strove to pump his resolve.

  You’ve got this! One arm over the next! Keep momentum! Feet in sync, go go go!

  But he couldn’t move. His arms could scarcely hold half his body above the water. Even his fingers were beginning to lose their grip on the rope. It was as if his bottom half was being dragged down by a 100-kilo weight. This climb wasn’t happening.

  With the last of his strength, he lowered himself back into the water, Minerva’s curious face shining up at him.

  MINNIE: What’s up?

  JOHN: No strength. Can’t lift my own weight. Muscle atrophy worse than expected.

  MINNIE: I’ll give it a shot. Maybe I can pulley you up if I’m able to make it out.

  JOHN: Good luck.

  John kicked himself back against the far wall and looked up as Minerva made her attempt. Once again, he found it difficult to inhale a satisfying breath, though his tank should be supplying plenty of oxygen. Thirty seconds of exertion and he was this beat?

  Minerva’s legs slowly disappeared above the water line. Yes, it would be embarrassing for her to successfully scale the rope, but he was much more interested in getting out of the cave and sinkhole. Though a moment ago he hadn’t considered their refuge anything other than a safe camping spot, it had abruptly turned into a prison.

  A big splash, scattered bubbles, Minerva’s flailing feet.

  MINNIE: Dammit! Only made it about ¼ up. Arms like jelly.

  She floated down to his level and faced him, her frustration visible through her visor. She glanced back up at the resettling rope end.

  MINNIE: Maybe if I dump the suit. That’ll drop 20kg.

  John thought about it for a second and realized that bare hands and feet would negate any benefits of dropping the added weight.

  JOHN: Gloves and boots?

  MINNIE: Oh, right. And probably not a good idea to de-integrate them from the suit, huh?

  They stared at each other in silence for a moment, both contemplating the situation, and both clearly at a loss.

  JOHN: I’ll set us up a little gym in the cave. We focus on pulls and lifts, squats for our legs. I don’t know about your core, but mine seems pretty worthless. Swimming maneuvers in here might be good for us too.

  MINNIE: I can’t envision any regiment that gets us out of here in less than 10 days.

  JOHN: Well, yeah, of course it’ll take time.

  Minerva’s face skipped right past irritation to pure rage. Bubbles burst from her helmet as she screamed. Her visor fogged, but he didn’t really have to read her lips. “We don’t have that kind of time!” She lurched and swam down to the tunnel entrance, disappearing inside.

  John fought the urge to M her, to tell her she needed to calm down, that they had to make the best of their situation, that this wouldn’t be their first disappointment, or to cite the bleakest of his own thoughts: now, more than ever, they needed to get along because they may never see another human being for the rest of their lives.

  What would be the point? What exactly did he want from her, anyway? He wanted her mentally stable, that much was certain. How much longer would she remain in balance?

  Secretly, he hoped for an inkling of respect, but this was a laughable notion. If lucky, he’d settle for being tolerated. Whatever provided them both the best chance of survival.

  And then there was the rest of the crew. Aether and Qin. Zisa and Pablo. Angela and Tom. Ish. John couldn’t help them anymore. Their fates were in their own hands. If he allowed into his mind the horror of their situations, nothing would get done. Perhaps he’d end up as erratic as Minerva.

  The only one they could possibly help was Ish. She’d been the sole crewmember to evac alone, and was launched in roughly the same direction as he and Minerva. Wherever Ish ended up, he hoped she wasn’t scared or hurt or dying, awaiting a rescue team that wasn’t coming anytime soon.

  Emerging from the cave’s entrance pond, John saw Minerva set her helmet down and crouch to dig into her SSK. He popped his visor and drank of the moist air.

  “What’s the plan?” he said as he stepped around the little orange tent.

  “I need to not hear you right now. Can you not talk?”

  She stood, unfolding her multitool into its prybar/hammer configuration. She strode barelegged and barefoot, and without any kind of eye protection, into the subcavern, apparently planning to bash away at the mineral columns blocking the passageway.

  Chinking sounds echoed into the main cavern as John strolled after her. Grayscale infrared Minerva was swinging wildly at the formations, her ponytail whipping about the back of her head.

  He called over the racket, “Can I help?”

  She stopped and looked back, eyes glowing like some fire demon, stance primed as if John might as well be a mineral column. He held out his multitool.

  She resumed bashing. “Fine.”

  As the pair attacked the obstructions, demolishing structures that were surely millions of years old, John paused.

  “Hey, do you think you could reprogram a dragonfly to consider itself human? As far as phys dimensions go?”

  Minerva stopped after a few more swings, considering. She wiped sweat and fragments from her forehead. “Yes. But not considering itself human so much as establishing operating parameters. Environment must meet xyz requirements. It’s a good idea. Though if it leaves DC range you won’t be able to tell it what to do if it finds an unanticipated parameter.”

  “Well, we can have it set to return as soon as the parameters are no longer met or until it makes it outside, right? I’m just thinking because it’s mapped so many branches already—”

  “Yeah yeah, branches. Something we can traverse. You made your point. I said it’s a good idea, didn’t I? Can we shut up and go with it?”

  John smiled as she walked ahead of him into the main cavern, swallowing his suggestion like a bag of sand.

  * * *

  Lying on her back, Minnie stared at the orange material above her, faintly illuminated by the glowing heater outside. She’d slept alone in the tent for the past six nights—nights as in the six-hour sleep periods prescribed by their fones. Outside the cave, days followed Epsy’s roughly nineteen-hour cycle, and Minnie frequently checked her fone to see whether it was day or night out there. Station life had long since eroded this association between daylight and waking hours, but she found herself troubled by the knowledge of a warm sun shining down on her EV only a short hike away, just outside—just outside her grasp.

  Minnie didn’t want to sleep, but her body needed the healing time after each day’s rigorous exercise regime. She’d charted out the whole program, rotating between muscle groups, allowing certain areas more time to heal than others. Build maximum strength in minimal time. She’d tried to help John do the same, even sending him his own chart, but he didn’t have her discipline or resolve. He refused to push his body, and as a result, progressed slower than her.

  In other news, he’d already passed two BMs, and Minnie hadn’t defecated once. For some reason, this was John’s favorite topic.

  Her body definitely seemed to want it. Rolling onto her side, she could feel it in her transverse colon, high in the abdomen and painful, unmoving. Earlier, John had told her it wasn’t happening because she didn�
��t want it to happen. She’d replied that if he continued commenting on her lack of movements, he’d soon find one waiting for him in his survival bag. He finally shut up.

  There were good days and bad between them—mainly her fault, she knew—but sometimes she just couldn’t stomach his voice. Sometimes the little clock looming high atop her fone would remind her how much time had passed since evac. Aether up there, Minnie stuck in this damned cell with tunnels that led nowhere and a mocking rope dangling over the sinkhole, and a man that seemed to lovingly nurture the very worst in her, able to trigger her wrath with only a few words or even the most innocuous of sounds.

  Earth’s original space programs called it “irrational antagonism” when otherwise great friends, isolated together for an extended period, would grow increasingly irritable, previously nonexistent pet peeves festering into rage-worthy obsessions. Some orbiting Russians even came to blows.

  But John was not a great friend to begin with, and he was intentionally annoying, and his sleeping sounds would surely inspire murderous ire in the most angelic of grandmas!

  Minnie smiled, rolled onto her back, and closed her eyes. The tent’s orange hue remained as a ghost vision behind her eyelids. Like some kind of self-hypnosis, she advised herself that despite John’s obnoxious breathing, sleep would come with the fading of the orange. With the last bits of orange, she’d fall into a deep, deep—

  Well, that’s weird.

  John was still asleep outside the tent, but his usual exhale sounds were different. In fact, instead of the familiar straining noises she’d come to expect, he sounded strangely content—moaning pleasantly as if he were receiving a foot massage or having a sex dream. Minnie rolled back onto her side and flipped her optics to thermal, curious if any regions would appear warmer than the rest of him. Maybe he’d dozed off while watching some pervy old vid of Aether that he’d never in a million years admit to having.

  What the hell?

  His temperature was all over the place—a strange glob of yellow/orange warmth around his side, another concentration around his left thigh, one at his neck, each region surrounded by drastically cooler blue rings. Circulation? Was he ill?