False Horizons

by CJ Birch

  Chapter Eight

  Jordan

  “I can’t swim,” I say. Tup has brought me to the edge of a large pool. The water stretches out a good twenty meters below us. From this height, objects beneath the surface shimmer, distorted by the waves generated from some unseen force on our end. The other end splashes up onto a platform almost two hundred meters away.

  Tup’s smile grows bigger, showing off his giant teeth. “Good.” He slaps me on the back. “When you make it to the other side, your feat will be all the more impressive.”

  I look at him like he’s crazy. “And if I don’t make it?”

  “Then you will have an incomplete. Obviously.”

  I frown. They’re just going to let me die? Tup’s not looking at me like I’m about to die. He’s got that shit-eating grin on his face I associate with Sarka. “I can’t breathe underwater,” I say to make it clear that’s what I mean by fail.

  “You’ll do fine.” He slaps me on the back and pushes me over the edge.

  I don’t even have time to gulp in a lung full of air before I smash into the water. And I mean smash. All the wind whooshes out of me like I’ve hit a hard surface. Isn’t water supposed to be yielding? I get a brief view of Tup bent over his knees laughing before I sink.

  In an instant my lungs are on fire. I want to breathe out so bad I almost convince myself it wouldn’t be a huge mistake. I may not have been in this situation before, but I know breathing out would increase the pressure on my lungs. Everyone in Union fleet goes through decompression training.

  That need to release your breath isn’t actually lack of oxygen. It’s carbon monoxide buildup, which can be as dangerous as running out of oxygen.

  As I sink lower I try not to panic. Instead I assess my situation. The pool isn’t empty. They’ve designed it to look like the bottom of an ocean or a lake. Dark-green plants flowing from the bottom are scattered throughout. They undulate with the current, making it hard to see.

  It reminds me a little of the pond Ash and I found on the planet, the only time I’ve ever been submerged in water. Growing up on Delta I didn’t have an opportunity to swim. There aren’t any pools, for it’s a waste of water resources that are better used for crops and livestock. They come first.

  Ash, having grown up on Alpha, could swim. She seemed embarrassed about the admission, so we didn’t get into how she learned. But one thing she said stuck with me. She said everyone can float, that it doesn’t take any skill. My arms flail at my side. Everything feels heavy and dull. It’s getting darker as I sink lower.

  I point myself toward the surface and kick as hard as I can. I make a little headway, but each time I do, I sink below again. I let a little air escape from my mouth and regret it immediately. It only makes the pressure worse on my lungs. I kick again, but I’m falling too fast, faster than I can kick. I search for anything I can use to haul myself up, but all I see are the plants, which would sink with my weight.

  How far will they take this? Will they actually let me die? I can’t see Tup anymore. In fact, I’m so deep now I can hardly see anything but a deep gray that’s closing in on me. And what if I do fail this test but survive? Will they put me in the fields? I need to stick with Sarka, even if I don’t want to. All these thoughts flutter through my head in a blur. I’m starting to lose focus.

  Fuck, I don’t want to die.

  Ash will blame herself, which is stupid, because it’s me who couldn’t muster enough energy to kick back up to the surface. I’m not sure if it’s the idea of failing or not seeing Ash again that does it, but I manage a strong kick, and then another, and another until the water begins to brighten around me. I’m getting closer. One more kick and my head breaks free and I gulp in a lung full of air before sinking again. I kick again and use my arms, but that only splashes water into my face. I need to get onto my back, which is easier said than done. It would help if I weren’t flailing about. I kick my legs and pinwheel my arms until I’m almost flat on the surface. It takes a couple of tries, but soon I find a system that works. It helps if I hold my breath, filling my lungs with air.

  Now that I’m floating I take a few moments to reassess and figure out what to do next. I have to make it to the other end of the pool over two-hundred meters away. Can I even propel myself without sinking? The edge of the pool is only a few feet from me. Maybe I can use the walls to push myself along.

  Even maneuvering toward the wall is difficult. After some trial and error and a few mouthfuls of water, I find I can use one hand to paddle one way and the other to paddle another. I make some headway. By the time I make it to the wall, I’m exhausted. My whole body aches. Before this whole ordeal I would’ve said I was in good shape, but now I’m not so sure.

  As soon as my hand touches the wall, my whole body bucks as if it compresses in on itself. The shock of what happens makes me lose my concentration, and I sink, gulping water as I go under again. I thrash to the surface, sputtering. If I’d known I would need this skill, I would’ve gotten Ash to teach me some basics. But who would’ve thought I’d need to know how to swim in space? This whole exercise is cruel. I’m certain that’s the point, but it doesn’t make me feel any better or get me closer to the other end.

  Obviously the exercise tests your endurance as well as your ability to maintain a calm head in an emergency. Are the exercises tailored to each person? And if they are, how did they know I couldn’t swim? Those scans must have been more than just medical. Perhaps they can probe your mind. That’s a scary thought.

  Luckily the current is moving me toward the end. It’s excruciatingly slow, but it gives me time to think. I can’t wait for it to push me all the way. I’ll die from hypothermia before that happens. I hadn’t noticed when I first entered, but the water’s freezing. The suit does a good job of keeping my body insulated; however, my hands are starting to cramp.

  I stare at the high vaulted ceiling above me, unable to do much but float. I can’t use the walls because they’ve added some sort of current. I doubt it’s that, or the whole pool would be electrified. Nothing floating in the water to use to propel myself forward.

  I’m not sure how long I drift, probably a long time, because my fingers are not only numb, but they’ve wrinkled up. I’m halfway when a small wave crests my body and slaps me in the face. Another one. Soon I’m surging and plunging, and the movement topples my fine balance. The water closes over my head once more. My legs ache as I thrash, kicking toward the surface. It’s no use. The waves are too high now. Even if I could catch the surface, I’d never be able to stabilize myself. I have to find another way. They wouldn’t just chuck someone who couldn’t swim into deep water without a way to get out. Or would they? I don’t know these people. Maybe this is how they get rid of people, a little entertainment beforehand.

  As I sink, the pressure on my lungs becomes unbearable. I force myself to calm down, to focus on my surroundings. That’s when I notice the tiny bubbles rising to the surface. They’re coming from a pipe running the length of the pool.

  If I can sink to the bottom and maneuver my way toward the pipe, maybe I can use the oxygen to breathe and the pipe to pull myself toward the edge.

  Of course I have no idea if they’re oxygen bubbles. Why would they even have a pipe carrying oxygen along the bottom of the pool? Why the hell would they have a pool on a goddamned spaceship?

  I let out the air in my lungs slowly, which helps me sink lower. Funny how instinct takes over. I’ve never been in a situation like this, but it’s like my body knows what to do.

  When I reach the bottom, I lightly tap my foot to the floor to make sure it’s not charged like the sides. Nothing happens, and I take that as a good sign. I propel myself along the bottom until I can hook my foot under the pipe and pull myself down to grab ahold of it. I wrap both hands around and take a moment to figure out how best to breathe in the air coming out. My lungs are screaming.

  It’s dark this deep. The pressure in my head is making it hard to concentrate, and my eye
s have started to burn. I pull myself toward the pipe and wrap my lips around one of the openings. I try to suck in but end up inhaling water as well. A deep panic clamps me as I try not to choke when the air left in my lungs explodes out of my mouth. I wrap my lips around the opening again and this time just let the air flow into my mouth. It tastes foul. I don’t care. I stay here like this, ten or so meters below the surface, hands wrapped around the pipe, lips kissing the cold surface, breathing. The oxygen takes some of the panic away. My mind calms, and I begin to focus again on the main problem—getting to the other end. It’s hard to see from this angle, but as far as I can tell, it’ll take me to where I need to go.

  After a few more gulps of air I begin hauling myself forward one hand over the other. Every few feet I stop and draw air into my lungs from the opening in the pipe. I don’t worry if the pipe will end or the holes will disappear. I just put one hand in front of the other.

  I begin to relax into the motions. This is going well. I can even see a slight incline toward the edge of the pool as it raises onto a fake beach at the other end. The water is clearing up as well, and I can see more of my surroundings. The plants have even thinned out.

  Then something swishes by on my right. I’m not sure at first if I’ve even seen it. At this depth the waves aren’t as fierce, but perhaps that isn’t the case as I get closer to shore. I keep my pace. The quicker I can pull myself along, the sooner I’ll be out of this hellish ordeal. After a few more minutes I begin to think I imagined the flip of a tail in the dark.

  As I make it closer to shore, the holes get farther apart. I quicken my pace to make up for less air. And then I see it again. This thing is real. Its skin is a deep blue, which helps it blend into its surroundings, with a long tail and arms with claws the size of my fingers. Its head is all jaws and two big eyes boring down on me. At first it appears to hover a few meters away. Then in an instant it flicks its tail and charges. Its mouth opens, and I see rows and rows of sharp pointy teeth aiming for my head. I scream, and all the air escapes my lungs as I fling myself out of the way. A sharp claw drags along my thigh as it passes. The adrenaline in my system jacks up a notch. I grab the pipe and haul myself toward the next air hole. I can’t look back, not until I get air. And that’s when I notice the lack of air holes. The pipe ends a meter in front of me. I swivel, searching the dark water behind me for any sign of the creature. But it’s still and murky.

  Now I have to decide if I backtrack to one of the holes or try to push to the surface and let the waves carry me the rest of the way. The dark plants sway in the current, hiding God knows what. No. I’d rather risk the surface. I crouch and push from the bottom, propelling myself up. It’s not as deep here. I break through the surface as something latches onto my leg and pulls me under.

  I flail, grabbing for something to keep me from going back under, even though I know nothing’s in reach. Its hand clamps my calf, its claws digging in. I reach forward and swat at its arm, but there’s too much resistance underwater.

  We’re traveling the far end of the pool now, water rushes over me, and I have to close my eyes for a second to still the vertigo, the panic. I treasure the lungful of air I managed to grab before it pulled me under. I can’t panic now.

  We circle back to the shallow end. I need to get free before I run out of air and we loop around again. Why the hell doesn’t this fancy fucking suit they’ve given me have a weapon built into it? But I guess that’s the point. Instead I opt for brute force, which is more like blind panic. I start kicking with my free leg. It doesn’t matter, whatever I can hit. I hit its arm a few times, but that doesn’t do anything. It takes a swipe at me. Finally I connect with its face. Bubbles rise from its mouth.

  It didn’t like that. I kick again. This time it lets go to readjust its hold on me, and I kick with both legs. The momentum propels me back, and I hit something hard. The beach. I claw my way out of the water as fast as I can and flop onto the makeshift shore. My chest heaves, sucking in air in great big gulps. The sand digs into my cheek, gritty and wet. There’s nothing beyond the sand except a stark-white wall and the faint outline of a door. Something splashes behind me, but I don’t turn. I can’t face that thing again, not even from the safety of dry land.

  My eyes close. Can I fall asleep here on this strange fake beach? But I don’t get a chance to find out. Before my heartbeat evens out, the door snicks open and Tup marches out carrying a pack and a blade the size of my leg.

  “That was brilliant.” He hauls me to my feet, fits the pack over my shoulders, and hands me the blade. “I told you you’d do fine.”

  The blade’s solid weight smashes into the sand. I can’t even lift it, so how the hell am I supposed to carry it?

  “It’s best if you can get the dull bit over your shoulder. And better to use two hands when wielding it.”

  Who the fuck am I going to be wielding it against? My face asks the question before my mouth can, and his eyes light up.

  “You’re not done yet. You have several more exercises to get through.”

  Several more?

  Christ.

  Chapter Nine

  Ash

  My eyes snap open. It’s dark, and I don’t recognize where I am at first. Then the noise settles into a familiar pattern—well, familiar enough—and I remember I’m on the Kudo.

  I’m not sure what’s woken me, so I lie still until my eyes adjust to the room. The cabins on this ship are massive compared to ours. Everything on this ship is massive, even compared to the Posterus, which is huge. Nothing moves or breathes. It must have been a bad dream. And then I notice a faint blue light behind my head. It dims until it goes out. I press the panel next to my bed and raise the lights. Nothing on the headboard jumps out as strange. I run my hands along the panel but don’t feel any seams.

  “Huh.” Nothing else in the room is out of the ordinary. The quiet hum of the engines filters through the walls and floor. It must feel off because we’re not used to it. I’m not afraid to say this place gives me the creeps. It’s not only the sound of the engines or the people who stop to watch us when we pass by; it’s everything. The food tastes good. To me that’s the most bizarre. For as long as I’ve served on Union-fleet ships, the food has never tasted good. You can’t spruce up canned goods, no matter how hard you try. Everything on the Persephone needs to last months, sometimes years. The Posterus is a different story. The ship has greenhouses and living walls, but that wasn’t always the case. When you set out on a mission you might not be coming back for half a year. There’s nowhere to stock up, so you have to pack an entire mission’s worth of food in one go. Here they have meat. Real meat.

  It’s not like growing up we had a lot of opportunity to eat meat, even on Alpha. Everyone thinks we have everything because we’re the seat of the government. And it’s true that some indulge, but my father always believed we should be an example to the other families, so we ate meat only at Christmas. He raised me to believe that meat is a privilege. Eating it at breakfast everyday feels wrong.

  Today when I see Hartley I’ll ask how much longer until the Persephone is ready. I don’t want to stay on this ship any longer than we have to. But after meeting up with him, my heart sinks. We have more problems than we thought. Fitted out in our suits we trudge through the Persephone’s decks logging all the issues we still have to fix before we can even bring the new main computer online.

  “The problem is the power conversion.” Hartley’s voice is tinny through the suit intercoms. We’re kneeling in front of the bridge’s navigation console. It’s a mess of polymer wires as Hartley pokes through the back, showing me where the console gets its power. “See these circuits? We need to replace them to take the type of power we’ll be feeding it.”

  “And how many of these circuits do we have to replace?”

  Hartley sits back. It’s awkward in his helmet. He grabs the edge of the console to stop from toppling. “Geez, thousands.”

  “Jesus Christ, Hartley. Why can’t we ju
st change the power coming out of the new computer?”

  He shakes his head, and the helmet bumps against the side. “I don’t know their technology well enough to adapt the computer to fit our systems. It has to be the other way around.”

  “Even if we pull every single crew member into the task, that’ll take weeks, months even.”

  “We don’t have to do every system. Just the essentials to get us up and running. I figure it’ll take us a week.”

  I stand and smack my hand hard into the console; the dull thud from my suit glove doesn’t provide much satisfaction. Hartley stands as well, his expression grim. The light coming through the front glass is dull and gray, casting the bridge in a somber mood.

  “Do we have other options?”

  Hartley chews his lower lip and gazes out the front. His brain must be going a mile a minute. And then the strangest thing happens. He comes back with a one-word answer. “No.”

  I’m still thinking about that “no” hours later. Usually he has a suggestion, any suggestion, even if it’s bat-shit crazy. I don’t know if I’m overreacting. Should I worry?

  Vonn finds me later, working on the bridge by myself. The sooner we get started on the power conversion, the better. His beak is even more pronounced with the glass from his helmet magnifying its round shape. He fiddles with his translation unit attached to his suit. They’ve fitted us all with the same unit to make it easier to communicate with each other.

  According to him, my senior staff has been invited to dinner tonight. My senior staff. I still don’t think of it as mine, nor is the Persephone mine. I’m a placeholder until Jordan gets back. I’d rather eat one of these power converters than go to a formal dinner, but since we’re guests I can’t very well say no. I accept as graciously as I can and return to my task.