“Sorry,” Minnie said, observing John’s pallor.
She released the skimmers’ hover lock and steered them upwind toward the nearest fresh air. Once clear, she resumed west and engaged the autopilot, opting for low altitude travel. The frigid air this far north was cold enough without adding the icy insult of higher elevations. The skimmers would consume more energy, but it’d be worth it.
Combing through the data John had uploaded to her fone, Minnie had identified a sizable swath of land where Ish had never observed Hynka. Adventurous (or lost) individuals had been spotted roaming higher latitudes, but Minnie wasn’t concerned with the odd loner.
According to Ish’s recent maps, Minnie’s target campsite’s nearest village was a three-week journey at top Hynka running speed. Serious peace of mind. A full night’s sleep awaited them. A night free of anxiety, and, if Minnie had her way, a night without more lecturing from John. He’d been relentless for the first couple hours. Minnie’s bittersweet triumph at proving Ish’s guilt had been short-lived. She’d earned but a few fleeting minutes of gloating before the subject veered.
She shouldn’t have admitted to the episode. The man didn’t need more things to worry about. Despite his troubling, repetitive assertions that she could and should carry on without him “if anything should happen,” Minnie’s convictions were unshakable. She’d get them to the coast. She’d build them a sturdy boat. They’d make it to Threck Country.
As if she needed more motivation than mere survival, John had tried to reignite her love and fascination with Threck culture, clumsily quoting proverbs, and sending her her own pics. But she didn’t snub his efforts. She thanked him and oohed, aah’d, even gasping at pics that had never left her consciousness, as if viewed for the first time. “Wow, is that one of mine?” Because she got it. He felt like baggage. A liability. He needed to contribute to the task at hand, like stuffing a single survival bag among a hundred other tasks.
Fortunately, she’d rewarded his inspiration efforts enough to satisfy him. Either that, or his meds had taken over. His back leaned against the access panel below the other skimmer’s console, he’d been mostly quiet for hours. Eyes attentive, observing the transient scenery, but with nothing to say.
She wondered if he was watching more Ish vids or reading journals—ones he hadn’t copied to Minnie’s fone. Despite that whole privacy rant, he was the type that wanted every minute detail. It wasn’t yet clear how long Ish had been sunk in her game, living a second life as God-Queen of virtual Hynka. Minnie didn’t care. What happened happened, and she needed no additional explanation, no analysis of the root psychosis, missed cues, or turning point. If Aether was still alive she’d no doubt blame herself, but Minnie was now satisfied with what they’d learned, and content in the knowledge of where Ish’s plot had led her.
As knowledgeable as Ish had been about her beloved beasties, she died for lack of the very depth-of-field diversity Minnie was trying to evangelize. “Context is everything, context can be nothing, scale is infinite.” Ish wasn’t some noob overlooking a subtle detail. She’d fully immersed herself in that society, and yet missed the very underpinnings of Hynka spirituality. They didn’t fear and respect their gods. They despised them. And like any other external power they beheld, they wished to conquer the gods. They’d hung their vanquished Goddess of Floods above the shrine to Death. “Warning: We’re stronger than you.”
John had been quick to highlight that Ish’s scheme hadn’t worked out as planned—as if her ghost needed a lawyer—emphasizing that she had no intention to injure, strand, or kill other station crew. The pod was only supposed to strike the Backup Habitat, not the main station (how sweet of her!). Apparently, without a functional BH, frontline safeguards were automatically removed from the EV’s. Whenever the dust settled, days or weeks later, Ish would isolate one of the EV’s systems, hack in a bogus exigency event, and launch solo to the surface, free to bring her twisted fantasies to life.
Minnie sent John an M.
MINNIE: You awake?
He peered over at her, eyes squinted against the sun. For an instant, he looked like a little boy.
MINNIE: Where’s your pain? You good for another 30 or so mins?
He nodded and returned to whatever zone he’d been in, remaining there until they reached their new campsite.
* * *
Dark, low-hanging clouds blanketed the region, soaking the skimmers and everything on them. Minnie had to wipe the moisture from her visor every few seconds as she flew several passes over the area, scanning as far as optics allowed. John, too, helped to survey the scene from his vantage point, agreeing that the area appeared safe.
The paired skimmers descended into a flat plain, patches of snow dotting the mostly barren landscape. Here they’d find no natural protection from beast or weather, but with this came the benefit of unobscured surroundings. The area’s largest plantlife were sparse orange shrubs, each standing alone, dozens of meters from another sprout. Growing only a meter or two high, they wore their dense foliage close to a central trunk.
Stretched sideways across a skimmer pad, John observed Minnie in front of one of the bushes. “They’re perfect camouflage for evac’d crew.”
Minnie glanced behind her, noticing the shade matched her survival suit. “Just stand up real straight and be still, right?”
She resumed setting up the tent.
Late afternoon dropped a few light waves of snow, and it appeared they’d make it through the night without any more serious systems rolling in. Fearful of sending smoke with the southerly winds, each ate one of their few remaining calorie bars. With prox alerts on guard duty, the exhausted pair turned in before the last light had left the sky.
Minnie awoke with a start.
John was snoring loud beside her. She had to pee. How long had she slept? The ever-present clock on her fone revealed it’d been less than two hours. Minnie groaned. It was so cold outside. They’d both layered up their clothes before bed. She closed her eyes and played out in her head the arduous undressing process she’d have to go through just to pee. The freezing air. Why hadn’t they made survival suits with some sort of nifty flap you could easily undo, like that old-style full-body underwear? And why in perfect hell had she drunk so much water?
Because calorie bars are like eating a brick of chalk.
Exactly.
Maybe she could fall back asleep—hold the pee for morning.
Yeah, right.
Shut up, it’s possible.
John’s version of snoring was maddening. He’d go quiet for what seemed like forever, done with the straining sounds and breathing normally, but with each stretch of silence, just when she thought she could finally doze back off, he’d groan as if constipated and striving to release a gigantic crap. It’d been like this every time he’d slept—especially so with the diclomorph—but, aside from their original cave, she hadn’t been trying to sleep at the same time. Aether must’ve worn canceler plugs every night.
Uh-oh.
What uh-oh?
Nothing, just go back to sleep.
With the snoring and the pee and now you? Impossible. Just say it. Is it about Aether? Ear plugs?
I shouldn’t say. It’s too soon for you to know.
A bolt of pain shot out from her groin. Overfull. She reached down and pressed in. Waited too long. Now the idea of sitting up, of folding her body, compressing her bladder, standing up, the cold outside—it was all too much. And she couldn’t just let it go in her clothes. It wouldn’t just be a little dribble; she’d be soaked, and that was dangerous in this sub-zero environment.
And they had a little wide-mouthed bottle they’d designated for this purpose! Where was it? Buried in a bin somewhere, outside!
Another violent groan from John.
This was hell frozen over. She knew it now: hell was the stabbing pain of an adamant bladder, and the inability to resolve it.
Just go! Get up and go!
“Fine!” she blurted, and fumbled with her
bag’s zipper.
She’d disturbed John but didn’t care. He sucked in a fast breath, croaked on the exhale, and fell right back into his breathing pattern. Minnie wasn’t quiet about leaving the tent. She groused and grumbled, swore at the stubborn door zipper, and crunched across a thin layer of snow to the nearest shrub. Cold wrapped her head like a vise and tightened.
Wrestling off the top of her suit with one hand, she tried to keep pressure on with the other. With gravity against her, she couldn’t hold it any more.
Come on, hurry up! Almost there!
“Shut it! I’m not just taking my time here!”
She threw the top of her suit behind her, bent over, and pulled it through her legs, out of the line of fire. Dancing from foot to foot, she unsnapped the environment shirt from the trousers, and then, in one swoop of her thumbs, dropped her suit bottom, environment trousers, base layer, and undershorts. One hand on the shrub for stability, stinging cold raking at her exposed skin, all she could focus on was the too-slow draining. The pain had yet to subside.
There you go … yes … halfway home …
Bliss replaced anguish as the last few drops cut through the rising steam. Heaven was the relief of an emptied bladder, and she’d arrived at the gates. Not even the breeze nipping at her legs and backside could lessen her joy. It actually wasn’t so cold, now that she was in it.
She pulled up her shorts as she stood—too fast—a potent head rush. A glance down at the crumple of clothes at her ankles. What a mess. Too much to deal with right now, and besides, she was a little hot anyway. The cool air felt nice on her face, neck, and bare knees. No need for all those layers right now.
She shuffled toward the tent, suit bottom bunched around her ankles, top dragging behind her as she snickered at how this would look to a passer-by.
No passers-by out here, that’s for sure.
“Right? You know Aether would die laugh—”
Ouch. Poor choice of words there, babe.
A couple meters from the swaying tent door, Minnie stopped. With a flashing biostat alert filling her fone view, Minnie stared at the tent, at the space she knew John currently filled. She could feel her pulse in her fingers and toes, chest beating.
Feels like a big one coming on, hon. Probably best to run it out.
“Dad said never try to run it out. Said lay down.”
Dad said not to think of him. Kind of messed up, really, but I’d say the advice applies here. Feel like running?
“Yes.”
So run.
“Okay.”
She tried to start, tripping on her suit, and yanked a foot from one boot, planting the socked foot in snow. And fell over. Her hand crushed the thin sheet of snow and landed on an unseen sharp sticker.
“Dammit!”
She plucked the thing from her palm and kicked violently at the suit bunch ensnaring her other ankle. The foot broke free, and she was free.
Long-sleeved environment shirt over a tank, plus undershorts and a pair of thick envirosocks. Probably underdressed for the weather, but she’d be running, generating her own heat, and wouldn’t be gone for long.
The first few strides felt good, the next few even better. Glands rewarded her for her cooperation. A fresh wave of euphoria. She knew exactly what was happening, and sped up her pace.
Of course you know. And you’re doing what you need to. You’re doing goooood.
“Now you have to tell,” Minnie said with steamy breath.
Tell what?
“Whatever it’s too soon for me to know. Tell or I’ll stop and go back.”
So demanding … very well. You were right. It’s about Aether.
Minnie dodged an orange shrub at the last second. She realized her biostat alert was still flashing, obscuring her vision. Real helpful. She tried to shut it off, but it wouldn’t go away. What a stupid design. A few more strides and she realized the thing was also buzzing in her ear.
“Goodnight, fone.” She enabled optical pass-through and the world regained clarity. “You were saying?”
Aether. But I’m not sure you want to know this—
“So help me, I swear I’m gonna turn—”
It was never real.
Minnie continued running, chewing on this. She hopped a decaying epsequoia trunk.
“Expound. Real what? Real for who?”
Her. Of course it was real for you. You loved her with all your heart. Still do.
This line of thought wasn’t entirely new. She’d worried in the beginning, couldn’t believe she’d found real love, couldn’t understand what Aether saw in her, thought she’d come to her senses at any second and say, “Whoa, sorry everybody! John is definitely the love of my life. My mistake!” But Wise Minnie was making it sound like some sort of conspiracy.
Private moments with Aether flashed through Minnie’s head as she skipped left-right-left across an outcropping of round-headed rocks. Aether’s skin and hair and lips and breath. Heady conversations, sore-gut laughter, M’s.
“You’re wrong. It was real.”
Yeah, you’re probably right. Let’s forget about the whole thing.
There was something more. What was she trying to hide?
Nothing. Focus on your footing.
Minnie skidded to a stop and headed back to camp.
Fine! Look, you were doing so well until a couple years back! Remember that review?
She reversed again, resuming south. “Damned John and his stringent BS—”
You started isolating yourself, went all passive-aggressive with quotas …
“Hahah … if I made a quota I was pissed. I think I only hit my water that first month.”
Right, but exercise, game, missed meetings, hygiene, going silent in group …
“Childish, but those were good times. Drove John crazy, I’m sure.”
Not just John. Everybody was worried! You’re the lynchpin of the team! It was bringing down everybody’s morale. Something had to be done.
Minnie slowed to a jog, trying to remember. It hadn’t seemed like others were worried … everything seemed fine otherwise. Only John was gnashing.
When did your behavior change? When did your quotas return to normal?
Minnie felt a pinecone in her throat. She knew exactly when she’d shaped up. Her biweekly one-on-one with Aether. Something was different, from the second Minnie closed the office door. Aether had said—
“I need to tell you something …”
“… and I’m afraid of the consequences …”
“… but I can’t go another day without telling you how I feel.”
“I’ve fought it.”
“I’ve taken meds.”
“She laughed with a little tear forming in her eye and said how she’d consulted with a sim therapist in her game. And I still had no idea where she was going with it.”
She leaned forward in her chair, put one hand on your hand and the other on your cheek.
“That’s when I thought I knew where she was going! But I still couldn’t believe it.”
And then she said …
“I’m madly in love with you.”
Minnie stopped to catch her breath. She was shaking violently.
Don’t stop! Not yet!
“You’re crazy. That was the realest moment of my life.”
I know, hon. Just not the realest in hers. You know that she and John would’ve sacrificed anything for the good of the mission and crew. Remember that time, a week after she moved in—
“In the hall outside John’s office.”
They were so close, his hand in the small of her back, their heads low, sad.
“She told me he was begging her to reconsider.”
Is that what it looked like?
“No.”
Minnie ran.
Something was coming. Thousands of them. She dared not a backward glance. Hynka or cats or the knobby stilt legs of an infinite dali herd, they were chasing her, and she had to speed up.
* * *<
br />
Warm gusts against nose and lips. Body so cold. Minnie couldn’t feel her legs anymore. She supposed she was through with legs. Used them all up.
A thick drop on her upper lip. It crawled toward her cheek and streamed slowly down. She didn’t know where she was, but the crispy crackles beneath her back felt like a pile of potato chips whenever she moved. Petrified lichen? Snow, but her skin had gone numb?
An awful odor.
The warm puffs brought her cheeks back to life. Suddenly, she actively felt the pain of the cold, no longer in some vague, intangible manner. She was freezing to death. Her body rotated on its own, rolling to the side. Was she doing this? Still couldn’t feel her legs. Was she in motion, rolling and sliding down some hill?
And then she was in motion. No question. She was being carried.
Some body parts were being heated while others suffered against an increasingly frigid wind. Was she on a skimmer?
It didn’t matter.
Body hurt, sick, done. Brain fried.
Let someone else be in charge for once.
She faded out.
* * *
Leg cramped, headache, thirsty, weak, suffocating heat, hollow gut. Minnie’s legs were crossed in an awkward sort of twist, one foot pinned beneath something, preventing her from shifting. Her hair and face were soggy, probably from whatever cloth was being dabbed against her face. Not cloth. A water bag? And not being dabbed. She was being moved up to it. The sensations all over her body suddenly made sense. Her back lay atop an arm, her rear cradled in a pair of giant fingers, her arms across her chest and wedged between an immense thumb and her belly. Her face, more wet pressing on her mouth.
The urge to cry, chest quaking with fear of impending agony.
She dared a peek.
Hazy sunlight from somewhere. A blurry shine. Dark cave—some strange, moist nook. The smell! Though lacking firsthand experience, she concluded with certainty that this was the stench found behind an overactive bull’s testicles.
“Rrloch-tss.”
Her host had seen Minnie’s eyes open, felt her body come to life. Another pair of fingers moved near Minnie’s face, like leathery Dobermans with conical claws for heads, and pinched at its wrinkly drapes of armpit skin, pressing it against Minnie’s lips. Thick, gray milk percolated from a hundred lactiferous ducts. The Hynka was trying to nurse her.
Exigency Page 31
