Expendable - James Alan Gardner [95]
“If they’re too tight, you won’t be comfortable.”
“How tight is too tight?” She yanked on the drawstrap hard enough to jerk her back against the seat. “Is this what wearing clothes feels like?”
“Depends on the type of clothes,” I answered diplomatically.
“Perhaps I should have some clothes. The other fucking Explorers said that clothes were a sign of civilization.” She gave another yank on the drawstrap.
I swiveled my seat away. Although I tried to concentrate on the activities of the maintenance bots outside, from time to time I heard a soft grunt as Oar jerked the straps tighter.
Ventilation
The hologram man suddenly appeared beside me, hovering a centimeter above the floor. Bad sign, I thought: evidence that the AI hadn’t accurately calibrated the image to match the height of the cockpit.
“Gird ye for takeoff,” the man said. “All is in readiness.”
“How is this going to work?” I asked.
“Thy carrier bird will ride chariotlike to the next chamber,” he answered, pointing toward the far end of the hangar. A set of doors had begun opening down there; the room beyond was pitch black. “From thence you will pass into the waters that surround this, mine abode.”
Obviously, the far room was an airlock—a staging point before plunging into the river beyond. “How well does the lark work underwater?” I asked.
“It was fashioned for that very purpose. Your craft will ascend full fathoms five ’til, cresting the surface, it cleaves the air and soars on high. Once safely borne upon the wind, you may speak to it, guide it, wheresoever you will.”
“Good,” I nodded. “You’ll shut the door to the main dome once we’re gone?”
“As you have commanded.”
“You can’t close up any earlier?”
“Alas, no. This your conveyance exhales fierce vapors which must be allowed exit into the larger space beyond.”
“Ventilation—fair enough.” I glanced out the window and saw maintenance bots scurrying away. “Looks like we’re ready to launch.”
“Just so,” the man bowed. “Now prepare thyself. The lark is ready and the wind at help, thy associate ’tends, and everything is bent for the Southland.”
He winked out instantly. The next moment, the room erupted with the roar of engines.
An Open Door
The sound was enough to deafen granite. Instinctively I slapped my chest, right where the MUTE dial was on a tightsuit. If I’d been wearing my helmet, it would have begun generating a similar roar 180 degrees out of phase with the original, canceling the thunderous noise. Without that protection, all I could do was cover my ears and yawn in an attempt to equalize pressure.
Oar had her mouth open too. I think she was screaming, but I couldn’t hear.
I prayed for the lark to start taxiing toward the airlock chamber. Once we were surrounded by water, the din would be muffled to a more tolerable level.
But the lark didn’t move.
It’s just warming up, I told myself. I tried to remember if jets had to reach a certain heat to operate or if that was some other type of engine. Too bad the Academy avoided giving us even a rudimentary introduction to aviation. Vacuum personnel wanted to keep their monopoly on aeronautics knowledge.
The roar continued. It must be raising an unholy ruckus in the main part of the habitat—a booming clamor echoing off the dome, reverberating in the closed space.
“Shit,” I said without hearing my voice. “Tobit will wake up for sure.”
I faced the main door, my hands pressed hard against my ears. Maybe Tobit would dismiss the sound as a delusion—some DT nightmare, to be avoided, not investigated. But the Morlocks would wake too, asking, “What’s that noise?” in whatever language they spoke. Tobit would know he was missing something.
“Close, damn it,” I told the door. “Close.”
The lark moved: an unhurried circle to aim its beak toward the airlock. I swiveled my chair to keep watch on the other door. If it closed before Tobit arrived, he would never figure out what had happened—he would shrug it off and take another swig from his flask. But if he