Slow River

“Right now, not very, but I don’t know how long it will stay that way. I can try adjust the nutrients by hand until we can replace it. The system should catch any big swings—ones that are within known parameters, anyway—but the van de Oest proprietary nutrients have got to be restored.”

“How much time do we have”

“Hard to tell. These bugs are genetically designed to fail without exactly the right ingredients, but given the mixture of microbes and varying substrates available here, I couldn’t begin to predict when or what form that failure will take.”

“But you’re sure they’ll fail.”

“Yes.”

A beat of silence. “Give me your best estimate of how much time we’ve got.”

“A week? It depends on what we get down the line.” All it would take, was one big spill… “I can’t believe Hepple’s done this.”

“Oh, he’s probably got some very plausible-sounding reasons.” She sounded vicious.

“Then you’ll need to go over his head.”

“I’ll try.”

“Try hard. Meanwhile…” I started pulling down all the slates, feeling about on the shelf. Empty.

“If it’s the manual you’re looking for, I’ve got it. Oh, don’t look so surprised. I knew Hepple was up to something. I just didn’t know what. I decided to prepare for disaster.”

I felt foolish for underestimating her.

She read my expression and gave me a tight, amused look. “What do you know about emergency and evacuation procedures here?”

“Not much.” Which is why I’d wanted to take another look at that manual.

“We’ve got just about enough sets of emergency escape breathing apparatus, if you include the SCBAs and the moon suits. But I haven’t had the chance to check them and find out if they’re properly maintained. And I don’t know how many of the shift know how to use them. Which is why I need you. I don’t know who you are, or why you’re here, but I’ll use you if I can.”

I took the manual home. There were two messages waiting. The first was from Ruth; she was smiling. “Hope you enjoyed the dinner the other day. Let us know when and we’ll come and help you redecorate.”

The second was Spanner: “It’s just before midnight. I’m on my way out. I should have the money we need by morning. I’ll call you.”

I ate, and opened the manual at random. I would not worry about Spanner and I would not feel guilty that it was her taking the risks. I would not.

After an hour or so, I pushed the manual aside. Rules and regulations were not enough to distract me from how Spanner might be earning the money for our scam. She chose to take the risks, I told myself. It was she who had suggested the scam in the first place. I was doing my part, too.

Maybe she was back already, safe. I called. No reply.

I turned on the edit box. Tom appeared on the screen. If I wasn’t going to get any sleep, I might as well do something useful.

At six in the morning I was playing the short video of Tom over and over again, obsessively. I called Spanner’s number for the tenth time. Nothing. I ran the video again. By the magic of digital imaging, Tom stood at a slide pole, looking bewildered; faced the image of his bank-account representative and wept; threw a book against the wall in frustration. Text drifted across the pictures: You can help. Send money now. The account numbers would be inserted later, when I got them from Spanner.

I tried her number again.

I had started out taking notes: shave a frame here, a pan there; add a zoom focus and fade. Now I was just watching, over and over.

It was after seven. This time when there was no reply from Spanner, I knew there was something wrong.

There were no lights shining around Spanner’s door seal; no reply to my knock. I tried the handle. It swung open.

“Spanner?”

No reply. I went in.

“Spanner?”

No one in the living room. I put my head in the bathroom, the bedroom, the kitchen, and stopped abruptly.

She was standing very still by the kitchen counter, profile to the window. “I was worried to death! Why didn’t you-”

She turned her head very, very slowly.

“Oh, dear god.” She tried to smile and I felt my face stiffen in shock. I reached out to hold her, support her, but stopped short of touching her; She was standing rigidly and her face was a grayish, doughy color. Pain. Pain would do that.

“Is the medic’s number on your system? No, don’t try to nod. Just… just blink if the answer’s yes.” She blinked. I raced into the living room, punched in his number. It was his service. I told him to get here right away, then, worried I might be garbling my words in shock, told him everything all over again. I ran back into the kitchen. Spanner was still standing there, helpless.

“Don’t worry, I won’t touch you. Do you need to lie down?” She blinked twice,

I couldn’t touch her. She wouldn’t lie down. She couldn’t seem to talk. We stared at each other. Her breathing was stertorous. I smiled. I didn’t know what else to do.

“You’ll be fine. The medic’s on his way. He’s very good. But you know that. Remember how he fixed me? You’ll be fine.”