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August 19, 2526. Breanna and Cashmere’s joint escape pod is dangling from
the side of the dome, but they don’t know how long the parachute is going to
last. It might tear or slip off any second now. Breanna finishes
synthesizing their status, and coming up with a plan. “We’re too far in the
center of this pane.”
“What does that prevent us from doing?” Cashmere asks.
“We can melt the frame of this dome using an overboosted impulsive burn, and
break a pane off. If the pressure doesn’t suck us right through immediately,
we can then slip in and jump to safety.”
“Why don’t we release the parachute, and use the remaining thruster fuel to
glide down on the outside of the dome?”
“Because there’s not enough fuel.”
“We could supplement it with the back-up parachute.”
Breanna shakes her head, knowing that Cashmere can’t see her. “We can’t
control our descent in this thing. Whatever expanded the atmosphere is
causing unpredictable weather patterns. We could end up knocking against the
dome over and over again, leading to severe blunt force trauma. It’s a
miracle that the main chute didn’t snap. We can’t risk the back-up. If it
fails, we’re done for. No, the safest way down is for us to use our own
personal chutes, free from the confines of the pod, and as far from the dome
structure as possible.”
“I’m not arguing with you,” Cashmere replies, “I just want to make sure you
have all of your options. Sometimes really smart people like you don’t see
the dumb obvious things that people like me can’t see beyond.”
“It’s not the worst idea, but something happened to this planet, and until
we figure out what, I only want us taking minimal risks.”
“Okay,” Cashmere begins, “I’m in. But how do we get the thrusters to where
they need to be?”
Breanna hesitates to answer, because this is the hard part. “I sent a
flutterby drone to inspect our situation. The canopy is hanging off of a
maintenance dock. There’s currently no repair beetle on charge, thank God,
or it wouldn’t have been able to snag. Most of the suspension lines are
hooked separately, however, on a rectenna. They’re holding us up higher. If
those lines were to let go, the pod would drop down far enough for the
thrusters to be kissing the frame below us.”
“So get your flutterby to cut the lines,” Cashmere suggests.
“They’re made out of a graphene-infused fiber. The flutterby isn’t nearly
strong enough to cut through that. I’ll have to go out there, and use the
emergency escape torch.”
“No, I’ll do it,” Cashmere volunteers.
“You don’t have the experience.”
“And you do? Hung off a lot of domes lately? I know how to use a
torch, and it should be me, because I’m on top. I would have to move out of
the way to let you get out instead. That just doesn’t make any sense.”
Breanna obviously already thought of that logic, but it’s not her place to
delegate work. She has no rank, no authority. She was only on that ship as a
passenger. To be fair, the same goes for Cashmere. Though, she is more of a
nomadic tourist. “Okay, but you can’t cut them all at once. We want the pod
to slip as slowly as possible so the drone dock still holds the canopy.”
“Got it,” Cashmere says as she’s shifting to prepare to leave. “One at a
time. Red wire, green wire, blue wire. Give me yellow, I’ll paint you the
world.”
“Okay, take my hand,” Breanna offers, reaching down. “When I open the hatch,
it’s probably gonna break off, and you could go flying out after it.”
Cashmere obliges. “M’lady.”
“Ready. Four, three, two, one, mark.” She pops the hatch open. It does go
flying off its hinges. Cashmere starts to slip out of the pod, but Breanna
manages to hold onto her. “Mag, mag, mag!” she urges.
Cashmere magnetizes herself to the bottom of the pod, but doesn’t stay there
long. She begins to climb, letting Breanna give her a boost, and taking the
torch along.
“Keep shakin’ that bush,” Breanna shouts. “Let me know how you’re doing!”
“Almost through the first line!” She doesn’t have to announce it when she
does make it through, because the pod violently drops down a little.
“Keep one eye on the canopy to make sure it’s holding!”
“Aye, captain!” Cashmere returns. She keeps working on the suspension lines,
breaking through them one by one. Finally, with the last one, the thrusters
are close enough to the frame.
“Okay, come back!”
“Just burn!”
“It’s safer in here!”
“There’s no door anymore!”
“Just get your ass back down here!” Brenna demands.
Without another word, Cashmere finally reappears. She carefully steps onto
the floor of the pod, and remagnetizes. “I love it when you comment on my
ass,” she says as she’s hugging Breanna for safety, and only for safety,
right?
“Shut up. Is everything sexual to you?”
“Sex is everything,” she defends.
Breanna rolls her eyes. With the hatch gone, she has to use the manual
controls on the side, which means she has to physically feel for how much
fuel is being dispensed. No readouts here. She’s gonna burn fast and hard.
If the fire goes out, and that frame hasn’t melted, they’re gonna have to
take their chances out here, and hope the wind carries their gliders to
safety. “Four, three, two, one, burn.” She pushes the flush lever to the
side with her thumb. It hurts because it’s stiff, and doesn’t want to be
moved. She only has to hold for a few seconds, though. The flutterby reports
that the diamond pane has turned, revealing a small gap between it and the
frame. Plus, the fuel has run out. The gauge was broken, having claimed
higher levels.
“What do we do now?” Cashmere asks.
“Shit, I don’t know,” Breanna responds. “We might need to get out and kick
it with our f—aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaahhhhhhhhhhhhh!!!!!!!”
