Unfortunately, after rounding the next corner, the winding and weaving path I’d been following came to an abrupt end. I looked around for another way, but I was completely blocked in by structural supports to the left and right as well. The shaft above me stretched more than ten meters high, so climbing up wasn’t an option. I had finally hit a bona fide dead end. I groaned in frustration. It seemed my only real option was to turn around and go back the way I came—but it felt like I’d already taken the only viable path to get here, and I really didn’t think I’d find a better route even if I were to start over from the very beginning.
And then I had an idea. I looked at the wall in front of me once more. These were just standard photopolymer walls like any other structure Titan would make, weren’t they?
I fished around inside my backpack and pulled out the survival hatchet that had been included in the emergency kit. On one side of the head, it had a standard axeblade, while the other tapered down to a sharp point like an ice pick. I gripped the hatchet tightly in my hand, then held it aloft and swung it down as hard as I could into the wall in front of me. The photopolymer readily gave way, splitting down the middle as the blade dug in. Just as I’d expected, the synthetic fibers could be chipped apart without too much trouble.
Like all Titan-constructed buildings, these structures had been created by hardening liquid photopolymer. But they didn’t simply let the liquid congeal into whatever form was needed—in most cases, Titan deployed a more organic architecture, depositing layer after layer of interwoven crosshatched sections to form a three-dimensional lattice structure. While the actual meshwork was far too small to be seen by the naked eye, it optimized structural topology while also drastically reducing the total weight of the end product. It was this lattice structure that allowed for massive, lightweight structures to be built from a considerably small amount of raw material, and this exoskeleton was no exception.
And to be sure, this optimized fabrication technique was more than sturdy and supportive enough for most functional applications. But when unexpected forces were applied to these structures from a direction they were never optimized to support, they could break. I suspected this exoskeleton’s design had not accounted for the possibility of an intrepid little human with a hatchet trying to dig her way through its interior. I really could tunnel my way through this wall, if I simply chipped away at it long enough.
I wasn’t entirely sure this was a good idea, admittedly. There was a good chance that boring a human-sized hole through a load-bearing wall or beam might result in the hole tunnel collapsing in on me. But I quickly pushed that fear from my mind; I had no time to brood over the possibilities. If the Titan suddenly decided to start moving again, one massive step would be enough to send me to my death. I just had to keep on moving forward. I drew back my hatchet, then brought it down for another strike. The wall began to fracture and crumble apart like an eggshell; it was sufficiently brittle that I was confident I could make it through little by little, but the sheer amount of wall I’d need to get through was intimidating nonetheless. Like an ant trapped inside a massive sponge cake, I burrowed blindly through the thick walls of the Titan’s exterior.
5
I was literally at the end of my rope, swaying back and forth as I dangled helplessly in midair, my thighs wrapped tightly around the knot I’d tied to ensure I didn’t slip right off the bottom. The light from the emergency headlamp I’d strapped to my forehead was swaying back and forth along with me. I would have loved nothing more than to contemplate at length how to best get myself out of this sticky situation, but unfortunately I knew I couldn’t hang on like this much longer. I was fast approaching the limits of my physical stamina; such was the curse of being a sedentary homebody my entire life.
I craned my neck to get a better look down below me. The hard photopolymer floor was about a three- or four-meter drop from where I presently hung. Five meters above—or the exact length of the emergency rope, rather—was the ledge I’d just rappelled from, having fastened the other end around a sturdy part of the interior structure. But unfortunately, it seemed my eyes had grossly underestimated just how far down I’d need to descend, hence my current predicament.
So now I had just two options: climb back up, or drop down.
I could probably rule out the former right off the bat. Thanks to a little thing called gravity, I’d need arm strength in order to work my way back up, but I had none to spare. This would suggest that falling was my only option, but I wasn’t sure I could do that either, at least not without breaking my legs. And on top of that, I wouldn’t be able to retrieve the rope at that distance, so I’d be SOL if I hit another dead end that required a similar stunt in order to advance. But based on my rough internal calculations, I was fairly close to my destination, so I hoped that wouldn’t be an issue. And I really, really didn’t have the strength nor mental fortitude to go all the way back up to the counseling room now. After mustering up a bit of nerve, I opened my legs and let the knot slide up between my thighs, then carefully lowered the rest of my body down as far as I could possibly go. When at last I hung from the very end of the rope with my hands high over my head, I let go—and fell feet-first to the floor.