Walsh sat up.
“It’s xenon gas!” Bergen shouted and then giggled helplessly as he waved the light around, looking for the other canister. He couldn’t see it.
Walsh stood up. Good idea. Xenon was the heaviest non-radioactive gaseous element. They needed to get farther from the floor. Bergen stood up too and swayed, blinking owlishly at Walsh.
“Where’s the other canister?” Walsh demanded, taking off the mask and holding it over Bergen’s face. Bergen took deep breaths, quickly purging the dense gas.
“I don’t know.” He shone the light around them carefully, but the second canister was nowhere to be seen. All it did was illuminate the number of slugs in the immediate area, which was far too many for Bergen’s comfort.
They weren’t just on the walls. They were covering the sides of the tanks all around them. In fact, one of the largest ones was currently covering the door controls that led back into the other room. That’s why the light had gone out. Their escape route had just been violated by a turgid, purple blob.
The radio crackled with Jane’s voice. “Alan! Are you still awake?”
Jane. He remembered what she’d told him to do.
He passed the oxygen back to Walsh and approached the nearest ladder. “Still not dead, Jane. About to climb a ladder. We have one can of air between us.” He motioned to Walsh. “Come on, we have to get higher. The air will be better and maybe we’ll be able to see another door from up there.”
Jane’s voice came over the radio again, “Alan, don’t touch the slugs—they secrete a substance that could give you chemical burns.”
Bergen huffed and pulled himself up another rung. He couldn’t spare a hand to answer her. The rungs were ridiculously far apart. He had to pause frequently to breathe.
The exertion of climbing made them both take in too much gas. Walsh wasn’t doing so great. He wasn’t saying anything and had to be reminded what they were doing frequently. Hell, he was having trouble remembering what they were doing.
The flashlight was hooked to Bergen’s clothes, making visibility poor, but he needed both hands to climb and to pass the mask back and forth.
The slugs were all around him. He could see them glistening in the faint light.
Where was Jane? Goddammit, this needed to be over soon. How was she going to find them? How did she even know what was happening?
Life was about climbing an endless ladder and trying to keep Walsh alive. There was nothing else. Rung after rung in the near darkness. Breathe. Pass the mask.
Walsh grew less and less responsive.
The rungs were wide. Bergen hooked his elbow on a rung and slipped to the side, keeping his body carefully away from the tank and its gooey residents. He beckoned at Walsh to come up next to him, holding his breath to keep the oxygen inside as long as possible.
They would have to stay here, like this, until Jane could find them. To that end, he groped around until he had wrapped his body around Walsh’s, hooking one foot painfully around the bar and over a rung, to keep himself securely in place. He wasn’t about to let the bastard fall after all this.
After a long turn with the air, he risked trying the radio again. “Jane. Okay, look, this isn’t funny anymore. What’s taking so goddamn long?” His voice sounded a little closer to normal—a good sign.
“Are you safe now?” Jane asked.
“Not really. Walsh is in bad shape. I have no idea why. The compressed air isn’t helping him much.”
“I left Compton and Gibbs to keep trying at the door you went through. The door controls aren’t responding. We couldn’t get that door to open.”
“If the slugs are dripping toxic juice—that’s why. There’s a slug the size of a small pony sitting on the door control on this side.”
“I’m almost to another door that accesses the same room. It’s going to take me longer to find you from there. Do you have a flashlight with a strobe?”
He took the mask back from Walsh and took a few puffs before answering. “I still have a pack. I’m clinging to a ladder, trying to keep this stupid fuck from falling off. I can turn on a strobe. Just tell me when.”
He held back from saying what he really wanted to say to her: Hurry Jane. I can’t manage this much longer. Walsh is dead weight and he’s going to pull us both down.
7
Jane was afraid to believe Ei’Brai, afraid to trust him—and she was afraid not to. She was in pain. There was an absurd amount of information unfurling inside her head. She felt panicked and unsure, but she couldn’t let any of that show.
Walsh and Bergen were in desperate need—Ei’Brai seemed to be quite correct about that—and, given the nature of their predicament, it was extremely unlikely they were capable of self-rescue.
Walsh and Bergen… Alan… they could be suffocating even now.
That brought up so many uncomfortable thoughts and memories. She wanted to suppress them, but the images kept bubbling to the surface:
It had been a weekend day, with a bright blue sky and rushing clouds. She had chatted up the tourists, soaking up the sun on the small boat, as Dad sought just the right spot. Then she had been watching their eyes light up with wonder as she pointed out brightly colored fish and mesmerizing underwater creatures to them. The storm had been unexpected, blew up quickly. The sea, suddenly turbulent, had tossed the defenseless scuba divers painfully into the coral. The day’s vacationers had been weak swimmers, had been drifting too far away. She had tried to help. She had helped. But it hadn’t been enough.
No. Focus.
At least Varma had enough sense to observe Jane, rather than restrain or sedate her. Fortunately, Varma seemed to be sufficiently convinced by Jane’s self-possession and certitude, as well as by Walsh and Bergen’s strange behavior, to comply with her terse directions. That didn’t stop her from asking a lot of questions, but Jane couldn’t spare the time to explain. The best proof, for both herself and the others, was going to be a demonstration of this… collaboration—with a favorable outcome. There was no other option.
“Jane? What’s this about slugs?” Varma gasped from behind her.
Jane was racing for the nearest entry point to the room where Bergen and Walsh were trapped. A lightweight green canister of compressed air was slung on her back; the tubing that connected it to the face mask slapped against her neck and chest with each step.
She had to get there in time. In a dangerous situation, even a moment of indecision could cost a life. Even a strong swimmer, they’d said.
Too many minutes had been lost trying to get the other door open. She would have liked to have sent Gibbs and Compton to try yet another door, but it would have taken too long to explain how to get there.
She ignored Varma’s question. Pulling off her mask briefly, she instead supplied a vital question of her own, “Ajaya, how many minutes of air are in the small canisters they took?”
“Typically, forty minutes—”
“The same if they’re sharing it?” She spared Varma a fearful glance over her shoulder. Jane had no idea how long they’d been sharing that canister. There might not be much time left.
“The rate of flow should be the same…” Varma trailed off. Even Varma wasn’t sure.
One, two, three rows more, according to the layout that unfolded in her mind. She didn’t slow down much, just slammed into the wall, her hand outstretched to the symbol. The door opened and she darted inside. It was dark. She fumbled in her pack for a flashlight. Had she taken too long? Would she find them, pale and blue, the way they’d found her father, trapped in the reef?
She pulled off the mask and grabbed for her radio. “Bergen, I’m here. Turn on the strobe so I can see where you are.”
She replaced the mask and strained her eyes and ears to pick up any sign of him. He didn’t answer. She could faintly hear the beeping of their oxygen monitors, but the sound was repeated in the cavernous room and was hard to pinpoint.
“Oh, my goodness. He wasn’t kidding. Slugs, ind
eed,” Varma panted.
Jane found herself saying, “They’re a pest. Like cockroaches or ants or rats. They’re commonly found on interstellar ships.” She shut her mouth. That hadn’t come a hundred percent from her. The information Ei’Brai had put in her head was integrating with native thought and memory.
Varma just looked at her with a bewildered expression. Jane felt a light buzz as she turned to scan the room again. She wanted nothing more than to take off now. She had a general sense of where they must be, but running willy-nilly through the aisles wouldn’t be efficient. Ei’Brai had promised to help and she had to concentrate to hear his whispers.
“Jane—” Varma began.
Jane shook her head to silence her and closed her eyes.
From this point, 17 units left, 43 direct, will take you to them…
She sprinted, staying mentally disciplined, counting each tank as she passed it. The beeping from the oxygen monitors was getting louder. As she drew close, she pulled the bulky mask down and called out, “Bergen? Alan? Can you hear me?”
“Jane? Jane! We’re over here!” His voice sounded desperate. Finally, she could see him, probably thirty feet or more in the air, cradling Walsh in his arms. “Jane! Sorry, I couldn’t manage the strobe. I dropped the flashlight trying to turn it on. Where are Compton and Gibbs? We’re going to need help to get Walsh down!”
Jane hooked the flashlight to her flight suit, slung the two extra canisters over her shoulder, and started climbing. She pulled down her mask as she heaved her body up the next rung; the long narrow canisters and masks clanged together and slipped down her arm. Each canister, made from a lightweight fiberglass material, weighed less than ten pounds, but three of them were awkward to manage. She struggled to keep them from getting entangled with the ladder with each step. “Is he unconscious?”
“Yes! I can’t hold him much longer—the pack is tearing. I’m sorry, Jane. Beautiful Jane.”
“Do you have any air left?”
“Not much. Put yours back on, you nutcase!”
She did as she was told. She was already feeling dizzy. She didn’t know how he could have kept his head so long.
When she reached him, he started babbling about everything he’d been through thus far. She passed him one of the canisters and helped while he laboriously slipped the harness over his shoulders and clipped it around his waist, then together they got the other one affixed to Walsh.
Once he had the mask over his face, Bergen went quiet, and Jane studied the situation. He had a pack slung over Walsh’s shoulders, attached with a carabiner clip to a rung. That was supporting most of Walsh’s weight and Bergen was keeping him in place. One of the shoulder straps was tearing away from the pack, though. She immediately moved to support his weight.
Walsh was passed out, but she could see he was still breathing and when she felt his pulse it was strong. She relayed that information to Varma.
How were they going to get Walsh down? She considered a few different options, but they all sounded dangerous to her.
An idea occurred to her. She closed her eyes to concentrate on a single thought—Please, if you can, turn off the gravity in this room.
Nothing happened. It didn’t work that way, apparently. Either he couldn’t hear her thoughts or he couldn’t—or wouldn’t—do that for some reason. She let out a curse as she gave up on the idea.
She opened her eyes to find Bergen watching her with narrowed eyes.
She pulled down her mask and pretended she hadn’t just been trying to communicate telepathically with an alien. “Alan? Feeling any better?”
He nodded.
“How do we get him down? I have rope in my pack. Can we make a harness and lower him?”
His eyes lit up and he seemed to consider the possibilities.
Varma shone a couple of flashlights on them from below and called out, “Jane? Shall I climb up there too? Do you need another pair of hands?”
“No room. Get on the radio and give Compton and Gibbs directions to this location, okay?” Jane carefully wedged her pack between herself and Walsh. If it took insanely long periods of time to do something in microgravity, it took even longer to accomplish anything while clinging to a ladder, trying to keep an unconscious person from falling in the dark. She pulled out a bundle of paracord and passed it to Bergen. “Do you have any idea how to make a sling?”
He slipped his mask aside and grinned roguishly. “I can do one better. I’ve done some rock climbing. I’ll improvise a harness and then we’ll use the carabiner as a simple, moveable pulley. That will nearly halve the amount of force we’ll need to use to lower him.”
Jane smiled at his enthusiasm and reached over to push his face mask back in place, because he was already busying himself with the paracord. He methodically looped the cording around Walsh’s shoulders and legs, crisscrossing it around his back and groin.
As she watched him work, helping when she could, she noticed his hand was discolored, captured it in one of her own, and shone the flashlight directly on it. She gasped with dismay. “Alan—what happened to your hand?” It was red and splotchy, swollen, with some blistering in spots.
He pulled his hand from her grasp and kept working. “I’m feeling it now, but at least my hands are cooperating.” He jerked his head toward the storage tank. He must have touched one of the creatures or the slime trails they left behind.
“What have you done to treat it? Anything?”
“I cut open my water pouch and stuck my hand inside for a good five minutes. It’s fine. Ajaya will put some cream on it and I’ll be good as new.”
She knew it wasn’t fine. He had to be in incredible pain.
Bergen connected the carabiner to the newly fashioned harness and cut the paracord with a multitool he fished out of a pocket. He securely knotted one end of the remaining paracord to the ladder, slipped the other end through the carabiner, and made another knot to tether Walsh temporarily.
Bergen pulled his mask down. “I’m guessing Walsh is about 170 or 180. By using a movable pulley, it’ll feel like 90 to 100 pounds, roughly, okay? Between us, that should be a piece of cake. Let’s get a good hold on him and I’ll get him loose.” He put his mask back into place and got to work moving Walsh into position.
As Bergen got the carabiner loose from the torn pack, Walsh jerked in their arms. Jane cried out involuntarily as she was wrenched against the ladder. Bergen muttered what she guessed were some choice words, smothered by the mask. He wrapped the slack around one arm and slowly untied the tether.
Jane steadied herself by letting Walsh’s weight pull her forward into the rung that crossed her chest and reached out with her right hand to take the rope from Bergen.
His eyebrows drew together. His words were muffled by the mask, but she got the gist.
“Alan—your hand is badly injured. I can do this. You—you just back me up, okay? I can do it.” She tried to sound firmer than she felt. She should be able to do it. She had to do it. With his right hand in such a state, she had to bear the brunt of the weight or he would injure himself further and Walsh might literally slip through their fingers.
He reluctantly nodded assent.
She let go of Walsh’s makeshift harness and got a firm grip on the rope that would lower him by wrapping it around both fists. “Okay. You let him go and take the tail of the rope. Get ready, Ajaya! We’re going to let Walsh down!”
Bergen’s eyes were on her, not Walsh, as he slowly let go. The rope went taut and she gritted her teeth. It wasn’t too bad. She was holding him on her own. She felt beads of sweat break out on her scalp and upper lip as she was pressed painfully into the rungs of the ladder.
She was just getting used to the idea, when Bergen barked at her, “Jane—you have to let him down, hand over hand.”
“Okay, okay. I know.” She let loose of one hand. The rope bucked and Walsh banged into the ladder. She flinched. “Sorry, sorry, sorry, Walsh,” she murmured as she took a hold of the slack to repeat
the process, hopefully a little more gently this time.
“You’re doing great, Jane,” Bergen said in her ear. He was close against her, ready to grab the rope if necessary, she supposed.
Her biceps burned. All those workouts in the capsule were actually paying off. She’d mentally cursed through every session, but she was saying a prayer of gratitude for them now. Foot by foot, she lowered him. She didn’t want to think of failing, but her arms trembled and the rope cut into her hands.
“Steady, Jane.” Alan’s muffled voice sounded in her ear.
Walsh slipped a few feet and bounced around. Jane yelped in dismay and pain. There were only a few feet left to go before he reached Varma, Compton and Gibbs’s outstretched arms. She couldn’t drop him now. Alan grabbed the rope between her two hands and slowed it down.
Finally, Varma was reaching up to take the weight. The rope went slack. Jane pressed her forehead to the ladder in relief. Her arms felt like rubber and all she wanted to do was go limp. She felt a hand on her shoulder.
Bergen was smiling at her. “Bet you’ll never look at those resistance bands the same way again, huh?”
She reached out and covered up that smug smile with his mask. “Keep your mask on. Let’s go. We need to get Walsh out of here. You first.”
He huffed in amusement but didn’t argue. By the time they got to the bottom, Gibbs and Compton were getting Walsh into a carrying hold. There were a lot of looks being exchanged, but there seemed to be an unspoken consensus that the first order of business should be getting Walsh to safety. She took point, leading them out into the corridor and back toward the capsule.
They hadn’t gotten far when she felt the unmistakable buzzing sensation again. She stumbled and could feel the others’ eyes on her. She dragged her feet a few steps, reluctant to fall unconscious under their direct scrutiny. She couldn’t tell if this was another brief message or if he would call her away again and she wasn’t sure she wanted either to happen. It continued, grew stronger, until she heaved a heavy sigh, stopped walking, and closed her eyes to concentrate—instinctively homing in on the feeling, to give him easier access to her thoughts. As soon as she did that, the rumbling ceased and she felt the lightest tendrils of thought easing into her mind.
[Confluence 01.0] Fluency Page 8
