Buzz Nausea, king of the aircraft-men. (Down the final flight)
Dave folded his arms, apparently expecting me to agree with him. There seemed to be a lot of people holding other people to ransom. I looked out at the three impossible aircraft again. They were circling far closer than before. Yes, people want to travel, but herded into something noisier and less comfortable than a corporation bus? One of the impossible aircraft buzzed past, seemingly close enough to touch. The pilot had long black hair and appeared to smile in my direction as she passed.
"I've got to go," I said, turning towards the door end of the Quonset.
"You can't..."
Dave had a hand out to stop me, but I was away past the shelves, out the door and dodging across the railway tracks to the stairway I'd climbed up in the first place.
The cabin-crew were nowhere to be seen when I peered round the bottom of the stairway. I made a show of looking for the forward toilets, as if anyone really cared, which got me through the curtain and into business class. The inhabitants pointedly ignored me. A member of staff would soon be on hand to show this type from cattle-class his place in the scheme of things.
I had a much better idea of my place than I'd had for some time.
I found the cabin-crew. They were all packed into the forward galley, huddled round the intercom handset. Dealing with Buzz Nausea looked like it was going to be a popular event. I strode past them and on into First Class.
I reached the nose of the 'plane and turned. I had no idea who I was looking for.
A woman in the second row of seats raised one sculpted eyebrow and saluted me with a Martini glass. Jodphurs, white blouse, and what looked like a flying jacket draped artfully over her shoulders. She didn't look like a prisoner. When she re-crossed her legs, her riding boots were resting on the folded out part of the seat, rather than being manacled. If indeed the leg-things were called manacles. The name suggested hands, after all.
"Say, brother. Are you lost?"
Her voice was an advert for the positive effects of the Marlboro and Martini diet.
I hadn't thought about what to do next.
"Buzz Nausea is going to land on the engineering deck, and I think he plans to rescue you. But the crew are going to use high pressure hoses on him, and that... It doesn't seem right. So I came to find you and, um, do something..."
She polished off her Martini and bounded upright.
"Doing something sounds just jake. Lead on, MacDuff!"
The people in Business Class pointedly ignored the couple furtively looking for a free cubicle on order to join the mile-high club.
At the base of the spiral stairway, I stopped and turned to her.
"You know what's up here, right? I mean, it's not what you'd expect..."
She smiled.
"That question usually goes the other way, brother. Come on, we need to leave this joint." She wiggled past me and vanished up the stairway. I steamed after her.
We crouched behind a spare engine and peered out past the crankcase ends. There were a mob of boilersuited chaps connecting up high pressure hoses to big hydrants.
"What do we do? Turn the taps off when they leave?" I said.
She gave me a look that seemed to indicate just how new I was to the air-pirate business.
"They'll just turn them back on. Here, take this and see to the two hoses your side."
She reached into her left boot and pulled out a rectangular object. I must have looked especially confused, because she muttered under her breath and thumbed the blade open. A straight razor.
"See? Mother's little helper."
She pulled something from her other boot. The blade flicked open with a snap.
"Mother's other little helper."
Her grin was feral. She leaned over and grabbed my shoulder.
"You'll just need a couple of slices underneath, as close to the coupling as you can manage. The water pressure'll do the rest," she said.
I started to turn, but she gripped my shoulder hard and pulled me back.
"One more thing. Don't get killed. If things get hot, lose the shiv and play dumb. You're still one of the saps from downstairs."
I started to object. I was in the process of rescuing the ungrateful woman and saving her boyfriend from almost certain death. 'One of the saps?' She could bloody well rescue herself if that was her attitude.
I looked up to see her dodge round the end of the engine-block, knife in hand.
I scurried round my end of the engine and made for the nearest hoses at the crouch. I slashed and sawed at the things until I thought I'd done more than enough damage, then looked across for my companion. She'd vanished. I stood carefully and squinted against the glare from the open doors. There was a flash of dark as one of the impossible aircraft flew low in front of the machine-shop. I thought I could see a figure dodge out of the murk and round the end of one of the massive doors, so started picking my way round the equipment stacks in that direction.
I looked round the end of the door, shading my eyes with one hand. The aircraft had landed and were clustered at the far end of a metal runway that seemed to be hanging in space. About halfway out towards them, a crew in wet weather gear were rolling out the business ends of the hosepipes. There was a commotion amongst them; two were pointing at the aircraft, while a third individual was shouting into a radio handset. I stared past them. Two people were clambering from their aircraft, while the cockpit canopy on the third glittered in the sunlight as it was pushed back.
There was a shout from behind me. I dropped behind a packing case and peered round from the shaded side. Another crew were hauling on the taps. I thought I saw Dave amongst them. The hoses skittered and bulged as the water pressure hit them. Then, with a sound that was nearer an almight crack than a rip, the hoses gave way. There were four great fans of water that turned into thick arcs as the remains of the hoses were ripped away. I turned and scrambled deeper into the gloom, away from the flood and chaos, and more or less going head-first down another stairway.
I caught myself on some moulded handrails and managed not to fall in a heap on the floor of wherever I was.
I hauled myself upright and looked around. Dust sheets, mirrored things and artist's impressions of deserted airport concourses and monorail interchanges. I lifted the dust sheet covering a somewhat triangular object. It was a white baby grand piano. I looked about for the other stairway; the one down to First Class. It was half-hidden between a mirrored wall and some chromed tubes that seemed to vanish into the middle distance through some trick of forced perspective.
At the bottom of the staiway I turned left automatically. Back towards cattle-class.
"Are you lost?"
The voice was in my right ear. I turned slowly and did my best not to look like a guilty economy passenger caught breathing the nicer air that belonged to business travellers and the independantly wealthy. I smiled as insincerely as the attendant.
"Nope. Just stretching my legs. DVT and all that. You know."
"If you could just make your way back to your seat, the seatbelt light will be going on shortly."
I made my way back to my seat.
I patted my pockets as I walked to passport control. Badly-folded ticket printout, mobile, wallet, passport, straight razor. I slowed and was huffed at by some suit as she went past. Explain that to customs: 'No, I was given it by some woman I rescued from First Class. We broke into the machine-shop on top of the 'plane and slashed some hoses...'
They'd lock me up for talking shite.
I did my best not to look criminal as the passport people eyed me, and again as I strode purposefully through the green bits of the customs maze.
The terminal was crowded with people leaning on the barriers and resigned drivers holding up name-cards. I ignored the lot of them and looked about for the pictogram that meant 'Railway'.
"Excuse me." A hand on my shoulder and a voice in my ear.
I thought about running. I thought about telling people what had gone on. I could hear Dave in my head; 'They'll never listen to a word. They know how aircraft work. You'll just be another nutter on the internet.' I let a breath out and turned to face my accusers.
The woman with the flying jacket and Marlboro voice grinned her feral grin.
"Do I get my razor back?"
I dropped my overnight bag and reached into a pocket for the thing. She grabbed my elbow.
"Wait. The cops'll be all over us if the spot it."
She turned to her companions.
"See? Told you he was a stand-up guy."
Buzz Nausea and the woman with the long black hair shared a look. She nodded and Buzz turned to me.
"You saved our lives. Can we give you a ride anywhere?"
"Anywhere you like," I said.
Buzz picked up my bag and the woman with the black hair linked arms with me.
"That's my favourite place."