Dervish
I run through the checklist one last time. Everything is clamped
down and fastened tight, all systems pass self-check, no error
messages, no data leaks. Slowly, ponderously, I climb down the ladder
of the chute. At the bottom I step into the indentations in the center
of the small circular platform.
A percussive release of air, loud even through the helmet, punctuates
the rude jolt of metal jaws snapping shut around the thick, wide soles
of the boots, locking me into place. I raise my arms straight out to
either side of me and feel the familiar click as armpits, elbows and
wrists lock into the cruciform position.
Before I hear them I feel the turbines rumbling up through the soles of
my boots. Slowly the walls of the chute begin to turn and the ladder
starts to corkscrew up as the chute grows longer. The whine of the
turbines grows from a rumble to a screech. Each time I dervish out I
truly believe that the noise will keep growing until it bursts my
skull.
And just as my skull begins to come apart and my field of vision irises
in to a pinpoint and my eyeballs start to snake their way out of their
sockets and I am praying for the blessed relief of the blackout
that's overtaking me, like a rifle bullet, I am launched into the
HyperSphere.
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