Something beeped impatiently behind me. I stepped quickly out of the way of a flatbed dolly that wheeled itself under the glass goose. Already waiting there were a frame-mounted pair of robot arms, patiently holding a missile they had detached from the plane's belly. With commendable gentleness, the arms lowered the payload onto the dolly then went to work on the next missile. As newly anointed queen, I had given strict orders to the AI: no more weapons, now or ever. The missiles were to be removed and dismantled as fast as safety allowed. For all I knew, their firing mechanisms might already be dead — a team of nanites could gut several kilos of wiring in seconds.
The naked man bloomed into existence in front of me. "All proceeds apace, milady. You and your daughter may soon depart."
"And you're sure I'll have no trouble piloting?"
"Do you but speak your smallest wish, and on the instant, your craft will obey."
"Good." I had no objection to voice-controlled flight. My teachers at the Academy claimed there was no technical barrier to creating an automated starship that would outperform human operators on every scale. However, the Admiralty would never allow such a ship to be developed. If you did away with Vac crews, you couldn't help seeing that the only essential personnel in the Fleet were Explorers!
ECMs. Essential crew members. I liked the sound of that.
Flightworthy
Oar stood against one wall of the hangar, her eyes wide at the sight of so much hustle and bustle. I walked over and said, "Impressive, isn't it?"
"I do not like machines that move," she answered. "Especially the small ones. They are like stupid little animals."
"They aren't so stupid," I told her. "They're making sure we can fly."
"We will fly inside that bird?"
"Yes."
"How far can we fly, Festina? Can we fly to your home in the stars?"
"These craft look strictly atmospheric," I answered, "but you bring up an interesting question." I motioned to the hologram man. "If I asked you to build a starship, could you do it?"
"Nay, good queen. That is forbidden me. Those who dwell on this planet are rightly granted dominion over their native land and seas; but to step beyond, into the vasty deeps of night, you must make your own way."
"Pity," I said, though his answer didn't surprise me. The League views interstellar space as sacrosanct — closed to undeserving races. If you weren't advanced enough to reach space on your own, it was only logical that the League wouldn't help you. Transporting ancient humans to a safe haven on Melaquin was one thing; giving them the means to gad about the galaxy was something else.
"How much longer before the bird can take off?" I asked.
"But a moment's time," the hologram replied. "Mayhap you would care to enter now, that your departure can be more swift."
I gave Oar a look. "Ready to get in the plane?"
"Will we truly fly?" she asked.
"I hope so."
"Milady," the hologram said with a chiding tone, "how can you doubt me? My heart beats to the rhythm of the League of Peoples; shall I then place sentients in harm's way?"
I didn't answer. An AI of the League would never invite a sentient to board a plane that wasn't safe… but did that really guarantee anything? The AI was not in perfect repair. Would it even know if the aircraft was flightworthy after four thousand years? Or would the sculpted glass wings fall off before we hit cruising speed?
As if you ever expected to die in bed, I told myself. "Come on," I said to Oar. "Let's board."
Straps
The cockpit had two swivel seats, with enough space between them that passengers wouldn't block each other's view through either side of the glass fuselage. To aid in sightseeing, there were no clunky controls to get in the way: no steering yoke, no pedals, no levers or dials or switches. That lack disturbed me; voice operation was one thing, but no manual backup was something else. I had no skill flying aircraft, but if we were crashing, I wanted the chance to wrestle blindly with the controls.
It would give me something to do.
Oar plopped into the right-hand seat; I helped buckle her in before I took the other chair. "These belts are interesting," she said, plucking at the X-shaped bands crisscrossing her chest. "Can I make them very tight?"
"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 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.