Gaia's Brood
Page 28
Chapter 28
“Nina,” Fernando yells, “You’ve caught the ligament. Let go now...”
“No,” Izzy interrupts, “Hang on for dear life.”
I have no intention of letting go.
I feel for the ligament with my other hand then wrap my legs around it too. Like a bucking slide pole, the ligament drags me to the left, and then flicks me upwards through a hole in the top of the blimp. For a moment I hang suspended above the Shonti Bloom. Terrified I’m going to fall, I tighten my grip on the ligament until my knuckles grow white with the effort. Is this the end? Is this the pathetic way I die—tossed out of my own ship like trash? Then, backside first, I tear back through the blimp, narrowly missing Izzy and Fernando who are still furiously clamping.
“Nina.” Izzy stretches out a futile arm, but I’m nowhere near her.
I crash against the inside wall of the blimp again and stretch towards another ligament. I wrap my right hand hopefully around the secure ligament. But before I can transfer my weight safety it’s torn from my grip.
Gracefully, I soar over Trent’s head and bounce off a hydrogen reservoir, the bulk of my body probably saving the balloon from total destruction. Then, I crash into metal as the ligament wraps itself round the gangway again. Quickly, I transfer my grip to the gangway and snap on a couple of clamps to secure the ligament to the gangway. Big mistake.
The ligament, now free of my weight, whips and cracks, twisting and turning the damaged gangway in its efforts to break free. Beneath me, the neatly machined gangway bucks and spins.
“Grab my hand, Nina.” Trent inches down the remains of the steps with his safety wire at full stretch.
I reach up, but at least a couple of yards still separate us. “Go back, Trent, it’s too far.”
Instead, he unclips his safety line and, gripping the remains of the hand rail, slithers and slides towards me. He extends his arm towards me again, tantalizingly close, but still just out of reach.
I gather myself for an all—or—nothing lunge towards him when suddenly, with a screech like a tortured bird, the gangway snaps, tearing me away from the safety of Trent’s grasp and tossing me down towards the blimp.
I find myself on my back, spread—eagled across the fabric of the blimp, supported only by the ligaments beneath me. I hold my breath—even a slight movement could change the tension of the fabric and cause a terminal rip. Above me, the rogue ligament is shaking the shattered gangplank like a dog playing with a bone. Soon it is going to come crashing down on me.
I lift my arm experimentally and feel about for my safety line. So far so good. Cautiously I gather in the safety line. If I can clip it to one of the ligaments I’m lying across I will be reasonably safe. Then my fingers find a frayed end and I know the line is useless.
“Look out for the gangplank,” Trent calls to the others as the rogue ligament tosses the metal structure across the vault of the blimp, freeing itself once more. My crew hit the deck, and I hear the gangplank explode through the side-wall. I hope it has missed the hydrogen reserves or we are doomed.
Suddenly, the rogue ligament slaps down right beside me, for a moment still and calm.
When caught between two equal perils, action is always preferred over inaction—if nothing else, it occupies the mind.
Keeping by weight spread as thinly as possible across the fragile fabric of the blimp, I roll over, snatch a clamp from my pouch and clamp the end of the rogue ligament to one of the ligaments currently taking my weight. It twitches, but doesn’t seek to break free so I reach as far as I can and clamp again. Now it starts to struggle. I’m afraid the rogue ligament will split the blimp around me in its efforts to break free, plunging me into the abyss. I slither over the fabric as fast as I can, keeping at least two good ligaments beneath me at all times to support my weight. Furiously I start clamping: Slide, clamp, slide, clamp, slide, clamp, slide, clamp.
I continue until I run out of clamps and the rogue ligament goes taught. At last, the lose end is secure and the most immediate danger to the Shonti Bloom is tamed.
Exhausted and sweating like a trooper, I roll onto my back again to see Trent dangling from the remains of the twisted gangway directly above me.
“Trent, hang on.” If he falls he will take me with him—so much for heroics.
“Someone rescue Trent,” I order, but Fernando is already onto it and Izzy is lowering a line to me.
Gratefully, I take the offered line and let Izzy pull me to safety.
“Should have checked the ligaments after the storm,” Izzy shouts above the wind whistling through rents in the blimp.
“Now you tell me. Why don’t you start patching the hydrogen reservoirs before we go down?”
She shuffles away sheepishly and I turn on Trent. “Next time, ditch the heroics. The Shonti can’t afford to lose all its useful crew in one go. And two people falling causes far more damage than one. Always, always keep your safety attached.” Harsh? Maybe, but a captain’s primary responsibility is to their ship and her crew.
Trent looks taken aback, so I give him a friendly grin and clap him on the shoulder. “But I do appreciate you trying to take care of me, even if it was foolhardy.”
He gins back like a naughty schoolboy. Finally, my doubts about Trent’s loyalty have fallen away. He risked his life for mine, he’s a full member of the crew—no way could he be working against us.
I make my way over to the hydrogen reservoirs to help Izzy patch and mend. We have survived, for today, but the Shonti Bloom is in a real mess and we desperately need to find somewhere to make repairs.