Chapter Text
Maren’s heart was pounding. Icheb stared at the readouts on the monitor with a growing sense of dread. 141 beats per minute. Her location hadn’t changed at all since her heart rate had accelerated, and Icheb’s instincts told him she was trapped. But by what?
It was possible she was injured. But if that was the case, why would she not activate her beacon? She was obviously still conscious, based on her biometry. Maybe she can’t reach it, he thought. If she had become pinned by something, or both of her arms were too injured to move, it was possible she would be unable to activate the device.
Another terrifying possibility struck him, and he quickly brought up the climate tracking data for her location. “Computer, how thick is the sea ice at this location?” he asked aloud.
“2.3 meters,” was the computer’s reply. Icheb felt relieved. It was extremely unlikely that she would have fallen through ice that thick.
“She’s definitely trapped by something,” the Trill said, echoing Icheb’s thoughts. “What kind of wildlife is there in that region?”
“Polar bears, harp seals, walruses, orca,” Icheb answered. His stomach sank as he realized he hadn’t even considered predators. He had been so focused on the severe cold, and the technology required to keep Maren alive in it, that he had overlooked the fact that there could be more immediate threats nearby.
Lira eyed the readouts with a worried expression. “How long do we give her until we pull her out of there?” she asked Commander Schmidt. “She’s looking pretty distressed.”
Schmidt sighed. “All right, get us a visual,” he said. “Let’s see what’s going on.”
****
Maren looked from bear cub to bear cub and tried not to breathe, flinch, or do anything else that might make her look interesting to play with and/or snack on.
Meanwhile, she had never been so grateful for the suit’s toileting system.
The cubs circled her slowly, sniffing at her helmet and occasionally reaching out to swat at her. She knew the helmet could take the abuse, but she was concerned that their sharp claws might tear a hole in her suit. Sure enough, on the next swipe, one cub went for her shoulder, and the top layer of fabric on her suit snagged. Unfortunately, the nanofiber was strong enough that the cub’s claw got stuck.
“Shit,” Maren exclaimed, as the cub began frantically trying to free itself. Instinctively, she grabbed for its paw to try and pull it free, but that only succeeded in making the bear more scared and angry. With its other paw, it smacked at her helmet. This time there was nothing playful about it, and her faceplate cracked under the blow.
Frantically, she lifted her phaser and fired at the bear, stunning it. As it collapsed, she yanked its claw out of her suit sleeve and spun around to stun its sibling. But the other cub was no longer alone – his enormous mother was now charging straight toward Maren, teeth bared, clearly ready to tear her apart. This time, Maren couldn’t stop the scream from rising from her throat. She quickly stunned the cub, then took aim at the mother bear and fired, holding the trigger down for a continuous stream, just in case a single shot wasn’t enough to take her down. It turned out to be a good move. It took 6 full seconds to render the massive creature unconscious, and when she finally fell, she was less than a meter from Maren.
Through her cracked faceplate – a superficial crack, thank God – Maren looked around in shock at the three unconscious bears and burst into tears. She couldn’t remember ever having been that scared before. She could still hear her heartbeat pounding in her ears, and she was trembling. Gasping for breath between sobs, she scrambled out of her hole in the snow and started to run – or at least push harder through the snow than she had been doing before. She barely had the presence of mind to check her compass to ensure she was moving in the right direction.
On her heads-up display, the oxygen warning began to flash. She only had an hour of air left. The warning snapped her out of her panic. She immediately stopped crying. “Computer, reduce airflow by 20 percent,” she ordered the suit’s computer. She’d done plenty of high-altitude endurance training. Lowering the oxygen level might make her feel lightheaded, but it would buy her some extra time.
She had to make sure she put as much distance between her and the bears as possible before they woke up – especially the mom, whom she didn’t think would stay stunned for more than twenty minutes, tops. She also eyed the sun in the sky. It was getting disturbingly close to the horizon.
Hail Mary, full of grace … Maren prayed the familiar words silently as she forced her way through the snow. She was afraid to say them out loud for fear of using any more oxygen than necessary. She was scrambling so fast that she was practically on all fours, bracing herself with her hands as she slipped and stumbled across the frozen landscape.
She glanced up at her helmet display to check the time. 12:51. Just a little over an hour of daylight left. She supposed that dovetailed nicely with the hour of air remaining in her tank.
It’s now or never, she realized, trying desperately to pick up her pace. She wished there was some way she could know how far she was from the settlement at Alert. If the sun went down before she reached there, she was finished. With no air in her tank, and temperatures falling even further, she’d have no choice but to punch out.
“Computer, reduce airflow by 10 percent,” she said. It was risky, and she knew it. This would be like running a marathon on Everest. But she also knew her body was more capable than most of handling extreme conditions.
The speaker in her helmet stated its objection. “Warning – reduction of airflow will result in oxygen levels outside normal human requirements. Confirmation required.”
“Confirm override,” Maren said, already feeling the effects of her prior reduction of oxygen.
“Override confirmed. Airflow will be reduced by 10 percent.”
Maren just kept stumbling through the snow. Hail Mary, full of grace …
****
“What is she doing?” Lira, the Trill ensign, looked at the screens in shock, her blue eyes wide as she stared at Maren’s readouts and the visual display, which was being streamed from the observation deck.
Icheb sat back in his chair and rubbed the ridge between his eyebrows. “She’s attempting to win,” he said, feeling defeated. He admired her determination. He loved her for it. But she was actually risking her life right now, just to beat a test. He tried not to think about the fact that he had done the exact same thing just twelve months before.
“I want a shuttle with a medic on board ready to retrieve her within seconds if she loses consciousness,” he told Lira.
“Aye, sir,” the Trill replied, rushing to a console to make the arrangements. To Icheb’s relief, Schmidt didn’t belay the order. The commander sat stone-faced, watching Maren clamber across the ice. He didn’t seem to be enjoying himself anymore – the sadistic look of pleasure on his face had evaporated around the time the visual display had revealed three stunned polar bears and a very frightened young woman scrambling away from them. The biometrics told the rest of the story – Maren’s heart rate was 153, her blood oxygen was dangerously low, and she kept reducing her own airflow to buy herself more time.
“4.3 kilometers to go,” said Lira. “I don’t know how she hasn’t passed out already.”
“She’s a long-distance runner,” Icheb said. “She qualified for the Federation Olympic trials. Her endurance is significantly above average for a human.” He didn’t mention that she had a bit of augment DNA passed down from an ancestor – Starfleet didn’t know that, and he intended to keep it that way.
“Her blood oxygen level is at 84 percent,” Lira pointed out. “Much lower than that, and she’s at risk of hypoxic brain injury.”
Commander Schmidt turned to Icheb with a bemused look. “Is she always this stubborn?”
“Yes, sir,” Icheb replied.
Schmidt shook his head. “I remember when you took your exam last year. Five days outside the dome. No regeneration, no food, no water. I thought you’d never last.”
“But I did, sir,” Icheb said icily.
Schmidt nodded and turned back to watch Maren. “Yes, yes, you did,” he said quietly. “I recall how upset she was over what we put you through.”
“Then you have some idea of how I feel right now,” Icheb told him.
“And yet, you haven’t asked me to pull her out.”
“She’d never forgive me if I did, sir.”
Commander Schmidt turned around and locked eyes with Icheb. For a long moment, he just stared at the younger man with a critical gaze, appearing to size him up. “You do realize that in a real emergency survival scenario, there’s not going to be any shuttle to have ready to rescue her when she pushes herself too far?” he asked. “That her recklessness could very well get her killed someday?”
Icheb nodded. “It scares me every day.”
Schmidt looked at him for another beat, then turned back to the viewscreen. “She’s just a little over three kliks out,” he observed, sounding simultaneously impressed and disappointed. “She just might make it.”
Icheb said nothing. He just stared at the viewscreen and hoped for the best.