Terraplane by Jack Womack Page A

our souls' ears, what we were
would plunge down in a quiet hail of slag and bits of skin, pattering
onto the roofs of thousands, sending them into untroubled sleep,
lending gentle dreams. I looked again, feeling no plunge, no
splinter; the light faded, and we flew on.

    SKURAI.OV SAT AS I'D LEFT HIM, BOUND AS IF FOR PLEASURE. "IS
transferral into space, Miss Osipova?" he asked, unnoticed blood
trickling from his nose. "Plane is perhaps not suitably equipped for
such adventure." Our on-ground flight, and our chase on high,
nervestrung me so that when his words raked my ears, I reckoned
him to be but dishing out unwanted sauce; I swung round to hush.
"Temper, Luther," he said, feigning horror, yet drawing back
within his ropes. "Jake rubs off on you after time, friend. I ask
reasonable question. Look round you."
    Beyond the now-dim cabin illumination, through the portholes,
showed naught but blackest black. "Sanya spoke of no such effect,"
said Oktobriana, said to self rather than others. By her use of
the familiar-Sanya was the friendly form of Alexander, as in
Alekhine-I reconsidered how close they must have worked
together, supposed politics notwithstanding.
    "Luther!" Jake shouted.
    Before cockpitting I yet hoped that from forward vantage day
might still brighten our path. Across Jake's shoulder, through the
window, I saw only the same in wider screen: night sky starred from
horizon to zenith; unbroken clouds below, moonglow shading
their crests and pools as they blanketed the world.
    "Who took the sun?" he asked, deadpanned. Oktobriana took copilot position once more, scanned dials and readouts, entered
mainframe commands. Without answering Jake, she continued
her monologue with herself.

    "No change in locale mentioned," she muttered. "Possibly due
to simultaneous velocity increase at moment of transfer-"
    "Some transfer," I said, running my own theories. "Two-thirds
round the world in ten seconds."
    "Explain!" Jake commanded, his usual aplomb on leave.
    "We must be Pacificked," I said. "It wouldn't be night elsewhere. Altitude and direction. What are they?"
    "Eight thousand meters," he read. "Westward movement,
unchanged speed."
    "Coordinates at hand," said Oktobriana, scanning as it rose
from screen's murk. "Gospodi!"
    "What? What shows?" Already she was repunching, testing
anew "Where are we?"
    "Readings place us at longitude seventy-six thirty, latitude fortyone fifteen," she said. I couldn't place exactly, but realized the
general locale.
    "Impossible."
    "But remains fact nonetheless," she said. "All other readings
showing unflawed accuracy. Without question these are present
coordinates."
    "Then where are we?" asked Jake.
    "Eastern Pennsylvania," I said. No expression came at once to
his mask.
    "How?" he asked, keeping eyes front, fearing perhaps that to
look into hers would assure confirmation. "At liftoff it was near
twelve by Moscow's clock. Look. No sun fore or aft. In jumping
miles did we jump time?"
    "Do you know?" I asked her.
    "Impossible, as proven," she said, beginning a new monologue
underbreath. "Earth angle shifts, evidently-"
    "Evidently," I said. "Descend without landing, Jake. We need
visuals. Eye the radar close."
    "If Pennsylvania's below," said Jake, "shouldn't we turn and bear
east?"

    "Contact ground stations while I hook in with Alice," I said.
"Make the turn."
    "Alice?" Oktobriana asked, slumping into her seat. "Superior or
wife?"
    "My computer. Pass the modem." With morgue attendant's look
she handed it over, its attached wires wrapping snakelike round all
they slid across. My stance tilted from vertical as Jake banked our
plane, recircling.
    "You won't reach her," she said.
    "Alice's signal reaches God," I said, unslipping myself from the
wires, at last linking up.
    "Uncontacted yet, Luther," said Jake as I entered codes into the
board, watching the monitor for signs of her blue. "Cloud cover's
like a lead sheet. After we breakthrough I'll bounce