Michael Siemsen - Exigency

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.”