The Continent (The Continent #1)(7)
Aaden runs a hand along one of the panels. “Are these doors?”
The steward crosses the small space. “Yes, sir, very good eye.” He gives one of the panels a quick push and it springs toward him; he opens it wide to reveal several shelves stacked with luggage. “Storage, mostly. But over here, we have something much more interesting.”
He closes the door and pushes on the section of wall beside it. When it opens, the group gives a collective gasp. Rather than a set of storage shelves, this panel had concealed a great glass pod, at least seven feet tall, shaped like a giant egg and standing perfectly upright. Within the pod is a padded seat with a harness attached to it.
“What in blazes is that?” says Mr. Shaw.
“It’s an escape pod,” the steward says, clearly delighted by our astonishment. “Ultimately, these panels were built to accommodate six pods; one for each passenger aboard the craft. But it was an egregious waste of space, and all but this one have been removed. It’s a novelty, really. And isn’t it something?”
“Made of glass?” Aaden says. “But isn’t it impossibly heavy?”
“Plasticized glass,” the steward says. “Light as wind, but very strong. A marvel, truly. And these,” he adds, indicating a row of neat, tidy-looking white packages at the base of the chamber, “are personal parachutes. Intended for the crew, in case of dire emergency.”
I move closer to the great glass egg and run a finger along the smooth, curved side. “The pods were meant to be used in the event of an accident, then? Is it quite safe to fly without a full complement?”
The steward laughs. “Oh, very safe indeed, Miss Sun. Do you know, not a single pod has ever been put to use? Every heli-plane in the Spire has been equipped with them for decades, and not a one has ever been launched. No need for them at all. This aircraft runs smooth as a kitchen clock—our engineers and mechanics have seen to that.”
I give him a smile. “If you’re sure.”
“Quite sure, miss,” he says. “Now, if everyone would return to the passenger cabin, I can inform the pilot that we’re ready to embark. We have many hundreds of miles of ocean to cross before we reach our destination, and I want you all to settle in comfortably. We’ll have refreshments all around, and—”
“Just a moment,” Aaden says. “What’s that?” He points to a metal panel just to the right of the glass pod.
The steward blinks. “Why, those are the controls, of course.” He lifts the lid of the panel to reveal two buttons: one green, one yellow. “The yellow button unlocks the pod from its casing, and the green discharges it from the plane.”
“The controls are on the outside of the pod? What use is that if you’re already inside?”
“The pods were not designed to be operated by passengers, Mr. Shaw. In the event of an accident, the crew would ensure that all travelers are properly secured within the pods, and eject each unit as required.”
Aaden cuffs him playfully across the shoulder. “Guess we’ll count on you, then, old man, should the need arise.”
“Oh, trust me, sir, you’ll have no need. Now then—shall we be on our way?”
“Yes, please,” says Mrs. Shaw. “It’s depressing back here with no windows. Although I don’t suppose I could trouble you for my orchid valise? I saw it on the shelf when you opened the first door, and I wouldn’t mind looking through it for a book or two.”
“Now, Mrs. Shaw,” the steward says, “you head right back into the main cabin and make yourself comfortable. I’ll find the valise just as soon as we’re on our way.”
“What a dear you are,” she says. “Such a help.”
Vaela, wake up. You won’t believe how beautiful it is.
I open my eyes to see my mother’s face. For a moment, I can’t remember where I am—but the gentle hum of the heli-plane’s engines brings me back to the present, and I sit up in my seat.
“How long have I been asleep?”
“Three hours or so,” she says, and smiles. “Your dad’s still sleeping in the back row. Look out your window.”
I turn toward the porthole and draw in my breath. “Is that…are we there?”
“Yes,” she says. “Isn’t it magnificent?”
Magnificent seems too small a word, and yet I can’t think of another that might come close to describing the incredible landscape below. Spread out beneath the crisp blue sky is the southeastern tip of the Continent, wilder and more spectacular than I ever dreamed it would be. The coastline here is marked by rocky bluffs of staggering height, with ferocious waves breaking all along the base. Broken sheets of ice dot the ocean, rising and falling atop the rolling swells of the sea. To the distant northwest are the soaring peaks of the Kinsho mountain range, covered in ancient green firs that rise high into the air. And the snow—as far as the eye can see, it covers everything. This vast white world is unlike anything in the Spire—even in the North, during wintertime. The phototypes in the Astor Library did not do it justice.
“Magnificent,” I say in agreement. “Those cliffs, there, along the coast—do you see them? They once boasted the tallest waterfalls ever known to exist. And that valley, far to the west, that’s the great Southern Vale! It’s supposed to be breathtaking in the springtime, with beautiful wildflowers of red and gold—flowers quite exclusive to the Continent. Let’s see, what else? Oh, I do wish I hadn’t packed my maps away in the luggage! I feel so disoriented looking at everything from such a height.”