Linsya’s head the size of a man’s hand.
She lay on the rocky ground—eyes closed and breathing shallow. Blood seeped out of a deep wound in her skull and oozed down the side of her face. When it reached the bottom of her cheek, it gathered there a moment and then dripped, spilling down her neck.
Jonathas brought a hand to his forehead, surveying the gruesome scene. Linsya looked like a corpse, laid out in the basement of some crematorium, ready to be placed inside a kiln and fired up. If only he’d found her sooner. If only she had stayed with him after the disruption. If only their planet wasn’t getting knocked about its axis, turning their home into a fucking deathtrap.
This was his way of grieving, blaming events out of his control in a futile attempt to shirk the blame off to some other place, some other person. But Jonathas knew the truth: had he not lost consciousness they would still be together right now, both healthy and alert, trying to find their way out of this mess together.
Or would they?
Perhaps they would have been walking through the hall where poor Fletcher had perished and would have succumbed to that same grisly fate?
Jonathas decided it was futile thinking such thoughts. One can’t blame the ghosts of the past, nor control the wills of the future. What’s done is done, and all that matters is now.
He knelt down beside Linsya. Despite his previous regrets, he had a lot to be thankful for. Linsya wasn’t dead. At least not yet. And he himself was still alive, able to help her as much as he could. Jonathas realized if he had died in the cave-in, she surely would die here.
Her chest rose and fell with each shallow breath. He checked her pulse. It was weak, but consistent. He reached into his pouch for the knife. Finding it, he gave a little flick which released the blade and he cut the sleeve off the arm of his coveralls. With one hand he gently lifted up Linsya’s head and with the other he wrapped the soft fabric around her wound.
Satisfied that he dressed her injury as best as possible given the circumstances, Jonathas resumed his search for a way out. A ramp in the far corner of the room led up to a large steel door, which was closed shut, cold and immovable.
Jonathas leaned close. “It’s ok, Linsya, we’ll make it.” He spoke to her unconscious form as much as to himself.
He walked to the steel door and was relieved to see the side panel was still intact. He tried to picture where they were in the complex—just below the surface level, he hoped. He figured this door would lead to one of the delegation rooms on ground level, but unless they’d already updated his security card with the new privileges of an Operator, he wouldn’t have access. He passed his card over the reader. A harsh buzz and blinking red light was all the reciprocation he got back.
“Looks like we’ll have to get creative,” he said aloud.
He dug into his pockets for his multi-tool and used it to remove four screws. The thin metal covering clanged to the floor, exposing a mishmash of colored wires: a tangled sea of red, yellow, and blue.
Growing up in Bangalia was tough for any kid, but Jonathas, after his parents had been killed in a mining accident, had had to get creative in order to provide for himself. At times, he’d used his knowledge in electronic security to procure a decent meal besides the cold gruel given to orphans, or to obtain an extra sweater or blanket during the Long Night. He had quickly learned how to bypass the shelter's surprisingly simple security measures, a skill he never thought he’d have to use again.
He deftly skinned the plastic off one of the blue wires and did the same with an adjacent red. Rubbing the two exposed coils together created a quick flash of sparks and the steel door gave him a click for his efforts. Satisfied, he dug around in his bag for his crowbar. He jimmied it into the space where the two halves of door met and cranked it to one side. It budged
She lay on the rocky ground—eyes closed and breathing shallow. Blood seeped out of a deep wound in her skull and oozed down the side of her face. When it reached the bottom of her cheek, it gathered there a moment and then dripped, spilling down her neck.
Jonathas brought a hand to his forehead, surveying the gruesome scene. Linsya looked like a corpse, laid out in the basement of some crematorium, ready to be placed inside a kiln and fired up. If only he’d found her sooner. If only she had stayed with him after the disruption. If only their planet wasn’t getting knocked about its axis, turning their home into a fucking deathtrap.
This was his way of grieving, blaming events out of his control in a futile attempt to shirk the blame off to some other place, some other person. But Jonathas knew the truth: had he not lost consciousness they would still be together right now, both healthy and alert, trying to find their way out of this mess together.
Or would they?
Perhaps they would have been walking through the hall where poor Fletcher had perished and would have succumbed to that same grisly fate?
Jonathas decided it was futile thinking such thoughts. One can’t blame the ghosts of the past, nor control the wills of the future. What’s done is done, and all that matters is now.
He knelt down beside Linsya. Despite his previous regrets, he had a lot to be thankful for. Linsya wasn’t dead. At least not yet. And he himself was still alive, able to help her as much as he could. Jonathas realized if he had died in the cave-in, she surely would die here.
Her chest rose and fell with each shallow breath. He checked her pulse. It was weak, but consistent. He reached into his pouch for the knife. Finding it, he gave a little flick which released the blade and he cut the sleeve off the arm of his coveralls. With one hand he gently lifted up Linsya’s head and with the other he wrapped the soft fabric around her wound.
Satisfied that he dressed her injury as best as possible given the circumstances, Jonathas resumed his search for a way out. A ramp in the far corner of the room led up to a large steel door, which was closed shut, cold and immovable.
Jonathas leaned close. “It’s ok, Linsya, we’ll make it.” He spoke to her unconscious form as much as to himself.
He walked to the steel door and was relieved to see the side panel was still intact. He tried to picture where they were in the complex—just below the surface level, he hoped. He figured this door would lead to one of the delegation rooms on ground level, but unless they’d already updated his security card with the new privileges of an Operator, he wouldn’t have access. He passed his card over the reader. A harsh buzz and blinking red light was all the reciprocation he got back.
“Looks like we’ll have to get creative,” he said aloud.
He dug into his pockets for his multi-tool and used it to remove four screws. The thin metal covering clanged to the floor, exposing a mishmash of colored wires: a tangled sea of red, yellow, and blue.
Growing up in Bangalia was tough for any kid, but Jonathas, after his parents had been killed in a mining accident, had had to get creative in order to provide for himself. At times, he’d used his knowledge in electronic security to procure a decent meal besides the cold gruel given to orphans, or to obtain an extra sweater or blanket during the Long Night. He had quickly learned how to bypass the shelter's surprisingly simple security measures, a skill he never thought he’d have to use again.
He deftly skinned the plastic off one of the blue wires and did the same with an adjacent red. Rubbing the two exposed coils together created a quick flash of sparks and the steel door gave him a click for his efforts. Satisfied, he dug around in his bag for his crowbar. He jimmied it into the space where the two halves of door met and cranked it to one side. It budged
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