Now, Tom lay cradled in the curvature of the wall, scratching an itchy head as Angela studied the “door” through various optics. Their helmets lay on the ground beside the puddle.
“I can’t find any records of this exact design,” Angela marveled. “Of course, the idea of a gate rotating on a single axle has been around forever, but the concept of body weight as the powering force… I mean, in this application, I suppose it’s sort of the obvious, sole option, based upon the cave’s purpose. You know, this is the kind of stuff you see in history and wonder how the hell people missed the connections. A Threck engineer doesn’t just glance at this thing and go ‘hey, whoa, our cart wheels are stupid!’ and introduce a proper wheel and axle.” She glanced back at the quiet Tom. “Are you still moping?”
“It’s not moping when your life is in actual danger. In such cases, it’s called ‘appropriate distress.’”
She splashed through the puddle and flopped down next to him, slapping his knee. “Moping.”
He looked at her through thermag, her smiling face a mix of blues and whites. “I seriously don’t get how you’re so upbeat right now, appreciating the engineering of our jail cell. They could just leave us to die in here. Move on with city life. Dissect our corpses when they get around to it. That’s not some pessimistic worst-case scenario. It’s highly probable. I screwed us.”
“And that’s the real issue here, I think.” She nudged his shoulder with hers. “Somebody feels like a big fat failure. All your anxiety came to fruition. You communicated ineffectively. And damn, not only are you effed, but the chick you’re totally in love with is, too. Funereal, truly.”
“Sorry, are you trying to make me feel better?”
She pushed out her lower lip and furrowed her brow. “Aw, am I making you sadder?” She sunk lower, incorporating an utterly maddening baby talk. “Does da widdle guy need mawmaw to make him feew bedder?” Tom pressed his lips together, shaking his head as he battled a creeping smile. “I’m sawwy, my widdle schnookie ookie wookems.”
“Oh man, I’m going to flick you in the eye so hard.”
“Don’t care. Made you smile. Listen to me now. I’m optimistic for several reasons. First, these are pretty reasonable, intelligent people. Sure, they literally crap through their mouths, but they can’t help that. No anus. If they had a choice in the matter, they’d use another orifice—I believe that deeply. As for us, something was misunderstood, and you’ll surely have a chance to straighten it out before we’re dragged off to some gallows, which, incidentally, would probably be another captivating example of unprecedented engineering.”
“Particularly due to their lack of necks.”
She ignored his muttering. “Second, Zisa and Pablo know where we are. They won’t just sit there laxing at the rally point, roasting… whatever, and one day wonder what happened to us. They’ll come, and they’ll come packing heat. Which brings me to C.”
“Did I miss an A and B?”
She stood up and patted the holstered MW on her thigh. “Roman octopus people have pretty lackluster arrest procedures. If we have to blast our way out of here…” She sprang into a gunslinger stance. “I’m ready for action!”
He looked up at her, acceding to her good cheer. “‘Funereal?’”
She smirked. “Thesaurus.”
“Have you noticed how we’re sort of opposites when it comes to emotional responses?”
“You’re just noticing that? Such a male.”
A resounding creak from above and bright light streamed into the cave. Tom switched back to standard optics. The top of the stone slab slowly descended with a loud crack as its axle protested the shift in weight. He grabbed both helmets, handing Angela hers.
“This thing could fall at any second,” Tom said as they both pressed their backs against the wall and squeezed into the helmets, sealing them into their neck receivers.
Angela kept talking, but in a whisper. “Nah, it’s a self-reinforcing design. See, the axle is fully encased, and the…”
She faded off when the door stopped rotating, teetering subtly at a horizontal position parallel to the tunnel floor outside, and several silhouetted Threck heads entered the meter-high space beneath. Tom’s optics exposure auto-adjusted and the figures materialized.
“Tom and Angela of Syons People,” one of the gawking Threck said. “Come out now.”
Angela’s hand drifted to her MW.
Tom touched her leg and addressed the Threck above. “I respectfully request the wise council’s time to explain any misunderstandings that may have arisen during our meeting. Our people have entirely peaceful intentions, wishing only to live in peace somewhere the Threck people find acceptable. In exchange for this generosity, we offer only the help you choose to accept.” The onlookers remained silent. “Or we can simply take our belongings, leave your land, and you need never see us again.”
There had always been a backup plan should the Threck people decline Minnie’s appeaclass="underline" an uninhabited, J-shaped string of small islands to the north of Threck Country—beyond the horizon, but well within skimmer range. The only problem was fresh water. The evacuees must rely upon seawater desalinization.
“Your sole mistake,” the Threck finally said, “was in addressing the council first, and not my group.” Tom suddenly noticed the drowsy eyes and the cloak’s purple trim.
Unhkte?
Tom pushed off the wall and stood. “I believe that was the objective until we happened upon Dowfwoss Fetz.”
“Yes, I am aware,” Unhkte said. “Come now. You have nothing more to fear for the time being.”
Tom helped Angela up. “The time being?”
“Yes. For the time being you are under the scrutiny of my group. This is maneuver. Do you understand?”
“I’m not sure I do.”
“Gesture,” Unhkte attempted. “For the council’s sake. ‘Scrutiny,’ we say. Tactical naming to quell concerns while not, ourselves, harboring such concerns. Do you understand?”
Tom got it. The Thinkers—or at least Unhkte—believed Tom innocent, even if the council did not, and had presented some sort of ruse to get them freed.
“I understand,” Tom said. “You have our gratitude.”
“We shall see. Come out now.”
Tom and Angela stepped over the puddle and struggled to find footing on the roughhewn bedrock beneath the exit. Seconds later, unannounced arms from above curled under their armpits and lifted them up and out of the cave.
Angela pulled her suit down at the legs. She sent one of the preset Threck phrases through her suit’s PA. “Thank you.”
Unhkte slid closer and regarded Angela. “Identical voice. You share this Threck voice.”
Earlier in the day, atop the trembling harvest cart, Tom had reviewed vid of the whole bath encounter, cataloguing observations while critiquing his own performance. Dissatisfied with his poor explanation of the whole talking suit thing, a better explanation had occurred to him that he was pleased to now share. “Our garb emits the words we put into it. It is like Threck whistle—producing sound your bodies alone cannot create, and it’s the same sound regardless of the user.”