Birthday Suit

The crank is heavy and resists me at every turn, despite the low gravity. I have turned it at least 30 times. That number seems suspicious. How will I know when to stop? I have no way of seeing the rod from down here, and I don't exactly have the time to jump up and check. 

Suddenly, the resistance grows stronger. I lay into the handle with my full weight. A white hot pulsation under my forehead drowns out the voice in my ear. Finally, there is give.

The obstruction breaks, and I almost stumble over myself. The crank now turns as readily as the handle of a pepper grinder. It seems I've reached the end.

I push myself back up to my seat and quickly strap myself back in with one hand while grabbing the periscope with the other. The buckle hand stops at halfway. There is something off about what I'm seeing.

The Warrior unit has seized all movement. 

Has there been a malfunction...? 

"What did you do?! You impaled her! The fuck is your plan?! Where are we supposed to go from here? What kind of message is this supposed to send?!"

I don't understand. How could this have happened? I perfectly positioned my mech so that the rod would connect at the right angle. I have successfully completed this maneuver hundreds of times over the last few weeks, without a single hiccup. How could I fail now? Unless...

Unless the rod has never before extended to its full length. Unless I have been deliberately kept from practicing with the crank. Unless this exact scenario has been the plan all along.

But why?! Who would do this? What were they hoping to accomplish?

... Actually, what does it matter? I need to get my priorities straight.

The mission has failed. The show's over. Nothing to see here.

The voice returns. It sounds considerably less panicked, almost stiff.

"Ok. We've received official orders for how you are to deal with this situation. Manually retract the rod with the crank, then return to the planet's surface as soon as possible."

I stay put. I can't stop staring at the Warrior unit's lifeless body. Revenge... On some level, isn't this what I wanted? And why should I care, anyway? If I just keep my head low, don't fuss or ask the wrong questions, I might end up leaving this affair relatively unscathed. Maybe even get repositioned. That might be nice. Worst-case scenario, they execute me. I could live with that. Either way, it really doesn't matter why this happened. I really shouldn't care.

But I do. 

I was the only pilot who qualified for this mission. I spent weeks and weeks training for this shit. And yet, they're gonna make me take the fall for it. For fuck's sake. They've made me into a murderer, and they're barely paying me minimum wage. My sister must be spinning in her grave right now. She would be, if she were actually in it. The scattered remains of her body continue to orbit the planet. They never bothered to retrieve them. And how would they have differentiated them anyway, from those of others' sisters and brothers, and from all the other garbage up here? Hands, plastic forks, hearts, motor parts. Everything freezes and coalesces into an indistinct dead mass. Forget this stupid metal pedalling pond. That's a real ring. The steadily growing ring of the discarded.

One day, it will have grown to cover the entire planet, and the darkness into which we've shot them will finally catch up to us. I've been thinking about that a lot lately. I have nightmares where I look up through a telescope and recognize her face. A sliced-off slab of skin with no eyes or teeth or tongue passes by a thousand miles above, and it's screaming at me, screaming for its sister.

I care. I care a whole damn lot. 

Suddenly, there is movement. Has the Warrior unit risen from the dead? No. A liquid is leaking out of her hole. The gel. That's right, my partner might still be...

"Hey, what are you waiting for? Get a move on already! A riot's about to break out! We need you down here!"

I pluck the bug from my ear and flick it away. It slowly floats off into the machinery. I hear it shouting obscenities at me. It seems they immediately realized what I've done. I knew there were cameras.

I tear off the emergency space helmet hovering above my head. The most childish part of me, who used to stare out at the night sky and count the lights, is downright giddy that she gets to do this. It seems inappropriate, but it's a nice feeling for once, so I stay out of its way as it slowly fills up my overhot body. I am actually smiling. Silly me.

I squeeze myself into the airlock. Another first for the Bergentrücker. Its right pec slides open, and I emerge into the big cold like a parasite. I carefully push myself down. The rod becomes a bridge along which I drag myself until I have reached the hole. It seems that the rod's tip is blocking the rupture almost completely, which is good news for my partner's chances at survival, but it does mean I'll have to find an alternate entry point. I'm desperately trying to recall the diagrams they showed us back at the academy. Where was the airlock again?

The back?

I climb over the dead warrior's ass like an ant looking for sugar on a suntanner. Yep, there it is. Significantly bigger than the one I just went through, which will help with getting him out. Since the Warrior unit has powered down, I have to violently tear the airlock open. Same on the other side. I really, really hope that thing about the gel being breathable wasn't a myth. 

I find him as soon as I've made my way into the main body. He is sitting in a half-open capsule bed filled with gel, which is hooked up to all kinds of cables and cords, a few steps from where my head is poking out of the ground. I push myself up. He doesn't notice me. He's hugging his legs to his chest and staring straight ahead into the darkness. He seems mortified. He's a lot younger than I remember. Older than me, but still. Somehow, I feel like crying. At least he's breathing.

How do I get him out of here?

He'll have to stay in the gel. At least his head does. I doubt he can cooperate. He's damn near catatonic. If I can just pull him—

What is this!?

I touch the gel, and everything shifts. Suddenly, I'm seeing the world through two pairs of eyes. I feel the beat of two hearts in a dizzying polyrhythm. Is this what it's like for him? Everytime? This inbetween-state is too much for me. I can't be out and in at once. I have to make a decision. Now. 

...

I get in.

We are melting and mixing. He liquidates into a body of water. I go for a plunge. He is cold and refreshing. I enjoy myself swimming down through the corridors of his being. But deep within, there is a bug. I feel it in my periphery. Sometimes, it flits by. It's a cornered animal, scared but spiteful. It's getting on my nerves.

He shouldn't underestimate me like this. I used to go freehand fishing with my dad. I close what equates to eyes and keep what I imagine as hands at the ready. I visualize the bug. I am beginning to understand its patterns, its desires, its goals. It's honestly quite simple. When the moment has arrived, I reach out.

The bug is caught between my fingers. It is tiny and fragile and squirming pathetically. I could very easily crush it. I would have every right to do so. Instead, I hug it close to my chest. Warmth radiates from it to me and from me to it, and suddenly, there is no longer any distinction. There is no he or it or I. There is only us, and we know we will survive.

Because we know about the escape pod. 

We hit a button next to our seat, and the capsule closes. Now we are a perfect unit. The cameras of the ring must show an egg being shot out of the deceased Warrior's behind: a biologically programmed final desperate attempt to continue its lineage. We fall towards the planet, passing the ring of the discarded— the pain is shared, but we find no faces— and dwindle downwards, down towards the ocean, faster and faster and faster until we SPLASH into the water. Our momentum barely diminishes. We run along the ocean's surface like a skipping stone, pressing ourselves against the capsule door until the egg cracks. We become part of the world, and for a moment, we are billions: scaled, carapaced, at home in the cold. Our speed is fantastic. But the Mel gradually dissolves, and our connection weakens. We slow down. At the end, there is sand.

***

He stares up into the sky. He can see their discarded shells from here. Two dead bugs surrounded by a ring. He feels empty. He turns away, and she is there. The Demagan woman who fingered his heart. She takes off her helmet. Suddenly, it all comes bubbling up. He breaks out into tears.

"What the hell are we going to do!?"

The woman seems surprised that he's speaking her language.

"They're going to punish us, I know it... Everything was going so great... I don't... I don't understand... I was supposed to complete my service in honor or at least die gloriously... What kind of cowardice is this!?"

She seems uncertain of how to react and is awkwardly fidgeting in front of him.

"So much shame I have brought upon myself... I can't... My poor parents, if they knew... The queen... The queen must be mad..."

She gets closer. She's leaning in. Her face is only a couple of inches from his. He can feel her hot breath on his neck.

"I can't live like this... Knowing the queen hates me, I ca—mppf!"

She pinches his lips between her fingers and smiles sadistically.

"There, that shut you up. Calm down, dude. Let's take this one step at a time. Starting with introductions."

She takes a step back. Her smile expands until it fills her whole face, but a sadness lingers in her eyes. He suddenly realizes that she's beautiful.

"I am Martyroshka, disgraced mech pilot, daughter of a fisherman, sister to a deceased general. Who are you?"