She claws at the creaky chains holding her in the water. She didn’t expect her Sinking Rite to be so paralyzing. She’s been raised for this her whole life; she shouldn’t be scared. Yet something is telling her to swim up, to get air; instinct, she supposes. She closes her eyes and thinks. I need to swim to the bottom, she tells herself, but something stops her. This is wrong. Swim up. She shakes her head roughly and her hair spirals through the blue water. Think. She can hold her breath for at least 7 minutes, thanks to genetic engineering and training. She needs to swim to the bottom, retrieve old gear, and swim back up. Easy enough. She casts her eyes down to the sea floor. She takes the chain connecting her wrist to the distant floor and pulls. She pulls for her colony; for all the people who mocked her. She pulls for her father; who always told her she was useless except for this moment. She drags herself through the blue, darkening as she gains depth.

Her hand slips. She shoots back up to the surface. She screams silently. She was so close. She takes the chain in her hand again, gaining depth slowly.

She slips again, bobbing up to the turquoise blue. The chains squeak, seemingly laughing at her failures. Black splotches dance in her eyes. How long has she been down here? Four, five minutes? She needs to get down. But air; air calls her name, begging for her to return. She shakes her head. Then again. Down.

But when she swims down, she only goes up. Air claws at her neck, pleading her to come up. She’s lightheaded, the black nearly filling her eyesight, but she cannot go up. It is against the law. Down. She sings in her head. Down. She lets her body go limp and takes a gasp of water. It fills her lungs and air cries betrayal. She closes her eyes in relief and relaxes. The water fills her mouth and nose but she isn’t there to stop it.

Only then does she begin to sink.