Sputph-wut. Sput-phwut.
Lizard steadied herself on my arm, then leaned over and gave me a quick kiss on the lips. "Thanks," she said. She turned to the crab and gave a thumbs-up signal. The crab returned it with one mechanical claw.
And then the worms screamed again! "Chtorrrrr! Chtorrrrrrr-!" -and swarmed in toward the chopper. One of them flowed up the front of the craft-the chopper's windshield cracked under its weight. It kept on coming anyway. It was on top of the ship now, pouring toward us.
-the crab swiveled all its spotlights and hit it with its brightest glare. The worm recoiled, blinking. The crab scuttled toward it, waving all its arms and legs and everything else-all its cameras, lights and attachments-in as threatening a manner as possible. The worm backed away, uncertainly.
-and then suddenly, the cable-rider was screaming up the line, yanking us with it! Duke screamed at the jolt as the basket leapt upward; he must have been in incredible pain. I gasped in surprise, and Lizard yelled like a kid on a roller coaster. The chopper dropped away below us. It was an oasis of pink light in a sea of ink.
I could see that more of the worms were swarming up onto it now. The crab retreated before their onslaught. It clamped itself to the line and followed us up. A worm grabbed for it and missed.
And then the chopper was too far below to see anything else clearly.
I glanced upward. The blimp was an ominous hole in the night. Its lights were still off and we were hurtling toward a gigantic darkness. A square of yellow warmth opened directly overhead. The color of the light was startling. After two days of nothing but pinkness, it looked alien.
The square expanded, it became a hatch-we rose up through it and suddenly we were inside the blimp-first the basket, then me, then Colonel Tirelli.
There were men and women in jumpsuits to pull us aboard, to swing us away from the hatch, grab us and disconnect the cables from our harnesses. They were applauding and cheering. It was all a blur of faces and hands. I couldn't hear. I couldn't focus my eyes. They were too wet.
Someone was helping me out of my harness and O-mask. I kept blinking in confusion. All the light-all the noise-all these people! It was too dazzling!
And the room-it was huge. We could have put the chopper in it and we'd still have room for a dance floor. I saw the dust-covered crab come lifting through a great hole in the floor. The last of the line came up after it.
The hole closed up and a man with a headset said, "AZ is aboard and the hatch is closed. Retrieval is complete." There was more cheering at this. Even I was cheering now-between paroxysms of coughing. I was having trouble breathing again.
"Release the mooring harpoons," the man with the headset said. "Let's go to Oakland." He grinned at me. "The lieutenant wants a lobster."
I looked at Lizard and blushed. She winked at me.
TWENTY-NINE
FOUR MEN grabbed the basket with Duke and disappeared through a door. Two others led Lizard and myself out through another exit. We followed them down a long corridor and into a medical facility. They split us up then, putting Lizard in one cubbyhole and me in another.
A minute later, a teenage girl in a white jacket came in carrying a medi-kit and sat down in front of me. "How are you feeling?" I took inventory and reported, "Hoarse. Sore throat from the dust. Pressure in my chest. Trouble breathing. Lots of coughing. Pain. Eyes hurt. Ears hurt. I want a bath. I'm still cold. I feel great!" I grinned at her.
She smiled sweetly but impersonally. "Okay, take off your shirt." She was already opening her kit.
"Huh? Where's the doctor?"
"I'm the doctor. Take off your shirt."
"Uh-" I shut up and took off my shirt. She stuck poker chips to my chest, my arms, my neck and my temples.
She studied her readouts, nodded, and blanked the screen before I could peek over her shoulder. She peered into my mouth, my nose, my eyes, and my ears. She nodded and said, "Mm hm. Wait a moment. I'll be right back."
She returned with a tray. On it was a pressure injector, a glass of orange juice, and a small plastic container with a handful of capsules. "Antibiotics and vitamins," she explained. She touched the pressure injector to my arm. It hissed. I felt a cold wet sensation.
She handed me the capsules and the orange juice. I took them without complaint. The juice was sweet and cold.
"All right," she said. "You can put your shirt back on now." She left.
The whole process had taken less than five minutes.
As I fastened my shirt, I wondered if I should wait here-or what?
I stuck my head out of the cubbyhole. A man in a jumpsuit with a Paul Bunyan patch over his heart was waiting there. "Lieutenant McCarthy?"
I nodded.
"Colonel Anderson requests your presence in the forward lounge. Follow me please?"
I followed.
The crewman led me to the forward lounge and told me to make myself comfortable. "Colonel Anderson will be along shortly. The bar is open if you want anything." Then he left.
The lounge seemed almost as big as the loading bay. It had tall, slanting windows circling in a vast horseshoe. I stepped to the very front and peered out.
The airship's running lights had been turned on again. There must have been a huge bank of spotlights just above the lounge, because the whole sky ahead glowed with the reflected light. It looked like we were plowing through pink fog. There was nothing else to see.
I could feel a faint vibration beneath my feet. We were under power. Captain Price must be using the cold-rocket assist. No other engine would function in this weather.
There was a well-stocked bar at the back of the lounge. I sauntered back and told the robot to make me a Staggering Buffalo and go easy on the soy. I found a seat by the window, still marveling at the sense of luxury in this airship. It was true; the heavy lifters had space to waste.
"Lieutenant McCarthy?" I looked up. And up.
The man had shoulders the size of Ohio. He had a broken nose and a beefy grin. He stuck out a paw at me. I stared at it for a few seconds before I realized what he wanted. I leapt to my feet and saluted. "Sir?"
He returned my salute with something that looked more like a wave than a salute, then stuck out his hand again. I offered mine and he shook my hand gently. When he let go, I wanted to stare at my fingers. He hadn't crushed them.
"I'm Danny Anderson," he said. His voice resonated like the inside of a hangar. He had a smile as wide as the door. "I want to thank you for the job you did on my father. You saved his life."
"Uh-I hate to disagree with a superior officer, sir-" Especially one as big as you. "-But I didn't do half the job I should have-"
"Oh? Could you have done better than you did?" He raised a bushy eyebrow at me.
"Sir, I did the very best I could. It just wasn't as good as I could have done if I'd had the proper supplies. We ran out of everything-"
He started laughing. I stared at him. He caught himself and stopped, but the grin remained.
He put a hand on my shoulder. "I'm not laughing at you, son. Colonel Tirelli told me you would do this. I'm trying to thank you and you're too busy devaluing your contribution to hear me. You're going to have to knock that off, Lieutenant."
"Uh-" I was doing it again. "Right. Thank you, sir."
"Good. Now, let me tell it to you again. You did a good job. You saved Captain Anderson's life. Colonel Tirelli is putting you in for a medal."
I hardly heard the last. "Uh-thank you, sir. Uh, can I ask, how is Duke-Captain Anderson?"
Danny Anderson hesitated. He looked embarrassed, and his voice went curiously flat. "It-uh, looks like he's going to make it. His vital signs steadied out as soon as we got him on Code Blue Maintenance. But it's still too early to say what kind of shape he's going to be in." And then he added quietly, "He might lose his legs."