The Missing Man (v4.1) Read Online Free PDF Page A

other detectives checking them over. He took thumbprints
and matched them to the photo thumbprints, he compared the faces on the photos
to the faces before him. One big one with a craggy chiseled stone face and grim
vertical lines on the cheeks; one short weathered one, slightly leaner,
slightly more humor in the face. Both identified as engineers of Consolidated
Power and Light, inspectors of electrical motor appliance and life support
services.
    “What are the pumps doing?” Ahmed
asked, looking around.
    “Pumping air in, pumping water out,”
replied one of the men. “There’s the pump that pushes excess water up to
the top, where it comes out as a little ornamental fountain in an artificial
island. The pressure equalizes by itself, so it doesn’t need elaborate
equipment, just power.”
    “Why pump water out?” Ahmed asked.
“The air pressure is supposed to be so high that it pushes the water,
out.”
    The man laughed. “You make it sound so
simple. The air pressure is approximately the same here as up at the top
surface of the dome, but the water pressure rises every foot of the way down.
Down here at the bottom it is higher than the air pressure. Water squeezes in
along the edges of the cement slab, up through the ground cover and the dirt.
We have drains to catch the seepage, and lead it back to this pump. We expect
seepage.”
    “Why not pump in more air? Higher air
pressure would keep all the water out.”
    “Higher air pressure would burst the top of
the dome like a balloon. There isn’t enough weight of water to counter
push.”
    George got an uncertain picture of air pushing
to get out the top and water pushing to get in the bottom. “It’s working
all right?” He handed the ID badges back to them.
    “Right,” said the explanatory man,
pinning on his badge. “It would take a bomb to get those pumps out of
balance. Don’t know why they sent us to check the pumps. I’d rather be out 
fishing.”
    “They’re looking for a bomb, dummy,”
said the other one sourly.
    “Oh.” The bigger one made a face.
“You mean, like Brooklyn Dome blew up?” He looked around slowly.
“If anything starts to happen, we’re right near the elevator. We can get
to the top.”
    “Not a chance,” said the sour one.
“The elevator is too slow. And it has a waiting line, people ahead of you.
Resign yourself. If this place blows, we blow.”
    “Why is the elevator so slow?” George
asked. Fix it! He hoped silently. They listened to the burn of the elevator
engine lowering the elevator. It was slow.
    “It can go faster; the timer’s right
here.” The sour engineer walked over and inspected the box. “Someone
has set it to the slowest speed. I wonder why.”
    “For sightseeing,” George said,
“but I saw the crowd waiting. They have fishing poles. They want to get to
the top, they don’t want to wait in the middle of the air, just viewing.”
    “Okay.” The talkative one walked over
and firmly set the pointer over to “fast.” The elevator reached the
ground on the other side of the wall, rumbled to a stop and the doors whirred
open.
    They listened, hearing voices and the shuffle of
feet as people crowded inside, then the doors rumbled shut and the elevator
started for the top. The whirr was high and rapid. In less than a third of the
time the trip up to the surface had taken before, the whirr stopped.
    The two engineers nodded at each other. “I
hope they are happy with it.”
    “They are getting there faster.”
    George said, “That makes sense,” and
Ahmed nodded agreement. They went out and watched the elevator return. As
rapidly as falling, the great silver birdcage came down the glass shaft and
slowed, and stopped, and opened. It was empty. No one who was up there was
coming back in to the city.
    More people got on.
    “What is up there?” George asked,
holding himself back from a panic desire to get in the elevator with the others
and get out of the enclosed city. “I have a feeling we