by Greg Egan
‘It wasn’t like that a few lapses ago,’ Ramiro declared. That meant it was deteriorating rapidly.
Tarquinia said, ‘Get the medical kit.’
Agata went to fetch it.
‘The hull fragments missed you?’ Ramiro asked Tarquinia.
‘I was lucky.’ Tarquinia buzzed grimly. ‘I was out in the void before I was even awake. After this, I’m going to start sleeping in my cooling bag.’
Agata returned with the box of medication and instruments. Tarquinia dragged herself over to the bed; Ramiro followed, taking off his jetpack so he could move more freely.
Agata remained by the door. ‘You survived worse than this, didn’t you, Ramiro?’
‘Absolutely. He’s going to be fine.’
Ramiro helped Tarquinia pull the tarpaulin out of the way, but they left the straps in place to keep Azelio still.
‘Is there a reason the cabin lights aren’t on?’ Tarquinia asked irritably.
‘No.’ Ramiro had been relying on his helmet and the safety lights; with the cooling system dead they shouldn’t be using any of the Surveyor’s photonics gratuitously, but well-lit surgery was hardly an indulgence. When Agata switched on the main lights, Ramiro felt a sickening disjunction between the reassuring familiarity of the room – intact and unblemished, as if nothing had happened – and the condition of his guest.
Tarquinia found a long, sharp scalpel and dusted it with astringent. ‘Can you get on the other side and hold him still?’ she asked Ramiro. ‘The straps won’t stop him wriggling, and even if he doesn’t wake he might move instinctively.’
‘Do you want me to hold his leg?’ Agata asked.
Tarquinia said, ‘Good idea.’
Agata joined them. The three of them braced themselves awkwardly over the bed, holding different parts of the same rope for support. Ramiro glanced down at the tunnel in Azelio’s flesh; a luminous discharge was oozing into the hole that the fragment had made.
Tarquinia said, ‘Everyone secure? I’m going to start.’
She plunged the scalpel into Azelio’s thigh, a scant back from the surface of the wound, and started carving a cylinder of her own. Azelio’s torso twitched under Ramiro’s arm, then he opened his eyes and started bellowing. Even without air to carry the sound, the cry that passed from flesh to flesh was piteous.
Ramiro pushed harder against the rope, pinning the poor man down more firmly. It’s almost done, he wrote on his forearm, hoping that Azelio could read the ridges through the fabric separating their skin. Be strong, it won’t be much longer. He locked his gaze on Azelio’s, trying to convey some reassuring sense that his tormentors knew what they were doing.
Azelio kept screaming, but he managed to suppress his struggling. Tarquinia completed the incision. She used a pair of forceps to pull the tube of damaged flesh out of his thigh, swabbed the spilt liquid with a cloth, then dragged herself quickly out of the room. Agata fumbled in the medical kit and found a syringe of analgesic; she injected the powder in three sites around the wound. Ramiro knew from experience that it would take a few lapses to have much effect, but Azelio responded with relief just to the sight of it being administered.
Tarquinia returned. ‘Any of the other wounds need ablating?’ It was lucky that Azelio couldn’t hear her. Ramiro looked over the four remaining holes.
‘I don’t think so. But someone should stay with him to monitor them.’
Agata said, ‘I’ll do that.’
Tarquinia inclined her head in agreement. ‘Ramiro and I will start work on the repairs.’
‘Are you up to that?’ Ramiro already felt guilty that he’d stood by and let her do the surgery.
‘We’re all in shock,’ she said, ‘one way or another. But no one’s going to feel safe until the cooling chamber’s sealed and we have pressure again.’
Tarquinia went out into the void with a camera, then used surveying software and a pre-existing map of the hull to reconstruct the precise shape and dimensions of the gash. They had enough slabs of hardstone in the stores to cover the hole in the chamber, but no single piece would do the job. Ramiro unpacked the masonry workbench and set it up in the front cabin; he’d never envisioned employing it in mid-flight, imagining it would only be useful once they’d reached the surface.
The bench’s coherer could carve precision tongues and grooves into the edges of the slabs, but with no circulating air everything grew hot very quickly; the system hadn’t been designed for use in a vacuum. Tarquinia rigged up an impromptu cooling system, with an air tank venting across the surface of the bench. Ramiro couldn’t think of any better method, but he mentally reviewed their stock of compressed air. They had enough to deal with the crew’s metabolic heat for a stint – but shaping each slab was costing them about a day of that reserve for one person.
They coated the grooves with sealing resin and clamped pairs of slabs together while the resin cured. But they couldn’t assemble the whole structure outside the chamber or they’d never get it through the hatch; they’d have to carry it in as two pieces and join them there.
‘We can clamp these together in the chamber,’ Ramiro said, ‘but how do we apply pressure to bond the whole thing to the wall?’ The chamber was too large for them to brace themselves against any other surface.
‘Use the force from a jetpack?’ Tarquinia suggested.
‘That will agitate the sunstone,’ Ramiro pointed out.
‘What does that matter? The assembly will already be blocking the hole.’
‘But when we open the hatch there’ll be residual motion – and positive air pressure – so we’ll end up spilling more of the stuff.’ The sunstone wouldn’t be going into the void, but tracking down the small pellets even within the confines of the Surveyor wasn’t a trivial exercise.
‘That’s true,’ Tarquinia conceded. ‘So we need to set up a tarp behind us before we go in, closing off the space around the hatch. That won’t be perfect, but it should catch most of the spill.’
Ramiro had no better idea. The only alternative to the jetpack would be to try to install handholds in the chamber – again, without any easy way to apply pressure to a resin join, or to brace themselves to use a drill. He buzzed wearily. ‘At least Verano will be pleased: we can bring him back a long list of suggestions for making the next version easier to repair.’
They dragged the two halves of the assembly most of the way to the chamber. Then Tarquinia fetched the largest tarp from the storeroom and they tied its rim to the handholds around the hatch, enclosing themselves and the hardstone pieces in a rough sphere of fabric. When they opened the hatch white pellets began drifting out immediately like inquisitive insects, and by the time they’d manoeuvred the two pieces into the chamber it was clear that they’d needed the tarp all along, whatever else they did.
Inside the chamber, with the hatch closed, Ramiro realised that they had another problem. ‘When we put resin along the join, how do we keep the sunstone from sticking to it?’ A few lumps caught under the fabric of his temporary repair hadn’t made much difference, but one pellet would ruin the airtight seal between the hardstone pieces.
Tarquinia said, ‘If I back myself into a corner, I can spray air over it while you’re applying the resin.’
‘I think we should rehearse that.’
They tried it. It didn’t work. Tarquinia could keep a small part of the edge free of pellets at any time, but not the whole join.
She said, ‘We need to get another big tarp in here. If we can form a kind of tent and vent air inside it while we’re making the join, that should keep most of the sunstone out.’
Ramiro grew tired just listening to this plan, but he couldn’t see a way to solve the problem without at least one of them leaving the chamber. ‘All right,’ he said. ‘I’ll get it.’
He took off his jetpack and left it in the chamber, opened the hatch just enough to let himself through, then untied a section of the tarp’s rim and slipped past it into the passage. A few dozen pellets follo
wed him through the gap.
When he returned with the second tarp, they wrapped themselves and the assembly in this improvised tent and struggled to drive enough of the sunstone out to be confident that they could make the join. It was impossible to make a working space entirely free of pellets, but once they’d reached a point where the density wasn’t getting any lower they had no choice but to take the risk.
They manipulated the pieces so that they were almost slotted together, then Ramiro daubed resin along one half of the join. Tarquinia wound the clamp down on the assembly, then played the beam from her helmet over the edge. Everything fitted together perfectly; nothing had become trapped in the seam.
Ramiro chirped in jubilation. ‘Well done.’
Tarquinia said, ‘Next time we’re bringing a mason.’
They waited for the join to cure, then opened up the tent. Ramiro’s jetpack had ended up in a corner of the chamber; Tarquinia fetched it for him.
To fix the assembly in place they needed to use the tent again, to protect the edges of the gash they were repairing. Ramiro attached it to the wall with resin at half a dozen points, partitioning off their end of the chamber while leaving a large gap to one side through which to shoo out the pellets. But it was harder than before to drive sunstone from the enclosure, with most of the air they vented just escaping straight into the void.
They’d built the assembly with a raised rim that could sit flush against parts of the wall uncontaminated by the earlier repair. Ramiro spread resin around the whole margin of the gash, then with their jetpacks gently bracing them they manoeuvred the assembly into place.
‘It’s rocking a little,’ Tarquinia said.
‘Don’t say that,’ Ramiro begged her. He reached over and pushed on the spot where Tarquinia had been applying pressure, and felt the stone wobble under his fingers.
At least they’d had the foresight to put a handhold on the inner face of the assembly; Tarquinia grabbed it and pulled the whole thing back from the wall. Ramiro searched the contact region; a pellet of sunstone had stuck in the resin. He managed to wiggle it free, his body jittering as the jetpack struggled to track and counter the small changing forces.
They tried again.
‘Flat, no give,’ Tarquinia announced.
‘Same here.’ Ramiro wasn’t quite ready to believe it, but all they could do now was turn up their jetpacks and push, hoping to end up with an airtight seal.
‘If we’d built clamps into this thing we could have tightened them against the outside of the hull,’ Tarquinia mused.
Ramiro buzzed but offered no opinion; attaching them in the first place would probably have taken more time than it saved.
‘What would you have done in the old days?’ he asked. ‘If you’d been piloting a gnat with this kind of damage?’
‘Flown it back to a workshop in the Peerless for repairs.’
‘And if you couldn’t use the engines until the repairs were completed?’
Tarquinia said, ‘Then I’d call someone for a tow. See how a lifetime of experience has prepared me for this moment?’
They kept up the pressure for two chimes, the resin’s nominal curing time. When they shut off their jetpacks and took their aching arms away, the assembly remained in place.
Ramiro looked over their handiwork. When the chamber was re-pressurised all the force would be pressing the glued surfaces together more closely, and the sloping side walls would also work in their favour, wedging the assembly ever more tightly into place. The whole thing wasn’t going to fall apart; the worst that could happen now was a small leak.
They cut the tent free of the wall and moved to the hatch, too tired now to speak. Outside, the sunstone trap seemed to have held on to most of the spillage. They took off their jetpacks and slipped them around the edge of the tarp to leave their bodies narrower, then followed them into the passage.
Together, they untied the tarp from the handholds while keeping the rim against the outer wall of the chamber. Then they brought the rim together and knotted it tight, leaving the spilt sunstone inside a large, closed sack. Tarquinia slammed the reset lever on the feed for the decomposing agent.
‘That’s the hard part done,’ she said.
‘What?’ Ramiro was already picturing himself asleep.
She gestured towards the access shaft that ran between her cabin and the cooling chamber. The cabins had airtight doors, but there was still a gaping hole where this shaft met the outer hull.
‘Smaller, no sunstone,’ Tarquinia stressed. ‘We’ll be done in half a bell.’
When the shaft had been sealed, Ramiro checked in on Agata and Azelio while Tarquinia went to restart the ventilation system.
‘He’s sleeping,’ Agata said. ‘All the wounds look stable now.’
‘That’s a relief.’ Ramiro squeezed her shoulder. ‘Thanks for keeping your head, before.’
‘What do you mean?’ Agata sounded genuinely confused; she wasn’t being modest.
‘When you went after Tarquinia,’ he said. ‘I was a wreck – I didn’t know what I was doing.’
‘Really?’ Agata buzzed. ‘It’s lucky I didn’t notice, or it might have been contagious.’
Ramiro said, ‘We’ll have pressure soon. Do you want to sleep in here?’
‘If that’s all right.’
‘Tarquinia’s going to set the temperature low enough that we won’t need beds, so just . . . make yourself comfortable any way you can.’
‘Thank you.’
He left her, and dragged himself to the front cabin. Tarquinia was at the main console.
‘Any problems?’ he asked.
She swivelled around to face him. ‘The cooling chamber’s up to full operating pressure, and we’ll be back to normal everywhere in four or five chimes.’
‘Back to normal.’ That sounded surreal.
Tarquinia said, ‘We should rest for a few days before we try to repair the cabins.’
‘At least. Agata’s going to stay with Azelio.’
‘Right. You take her cabin, then; I’ll be on watch.’
‘You need to rest, too.’
Tarquinia spread her arms, taking in the whole of the Surveyor: they could hardly leave it unmonitored in this delicate transitional state. ‘You were up before this whole thing started,’ she said. ‘Sleep for four bells, then I’ll come and wake you.’
Ramiro removed his helmet and strapped himself to Agata’s bed, still wearing his cooling bag. He managed to doze off, but then he woke after half a bell, aware that the pressure was back in the cabin. He shut off the air to his bag and tried to sleep again, but then he realised how uncomfortable he was. He peeled the thing off and nestled into the sand, trying to erase the image of papers flying out of Azelio’s cabin.
He was woken by Tarquinia’s voice and her hand on his shoulder. ‘Your turn for the watch,’ she said.
Ramiro looked up at her in the dim light. ‘I thought I’d lost you,’ he said.
‘But you didn’t.’
He unstrapped himself and reached out to embrace her. She was still wearing her own cooling bag; he opened the fastening behind her neck and pulled it down over her shoulders and arms. When she was bare he pressed himself against her chest; an urgent pleasure affirmed the rightness of it, and then he felt their skin adhering.
He looked down and saw the light passing between them. He tried to pull free, but Tarquinia stopped him.
‘You can’t hurt me,’ she said. ‘After shedding two children, I can’t fission.’
Ramiro wanted to believe her, but he was afraid that they’d reached the point where they could talk each other into anything. ‘How do you know?’
‘We’re not the first people to put it to the test.’
Tarquinia eased them together onto the bed, then she brought the straps around them and pulled them tight. The sense of being confined in this state made Ramiro dizzy with joy; he closed his eyes and sank into the warmth suffusing their bodies.
He didn
’t care any more what the truth was: if the woman he loved had made him her co-stead, that was her choice. And if she went the way of women, he’d happily raise her children. He couldn’t understand how he’d ever feared that. It was what he was meant for.
Tarquinia shook him awake a second time.
‘Ramiro? It’s been half a bell. Someone should be on watch.’
He shifted against the cool sand. She’d loosened the straps, but their bodies were still touching.
‘What happened?’
She said, ‘We exchanged light. And I’m still here.’
‘It could have gone wrong.’ Ramiro felt himself shivering. ‘I could have killed you.’ Leaving the Surveyor with no pilot, and four newborn children to care for. ‘I must have been insane.’
Tarquinia said, ‘I’ve known a dozen women who’ve survived this. Believe me, if I hadn’t been sure I would have fought you off.’
Ramiro didn’t doubt her, but it didn’t change the fact that he hadn’t been sure himself.
He found the catches on the straps and released himself from the bed, then he grabbed a rope and dragged himself away. In the end he’d let his instincts rule him; he’d become the contemptible animal he’d been warned of all his life.
Tarquinia watched him struggling into his cooling bag. ‘People do this,’ she said. ‘We both enjoyed it, and no one got hurt. It’s not some terrible crime.’
‘If it’s so ordinary,’ he retorted, ‘why don’t they talk about it? Why isn’t it in the biology course taught to every child?’
Tarquinia took the question seriously. ‘I suppose they want men to concentrate on rearing their sister’s children, instead of getting distracted chasing after women whose brothers are already doing the right thing.’
Ramiro turned to face her. ‘I wanted you to fission. While we were together, I didn’t care if you lived or died.’
Tarquinia met his gaze, unperturbed. ‘And I felt the same way, Ramiro. I wanted exactly what you wanted. Our bodies don’t hand out rewards to people who merely go through the motions. To steal the most pleasure from this, you have to come as close as you can to believing that it’s the real thing.’
