T he overhead was low; Kris's head rubbed up against it. Between every two or three people a thick support beam went from the ground to that overhead, keeping thousands of tons of rubble at bay. She was actually standing on the pavement of the road they'd been driving on; the support pillars spread their burden wide around them, but no Smart MetalTM was wasted where it wasn't desperately needed.
"Well done, Nelly," Kris said under her breath.
"Thank you, Kris, I just wish I'd had more Smart Metal."
"Yeah."
The lighting was dim in the bunker Nelly had made. Kris couldn't fault Nelly; it probably took every gram of Smart MetalTM she had to keep the rubble over their heads from squashing them into a pulp that would hardly be more than fragments of DNA on the concrete and steel that smashed down on them.
Around Kris, people scrunched in closer to each other. The chairs Kris and her team had been seated on were gone, melted into the overhead that kept them alive. There were now sixty women and men crammed together, standing close, taking up as little room as possible as more Smart Metal was shifted to support their armored redoubt.
The air began to get stale fast.
NELLY, DO WE HAVE AN AIR SUPPLY?
NO, KRIS. I'M WORKING ON A CO2 SCRUBBER, BUT WE HAVE NO BOTTLED AIR IN HERE.
COULD YOU CONVERT SMART METAL INTO O2 ? Jack asked on Nelly Net.
THERE MAY BE SOME O2 IMBEDDED IN THE COMPLEX SMART METAL MOLECULES, BUT NOT MUCH. DO WE WANT TO PULL ANY SMART METAL OFF OF THE OVERHEAD OR ITS SUPPORTS?
RIGHT NELLY, BAD IDEA.
NELLY, DO WE HAVE ANY CONNECTION TO THE NET? Kris asked.
YES AND NO, KRIS, AS YOU ARE WONT TO SAY. WE CAN GET THROUGH TO THE BUNKERS IN FRONT OF AND BEHIND US. THEY CAN TALK TO THE NEXT ROW. ONLY THE MOST FORWARD AND AFT OF THE BUNKERS HAVE ACCESS TO THE GENERAL NET. OH, AND BEFORE YOU ASK, GENERAL BRUCE HAS ALREADY DISPATCHED A QUICK REACTION TEAM AND IS CALLING OUT THE WORLD TO HELP US.
STEVE'S SPENT ENOUGH TIME AROUND YOU DAMN LONGKNIFES TO KNOW IF THERE'S A BOOM, YOU'RE EITHER DOING IT OR UNDER IT, Abby said, and even managed one of her patented dry drawls on Nelly Net.
OKAY, NELLY, HOW CLOSE ARE WE TO COLLAPSING UNDER THE PRESSURE?
TOO DAMN CLOSE, KRIS. I WOULD STRONGLY SUGGEST THAT WE HAVE THE REDOUBTS CLOSEST TO THE END DRILL THEIR WAY OUT, THEN TURN AROUND AND SEE HOW THEY CAN CLEAR DEBRIS OFF THE TOP OF US. WE NEED TO GET A MOVE ON. I'M NOT BREATHING, BUT I KNOW THE AIR IN HERE ISN'T GETTING ANY BETTER.
YEAH, agreed all four of Kris's key staff.
I'M RESTRUCTURING THE END ITEECHE REDOUBTS INTO MOLES TO DIG THEIR WAY OUT. Nelly reported.
"Folks," Kris said to all hands in her bunker, "help is on the way. We'll have the rigs at the end dig themselves out first. Then we'll turn them around and start digging the next row out. We'll likely be the last."
Kris paused to let that sink in. "This may take a while. In the meantime, I suggest we get comfortable. I'm suspending all the rules against public displays of affection, so if any of you have ever wanted to hug the person next to you, feel free to do so.
Somewhere among the honor guard Marines a voice was heard, "You said you might date me if I was the last man on Earth. Is this close enough?"
There were chuckles among the troops.
"I'd slap you silly, but there's not enough room in here for me to swing a dead cat, much less my hand," answered a woman.
That got more chuckles.
"Everyone, get comfortable," Kris said. "Marines, you can undo the top buttons on your tunics."
What Kris had hoped would be greeted with thanks produced more complaints about elbows in eye sockets and somebody feeling somebody else up. Still, they were all good natured.
Kris was glad to hear the good humor. Her war fighters were in a hell of a mess. Worse, there wasn't a thing they could do about it but stand here and take it.
Using as little of the stale air as she could, Kris awaited rescue.