"Ken Macleod - Learning the World" - читать интересную книгу автора (MacLeod Ken)

to me but seemed suitable.
"Mine is Atomic Discourse Gale," I said, sitting down on the platform.
"I know," he said. "Your caremother asked me to meet you." He jerked his head
back, indicating the aeroplane. "I can take you to the keel, if you like."
I had been determined to reach the keel myself; but I saw the man and the aircraft as
part of my adven-ture, and therefore within my resolution rather than as a weakening
or dilution of it. Besides, I now had a much better idea of how long it would take to
climb all the way.
"All right," I said. "Thank you."
He stepped over and peered into my eyes. I noticed a tiny shake of his head, as if
something that might have been in my eyes wasn't there (a nictitating mem-brane, I
now realise). He led me over to the aircraft, motioned me to sit in the front and lower
seat, showed me how to strap up, and passed me a set of wrap-arounds, transparent
and tinted. I slipped them on. He climbed in behind me and started the engine. The
pro-peller was behind us both, the wing above. After the engine had built up some
power the little machine shook and quivered, then shot to the edge of the plat-form
and dropped off. I may have squealed. It dipped, then soared. My stomach felt
tugged about. Wind rushed past my face. The collar of my jacket crept up over the
top and sides of my head, and stiffened. I hadn't known it had that capability.
We flew in an irregular spiral, perhaps to avoid stair-ladders and other obstacles
invisible to me, but always up. I looked down, at the ground. I could see houses and
vehicles, but not people. Other small aircraft buzzed about the sky, at what seemed
frighteningly short clearances. The air felt thinner as we climbed. As we levelled out I
could feel the sunline hot on my shoulders, bright out of the corners of my eyes.
Ahead loomed the forward wall. Featureless from the dis-tances at which I had
always seen it, it now looked complex, with gigantic pipes snaking across it and
great clusters of machinery clamped to it. Wheels turned and pistons and elevators
moved up and down. Rectangular black slots became visible, here and there on the
surface, and we flew towards one. As naively as I'd thought I could climb to the
sunline, I'd imagined we would fly to it, but we flew into the slot—it was two
hundred metres wide by at least thirty high—and landed. Other small aircraft were
parked in the artificial cavern. It was in fact a hangar. Constantine helped me out of
the seat. My memory may be playing tricks, but I fancy I felt slightly lighter.
"I thought we were going to fly all the way," I said, trying not to sound querulous.
"The air doesn't go all the way to the sunline," Constantine told me. "So we will take
the lift."
I followed him across the broad floor to an incon-spicuous door. Behind it was an
empty lift, big enough to hold about a dozen people. Its walls were transpar-ent,
giving a view of a dark chasm within which gigan-tic shapes moved vertically,
illuminated by occasional random lights. The doors hissed shut and the lift began to
ascend. So rapid was its acceleration that my knees buckled. Constantine grasped
my shoulder.
"Steady," he said. "It doesn't get worse than carry-ing someone piggyback."
Vaguely affronted, I straightened up and stared out. Looking down made me dizzy,
so I looked up. The space in which we moved was in fact quite shallow in relation to
its size. We were headed for a bright spot above, which I knew to be some
manifestation of the sunline. The lift decelerated far more gradually and gently than it
had accelerated. As it did so, I found that I was becoming lighter. An experimental
downward thrust of the toes sent me a metre into the air. I yelled out, startled and
delighted, as I fell back.