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 chariot-like 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 tight-suit. 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 saw a previously hidden door in the side of the dome…
He was a drunk, but he was also an Explorer. He had a good brain, no matter how many neurons he'd pickled. In time, he'd find the truth… especially since the solution was as easy as detaching his prosthetic arm. The AI would acknowledge him as completely flesh and kowtow to him, laying the town's resources at Tobit's feet.
Tobit with an air force.
If he came to the door now, he might even catch sight of the missiles. It wouldn't matter that the weapons were disarmed. He could just instruct the AI to make more.
Maybe the next Exploration Team to visit Melaquin wouldn't find the surface quite so unspoiled.
The Second Farewell
Languidly, the lark wheeled forward. The light of the hangar gave way to the darkness of the airlock area. At least we're clear, I thought. No matter how angry Tobit may be that I kept this a secret, he can't catch us now.
The airlock door started to close.
We might make it, I thought.
Stupid.
Tobit and his disciples raced into the hangar. A Morlock pointed her finger at our plane — the source of the noise. Tobit's face twisted with fury. I had let him believe Oar and I were leaving in sharks, not a flier. He fumbled out his stun-pistol and pointed it in our direction.
His hand shook. I couldn't tell if it was a meaningless tremor or if he had pulled the trigger.
I remembered what my stunner did to the shark.
The lark vibrated. It had been vibrating all along, trembling with the roar of its engines.
Had he fired? Had we been hit?
The airlock door squeezed shut, cutting off the light from the hangar. We were in darkness.
The jet noise choked to burbling as water flooded into the airlock chamber. The roar in my ears faded to a damp hiss — not a real sound but an aftermath of the aural onslaught, my eardrums stunned into a bruised sensation of white noise.
I lay back in my seat panting. Behind me, Oar moaned; my hearing was so battered, I couldn't tell if her whimpers were loud or soft.
Should I unbuckle myself and go to her? That was dangerous… especially if the lark suddenly shot forward when the other, airlock door opened.
"Please," I said aloud to the plane. "Can we have some light? I want to see how Oar is."
A soft blue glow dawned around the edge of the floor — a ribbon of illumination barely the width of my finger.
It was enough; tears trickled down Oar's glass face, but she gave me a look of determined bravery. I almost laughed — she sat bolt upright in her chair, strapped in so tightly she could only move her head.
She would be all right. She was built to be immortal.
I turned away. With dim light inside and blackness out, I saw my reflection in the cockpit's glass.
My face was perfect. My cheek was perfect.
I was whole.
Part XV
BEAUTY
My Blindness
It was my face. It was not my face.
I did not know how to look at myself when I wasn't disfigured.
Was I now beautiful? Was I now merely normal?
What would other people think?
What would Jelca think?
It was ridiculous to ask such questions. I refused to be so weak that my self-image depended on others.
But I didn't know how to look at myself. I didn't know how to see myself. I didn't know how to assess myself.
Not that the reflection in the glass was truly Festina Ramos. I was wearing a mask: an invisible mask, but underneath there still lurked my purple "pride."
The real me: damaged… deformed.
But I couldn't see the real me. I didn't know what I was seeing.
A woman with clear brown skin. Strong cheekbones. Green eyes you could actually look at, without your attention being dragged downward in guilty fascination.
I couldn't remember ever looking into my own eyes — not beyond searching for fallen lashes and my few attempts at using kohl.
Were they beautiful eyes? What does it mean to have beautiful eyes?