Aether’s gaze held on Eeahso, sun beating down on the shiny, coated Threck skin as elated murmurs hummed from her siphons. Aether wouldn’t wait another week, and the formula didn’t need to be perfect right now.
Aether turned to Zisa and Pablo. “How long to make a five-liter bucket of each, as is?”
The pair looked at each other, briefly debated their estimates, and then agreed on a couple hours.
“Perfect,” Aether said. “And Pablo, you’re coming with me.”
“Well yeah, we already agreed I would demonstr—”
“No, I mean the rescue mission.” Aether said.
Dread landed on his face, weighing down his features. He and Zisa shared a tense look, and Zisa rested her fingers on Pablo’s abdomen. An intimate gesture for Aether’s benefit?
Aether cocked her head toward the EVs. “I’ll have Qin pack you up so you can stay on task.”
Expression aside, Pablo didn’t argue.
Zisa was another matter. Now that they were all linked in to the EVs’ wireless, M’s had been free-flowing at the camp.
ZISA: I know you’re zetabusy…
Aether ignored her as she strode to the EVs to find Qin.
ZISA: I have to talk to you about something.
What was she supposed to do, adjust assignments based on Zisa’s relationship status?
ZISA: It’s just that there’s something you should really know.
Pablo was a physician—far better than Aether ever was—and, for what it was worth, he was the backup Hynka specialist. Who would Zisa have her bring across the ocean instead? Who was better suited? Grieving Tom? Terrified Qin? Why not Zisa herself?
ZISA: I’m pregnant.
Aether halted and covered her eyes.
Of course you are.
Wait …
AETHER: Stay where you are.
Marching back, she could see the fear oozing from Zisa. Pablo glanced down at Zisa’s arm curling and tightening around his waist, caught her look, then followed her eyes to see Aether approaching.
He knew at once what she’d done. “Babe! You told her? We talked about this!”
Aether planted her boots before them, her expression surely murderous. “How do we know this?”
A nervous laugh from Zisa. “Kinda unceremonious, actually. Biostat alert: you’re pregnant.”
Aether’s glare shifted to Pablo. “Confirmed, I presume?”
A guilty nod.
“How the hell is this possible? You’d have to have—” She counted in her head. Evac, orbiting for ninety-four hours, two days stuck with Skinny, rally camp, the Thinkers, and now four days making this damned balm. Thirteen days since evac. She was reasonably certain these two hadn’t done anything prior to evac— “Wow. In orbit?” She waved them off before either could answer. “Hang on. It still doesn’t make sense. With the meds, you wouldn’t be fertile for a couple cycles.”
Both tried to answer at once.
“She’s actually—”
“I’ve never been on BC,” Zisa said.
Pablo resumed. “She was supposed to be infertile. Multiple checks before and at the training center.”
Aether was still aghast. She looked at their faces, back and forth, no words.
Pablo interpreted her shock as continuing disbelief. “Honestly, trust me, if I ever suspected—I mean, she’s never even menstruated!”
Zisa faced him. “Well, that’s not true.”
Now it was Pablo’s turn to be shocked. “Not … What do you mean?”
Aether sighed, pivoted, and walked away.
“Like, I’ve never been regular, but it’ll come here and there.”
“Here and there? What? How could I not know this?”
“‘Cause it was none of your business. I feel like you’re yelling at me.”
“None of my …”
* * *
The theater of rapt Thinkers looked on as Pablo moved down the second line with the glycerol bucket, applying the balm to the second set of five volunteers. On the other side of the center pool, the five already coated from the PJ bucket caressed their slimy skin.
Calls from the audience:
“How does it feel?”
“Is it cold?”
“Is it the same?”
“Like mud?”
Pablo paid special attention to the last volunteer—not a Thinker, but there by Aether’s request: Massoss Pakte, leader of the Fishing group. Pablo slathered on the glycerol from his dwindling bucket, plopping a fist-sized heap into Pakte’s awaiting palms. Like the others, she carefully smeared the balm over her head and into the creases between tentacles. And like the others, she signed “unmatched pleasure.”
Having earlier agreed to only a single arm of PJ, Dowfwoss Unhkte rubbed her other arm against the first as she addressed Aether. “Where did you find this golden mud?”
“It is not mud and cannot be found,” Aether replied. “It is thing that Syons People know how to make.”
“You will show Threck how to make?” Unhkte asked.
Aether could tell Unhkte was trying to feed her appropriate answers, but Aether had her own plans. Now, witnessing the balm’s wider reception—equal to Eeahso’s reaction—she was confident in her position.
“No. We will not show Threck how to make. We will make it for you. This is very dirty, tiring task to create it. Like inland farming. We would not come and demonstrate the wonderful benefits of our cream, and then place this unpleasant burden on your people.”
Unhkte’s eyes lingered on her. She seemed to have gathered Aether’s intentions.
Another Thinker stood and Unhkte pointed for her to speak. “The golden mud is grown on a farm?”
“No,” Aether replied, trying to find the best analog in Threck society. “I say ‘farm’ only to indicate hot, unpleasant effort. We make it like Threck make cement, only far more complex, especially in enough quantity for the entire city. Like mud, the cream must be reapplied often, only much less often, and cream’s benefits continue long after application, unlike mud which, once dry, saps the flesh of moisture.”
Aether patiently fielded the flood of questions, conscious of the Thinkers’ need to beat a topic to death before coming to a decision. The jubilant volunteers, too, presented their best efforts at describing the sensation to a roomful of highly envious spectators.
Perfectly, and as if to intentionally augment Aether’s position, the final volunteer’s thoughtful answer sent the crowd into grumbles of agreement and anticipation. “While similar to fresh mud—only first contact with fresh mud, before drying begins—this is inadequate comparison. The sensation cannot be described, but only understood through direct experience.”
Unhkte had gathered the Thinkers’ consensus. “How soon could you create and deliver enough for all?”
Aether’s prepared response had awaited this. “The golden mud’s effectiveness comes from its purity. To produce more than two buckets, we require appropriate facility near where our new home will be built. Obviously, the faster we construct homes and facilities, the sooner we may deliver more golden mud.”
Ever sharp, Unhkte grasped at once Aether’s subtext, addressing both Aether and the spectators. “Perhaps if Threck Makers and Materials groups offered their expert aid and considerable numbers, these facilities could be completed in shorter time than Syons People alone.”
Aether shared a smug look with Pablo before agreeing. “This is true. Their aid would certainly increase construction speed. Alone, Syons People would need two to three years to build facilities, then additional two years to make enough golden mud for initial batch. As I said, you will require constant supply. The addition of our three stranded members would significantly hasten our work and increase output.”
Pakte spoke on cue. “You required two afvrik from the Fishing group to locate your people?”
“Yes, and the best navigators to control them.”
Pakte addressed Unhkte. “Fishing offers the resources required of
our group. Afvriks and handlers will be ready for departure in two days’ time. We will not be source of delay.”
The spectators sounded off pleasure and gratitude as they streamed down from the tiered rows, bombarding the volunteers with sample requests. Others surrounded Pablo for a peek inside his buckets. Pablo gave Aether a pleading look.
Unhkte wedged her way in, shooed away the lot encircling Pablo, and gestured to the buckets. “Do you have enough remaining to demonstrate for two others? Massoss Artsh and Massoss Feesap must be convinced to divert attention from new aqueduct and bridge.”
Pablo peered into the buckets. He held up three fingers.
“We have enough,” Aether said. “But if, like you, we coat only one arm, perhaps we could avoid any further potential gaps in support.”
Unhkte regarded her before grasping her meaning. “The council.”
Aether signed, “Yes.”
* * *
Aether stood waiting on her loaded skimmer pad, pondering what else they might need on the journey, or other tasks Zisa, Qin, and Tom should focus on in her absence.
She glanced behind her at the clear hatch over the pad’s internal storage bay. A pressed tentacle slithered across the hatch, smearing PJ. Eeahso was probably cooking in there. A preview of Eeahso’s farm-life to come, the sun would be at mid-afternoon intensity when they dropped her off. Though the council had agreed to spare her, the proviso of a life spent toiling in the fields was unlikely to play out as they expected. Aether pictured Eeahso lounging in a cool domicile each day, simpleminded farmers waiting on her with food, water, and massages. Aether didn’t care either way. She just needed her out of everyone’s hair, especially Tom’s.
Aether turned to Zisa and Pablo, still standing with hands clasped behind the other’s back, face to face, whispering, weeping, laughing. They looked like a pair of teenagers heading home to distant cities after a summer of love.
She opened an M to Pablo, about to put an end to it, and then thought of a task for Qin. He and Tom were nowhere to be seen. She activated audio to Qin.
“Hey, is there a way for you to track our progress out there? The supply pods can see skimmers, right?”
An instant reply. “I should be able to, yes. If you give me a few minutes I’ll tell you before you have to leave. Walking to P and Z’s EV now.”
A moment of silence. Beyond the beige tent tops, she saw EV2’s hatch rise and slide up over its roof. She refocused on Zisa and Pablo, their faces fused at the mouth. She yelled, “Wrap it up, kids! You have two minutes.”
Qin’s voice in her ear, “You need to come over here.”
“It’s okay if it’s too much trouble. Just do what you can. We’ve got two loaded Threck boat-fish-things waiting for us at the harbor.”
“Not that. Please come to EV-two.”
Well, that sounded serious. What could it be? Aether popped open the floor hatch, allowing Eeahso to flop out.
“What happens?” Eeahso called after her.
Aether breezed past Zisa and Pablo, around the work tents, and strode to EV2’s open hatch. She poked her head in. Qin was already standing up. He moved aside and nodded toward a console. Aether climbed in, sat down, and tried to understand what she was looking at.
Before she could ask, Qin said, “That’s the supply pod network’s homepage.”
Aether read.
Post-station evac, EV6 landed Hynka country …
A moment later, her eyes hung on Minnie’s final words—reserved for Aether—eloquent in its brevity, paralyzing in its depth.
I wish we’d met sooner; I could have loved you longer.
She read it over and over.
Qin finally broke the silence. “Says John’s hurt pretty badly.”
Aether’s senses returned and she scrolled back to the top. Level 8. No other specifics. All she could know was that his injuries were life-threatening and/or involved organ failure or loss of limb. Or at least that was the case when the message was left. When had Minnie written all this?
Qin added, “Seems pretty convinced about Ish—”
“When is this from?” Aether interrupted. “There’s no date.”
“Let me see.” He navigated on his fone, both eyes twitching as if following a fly. “Wow. File updated just yesterday.”
They were still alive—at least John and Minnie. They’d made it fifteen days! How difficult would another week be? Possibly very. Minnie had offered no indication of their security conditions, but the fact that she thought John would soon be well enough to travel, that was something.
The voice, though … the tone of the message, the mixed use of present and past tense ... It was a farewell letter, ripe with nostalgia, naval gazing, and regret. It suggested that, besides John and Ish, Minnie didn’t expect to ever see them again. Did it mean she thought them dead, or that she doubted her own continued survival?
“How do we respond to this?” Aether asked with a new resolve. “Leave a new message right here?”
Qin hummed uncertainty. “I honestly don’t know how she did it. The homepage is strictly locked down. I could mess with another file, but no one would see it unless they looked for it—a search by recent modification.”
Aether wiped a hand down her face. “You have zero clue how to do this?”
Qin threw up his hands. “I’m not Minnie, okay? Hold on … let me see if Tom knows anything.”
Aether reread the message as she waited for Qin to consult Tom. Keenly aware of the Threck crews waiting for her at the harbor, she hoped that the promise of miraculous skin cream afforded her some leeway.
Qin sat down in the other seat. “Tom says she had root level passcodes.” He activated another console and began tapping away.
Aether smiled and felt a fresh rush of adoration—love seeping through a cracked door she’d fought to keep sealed since evac.
Of course root level passcodes.
“I assume I don’t have any of those?”
Tom appeared in the EV doorway. “You might, actually. I’m thinking with all the dumps that happen during exigency procedures that that’d be a big one to include.”
Qin cheered, “We do! I just remembered! Wireless was down, but ours and John’s became ‘Leadership’ EVs on evac. Everything down to root would be in there from the hardwire. You just need your regular AC account to access it! Hold on, so we don’t have to walk over there.” He navigated on the console. “Okay, accept that prompt.”
An access request popped up in Aether’s fone. She accepted, resisting the urge to point out the poor timing of Qin’s revelation. It was simply how his brain worked. If she’d thought to ask him about transglobal comms when they were floating off the coast, all this would have occurred to him then. They’d have established contact sooner. Minnie would know they’d survived.
How frightened and alone Minnie must feel. Cut off from everyone and everything. And what of her stability? Two weeks without meds …
Aether sucked in a deep breath. The message was from yesterday. For all the worst case scenarios she’d imagined, she had to accept this for the great news it was.
“I’m in our EV’s systems,” Aether said. “Tell me how to find the code you need. I’ll send you the message I want put up. Like hers, it needs to be the first thing someone sees if they access the pod UI.” Another glance at the bottom of Minnie’s message. “And don’t overwrite this … please. Just add what I give you to the top of the homepage.”
3.5
He supposed this was it. The end of his story, the end of Minerva’s, the end of the mission. Humans would surely come to this place again and they’d be eager to know what had happened at Epsilon C. People loved tragedy and cautionary tales. The question in John’s mind, the one whose relevance he found suspect: how much of the real story would future visitors piece together?
Why did it matter to him so much? Were these merely the long-established, conventional deliberations of imminent mortality? Meaning and purpose, impact and legacy? How
dull. John had always fantasized for himself the also-well-known, though far-less-frequently-successful blaze of glory.
Blown apart on the station. Burned up on reentry or disintegrated across the surface when the parachute failed. Torn to shreds in an epic final showdown with Hynka, taking dozens with him as Minerva made a narrow escape … thanks to him. In practice, none of it sounded all that appealing. It sounded awful, terrifying. He just wasn’t the hero type, if such a thing existed outside fiction. He was a bookish scientist and engineer. The only reason he’d ended up a leader was that he wasn’t good enough at any one thing to specialize. Standard executive practice—put the generalists in charge. DNA and psych tests said he’d always be patient and paternal.
A lot of good it did him now. His last living “daughter” had flown the coop at some point last night. Now another night approached and still no sign of her. She’d left her suit and environment pants in a heap outside the tent. Wherever she’d gone—if she was still alive—was most likely more than 5K away, and she’d be barefoot and barelegged, with zero survival gear, and the overnight temp would surely dip again to -15 C. On top of all that, he reasoned that she’d experienced a full HSPD attack, and that her body would be wasted for days. On her own out there, her survival chances had actually plunged below John’s. And no one would be coming to help either of them.
His pain approached a high 7, and his reluctance to waste drugs on himself had suddenly become sad and pointless. He scooped a finger into the pouch and dropped a pill to the back of his throat. Maybe he’d take a few more in a bit. No one would ever know his weakness at the end.
They wouldn’t know anything else, either. All that data. Those hypothetical future human visitors would have to be satisfied with the last data sent home, along with whatever they could glean from orbiting fragments … or the contents of EVs found adrift in space. They’d know nothing of what he and Minerva had learned since evac. None of Ish’s flops of unreported data, or the sordid fallout of a disturbed crewmember’s missed or ignored red flags. Would the preservation of such knowledge render his life—his entire team’s lives—any more meaningful? They’d all ended up dying for this work.
Exigency Page 33
