by Jack Webber
He stepped onto the moving walkway and noticed that it wasn't moving. "Shucks!" he blurted out.
"Yeah." said the frequent flyer at his side. "You have to hoof it today. That's not unusual round here."
John grunted and pulled his flight bag up over his shoulder as he set a brisk pace. He should have allotted more time. C4, C5, C6.
John thought he saw a flash of red hair in the distance, but then it was gone.
C7, C8, C9.
He stepped off the malfunctioning walkway and jogged towards the counter. There she was, just ahead of him. She passed through the door and into the sniff chamber.
"I'm not the only one who's late." he thought as he approached the counter. "John C. Larse." he declared, directing his voice towards a large microphone and the woman behind the desk simultaneously.
She looked back with an emotionless stare. Then she seemed to realize that John had no clue what to do. "Sir, you put your right hand here and look into this camera. The computer validates your voice, hand print, and retinal scan."
John did as he was told and she waved him through. "You're clear." she said in a flat voice. He wondered - why she was here at all. Seems like the computer could handle everything!!
John stepped through the door and into the sniff chamber, about the size of a large closet. The doors sealed shut and a gentle breeze began to blow upward through the small opening in the floor. It ruffled his shirt as it moved up to the ceiling, carrying trace molecules into the vents above, where a waiting computer sniffed the air for the slightest whiff of explosives or contraband.
If anyone was caught with explosives on his person, or in his luggage, he would be interrogated for several weeks, then put slowly to death for all to see.
John thought these grizzly public executions were unnecessary, but the government considered it a deterrent, a message to any would-be terrorist. Besides, there were some sick people who simply liked to watch. Unfortunately John was one of them. Not very often, maybe once or twice a year.
When everyone else was asleep he would slink downstairs, enter his pass code, and watch the torture channel. He had his hand on the remote at all times, in case Tania came downstairs for a drink of water. He kept the volume low, so that only he could hear the screams. He watched for a couple hours, and that sated him for the next six months. Nobody knew, not even his wife. Of course the government knew, but he didn't realize that. He was being monitored, covertly, along with everyone else who signed on to the torture channel. It was a wise precaution. The channel continued to air, despite public protests, because it acted as bait, attracting the anti-social, the mentally unstable, and the members of the underground.
John didn't know any of this as he engaged in the sick pleasure of his semi-annual ritual, yet the statistics were about to ring true. He was already flirting with the underground by dealing with Squanto, and in two weeks he was going to up the anti.
The breeze stopped and the outer door opened onto the jet-way.
John recognized the red braid slipping out of sight around the corner. "Jane." he called out. She turned back towards him and smiled.
"Hold on, I'll be right there." He stepped away from the sniff chamber and the outer door closed behind him, as the inner door opened to admit the next passenger.
John trotted towards Jane as though she was a long lost friend. Actually he was glad to have the company; he really didn't want to fly alone.
They sat down in seats 3A and 3B, with John at the window.
"We just made it." said Jane.
"Yes, lots of traffic today." He looked at the touchscreen in front of him and tapped the drink icon. A menu of beverages appeared, with the alcoholic drinks on the right.
"Hey, we're in first class, I'm going to have a drink." John announced as he made his selection. "Care to join me?"
"Great idea." said Jane, but she was interrupted by a synthesized voice from overhead.
"The doors are now closing; passengers please take your seats." The cabin door swung shut and made an air tight seal. "The flight plan has been received from ground control. We should be in the air for 4 hours and 17 minutes. Please enjoy the flight. Your attendant's name is Marcy; press the call button if you have any questions."
As if on cue, Marcy emerged from the galley with her cart rumbling ahead of her. "Good morning." she announced in a cheerful voice, as the plane pulled away from the terminal. She passed out the drinks to the members in first class, then slid her cart deftly back into its parking spot. She didn't have much time. The plane was already approaching the runway, and you didn't want to be standing in the aisle during take-off. Marcy hopped into her seat at the front of the cabin just as the plane was cleared for departure.
"Hold on to your drink," advised Jane, "or it will be all over the front of your shirt. Don't keep it straight up and down; tip it forward as the plane accelerates."
"Right." replied John. "Or I could just gulp it down now, and then I wouldn't have to worry about it." He adopted the latter strategy as the plane turned onto the runway.
FIFTEEN
The passengers experience 2 G's of acceleration, which is no different from moving onto the express way, but somehow the added half a G of lift makes all the difference. It felt like they were headed out into space.
John looked out the window and saw the airport drop away, like a miniature city that Mark might play with. The plane pierced through the cloud deck like a knife. He forgot his fear as he looked out over the clouds, houses, streets, and the approaching coastline.
In another minute they were over the ocean and ready to break the sound barrier. The roar of the engines increased as sound piled up just ahead of the wings. Then the plane punched through Mach 1 and the sound dropped away. It was actually quieter than a car, and he could talk to Jane with ease.
The plane gained altitude and speed, but it was hard to tell over the featureless ocean. The forward acceleration continued, providing the usual sensory paradox.
John felt like the plane was headed straight up into the sky, as he was pulled against the back of his seat, yet his eyes told him a different story.
The ocean provided a horizon that could not be denied; the plane was indeed travelling parallel to the Earth. After a few seconds of mental ambiguity he wisely closed his eyes and waited for the plane to reach cruising speed.
His thoughts returned to the sniff chamber, and the frightening consequences of being caught.
It was just last year, wasn't it? The man who made an enemy of someone in the underground. That's what they think happened anyways. Someone planted a "device" in his luggage just before he boarded a flight to Australia. He endured the entire interrogation process, and the horrific execution, before they realized what had happened. The government offered an apology to his family, but that was all. A spokesman for the Ministry of Information said this was a very unusual case. "Mistakes like this are regrettable, but unavoidable. ... Believe me, there will be an investigation." And there was, but it didn't lead to a change in procedure as far as anyone on the outside could tell.
John was careful not to take anything from anyone before his flight. No pamphlets, no free samples, nothing.
The soft rumble of the engines assumed a higher pitch as the scramjets took over. The acceleration eased down to zero, and the plane was in level flight.
John stood up to regain his bearings and collided, rather abruptly, with the overhead bin.
"You're a little too tall for that." said Jane with a laugh. "Or else the plane is too short."
John sat down again and ordered another drink. He turned to Jane with her green eyes sparkling. "You don't mind this at all, do you? Flying I mean."
"It's ok." she said. "If you don't look out the window, it's just like a car ride."
John took her advice and kept his gaze inside the plane for the next two hours. In fact his eyes were closed for the second hour as he drifted into a light sleep.
Jane read quietly, trying not to disturb him. W
hen Marcy came through the cabin, Jane simply waved her away.
John might have slept longer, but the synthesized voice broke in.
"Ladies and gentlemen, if you look to the right you will see the space elevator stretching up into the sky. At one time our ancestors had five functional elevators in operation, but as the Earth grew hotter, it became impractical to maintain these complex structures situated at the equator. The other four fell into disrepair, and spun off into space approximately 20 thousand years ago. This is the only one that remains."
John peered out the window with interest. There it was, a thin black wire rising up from the sea. At his altitude it seemed to have the thickness of a person's arm, though this didn't really tell him much, since he didn't know how far away it was.
As he looked towards the sky the cable increased in girth, like the body of a black snake. If he could extend his gaze upwards some 22,000 miles he would see the midpoint of the elevator, spanning 500 feet across.
Perhaps the black snake swallowed a rodent whole, and its belly expanded to accommodate the giant meal. But John couldn't look straight up, as the window was too small. Still, the elevator was a marvel to behold, a magnificent feat of engineering stretching out into space.
Jacob's ladder, running through the clouds and providing access to heaven!
He could almost imagine angels scurrying up and down its length.
Then John looked down towards the sea, and that was a mistake. White steam stretched as far as the eye could see. It moved about, roiling up and down as if it were alive. A monster, spread across the entire planet, animated by the boiling water below.
He turned back towards Jane, his face almost as white as the steam below. "The oceans," he stammered, "they're all boiling away."
"Yes, the top fifty feet or so." replied Jane. "But it all condenses at the poles and runs back into the sea again. Believe it or not, the Earth is pretty much in equilibrium. For now anyways. ... Until the sun moves into its red giant phase."
"Yes," said John, "but I've never hung suspended over the ocean before. If the plane goes down for any reason, I mean, if we have to ditch in the ocean, we'll be thrown into boiling water."
"Just like the book I'm reading." Jane picked up the book and showed it to John. "It's called Shogun, and in chapter 3, ..." Suddenly she realized this was not going to help.
She put the book back in the pocket in the seat in front of her. "Well anyways, you really don't have to worry about that. We're travelling 7 times the speed of sound, and if anything happens to the plane, we'll be blown to smithereens by the supersonic air flow. You won't feel a thing. It'll be over in seconds." She took his hand, and he didn't pull away.
John leaned back and closed his eyes. He didn't speak for several minutes, then curiosity got the better of him. "Shogun, what's that about?"
"It's a book about the Japanese." explained Jane. "You remember I told you about the Japanese. They didn't survive long after the dawn of technology, but for a few thousand years they had a culture and a language like no other. I'm trying to learn the language you know, from the old archives. Anyways, this is a great book about the clash between the English and the Japanese, their cultures as different as night and day."
She passed the book to John and he tapped the next page icon in quick succession. "It's a big book." he said. He was tempted to jump straight to chapter three, but decided against it. Instead, he went back to page 1 and began reading, slowly, just to pass the time.
Jane seemed to know so much about so many things. She read all the time, and now she was trying to learn a language that was more than few millenniums dead. Why? Because she was curious, and the language was nothing like her own.
"You have to learn the language if you're going to understand the culture." she explained one day. It was all beyond him, a person with that much time on her hands, and that much drive. Well, she didn't have any child, that’s why. She had no evolutionary contract to fulfil, so her time was her own. Must be nice.
John had finished the first chapter and was about to begin the second when he was interrupted by the synthesized voice of the plane.
"Attention ladies and gentlemen. We are approaching our destination. Prepare for deceleration. We recommend you wear your seatbelts."
John and Jane fastened their seatbelts as the whine of the scramjets dropped away, replaced by the low rumble of the traditional jet engines. The plane felt like it was tipped forward, heading into the ground at a 45 degree angle. This was another perceptual illusion. It was actually slowing down while in level flight.
The deceleration was mild compared to the acceleration of take-off, but John was glad he had his seatbelt fastened nonetheless. It would be rather embarrassing to slide forward onto the floor. He already made a fool of himself by smashing his head against the ceiling; that was enough for one day.
John read the first few pages of chapter 2, and then passed the book back to Jane. He looked out the window as Siberia drifted beneath him.
It was a beautiful metropolis, its buildings and streets framed in lights that pushed back against the winter night. Red lights, green lights, flashing lights.
"Wouldn't the kids love this." he thought. He could see the airport coming up fast. The plane had been subsonic since it crossed into Russia, but now it lowered its flaps in preparation for landing.
John slid forward against his seatbelt, but he barely noticed.
They flew past buildings, towers, highways, and parks, and perhaps that was the world famous Siberian zoo.
The plane selected a random location on the runway to avoid wearing out the same patch of pavement, measured the wind speed, and adjusted its descent accordingly. John barely noticed as the wheels touched the ground. The engines kicked into reverse and the plane slowed to 20mph, with plenty of runway to spare.
"That wasn't so bad." he thought to himself, as he unfastened his seatbelt.
The plane taxied for a few minutes, then pulled up to a gate. The jet way approached the cabin like a snake coming out of its cave. Marcy opened the door and bade farewell to her passengers, as stewardesses had done for a hundreds of thousand years. John and Jane smiled at her on the way out; she really was a good hostess.
SIXTEEN
They walked along the jet way and into the terminal, which was filled with people walking this way and that. It took Jane a while to figure out which way to go, but the signs were clear, and the walkways were functioning properly, so it didn't take long to reach ground transportation. They strolled out of the terminal into the winter night, which was cool and refreshing.
"Just like your living room isn't it?" asked Jane cheerfully.
"Yes," agreed John," but with a nice breeze."
He looked at a row of cars waiting for passengers. "This looks like a car for two." he announced, pointing to a small red car that stood just 50 feet away. They traversed the distance quickly and hopped in. Jane tapped the hotel icon and a dozen establishments appeared on the screen. She looked and the names and images, but didn't find the one she wanted.
"It's down here." said John, pointing to the lower left corner of the screen. "The letters are small, but I think that's the Gorbachev Center."
"Right." said Jane as she tapped the icon.
The car pulled away and turned down Moscow Ave, merging into a stream of traffic that flowed in unison, with barely 6 feet between cars. "He won the Nobel Peace Prize you know."
"What?" asked John, opening himself up for another ancient history lesson.
"Gorbachev I mean." She paused for a moment, then resumed. "Shortly after the dawn of technology, the planet was covered with fission and fusion weapons, 50,000 of them! It's a wonder we're here at all. Anyways, he was instrumental in bringing all that to an end. They didn't tear down their arsenals over night, but it was a beginning. Well that's what I've read anyways."
They talked for several minutes about how strange it must have been; dozens of countries armed with powerful weapons, poised to blow
each other up over territorial squabbles or ancient religious feuds.
"It's a wonder we survived." reiterated Jane. "After all, the Baileens didn't, and they were a lot like us."
"Well they survived after going through some harsh times." corrected John. "But it took them 200,000 years to rebuild a technological society."
"Yes, but what a waste." replied Jane. "Were we smarter, or did we just get lucky?"
Fortunately John didn't have to respond to her unanswerable question. "You have arrived." announced the car in a synthesized voice that was familiar, yet somehow different. The vowels were shifted just a bit to match the local dialect. You wouldn't call it an accent - it wasn't that pronounced - just a slight difference in harmonics and durations.
They stepped out of the car and walked slowly towards the main entrance, enjoying the cool night air. Short sleeves, no shades, just like walking on Mars.
John held the door for Jane as she entered the lobby of the hotel. It was a spacious room with a vaulted ceiling and fluted columns built into the walls. Plush couches and chairs lined the walls, while a fountain in the center of the room sent jets of water streaming into high parabolic arcs that fell back into the pool at Isaac Newton's command.
Jane stopped to watch while John went over to the front desk. She deflected the waterfall with her hand, directing the cascade this way and that. After she got splashed a couple of times she left the fountain and caught up with John at the front desk.
"John Larse." repeated the clerk as he typed the name into his computer. "Oh yes, the energy conference! Antarctic Power and Light has taken care of everything. You're in room 425, one of our embassy suites. The door panel has been programmed with your hand print, so just go right up."