Mainspring 1 - Mainspring by Jay Lake

Author:Jay Lake [Lake, Jay]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2010-05-10T22:00:00+00:00

Gabriel was still watching over him.

This was where he needed to be.

A faint vibration in the brass around him stirred Hethor to motion once more. He might need to be here, but only to pass through. Shuffling in his ice-skater walk, Hethor scuttled after Simeon Malgus as quickly as his wedge-soled boots would allow.

The trip across the brass vee devolved into a painful nightmare of strained leg muscles, freezing hands, and sheer exhaustion. Hethor’s lips froze together at one point. The gold tablet within his suit refused to warm—rather it continued to impart a chill to his chest and gut that made his lungs shudder and his heart race. With the coming of dusk, he lost sight of Malgus toiling ahead of him. The sense of isolation brought Hethor nearly to the point of despair.

“Oh, God,” he said, stumbling along the vee, “You did not bring me this far to abandon me. Grant me strength, please, to carry on Your work.”

By way of answer, Hethor heard a faint clatter. He was heartened by this echo of the music of the world until he realized the clatter was slowly getting louder, accompanied by a rumble.

The gear! The track was approaching!

Hethor began to run, fast as he could on the wedge-shaped clogs, glancing up. Earth’s orbital track glimmered close above, a brass roof blocking out what should be his view of the stars.

“Malgus!” Hethor shrieked. “Don’t let me die here.”

He ran harder, fighting the weakness in his ankles and calves. The tablet dug in at his waist so hard as to draw blood. Under his steadying hands, the brass walls of the vee felt warmed, as if the approaching contact with the orbital ring were transmitting heat.

The clatter built toward the mind-blanking roar he’d heard at the Sacrament of Listening. Then louder. In the Orchid Grove, he’d been two miles below the gearing, without metal walls around him to amplify the sound.

The same metal walls that would amplify him to so much grease. Where was the end!?

“Simeon, help!”

Soon, Hethor could no longer hear his own breathing. His right foot slipped. The wedge-shaped clog tore free from the boot. Hethor found himself prone at the bottom of the vee, sobbing his fear. Not knowing what else to do, he pulled himself onward, scuttling like a silverfish trapped within the pages of a book as the roar washed over him, blanking out all thoughts except the sheer terror of survival.

The brass teeth of the orbital track came for Hethor.

SEVEN

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