Michael Siemsen - Exigency

JOHN: All clear out here.

John slid out of the tube and watched Minerva follow. Now vertical, they both looked up and around, daylight illuminating the water and the sinkhole’s craggy walls. John kicked his way to the rope, still hanging against the side where they’d left it the night before, and tugged on it to verify it was still secured.

JOHN: I’ll go up rope first.

MINNIE: OK

Bare minimum was working nicely.

John repositioned himself, planting his boots on the wall and coiling the rope around one wrist, then the other, and then pulled himself up. It was surprisingly easy despite Epsy’s 1.5 g . From day one, the station’s personal quarters segment had been set to 1.5 g to prep their muscles in the event of surface evac. Nevertheless, he’d expected to feel exceedingly weak, especially with the added weight of the suit.

And then he reached the surface of the water and felt like a complete idiot. Of course it had been easy to lift himself while half-submerged in water.

Now with torso above the surface, John replanted his boots, took a deep breath, and strove to pump his resolve.

You’ve got this! One arm over the next! Keep momentum! Feet in sync, go go go!

But he couldn’t move. His arms could scarcely hold half his body above the water. Even his fingers were beginning to lose their grip on the rope. It was as if his bottom half was being dragged down by a 100-kilo weight. This climb wasn’t happening.

With the last of his strength, he lowered himself back into the water, Minerva’s curious face shining up at him.

MINNIE: What’s up?

JOHN: No strength. Can’t lift my own weight. Muscle atrophy worse than expected.

MINNIE: I’ll give it a shot. Maybe I can pulley you up if I’m able to make it out.

JOHN: Good luck.

John kicked himself back against the far wall and looked up as Minerva made her attempt. Once again, he found it difficult to inhale a satisfying breath, though his tank should be supplying plenty of oxygen. Thirty seconds of exertion and he was this beat?

Minerva’s legs slowly disappeared above the water line. Yes, it would be embarrassing for her to successfully scale the rope, but he was much more interested in getting out of the cave and sinkhole. Though a moment ago he hadn’t considered their refuge anything other than a safe camping spot, it had abruptly turned into a prison.

A big splash, scattered bubbles, Minerva’s flailing feet.

MINNIE: Dammit! Only made it about ¼ up. Arms like jelly.

She floated down to his level and faced him, her frustration visible through her visor. She glanced back up at the resettling rope end.

MINNIE: Maybe if I dump the suit. That’ll drop 20kg.

John thought about it for a second and realized that bare hands and feet would negate any benefits of dropping the added weight.

JOHN: Gloves and boots?

MINNIE: Oh, right. And probably not a good idea to de-integrate them from the suit, huh?

They stared at each other in silence for a moment, both contemplating the situation, and both clearly at a loss.

JOHN: I’ll set us up a little gym in the cave. We focus on pulls and lifts, squats for our legs. I don’t know about your core, but mine seems pretty worthless. Swimming maneuvers in here might be good for us too.

MINNIE: I can’t envision any regiment that gets us out of here in less than 10 days.

JOHN: Well, yeah, of course it’ll take time.

Minerva’s face skipped right past irritation to pure rage. Bubbles burst from her helmet as she screamed. Her visor fogged, but he didn’t really have to read her lips. “We don’t have that kind of time!” She lurched and swam down to the tunnel entrance, disappearing inside.

John fought the urge to M her, to tell her she needed to calm down, that they had to make the best of their situation, that this wouldn’t be their first disappointment, or to cite the bleakest of his own thoughts: now, more than ever, they needed to get along because they may never see another human being for the rest of their lives.

What would be the point? What exactly did he want from her, anyway? He wanted her mentally stable, that much was certain. How much longer would she remain in balance?

Secretly, he hoped for an inkling of respect, but this was a laughable notion. If lucky, he’d settle for being tolerated . Whatever provided them both the best chance of survival.

And then there was the rest of the crew. Aether and Qin. Zisa and Pablo. Angela and Tom. Ish. John couldn’t help them anymore. Their fates were in their own hands. If he allowed into his mind the horror of their situations, nothing would get done. Perhaps he’d end up as erratic as Minerva.

The only one they could possibly help was Ish. She’d been the sole crewmember to evac alone, and was launched in roughly the same direction as he and Minerva. Wherever Ish ended up, he hoped she wasn’t scared or hurt or dying, awaiting a rescue team that wasn’t coming anytime soon.

Emerging from the cave’s entrance pond, John saw Minerva set her helmet down and crouch to dig into her SSK. He popped his visor and drank of the moist air.

“What’s the plan?” he said as he stepped around the little orange tent.

“I need to not hear you right now. Can you not talk?”

She stood, unfolding her multitool into its prybar/hammer configuration. She strode barelegged and barefoot, and without any kind of eye protection, into the subcavern, apparently planning to bash away at the mineral columns blocking the passageway.

Chinking sounds echoed into the main cavern as John strolled after her. Grayscale infrared Minerva was swinging wildly at the formations, her ponytail whipping about the back of her head.

He called over the racket, “Can I help?”

She stopped and looked back, eyes glowing like some fire demon, stance primed as if John might as well be a mineral column. He held out his multitool.

She resumed bashing. “Fine.”

As the pair attacked the obstructions, demolishing structures that were surely millions of years old, John paused.

“Hey, do you think you could reprogram a dragonfly to consider itself human? As far as phys dimensions go?”

Minerva stopped after a few more swings, considering. She wiped sweat and fragments from her forehead. “Yes. But not considering itself human so much as establishing operating parameters. Environment must meet xyz requirements. It’s a good idea. Though if it leaves DC range you won’t be able to tell it what to do if it finds an unanticipated parameter.”

“Well, we can have it set to return as soon as the parameters are no longer met or until it makes it outside, right? I’m just thinking because it’s mapped so many branches already—”

“Yeah yeah, branches. Something we can traverse. You made your point. I said it’s a good idea, didn’t I? Can we shut up and go with it?”

John smiled as she walked ahead of him into the main cavern, swallowing his suggestion like a bag of sand.

Lying on her back, Minnie stared at the orange material above her, faintly illuminated by the glowing heater outside. She’d slept alone in the tent for the past six nights— nights as in the six-hour sleep periods prescribed by their fones. Outside the cave, days followed Epsy’s roughly nineteen-hour cycle, and Minnie frequently checked her fone to see whether it was day or night out there. Station life had long since eroded this association between daylight and waking hours, but she found herself troubled by the knowledge of a warm sun shining down on her EV only a short hike away, just outside—just outside her grasp.