Michael Siemsen - Exigency

Minnie had most certainly already swallowed a few drops of the sludge, along with dirt and lichen dust, yeasty flecks, and throat-scoring bark chips. Most still lingered in her throat. Her parched mouth refused to provide more than a pinhead of saliva. She needed water. She needed an MW to blast a multiround into well-meaning Mama’s chest cavity.

You probably saved my life and all, but this just isn’t going to work.

Satisfied with the quantity of goop that had entered (and not re-exited) Minnie’s mouth, Mama reclined once more, this time dragging Minnie across her fuzzy belly and resting a hefty hand on her back. Minnie was sprawled out like a dead man draped over an enormous horse’s back, and with comparable odds of escape.

The Hynka had been asleep for a while. Unable to delicately wriggle free, Minnie began an intermittent DC request to any other node that entered range. She delved into Ish’s maps and data. Based upon now-obvious features, Minnie identified Mama as a member of the Lesser breed of Hynka. The Lessers were far from docile, but didn’t possess several trademark Greater traits, such as the adrenal surges they seemed to share with Minnie. And Lessers never attacked Greaters, only vice-versa.

Could that be why Minnie wasn’t immediately gobbled up upon discovery, found with chest heaving like a panting Greater oxygenating its lungs? If this was the only reason Minnie was still alive, or if Mama had half a brain, she’d eventually notice her little find smelled more like food than family.

One bit of good news: there were no villages nearby, and the hunting grounds for the closest clan fanned out southward. Perhaps Mama had gotten lost or, hell, escaped of her own volition from a life destined to end with limbs ripped from her body. Ish had a record of a small Lesser pack living a nomadic life, but they ended up finding a mixed village and joined them.

While an explanation for Mama’s presence would be interesting enough, Minnie’s survival -focused side was more interested in Lessers’ physical weaknesses. Was there some magical pressure point Minnie could jab and Mama would plunge into an incapacitating seizure? Or maybe a period in the sleep cycle where nothing could wake her, during which even intense thrashing beneath her hand and the sudden absence of 50 kilos from her belly would go unnoticed? Ish had recorded no such convenient tidbits. Much of her notes in this area focused on Hynka sex acts and associated physiology.

Minnie explored Angela’s botanical DB in search of potential sedatives or poisons. There were a few hits, but mostly in tropical regions, and nothing remotely this far north.

She was losing hope for getting out of this without help. Could John make it onto a skimmer by himself? Stand up and stay up to fly it? No way.

No one was coming to rescue her. John would either be killed or die out there alone. The return module would touch down at the rally point in Threck Country, be discovered at some point by confounded Threck who’d never receive anything close to an explanation. Maybe it would become the underpinning of a new religion. Or even better, a Threck boards it, she has no clue what the insistent synth voice is repeating while she’s launched into space, and then equally unable to grasp that the trail of animated floor lights lead to a metabed that, well, might keep her alive for the journey. Eleven years later, some Earth station dock workers scratch their heads at the long-dead, decayed corpse of a poor starved and suffocated alien.

Minnie sighed. Frustration simmered as she grew increasingly antsy. Silly, no-chance-of-success ideas began flashing through her mind, masquerading as low-to-medium-chance-of-success ideas. What if she didn’t need a plan, but only patience? Perhaps Mama would simply let her go after a nice nap.

Her head and joints still ached from the HSPD attack; her muscles were depleted of strength. She’d slept for days after prior episodes as her body slowly recovered. Obviously not an option at present. She’d have to stay awake. Seize whatever opportunity window presented itself.

But her eyelids did need a rest.

No harm in closing them for a couple minutes.

Mama sure as hell wasn’t going anywhere anytime soon. The big belly rose and fell with a small boat’s rhythm.

Minnie turned her head sideways, one ear nestling into the abrasive hair. The sound of Mama’s breaths resonated below the thick skin. Each inhale produced a long, muffled shushing. Outside the burrow, there was only the serene rustle of epsequoia pads rubbing against their neighbors, and a wet trickling Minnie guessed was melting snow or ice flowing down the trunk.

She surprised herself with a little smile. Was this actually a nice moment?

The belly slowly rose and fell. “Shhhhhhhhhh…”

Minnie awoke to another forced nursing session. One of her arms had been wrapped awkwardly behind her back—unmovable in Mama’s firm grip. As soon as Minnie realized what was happening, she opened her mouth and latched onto the skin flap, appeasing Mama in hopes of it once more earning her slack.

Indeed, the Hynka sank into her bowl-shaped bed and let her arm rest away from her body. Minnie was once more completely unrestrained. Now in the opposite armpit, she had her feet planted on the ground, one hand on Mama’s arm and the other on the wooly chest. The milk flow had picked up and Minnie used her same trick, letting it escape out the corners and drip from her chin. But she was thirsty, probably severely dehydrated, especially after the episode. Surely the majority of this fluid was water…

Still breathing through her nose, she dared a small gulp. Her body instantly demanded another, but she wanted to wait—see if her stomach rejected it. The last thing she needed right now was to vomit out what little fluids she had. She watched a minute pass on the clock, noting the time, as well. Late afternoon. She’d slept more than five hours.

Her stomach was fine, pleading for more. Why wait? Another gulp. Mama’s approving hand began rubbing Minnie’s back. Despite herself, Minnie waited only ten seconds before cutting loose and guzzling the milk. She even forgot to avoid tasting it.

Hm… like rancid walnuts and spoiled goat cheese.

She gagged but persevered until her stomach seized and threatened revolt. Minnie halted and gasped for air. Mama stuck a finger behind Minnie’s head, pinched the wet flap of skin, and pressed the two back together. Minnie could see a lump moving in the skin curtain. Mama didn’t want Baby to miss out on the best part.

Oh no… already sick! How to get out of this?

She thought fast, reached up, and grabbed the skin with both hands, taking it away from Mama, who offered no resistance. If Baby was ready to handle her business on her own, so be it.

Minnie turned her head, blocking the view of the flap, and pinched it between her chin and neck, attempting to simulate the feeling of a mouth. An instant later, the revolting dessert spewed into her neck, and she tugged her shirt collar open to let it slide into hiding. She simulated a deep gulp and released the fold.

As per their new family tradition, Mama dragged Minnie up over her belly. This time, lying head below stomach didn’t sit well. Bile gurgled up; she fought it back. Tears streamed from her eyes and tickled down her nose. Maybe the milk was toxic after all. Maybe she shouldn’t fight it.

The choice was taken from her when Mama plopped her heavy hand onto Minnie’s back, squishing guts and sending an irrepressible surge up her throat. Minnie coughed and gagged and milk spilled down Mama’s side.

Mama wasn’t happy.