Hull Zero Three Read Online Free PDF Page B

their feet to brace themselves.
The girl bumps into their arms and hangs on. Her hair lufts. “Good,” she says. They hold her out by one spindly arm—and let her go. She pushes her feet together and vanishes into the hole as if diving into a pool.
Bouncing along the tube, I try to hold back, skidding hands and feet, but I’m alone and it’s not enough. I arrive at the barrier of arms and legs. I have no idea what’s causing the suction or where the opening is taking us—but I’m almost equally concerned that something will reach out and snatch me from behind.
I reach out. “Do it quick!” I shout. But I don’t really mean it.
The brown fellow with scarlet markings— scarle! lovely word—takes hold of my arm. The team rearranges, and together, despite my clinging, desperate hands, they drop me into a roaring tunnel.
I fly through. The tunnel opens like the bell of a trumpet to a bigger space. A moist, lateral wind has taken hold of me. I’m flying. I look back and see the team of three flow one by one into the chasm. I can’t see the girl, but the three are about fifty meters behind me. We move along at the same speed. The opening vanishes behind us in the murk. The bigger space is dimly illuminated. I can finally see that it’s a conduit—another curved, circumnavigating tube, but broader, deeper.
Cicumnavigaing. Going all the way around… Ship.
There’s darkness inboard, something slick and glistening outboard. The air is wet on my face and lips. We fly through a kind of rising mist that feels wonderful on my skin. I try to get a drink by sucking, but it doesn’t work. I just cough. I guess that’s progress, but where’s the real water—where’s the food? Then in the general roar I hear a sound more beautiful than anything I’ve heard before—a slurping, gurgling rush. It has to be water, a lot of water. The sound comes from outboard—from the glistening surface.
The curved walls channel an entire rushing river, perhaps ten or twelve meters wide.
The girl reappears down the line, through the mist. She’s grinning and doing spins. Looking at her makes me shut my eyes. I’m terrified, but the smell of water makes me crazy. My whole body wants to dive into the glistening surface. A river can’t hang weightless in a trough, can it? Yet the water keeps to the channel. It has weight—
But we don’t. We’re blowing along like fluff in a breeze, suspended above the rushing water. The air currents are faster at the center, slower near the walls. The girl “swims” outward with vigorous motions of her arms and feet, slow but effective progress that she reverses once I have passed.
Knob-Crest—Picker—gives a hoot of appreciation.
Behind me now, the girl reaches out to the three, still joined hand to arm, and uses the Blue-Black fellow to pull herself in. He makes more musical whistles. The brown fellow with scarlet markings—Scarlet-Brown—and Picker draw in their legs, catch him up, and they all spin together.
It’s comical and wonderful, but I’m so thirsty I can’t stop myself from making little shrieking noises and grabbing wherever and whatever I can, just to reach the water. I kick and flail against the wind, the center of the spinning pair.
Just right. Now it’s like I’m diving toward the water.
“No!” the girl shouts. They grab my ankle at the end of a kick and pull me toward them. All of us move outward and slow.
The girl is performing a kind of twirling handstand a few centimeters above the angled side of the channel, lifting slowly toward the center. I’ve never seen anything so wonderful and mysterious—and I still don’t care. I kick against the passing wall, aiming for the channel, change direction and spin about…
Again I’m heading straight for the water at about a meter per second. The girl does this amazing maneuver, tucks in her legs and arms, spins about to present her legs, and kicks against the angle of the channel wall. This shoots her toward where I’ll be