Read Online The Ganymede Club by Charles Sheffield - Free Book Online
Authors: Charles Sheffield
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skill at disappearing and made them miss their flight, it would somehow become her fault. Her parents would never forgive her.
Less than half a kilometer to go. Would they emerge above ground, or would the tunnel lead them right to the Gate's lower level? That was Lola's main worry when, without warning, all the lights went out. The darkness around her filled with curses and nervous moans. At the same moment she lost her grip on Spook's sweaty palm.
"Augustus Belman! Stay where you are and don't move."
"Don't you ever call me that! I'm Spook. And I'm not moving." His voice, right next to her, was high-pitched and indignant. "Where d'you think I could go? I can't see a frigging thing!"
"No cussing!" He sounded perfectly normal—and the lights, thank God, were flickering back on. Not as bright as before, but enough to see by.
"Let's go, Spook—as fast as we can."
Something far more serious than a lighting failure was going on. Lola felt a tremor—the ground vibrating beneath her feet. A current of air swept through the tunnel from behind, and it was filled with fine dust that, for a few seconds, had everyone coughing and choking.
Forward movement was becoming more difficult. She had told Spook they must travel fast, but some people seemed to have given up. They were lying down or sitting, leaning against the tunnel walls. It was necessary to step over legs and bodies. Trying not to tread on them, Lola also had to keep an eye open for the routing signs that blinked occasionally to life.
Gate 55. Gate 57. The signs were there. Had they somehow missed Gate 53? With enormous relief, Lola saw the sign they wanted over to their left. Its light was out, but she could make out the arrow pointing to an escalator.
An escalator that seemed to lead up forever into darkness—and that was not working. Lola pushed Spook ahead of her, clutching the back of his shirt. The steps were clogged with people, some doubled over and panting for breath, a few others standing hopelessly waiting for the escalator to return to life and carry them upward.
Spook stopped, making her bump into him. "Sis, what's happening here?"
She didn't have the breath to answer, even if she could. The ship they were supposed to be on departed at 7:00 P.M. It was now five forty-five, and she dared not even guess at the turmoil and delays they were likely to encounter at the gate.
"Keep going." The end of the escalator was finally in sight. Gate transit and security were just beyond. Ominously, the area was almost deserted. A solitary woman in transit blue stood at a security checkpoint, directing angry and baffled passengers.
"Flight 670 already left." She hardly glanced at Lola's outstretched tickets. "I know it shouldn't have, but we're not running on the usual schedules."
"What's happening?"
"Go along the tunnel there and up the other escalator—that one's working." She ignored Lola's question. "Hurry. Another flight is ready to leave. It's full, but we'll squeeze you on board."
"Our bags—," protested Spook.
"—will be fine." Lola grabbed his hand again. "Let's go." She dragged him toward the tunnel, and was rewarded with a grateful smile and a wave from the transit official.
The tunnel was long and curved to the right. It led to a rising stair. At the upper end Lola saw the purple of the night sky. She ran up the rising escalator, eager to be above ground again. Just before they reached the top, the opening ahead filled with a flash of pale orange. As they emerged onto a wide spaceport launchpad, Lola expected to hear the explosion. There was no sound, only another flicker in the sky like a far-off sheet lightning, and then, from one of the other pads, the whoosh of a laser launch.
"Go on." A man in blue was waving them toward the stubby ship that stood on their pad. He showed no interest in tickets or any form of identification. "Run. You'll be the last. Lift in two minutes."
It was sunset, with the last glimmer of light on the western
Less than half a kilometer to go. Would they emerge above ground, or would the tunnel lead them right to the Gate's lower level? That was Lola's main worry when, without warning, all the lights went out. The darkness around her filled with curses and nervous moans. At the same moment she lost her grip on Spook's sweaty palm.
"Augustus Belman! Stay where you are and don't move."
"Don't you ever call me that! I'm Spook. And I'm not moving." His voice, right next to her, was high-pitched and indignant. "Where d'you think I could go? I can't see a frigging thing!"
"No cussing!" He sounded perfectly normal—and the lights, thank God, were flickering back on. Not as bright as before, but enough to see by.
"Let's go, Spook—as fast as we can."
Something far more serious than a lighting failure was going on. Lola felt a tremor—the ground vibrating beneath her feet. A current of air swept through the tunnel from behind, and it was filled with fine dust that, for a few seconds, had everyone coughing and choking.
Forward movement was becoming more difficult. She had told Spook they must travel fast, but some people seemed to have given up. They were lying down or sitting, leaning against the tunnel walls. It was necessary to step over legs and bodies. Trying not to tread on them, Lola also had to keep an eye open for the routing signs that blinked occasionally to life.
Gate 55. Gate 57. The signs were there. Had they somehow missed Gate 53? With enormous relief, Lola saw the sign they wanted over to their left. Its light was out, but she could make out the arrow pointing to an escalator.
An escalator that seemed to lead up forever into darkness—and that was not working. Lola pushed Spook ahead of her, clutching the back of his shirt. The steps were clogged with people, some doubled over and panting for breath, a few others standing hopelessly waiting for the escalator to return to life and carry them upward.
Spook stopped, making her bump into him. "Sis, what's happening here?"
She didn't have the breath to answer, even if she could. The ship they were supposed to be on departed at 7:00 P.M. It was now five forty-five, and she dared not even guess at the turmoil and delays they were likely to encounter at the gate.
"Keep going." The end of the escalator was finally in sight. Gate transit and security were just beyond. Ominously, the area was almost deserted. A solitary woman in transit blue stood at a security checkpoint, directing angry and baffled passengers.
"Flight 670 already left." She hardly glanced at Lola's outstretched tickets. "I know it shouldn't have, but we're not running on the usual schedules."
"What's happening?"
"Go along the tunnel there and up the other escalator—that one's working." She ignored Lola's question. "Hurry. Another flight is ready to leave. It's full, but we'll squeeze you on board."
"Our bags—," protested Spook.
"—will be fine." Lola grabbed his hand again. "Let's go." She dragged him toward the tunnel, and was rewarded with a grateful smile and a wave from the transit official.
The tunnel was long and curved to the right. It led to a rising stair. At the upper end Lola saw the purple of the night sky. She ran up the rising escalator, eager to be above ground again. Just before they reached the top, the opening ahead filled with a flash of pale orange. As they emerged onto a wide spaceport launchpad, Lola expected to hear the explosion. There was no sound, only another flicker in the sky like a far-off sheet lightning, and then, from one of the other pads, the whoosh of a laser launch.
"Go on." A man in blue was waving them toward the stubby ship that stood on their pad. He showed no interest in tickets or any form of identification. "Run. You'll be the last. Lift in two minutes."
It was sunset, with the last glimmer of light on the western
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