Abel and Noemi are alone. They’ll get their chance to escape.
For another twenty-six minutes, he allows Noemi to sleep. She can’t have gotten nearly enough rest these past few days, even for a young human in top physical condition. However, when the temperature drops further, he realizes they need to act before the chill becomes hazardous for her despite the protection of the parka. “Noemi?” he whispers. Speaking louder would be more effective, but humans seem to value a more gradual awakening. “Noemi, get up.”
“Mmph.” She stirs beside him, then groans. “I was hoping the tank part was a nightmare.”
“We aren’t that fortunate. We need to move.”
“Can we? Are you okay?” Noemi sits up and touches his arm. No doubt she’s only checking his injury, but the contact rushes through Abel like heat or electricity. It’s not yet desire, but it could be. Do humans feel attraction at such inconvenient moments? Surely not. This must be some kind of malfunction. Unlike any other malfunction, though, Abel enjoys it.
He says only, “I should be able to climb down the remainder of this side of the ship until we’re at ground level, which will provide our best chance at escape. This is of course assuming the necessary handholds exist. What about you? How would you evaluate your climbing strength?”
“I’m not sure. Usually I’m pretty good, but now—” Noemi rubs her hands together; they’re red with cold, no doubt numb.
Immediately Abel says, “You should hold on to my back again while I climb for us both.”
“Don’t put yourself in more danger for me. That’s too much weight for you to carry with your ankle and your wrist—”
“It isn’t.” It’s close, but within acceptable parameters. “They’re almost back to normal. In addition, you know you can’t grip the handholds, not without gloves. This is the only way.”
Her frown tells him she doesn’t like it, but she nods. “I was thinking—if we get to Virginia’s corsair, and return to your ship, maybe we could contact Fouda from there? We might be able to bargain for the relay codes with something else.”
“I don’t want to leave Simon here.”
Noemi pauses, and he anticipates more of her objections to his work with Simon. Instead she says, “We’d have more resources on the ship. Some of Mansfield’s original plans for mechs, stuff like that, right? We could regroup and come back for Simon.”
“An excellent plan.” Its excellence is largely based on the fact that it’s the only remotely workable alternative, but Abel feels the need to be encouraging while agreement is still possible between them. His needs and Noemi’s will soon conflict. She’ll want to help Genesis as fast as she can—understandable—while he knows leaving Simon alone any longer could lead to disaster. He’ll make his arguments when the time comes. “Our hike to the corsair will be difficult—about two kilometers from here, but through difficult terrain and thick snow.”
She shrugs. “We’ll make it or I won’t.”
Abel wants to correct her statement, as he has no intention of going on without her. But that’s something else to mention only later, after it comes up, which, hopefully, it won’t.
In some respects, the broken chasm dividing this ship provides a more promising climb than Abel would’ve thought. Ragged spars of metal jut out at various angles, offering the hand- and footholds they require. Unfortunately, those same spars are mostly crusted with ice. Abel can compensate only so much for a slippery surface.
Noemi’s not the only one who could use a pair of gloves.
Quickly calculating ratios and probabilities, Abel decides the likelihood of his making it safely to the bottom is sufficient for him to try it. But it doesn’t seem enough for him to risk Noemi. He prefers a wider margin of safety when it comes to her. “I’m not sure I can do this.”
“Uh-oh.” Noemi rubs her head with one hand. “If you’re admitting you have actual limits, that means it’s bad, right?”
“Successfully climbing to the bottom isn’t impossible. Only… slightly less probable than the alternative.” This is definitely a time to keep exact percentages to himself.
She exhales, then says, “Well, there’s no other way out. No matter what the odds are, we have to try.”
Abel knows this, logically, but still wants to argue. Maybe he could escape on his own and bring help back to her—but what help, and when? Most likely he wouldn’t be able to return for at least a solid day, by which time Noemi would probably have died of exposure.
“Abel?” She looks at him steadily. “I trust you. I’m willing to try this. And sitting around here dreading the climb is only freaking me out.”
“All right,” he says. “Let’s go.”
They figure out a way to extend his belt and loop it once through the cord around her waist. It’s a pitifully weak kind of harness, but it’s the best they can do with what they have. Abel positions himself at the tank’s edge and lets Noemi adjust her grip on him and her balance. “Ready?” he asks.
Her hands tighten around his shoulders. “Ready.”
He bends, grasps the lip of the tank, and drops so that his body hangs over the side. For 0.4 seconds the icy metal seems to deny his hold, but then Abel gets it. Together he and Noemi dangle from this one ledge, she clinging tightly to his back, the crevasse still very far below.
“Oh God oh God oh God oh God,” Noemi whispers. “Tell me that was the hardest part.”
“It was, actually.” Their probability of death is still far too high, but completing the first step means their odds have improved to nearly sixty/forty.
Abel moves slowly, taking his time
