John sucked in a deep breath and held it, gathered himself, and rolled onto his back as he let the air blast from his lungs. Acid seemed to spray at his wounds from the inside. The agony was worst on his torso and thigh, where the sensation of tearing flesh made him freeze in a full body grimace. He forced himself to sip tiny breaths as he waited for the pain scale to drop from 10 to 9 … even just 9.5.
It took a long time. So long that the possibility occurred to him that it may never go back down. That he’d be stuck there like an overturned turtle, a dose of relief clenched in the fist at his side, unable to bring it to his mouth. But it did go down … 9.9, 9.75, 9.5, 8.5, all quite quickly once the peak had released its grip. The opportunity presented, he didn’t hesitate to fling the pill to the back of his throat. He swallowed, stuck his water tube in, and then slurped enough liquid to dissolve the capsule. T-minus twenty minutes until relief.
He once again lifted his head enough to see past his chest to the EV outside. His fone pegged it at 10.06 meters. He labored through raising his legs, planting both boots on the gritty floor, and used his left arm as a third lever to turn his body around. Pivoting on his back, he rotated, powering through without stopping, until the top of his head pointed out the cave.
Dust and gravel rolled beneath his back with a deep scritching sound as he slid, little by little, across the surface. Pushing his legs downward hurt worse than sideways. His right thigh screamed at him to stop, to at least take a break as re-formed and half-healed muscle fibers pulled and tore, delicate embryonic flesh detaching at the edges, leaking fluid.
Back up to 9.5, his body surrendered before his mind agreed. Stinging tears streamed from the corners of his eyes, into and around his ears.
He breathed and waited.
They say suicide is a coward’s escape. Partially true in this instance. He wished to be free from agony, to head off the unavoidably miserable existence ahead, the despair of a driven personality reduced to irrelevance. On the other hand, there was the freeing of Minerva, both physically and mentally, the preservation of her supplies, increased chances of survival. Still, there was a catch to all this.
He resumed sliding. Outside now. Three more meters. Thin clouds overhead. Two meters. One. The front of the EV moved slowly into view like a massive white sister planet eclipsing the violet sky. Zero.
Now for sitting up. Fortunately, the new pill was kicking in, overlapping with the meds already in his system. It would still hurt like hell, but at the very least his murky brain would care less. He wedged his fingers into a hull crevice, pulled with his abs while pushing with his better leg, and folded himself upward 90.
A moment later, the hatch glided up over the roof, revealing the medkit on the floor, just inside. With a guilty sense of triumph, he grasped the handle and set the kit in the dirt at his side.
What if Minerva had considered the possibility of him attempting to self-medicate and overdosing—accidentally or otherwise? What if she’d hid the meds somewhere else? These thoughts clumsied his fingers as he groped at the latches.
Open.
All meds present and accounted for. It wouldn’t be long now. He sighed relief, but it was short-lived. There was still that catch.
Assuming Ish had met with a less-than-pleasant fate, if John died, Minerva would be all alone, with only herself to support. This fact had fallen into the “pros” column of suicide contemplation, as his absence bolstered her ability to travel, eliminated the need to feed, house, and nurse a burdensome companion. However, absent those very liabilities, she could easily lose the will to survive. She might carry on for a time, try to make it to the coast on the slim chance that, despite the lack of any communication, others had actually survived evac and may come for her. That hope would dwindle away as weeks elapsed. Maybe she’d one day get on the skimmer, point it out to sea, toward Threck Country, knowing full well it wouldn’t make an eighth of the journey on a full charge. Or more likely, she’d intentionally set off her HSPD. Let it run its full course. A self-produced overdose.
She needed a reason to live. She needed hope.
* * *
Minnie purred as cool water streamed down her forehead, beading and sheeting over her face. A light breeze chilled it further. Her hand oozed lazily from her neck to her chest.
No one else knows this feeling.
Not another human in the world …
Another human …
Aether …
… gone.
John.
She opened her eyes. The throbbing in her chest began to ache, sharp and stabby, or maybe it’d hurt all along. She was hot—so hot. A tiny glimmer of clarity. Fingers grappled at her suit collar. The suit needed to be opened. She could cool down in the wind. But heat was only a symptom, not the real problem.
She closed her eyes once more, pulled her feet in, spread her knees wide, and rested her palms on them. Slow breaths. Prime numbers and … black holes. Primes and black holes, go.
2, NGC 1277, 3, Guthrie 13.09, 5, Cygnus X-1, 7 …
After a few minutes, her pulse responded, slowing. Continuing meditation, she felt it safe to pull up biostats to monitor herself. Heart rate: 177. O2 level: 86%. Tyramine, dopamine, ABG, pH, SR, friction, metab: all gradually stabilizing. She ceased meditation at 1039, Messier 77. She’d won. Her mind was stronger than the evil hormones and electrochemical demons.
Ah, but this perception in itself was an instrument of the trap. The fallacy of mental strength and personal responsibility. To succumb was no more a sign of weakness than when an unrelenting cancer finally overpowered a body. Especially since this allegedly strong brain was one of the many organs working against her. Doctors had tried to drill that point into her head, while others wished to literally drill into her head. In a world where few uncured or unmanaged afflictions remained, a medical field wherein DNA transplants had long since taken the fun out of the profession, Minnie had been a captivating specimen for otherwise thumb-twiddling researchers desperate for a problem to solve.
“What if we make her all new thyroid, pituitary, and adrenal glands? Hell, throw in kidneys, thymus, pineal, and pancreas while we’re at it. Or maybe we should fill her brain with bots, rewire the offending synapses, neurons, and axons.” Her father wouldn’t have any of it. Once Minnie’s shrink had honed in on the right meds, Dad yanked her out of every study. He wouldn’t risk detriment to her brain—identified before birth as an extremely rare H-class, hypothesized to be the type possessed by all of history’s famed polymaths.
“If the world ever collapses to a point where people can’t get meds,” he’d told her with a pinch of her chin, “we’ve probably got bigger worries than your attacks.”
Bigger worries indeed.
Hovering at 30m, with doubly tall ridges on either flank, the echoes of a thousand raving Hynka bounced to and fro with surreal stereo effects. It sounded as though they’d grown wings: two nightmarish swarms closing in.
Minnie grasped a handhold over her head and pulled herself up. Still dizzy, fingers and toes prickly, butt numb, headache from hell sinking its dagger fingers through her skull. Nausea—instantaneous—plopped down into her stomach like she’d swallowed a 10-kilo bucket of rocks and vomit.
“Well, that was nice,” she said. “You still there?”
No responses from imaginary friends.
She took in her surroundings, didn’t remember entering this wide canyon. Below the skimmers, what looked to be the entire local Hynka population had ripped apart the jungle floor, creating a wide clearing. In the middle of the horde she spotted a semi-pyramid of struggling beasts, like ants, or the universe’s most terrifying cheerleading team. They’d reached four standing bodies high but couldn’t seem to pull off a fifth. It’d take quite a bit of practice before they hit the eight or nine required to reach her, but she applauded their effort as the skimmers once more accelerated through the canyon. Glancing back to be sure they were still dedicated to their pursuit, Minnie could see she’d triggered a new bl
oodbath. They had a serious problem with frustration.
Once the killing had stopped and feeding begun, Minnie switched on an emergency alert to recapture their attention.
Wow, Minnie mused, I could do this for another few hours and thin the population down to one.
At 30K from the village, Minnie waited for the tiring stragglers to catch up. Knowing these guys could run faster than a thoroughbred—up to 80 km/h across flat, unobstructed ground—she’d brought them far enough to give her ten minutes to fly back, and at least ten more to fetch Ish’s fone. She may have even exhausted them so much that they’d be gone for hours. That didn’t mean the village would be empty. She fully expected to run into some wily stay-behinds. If they were anywhere near that shrine, though, they’d find a couple multirounds in their chests. Minnie didn’t have time for a stealthier approach.
Ten minutes later, she flew in low with high-sensitivity thermag activated on her fone. She counted roughly thirty Hynka still wandering the village, but most were spread out well beyond the bone shrine. They wouldn’t see or hear her.
On Ish’s side of the rock, three Hynka had indeed lingered. On the ground, two could be seen restoring the vandalized bone shrine. The third lounged on its side up at the rock wall’s third tier. Its position was disturbingly human, one arm bent up, and cheek resting on hand—like a child lying on a carpeted floor watching a show or reading a book. This one was the first to spot her.
Minnie quickly programmed a final approach and landing, gripped her MW, and verified it was set to lethal. The skimmer took over and Minnie set sights on her first target, the larger of the two Hynka at the shrine. Descending and curving in, she aimed at a shoulder until the chest came into view. A bark from the lounger, two bwops from her MW, a stunned, faltering Hynka scratching at its new holes. 6m from the ground, spinning right, barrel pointed at the second target, Minnie hesitated a beat. The skimmers touched down. In the corner of her eye she could see the dark shape of her first victim collapse. The one now standing before her held out its big hands, as if to block the next shot, or to say “Don’t shoot!” But she sensed the third, up on the ledge to her right, on the move.
Bwop-bwop!
The second cried out, began spluttering deducible words. Minnie spun toward the rock face. The last had stood and turned its back and now climbed toward the fourth tier as it called out.
“Ahsa-craht-ye! Ahsa-craht-ye!”
Minnie twirled for a full scan. If this guy was calling for help, there wasn’t anyone close enough to hear. It made it to the fourth tier and reached up to the hanging body, two thick fingers wrapping all the way around Ish’s bundled legs. Minnie watched, unsure how to proceed, as the Hynka yanked at Ish’s body, warping the circle into a stretched oval until one of the ties snapped free. A sudden gag seized in Minnie’s throat. Ish was like fresh bread dough, her bound limbs and torso bending and squishing in impossible, appalling ways, head bobbing as if mounted on a flimsy spring.
Steeling her mind and body, Minnie trained her MW on the center of the Hynka’s back. Another yank and jerk. Minnie was afraid that Ish’s legs would give before the bundled cables. A loud snap from over the top of the rock. A thick branch shot out, cable streaming behind it, and both flew all the way down to the edge of the bone shrine, a few meters from Minnie’s feet.
What was this Hynka’s goal? Was it trying to take the sacred Ish away so Minnie couldn’t have her?
With the breaking of the third cable, Minnie’s question was answered. The Hynka turned around with Ish dangling from two hands.
It extended its arms out. “Ahsa-craht-ye. Craht-ye-ngoh.”
Minnie took a few steps backward and gestured to the ground before her. “Okay, sure … send her on down, buddy.”
But instead of gently handing her off to gravity, the Hynka folded Ish into a single shaft, raised her over its head with both arms, and hurled her downward with all its might. Minnie dove to the side. The body careened off the formerly organized bones and clipped one of her boots. Minnie landed ungracefully in a medley of Hynka parts, flipping herself right over to monitor the sneaky bastard, and watched as it jumped from the fourth level down to the second. It squatted for a flying leap at Minnie, and, stunned again by such speed and dexterity from the hulking creatures, she impulsively shut her eyes and popped off a flurry of shots. 10? 15? She had no idea—still expected a crushing impact, claws and teeth, and the unremitting grip of a two-fingered demolition machine.
Bones rattled. Gurgling coughs. Minnie opened her eyes to see the Hynka much farther than she’d expected. It lay to her left, flat on its chest with a leg kicking out behind it, shunting away the bones forming the shrine’s outer circle. It hadn’t leapt toward her, but to the path that led away from the shrine. Ish had been a last-ditch distraction before a planned flee attempt. It had expected Minnie to kill it even after she got Ish. A revealing outlook. It meant there wasn’t any negotiating with Hynka.
Minnie stood and scrutinized the immobilized Hynka, ensuring no one was about to spring up and grab her horror-film style. Satisfied by their dead or dyingness, she strode to Ish’s body where it’d come to rest at the edge of the clearing.
Oh, perfect.
The head had come to rest facing down. No quick pluck and run for Minnie.
She knelt down, breathed through only her mouth, and focused on the mechanics of lifting, turning, and setting the head down. That face … the expression …
She had to keep going, get it done, unclip multitool, flip open scoop tool, finger the eyelids open, ignore vile peeling of flesh bonded by dried fluids, insert tool at outside corner—no looking at face, stop looking at face—pry fone from housing.
The ball dropped from her fingers into an empty cargo pocket. Pocket sealed.
Minnie ran back to the skimmers, hopped up, and stopped her hands before they touched anything. Her gloves had been tainted in the worst possible way. She thought she could feel both germs and creeps burrowing through the fabric, dead-set on reaching her skin.
She tore out the release lines and yanked the gloves off, flinging them behind her.
The skimmer pressed up at her feet, the paired units launching as a single unit, straight up in the air. First to the west, instead of directly back north. Hynka would definitely see her leave, and she didn’t want to guide them back toward the mountain cave.
The controls had a nice, grippy rubber texture she realized she’d never touched with bare skin. It was dumb to have left her gloves. Purely an emotional decision. They could’ve been cleaned of any dangerous or disturbing matter. Now she had an unsealable suit. Stupid, stupid, stupid. Should she turn back? Was there still time? Perhaps, but she didn’t alter her course for 15K, at which point she veered north toward “home.”
3.1
Agitated sand and dust shifted outside the cave, but without the usual accompaniment of a hollow wind tone. John pulled in the corner of his survival bag to have a peek just in time to see the white edge of a skimmer touchdown outside. Minerva was back. She’d made it, of course. The endless string of speculation that tormented his mind had all been silly.
“Sorry I took so long,” Minerva’s voice echoed through the cavern. “How we doing? Where’s your pain at?” She crouched down beside him, set a hand on his shoulder.
The question struck John funny. He chuckled a little, felt a dull pressure in his right ribcage that would’ve normally been pain. “I don’t know … two?”
Minnie’s compassionate smile disappeared, replaced with fret. “Oh no … you didn’t—” She sprang to her feet and surveyed the area, frantic. Her cute little fairy face left behind ghostly tracers as it darted about.
She really was cute. But not in a lusting older guy kind of way. More of a “You know, I can admit that’s a good-looking girl” kind of way. He’d seen her coming out of the shower half-covered (and not really caring) enough times to assemble an imaginary full picture if he’d wanted to, but this line of thought assailed him with an insta
nt bout of self-loathing.
“Sorry,” he said, but her concerned face thought he was talking about the drugs. That was good. No need to correct her. Mind purged.
She squatted back down, lifted the top of his survival bag, and found his stash. “How many did you take? How long ago?”
He tightened his arm around the little case, though she had yet to try and pull it away.
“You’re cute.”
Oops. That was out loud. Stop it! What’s with this cute stuff?
“That’s great, John. Appreciate it, really. How many damn pills did you take?”
It was two. Well, two recently. How many at the EV? One. No, one on way there, one on way back?
“Sorry,” he said, trying to unmuddle his thoughts. “I think … how long’ve you been gone?”
“About four hours. You took one a little before I left, and I gave you two more for—wait, how did you even—” She peered back outside, probably spotting the drag trail leading to the EV. “Oh no … John … I’m so sorry! How bad was it? I can’t believe you pulled yourself all the way—Oh crap, your wounds! Let me look at you!”
She unzipped the survival bag to the bottom and carefully peeled away the top. The case of meds slid from his cradling arm, tossed aside to a pile of supplies on the opposite wall. As she hunched over him, examining the damage he’d done to all her hard work, his hypnotized eyes hovered on her orange hip. Beyond that curve lay his meds. Not so far. He could get there in a quarter the time it took to reach the EV. If she left them there. Oh, but there was no way now. He’d never see that case again.
Exigency Page 28
