6th Avenue ~ Jack Crossing
I awoke to the sound of a child crying somewhere; a sound at once familiar and incongruous with the employee deck of an InterOrbital.
The sound faded and morphed into the insistence of the buzzer at the cabin door.
My cabin itself was strewn with the contents of my bag and the soft insulating fibre from my bedding was suspended in air like static snow – just light enough not to be effected by the GravNet.
I coughed loud and barking, my chest hurting sharp and breathless.
The buzzer continued while my mind ran over the space in my memory.
The climate control unit having picked up the unusually high content of solids in the air, cranked the extract fan up a few notches. The floating particles of bedding slowly formed themselves into streams and headed for the exhaust vents located at skirting level at the far end of the room.
I struggled hard to focus; the buzzer unit made the decision to turn itself up to a level beyond ignoring.
By the time I had managed to get up, wrapping the sheet around my body, and carry myself to the door, the air had cleared completely – the room was still a mess though; and my head ached like a bastard.
I opened the buzzing cabin door.
“Took your fucking time,” his face betrayed more than little irritation, “You want to switch your messenger on matey; the boss wants to see you and he doesn’t like people being unavailable; know what I mean?”
He turned on his heel and hurried off down the corridor. I shut the door.
The sound faded and morphed into the insistence of the buzzer at the cabin door.
My cabin itself was strewn with the contents of my bag and the soft insulating fibre from my bedding was suspended in air like static snow – just light enough not to be effected by the GravNet.
I coughed loud and barking, my chest hurting sharp and breathless.
The buzzer continued while my mind ran over the space in my memory.
The climate control unit having picked up the unusually high content of solids in the air, cranked the extract fan up a few notches. The floating particles of bedding slowly formed themselves into streams and headed for the exhaust vents located at skirting level at the far end of the room.
I struggled hard to focus; the buzzer unit made the decision to turn itself up to a level beyond ignoring.
By the time I had managed to get up, wrapping the sheet around my body, and carry myself to the door, the air had cleared completely – the room was still a mess though; and my head ached like a bastard.
I opened the buzzing cabin door.
“Took your fucking time,” his face betrayed more than little irritation, “You want to switch your messenger on matey; the boss wants to see you and he doesn’t like people being unavailable; know what I mean?”
He turned on his heel and hurried off down the corridor. I shut the door.
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