Grunel’s machine gave us light and heat, but it could not make the air any less thin. We’d been aboard the Hyperion more than eight hours now, and night was coming on. As the temperature outside plunged, the heaters struggled just to keep the engineerium at freezing. We were all exhausted.
A few hours earlier, Kate had asked Hal if she could go to the dead zoo and itemize Grunel’s collection. Grudgingly he’d given her half an hour. I’d accompanied her, and held the torch while she hurriedly scribbled details about the creatures in the display cases. Her portable camera, it turned out, was useless in the intense cold. When she tried to take a photograph of the yeti, the shutter wouldn’t even open. Though Kate had complained bitterly that it wasn’t nearly enough time, when the half hour was up we were both shivering violently, and Kate could barely hold her pencil. We’d retreated to the comparative warmth of the engineerium.
Now huddled under the blankets with the others, I noticed that both Kate and Nadira were taking more frequent sips of their tanked air. Hal had not touched his oxygen, nor had I mine. I worried we might run out before we were rescued. We all had dry coughs by now, though Nadira’s was the worst….
We needed sleep desperately. I volunteered to take the first two-hour watch. Kate and Nadira put their masks on and slept. Hal slept too, without oxygen, coughing and mumbling in his dreams. The sprinklers in the vivarium came on every half hour, melting the frost that was constantly reforming on the glass. I had a clear view of the dead aerozoans, drifting listlessly. The storm slackened some, but still the ship moaned and muttered. I was glad for the lights.
I wished I’d brought Grunel’s diary with me. I would’ve liked to look at his sketches of the floating city. His giant machine made an ominous creak, and I glanced over at it, still worried it might rip free from its moorings and squish us as we slept.
If Hal hadn’t bundled away those blueprints so quickly, we might have known how this machine actually worked. I got up to examine its lights and instruments, and listened to the constant burble of water through the pipes. It seemed to be circulating the water to and from the great tank mounted on the wall. The generator gave off heat too, like the side of a pot-bellied stove.
The hydrium smell I’d noticed earlier was stronger now. I didn’t think it was coming from the vivarium. Sniffing, I tracked it to the back of Grunel’s machine. A thick hose ran from the machine to a vent in the ship’s hull. Some water had frozen against the coupling and cracked the rubber. I heard the hiss of escaping gas and put my nose closer. The smell of ripe mangoes wafted over me. The fissure was a small one, and I didn’t think there was much risk of hydrium filling up the entire room and suffocating us. But there was precious little air as it was, and I wasn’t taking any chances. I ferreted around the worktables until I found some sealing tape and wrapped it three times around the crack. The hissing stopped; the smell faded.
This machine produced hydrium, I realized in wonder.
I’d never heard of such a thing. Hydrium came from deep fissures in the earth and was refined before its use as a lifting gas. Somehow Grunel had figured out a way to make his own. What else this generator of his did, I could not imagine.
When I woke Hal later for his watch, I told him about it.
“I’d be happier if it made gold,” he said. “Get some sleep.”
Lying down, I felt the thin air more acutely than before. I was tempted to use some of my tanked oxygen but wanted to save it for Kate or Nadira if they needed it. It took me quite a while to fall asleep.
I dreamed we were all sleeping in the engineerium and were woken by a dreadful honking sound. It came from the enormous coffin. I was frozen with terror, but Kate and Nadira and Hal seemed calm enough, and said someone must be inside. They told me to go and let the poor fellow out. I did not want to go, but without even moving my feet, I found myself upright and skimming over the floor to the coffin. The honks had become more and more frequent and urgent, like the sounds of a giant and demented goose. I knew what I would find.
I heaved up the lid, and there he was again, the same malformed creature I’d seen behind the door. He was half encased in ice, and trying to speak, but his throat and mouth were frozen and he could not make any words. I wrenched myself from the dream and woke up with a shout bottled in my throat.
Kate was staring at me.
“You made a very alarming sound,” she said. “Nightmare?”
I nodded, not wanting to describe it, for it still hovered with frightening clarity in my mind. I looked over at the coffin, its lid closed. The lights and heaters were still running. The machine blinked and gurgled water.
“The wind’s died down. And we’re rising,” I said. A ship’s movements had never been a secret to me; I’d always been able to tell when she was climbing, descending, turning, no matter how slight the motion.
“I hadn’t even noticed,” said Kate.
“It’s very gentle,” I said, not wanting to alarm her. Still, I wondered how long this had been going on. With every hundred feet, the air thinned even more. I looked at Nadira, still asleep under her mask. Her breathing was fast and shallow.
“Hal told me to turn off her tank at half past three,” Kate said, “but I didn’t have the heart.”
I nodded, but was calculating how much oxygen we had left. The longer we stayed up high, the more we’d come to rely on tanked air. I couldn’t quite understand why I didn’t feel dizzier. I did take longer to do things, every step an effort, but I was still all right. Kate looked very tired, the skin beneath her eyes smudged with purple.
“How are you feeling?” I asked.
“I wish I knew more chemistry,” she said.
I had to laugh. “That must be very distressing.”
“I’m just trying to figure out how they do it. The aerozoans.” I saw she had one of her little notebooks out. At that moment I felt very fond of them; they seemed almost as much a part of her as her hair or imperious nostrils.
“Its diet seems so small. A little food. A little water. Yet it produces enough energy to keep itself alive; it produces hydrium, and also a huge amount of electricity—to keep away predators, I suppose. I wonder if it somehow draws energy from the sun. Really, it’s a perfect little machine.”
If she hadn’t used the word machine, I probably wouldn’t have made the connection. At last I understood.
“He got the idea from them,” I said, pointing to the aerozoan Grunel had collared with wires. “That’s why he kept them. He was studying them to find out how they produced so much electricity. And he copied them!”
“What’s going on?” Hal said, squinting over at us.
“Matt’s having a brainstorm,” said Kate.
“The machine,” I said excitedly. “I’ve figured out what it does.”
I expected Hal to turn over and go back to sleep, but he gave a sigh and sat up.
“He uses the sun. He collects the light with that big telescope, just like the aerozoans must collect the sun’s energy. Something happens inside there. It’s like a giant generator, but it only needs air and water to make an electrical charge. I have no idea how. Then, as a by-product, it makes heat, more water, and hydrium.”
“Hydrium?” Kate asked.
“There’s an exhaust pipe at the back that vents hydrium. And the water just keeps going round and round to keep the process going.”
“It’s a big battery,” Hal said with a shrug.
“No, not just a battery,” I said. “It makes power out of nothing. Well, not nothing. Just air and water!”
“Well, I’m glad the old fart came up with something useful,” said Hal, getting up and stretching.
“You don’t understand, Hal. This is an eternal supply of electricity. Enough to run engines. Enough to power tools and generators. And enough extra hydrium to lift a platoon of airships.”
“Or an aerial city,” said Kate.
“Exactly!” I said. “This machine is Grunel’s treasure!”
But Hal was
n’t listening. He was looking over my shoulder.
“Something moved,” he said.
We all turned to the vivarium. The four aerozoans dangled limply in the air.
“They always move a little,” I said.
Then one of them flinched—and I flinched with it. This was no shifting with the wind. The creature’s gauzy apron flared, then contracted sharply, and it jetted higher. Its tentacles flexed.
“Oh, my goodness,” breathed Kate.
“They’re supposed to be dead!” Hal shouted. “You told me they were dead!”
“It’s the water,” Kate said, excited. “I don’t believe it! It must be anhydrobiosis.”
“What’re you talking about?” I demanded.
“Some creatures put themselves into hibernation when there’s not enough water. I read about this. It’s called anhydrobiosis. And then when there’s ample water, they revivify. But this is remarkable. Usually it only happens with very small, primitive organisms.”
“Then let’s stop watering them!” Hal said.
“They’re not machines,” Kate told him. “You can’t just turn them off.”
I ran to the glass door to make sure it was securely shut. It was. The aerozoan was now jetting about the vivarium like an airborne squid. It nudged one of the others, and seconds later that one jerked to life too.
“This is fascinating,” Kate said.
Suddenly the third aerozoan jerked to life. Only one didn’t stir: the one harnessed by Grunel. The other three circled around it. The biggest flew in close, squatted against it, and ripped away some of its withered flesh with its beak. The other two aerozoans closed in as well and started feeding. There was a great deal of fighting between them as they jockeyed for space, lashing out at one another with their tentacles.
“After being so long in hibernation, they’re bound to be voraciously hungry,” explained Kate.
“I could’ve done without the voracious bit,” I said.
“What’s going on?” Nadira asked, sitting up, only half awake.
“Kate’s pets have woken up,” Hal said, taking out his pistol. “But not for long.”
“Put that away!” Kate said. “They’re safely behind glass.”
“Don’t do it, Hal,” I said. “Shatter the glass, and we’ll have all of them out in the open. Save your bullets.”
Reluctantly he holstered his gun. Nadira watched the aerozoans with a mixture of fascination and horror. Kate was entranced. In a matter of minutes they had stripped the dead one, leaving only its balloon sac. Then they pierced that with their beaks, tearing it to shreds as it sagged slowly to the floor. Even with a glass wall between us, I felt sickened being so close to them. Their feeding noises were muted—a rapid clicking of their beaks, the rustle and slap of membranes and tentacles jostling.
“Have any of you seen the floating eggs?” Kate asked.
“Likely they got eaten,” I said dully.
The aerozoans seemed to be sated, for they had stopped foraging about the vivarium floor and drifted up to the ceiling. Their balloon sacs, I noticed, were fuller, as though they’d already produced more hydrium for themselves.
I wouldn’t have noticed the break in the glass if an aerozoan hadn’t drifted right past it.
“Up there,” I blurted in alarm, pointing. “There’s a hole!”
It was small and jagged, no bigger than a billiard ball. The aerozoans were too big to fit through, but the glass around it was cracked and weakened by ice, and I knew the power of the creature’s tentacles. I ran to get the sealing tape. The maintenance scaffolding that ran around Grunel’s telescope was almost flush with the vivarium wall, and I figured I could reach the hole from there. I started up the spiral stairs.
“I’m going to patch it,” I said. I reached the scaffolding, puffing hard. As I leaned out over the railing toward the glass, the aerozoans did not move, but I noticed that their tentacles drew up a little closer toward their bodies, as if tensed. I tore off a strip of tape with my teeth and leaned way over to patch the hole.
“Matt! Watch out!”
From the floor, Nadira was pointing at something behind me. I whirled, instinctively dropping to a crouch. Above me was a small translucent shimmer—a tiny aerozoan. It didn’t seem to have any dark designs on me, for it was bobbing away, gossamer apron flapping, tentacles waggling like a baby’s chubby fingers. It was no bigger than a small jellyfish, but I didn’t care how harmless it looked. I wanted it far away.
“It must have hatched,” Kate called up.
And found its way out through the hole. How many eggs had there been? I tried to remember. They were all in a cluster. Eight or nine maybe? Cautiously I scanned the room, wondering if any others had hatched and escaped.
Near the top of the telescope, I saw the glimmer of balloon sacs and tentacles.
“There are three more,” I yelled.
Taking my piece of tape I leaned out to seal the hole in the vivarium. A gust of warm mango hit me in the face, and a split second later a tentacle lashed against the vivarium’s wall, inches from my face. I heard a crack and recoiled. An aerozoan billowed against the glass, tentacles writhing.
“Get down from there, Cruse,” shouted Hal. “You’re just making it angry.”
The glass now bore a network of hairline cracks. The tentacle struck again. This time glass splintered and the hole doubled in size. The creature’s tentacle shot clear through, getting slashed against the sharp edges. It pulled back, but the tip remained in the hole, delicately tapping the edges as if mapping it.
“Matt!” Kate called, “I really think you ought to come down!”
I couldn’t have agreed more. I backed toward the stairs, for I wanted to keep my eye on the big one in the vivarium. To my relief, it seemed to lose interest in me and sailed away. Then it stopped. It turned. It jetted straight for the glass, stretching itself as long and skinny as a spear. I cursed under my breath and started running. The aerozoan gave one last great contraction of its apron and tentacles, compressed itself into a tight bundle, and soared clean through the hole, over my head and into the engineerium.
“Everyone out!” Hal was shouting. “Get to the door!”
I hurtled off the spiral stairs and rushed to join the retreat. We took nothing, just ran for the catwalk. Hal had his pistol at the ready and was trying to take aim. The aerozoan swelled back to its normal size and jetted up to the ceiling among the cables and pulleys. For a second I lost sight of it. Then it moved, and I saw its dangling tentacles sweeping toward us, fast.
“Out, out!” Hal shouted, wielding his pistol.
“Don’t shoot!” I yelled. “You’ll pierce the gas cells.”
Hal took a shot anyway, and missed, the bullet whistling through the ship’s innards.
I rushed Nadira and Kate ahead of me through the doorway, and then turned to see where Hal was. He was intent on taking another shot. One of the aerozoan’s tentacles hit a circular saw, and the electric current brought it briefly to life, sparks flying off its metal surface.
“Hal, come on!” I ran back to grab him and haul him out of the room, yanking the door shut behind us. It slid into place with a well-oiled hiss, and we were plunged into total darkness. The cold came upon us like a hammer’s blow.
Only Nadira had had the presence of mind to snatch up a torch. We stood there in the pale light, shaking and panting, numbly pulling up our hoods and fastening buttons. We still had our sky suits, but in our panic to flee, we’d left behind our rucksacks, our gloves—and all the oxygen tanks. No one needed to mention any of this. We were all thinking it. We knew we could not go back inside.
Kate slipped her hand into mine. I squeezed back.
“It’s all right,” I said, “it’s nearly dawn. The Saga should be coming for us soon.”
“At first light, we’ll be back aboard,” Hal said. “A couple hours at most. The wind’s lost all her puff.”
“Let’s go to Grunel’s apartments, and get as warm as we can,” I
said, my teeth starting to chatter.
Kate did not object this time. After the aerozoans, our phantom fears seemed far less threatening.
“Good idea,” said Hal. “There are windows. We’ll have some light soon.”
Wearily, we made our way forward. My nostrils crackled with the cold. My face felt brittle as china. I pulled my hands up inside my sleeves, hoping to ease the icy pain that coursed through them.
The windows in Grunel’s quarters let in some star- and moonlight, and also the glow along the eastern horizon. We did not venture into the bedroom, but settled in the starboard lounge. I fetched all the remaining blankets from the linen cupboard. Hal draped a huge rug over the furniture and made a kind of tent for us, insulated with cushions. We huddled together, trying to keep the cold at bay.
We were all too dispirited to speak. Even Hal seemed completely exhausted. My heart beat faster than usual, strained but undefeated by the meager air.
I did not know if we actually slept, or merely all lapsed into a kind of semiconscious stupor. I was aware of everyone’s labored breathing. I was aware of the cold gripping my face and feet and hands. And yet I could not keep the image of Grunel’s machine from my mind. Hal hadn’t understood how important it was. If only we had the blueprints. Where had Hal sent them? Half awake, I slid out from my blankets and made my way to Grunel’s bedroom. The door was closed. I opened it. Inside I could make out only shadows. I saw the dark form of Theodore Grunel, hunched over in his chaise longue. I went to the message tubes.
Beneath the outgoing tube was a little row of buttons with the names of all the rooms where you could send messages. I found the button that was still pressed in.
Anger and disappointment gripped me.
Of all the places Hal could have sent the blueprints: he had sent them straight to the engineerium.