C6 The Bad News (Patreon)

This next scene for Executioner's Gambit seemed super long, so I split it in two. I think you'll like these. I'm really proud of them.

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For the rest of the evening, Tori and Druka debated what to do. Despite that there clearly was no moral solution to the commissioner’s dilemma, they surprised themselves with the mental gymnastics needed to justify taking the deal. In fact, on three separate occasions, they had agreed to do it, only to change their minds before actually leaving the apartment.

“Well, if we’re not going to save ourselves, maybe we should save someone else?” suggested Tori. “We could save Holly and Sese. The commissioner’s never seen me. He wouldn’t have any idea who he’s saving.”

Druka stared at her. “If I were gonna take the damned deal, I’d want you to get the surgery! I mean, he offered it.”

“Yeah, but I can’t,” she sighed. “We could pick two cubs! I don’t know who, but someone. Someone with lots of years left.”

“Oh yeah,” he chuckled, shaking his head, “two little cubs with the sleeves and legs of their adult-sized environment suits flapping about while they walk. The commissioner would totally believe that was us.”

She beat on his shoulder with a fist. “Well, what about teens? You could rescue Inea next door.”

“No way!” he grunted. “I’m not leaving you here. You could take Inea—”

“No!” she cried, actually throwing her arms around him. “I’m not leaving you here! I brought you here. I’m never leaving you.”

Druka sighed. “Well, who do you want to save?”

“I want to save us,” she sobbed. “I know that makes me a terrible person, but I don’t want to die. I don’t want you to die.”

“Even though it will kill everyone?”

“Yes… No… I don’t know. But saving someone else doesn’t change that,” she whimpered. “Saving anyone kills everyone else.”

Druka inhaled a deep breath and interlaced his fingers behind his head. “It’s like one of those ethics questions from school.”

“Yeah, but worse,” she said. “Those were always, ‘Do you save five geroo or ten?’ and they wanted you to pick ten regardless of how. This is the needs of three versus the needs of ten thousand. Isn’t ten thousand always going to be more important?”

He shrugged. “If it was ten thousand survive or three do, then it would be simple, but it’s a little extra time for ten thousand. What if it was only an extra minute of life for ten thousand?”

“It’s not,” she grunted, “it’s a few weeks, give or take.”

“Yeah,” he said, “but what if it was only a minute? We get full lives, or everyone gets one more minute. What would you do?”

“Well, that would be a crappy deal,” she said. “I’d save us.”

“Right. And what if it was the opposite end of the spectrum?” he asked. “What if everyone gets ninety percent of their years remaining or we get our full lives?”

Tori looked up at him. “I wouldn’t sacrifice them all if they had that much time left.”

“Exactly. So, it’s not that we can’t make a choice,” said Druka. “If it were a minute, we’d go. If it were ninety percent, we’d stay. I guess the real question is, ‘Where’s the line? How much time makes one choice become unreasonable and the other choice becomes okay?’”

She laid her head back down. “I don’t know. Do you?”

“Not really, no,” he admitted. “I think back in school, they would have wanted us to maximize things. Like, two weeks for ten thousand people … how many lifetimes is that?”

“I don’t know,” Tori said. “It sounds like a lot.”

“Yeah, it does,” he sighed. “But then again, how many thousands of years does the commissioner have left? That must be more.”

Time dragged by in the silent apartment until Tori spoke again. “I want to tell you something really honest, but I don’t want you to hate me.”

“I’m not gonna hate you.”

“You promise?”

“I promise,” he said. “I’m not gonna judge you if you don’t judge me.”

“I won’t.” She took a deep breath and slowly let it out. “Well, the thing is, there is one thing that really tempts me—I mean, apart from not dying.”

Druka scooted his chair closer. “What’s that?”

“Well, what’s going to happen if we don’t take the deal?”

He shrugged. “You said two weeks, then the power goes out.”

“Yeah, but what happens during those two weeks?” she asked. “Are you gonna go to work?”

“Probably not,” he admitted. “We’re just making brackets. Who in the hells needs brackets if we’ve only got two weeks left?”

“Exactly,” she said. “Is anyone going to show up for work?”

He stared at her awhile before shrugging.

“What if no one shows up to grow the food?”

That got his attention. “Well,” he gasped, trying to rationalize things, “I’m sure the captain would handle it. If growing food was the only thing left to do for two weeks, then we could all take turns. Everyone could work an hour a day to get it all done.”

“And when everyone panics?” she asked. “When everyone storms the hydroponic bays? When they grab everything, tear up the plants, ruin everything, just because they’re afraid they’ll go hungry?”

“Uh,” he gasped. “You don’t think—”

“I don’t know!” she cried. “That’s my point. Sacrificing ourselves so everyone can have two good weeks? I don’t want to do it, but at least I’d feel okay about it. But what if the ship falls apart the moment everyone figures out that the trinity isn’t coming back online? How many days would they get once they destroyed all the plants? What would make the oxygen? What if skipping the deal only buys them two weeks of fear and hunger and bad air and…”

“Wow,” Druka sighed. “So, you’re saying it would be a mercy if we took the deal?”

“You think I’m a terrible person,” she said, “looking for a way to justify this.”

“No, I don’t!” he reassured her. “But if it was a mercy—”

“I wish I knew,” whispered Tori.

Druka’s stomach rumbled.

“What time is it?” asked Tori, sitting up. “I guess we missed dinner. And I kinda skipped lunch.”

“It’s late,” he said, “really late. And I skipped both breakfast and lunch.”

“Druka!” she scolded him.

“I was too anxious to eat,” he admitted.

Tori climbed from her seat. “Yeah, okay, I can understand that. Well, let’s go down to the market and see what they still have.”

With the trinity offline, ship rules prohibited many to conserve power and oxygen. No food was cooking, no one was smoking. Lots of the crew were drinking, enjoying the unexpected holiday, but the couple didn’t share the festive—albeit subdued—mood the others seemed to be enjoying.

Druka bought them a pair of yogurt cups with fruit on the bottom, and they sat at the edge of the market, talking quietly, ignoring and being ignored by the others.

When they finished their food, they discarded their cups and went for a stroll.

Before long, they found themselves outside the airlock to the commissioner’s stateroom. No one was around and the indicator above the hatch was still lit. Did I lead us here? Tori wondered. Or did he?

Druka gestured toward the hatch with a flip of his palm. “Well, uh, you should probably tell the commissioner your decision,” he said quietly, as if worried Troykintrassa might hear.

Unconsciously, Tori took a step back. “No, I can’t.”

“No? You can’t just leave him hanging,” he said. “That’s cruel.”

She hung her head and spent a moment searching for words. “If I talk to him, he’ll talk me into it.” She explained, “He’s really persuasive, and I just can’t live with that on my conscience.”

“Okay, fine,” said Druka. “I’ll talk to him.”

She blinked in surprise. “Are you sure?” He smiled and nodded. “Okay.”

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Reviewer's link: https://docs.google.com/document/d/1lT07HfsX4152vBgCt0jfBp4MLNcgYer6Prc-CS-aZFk/edit?usp=sharing

Thoughts?