Princess Corinnes idea had sounded insane, but she merely shrugged, saying, We do this sort of thing all the time. Of course, she was from Fin, which explained much. That pocket nation inhabited one of Spyres gigantic ailerons, a wing hundreds of feet in length that jutted straight down into the airstream. Originally colonized by escaped criminals, Fin had grown over the centuries from a cold and dark sub-basement complex into a bright and independentif strangerealm. The Fins didnt really consider themselves citizens of Spyre at all. They were creatures of the air.
Over the years they had installed hundreds of windows in the giant metal vane, as well as hatches and winches. They were suspected of being smugglers, and Corinne had proudly confirmed that. We alone are able to slip in and out of Spyre at will, shed told Venera. And, as their population expanded, they had colonized five of the other twelve fins by the same means they were using to break into Sacrus.
To reach Sacrus, one of Corinnes men had donned a parachute and taken hold of a rope that had a big three-barbed hook on its end. He had stepped into the howling airfall and was snatched down and away like a fleck of dust.
Venera had been watching from the tower and saw his parachute balloon open a second later. Instantly, he stopped falling away from Spyre and began curving back toward the hull. Down only operated as long as you were part of the spinning structure, after all; freed of the high speed imparted by Spyres rotation, hed come to a stop in the air. He could have hovered there, scant feet from the hull, for hours. The only problem was the rope he held, which was still connected to Buridan.
The big wooden spool that was unreeling it was starting to smoke. Any second now it would reach its end, and the snap would probably take his hands off. Yet he calmly stood there in the dark air, waiting for Sacrus to shoot past.
As the pipes and machine-gun nest leaped toward him he lifted the hook and, with anticlimactic ease, tossed it ahead of the rushing metal. The hook caught; the rope whipped up and into the envelope of speeding air surrounding the hull; and Corinnes man saluted before disappearing over Spyres horizon.
Theyd recovered him when he came around again.
Now, brilliant light etched the cramped gun emplacement with the caustic sharpness of a black-and-white photograph. One of the men was employing a welding torch on the hatch at the top of the steps. Sealed ages ago, like we thought, shouted Bryce, jabbing a thumb at the ceiling. Judging from the pipes, were under the sewage stacks. Theres probably toilets above us.
Perfect. They needed a staging ground from which to assault the tower. Do you think theyll hear us?
Bryce grimaced. Well, there could be fifty guys sitting around up there taking bets on how long itll take us to burn the hatch open. Well find out soon enough.
Suddenly, the ceiling blew out around the welder. He retreated in a shower of sparks, cursing, and a new wind filled the little space. Before anybody else could move, Thinblood leaped over to the hole and jammed some sort of contraption up it. He folded, pulledand the wind stopped. The hole the welder had made was now blocked by something.
Patch hatch, said Thinblood, wiping dust off his face. Wed better go up. They might have heard the pop or felt the pressure drop.
Without waiting, he pressed against his temporary hatch, which gave way with a rubbery slapping sound. Thinblood pushed his way up and out of sight. Bryce was right behind him.
Both were standing with their guns drawn when Venera fought her way past the suction to sprawl on a filthy floor. She stood up, brushing herself off, and looked around. It is indeed a mens room.
Or was it? In the weak light of Thinbloods lantern, she could see that the chamber was lined in tiles that had once been white but which had long since taken on the color of rust and dirt. Long streaks ran down the wall to dark pools on the floor. Venera expected to see the usual washroom fixtures along the walls, but other than a metal sink there was nothing. She had an uneasy feeling that she knew what sort of room this was, but it didnt come to her until Thinblood said, Operating theater. Disused.
Bryce was prying at a metal chute mounted in one wall. It creaked open, and he stared down into darkness for a second. A convenient method of disposal for body parts or even whole people, he said. Im thinking more like an autopsy room.
Vivisectionists lounge? Thinblood was getting into the game.
Shut up, said Venera. Shed gone over to the rooms one door and was listening at it. It seems quiet.
Well it is the middle of the night, the preservationist commented. More members of their team were meanwhile popping up out of the floor like jack-in-the-boxes. Minus the wind-up music , Venera mused.
Soon there were twenty of them crowded together in the ominous little room. Venera cracked the door and peered out into a larger, dark space full of pipes, boilers, and metal tanks. This was the maintenance level for the tower, it seemed. That was logical.