The Sky People by S. M. Stirling

Author:S. M. Stirling
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
ISBN: 9780765327277
Publisher: Tom Doherty Associates

Too cold, was Marc’s thought as soon as they were all inside the loud cave of the hull.

He knew why: Pieces of the outer covering were off, and the storm-driven air ramming in was bringing the temperature down. They were high enough that they’d have needed bottled oxygen on Earth. Pressure fell off less rapidly here, which was a good thing, because they needed to be high lest they be caught in a sudden downdraft. Everyone strapped on padded helmets of strong, boiled ’saur hide with lights, loaded themselves with tools and kit, and headed up into the dark vastness of the hull. The headlamps speared through the dimness, flicking across the bulging surfaces of the lifting cells and the twisting regularities of the hull-frame and its bracing.

“Merde!”

That was Blair, blurted out in shock and surprising Marc a little even among the pounding urgency of the moment. He’d read the lips for the meaning. Being inside the hull right now was like being inside a darkened bass drum beaten by a million demented chimps. Jadviga settled for pointing with her headlamp.

Merde, Marc thought himself.

Number seven ring girder—one of the circular members that spanned the hull—had indeed cracked. And the splintered ends were rubbing against the surface of the adjacent gasbag. The problem was that the only way to get to it in the violently pitching aircraft was over the gasbag. They all climbed up the ladder to the axial walkway and paused for a second, clinging like baboons to a branch as the Vepaja heaved in three dimensions and looking at the rippling net-covered surface. A fine spray of water filled the air as they climbed, coming in bitterly cold through tears in the upper hull surface, and the slick surface of the cell glistened in the light of the headlamps.

Cynthia went first, jumping spread-eagled like a flying squirrel; there just wasn’t time for the cautious regulation way. Marc felt his stomach lurch. She skidded over the flexing cell as the airship rolled to one side, then caught her foot in a loop, swung three hundred and sixty degrees, and stopped with arms and legs splayed like a spider’s, the headlamp making a pool that underlit her contorted face.

Hey, podna, save some scared for yourself, eh? he thought, and leaped himself.

There was no time for safety lines or anything at all but going fangs-out and hair-on-fire. He scrabbled and caught at the net ropes, at the price of a broken fingernail. The sharp stab of pain barely registered; he tore the loose part free with his teeth and spat it aside. Blair made his jump, and Marc steadied him as the cell flexed and shuddered under the impact. Then they both did the same for Jadviga.

Back in the seventies on Earth, there had been a brief fashion for water beds, liquid-filled mattresses. Marc had tried one for a while, persuaded by a friend who said sex on them was like making love to a woman with infinite buttocks. It had

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