Bob Shaw - Vertigo

Sheer force of habit caused him to try assessing the command structure of the set, and he at once picked out a suited-up redhead of about eighteen — some four years older than his companions — who was standing in a slightly different attitude to the others and occasionally fingering his nostrils as he stared intently into the middle distance. Why am I doing this? Hasson thought, as he noted the heavily ornamented, non-standard straps of the man’s CG harness and the faint rectangular markings on the flying suit which showed that its patches of fluorescent material had been removed to make the wearer harder to track in flight. The suit also looked wet, as though it had recently been worn in cloud. At that moment a younger member of the group turned towards him and Hasson experienced a nervous jangling in his stomach as he saw the slim white tube of a sensor cane in the boy’s hand. He began walking in Hasson’s direction, watched by his companions.

Hasson put on a smile of greeting and felt it dissolve into a novocaine numbness as he remembered it could not be seen. Theo Werry was a tall, black-haired boy with finely moulded features, pale skin and the beginnings of a moustache and beard shadow which signalled his approaching manhood. His eyes looked clear and normal, fully under control, and only the tilted- back angle of his head and an unnatural serenity of expression revealed that he was blind. Hasson felt a pang of combined rage and pity which raked him with its intensity, and his thoughts promptly seized on Al Werry’s statement that the boy’s condition was soon to be cured. He stood without moving as Theo approached him. The boy walked slowly but with assurance, angling his cane in such a way as to gain maximum information about Hasson’s position and size from its invisible laser rays.

“Hello, Theo,” Hasson said. “I’m Rob Haldane. Your father got called out on a job so he asked me to meet you.”

“Hi.” Theo made an adjustment to the ear piece which translated the signals from his cane into audio tones. He extended his left hand. Hasson gripped it with his own left, taking care to achieve a clean handshake.

“I’m sorry you’ve been troubled,” Theo said. “I could have made it home by myself.”

“It’s no trouble.” Hasson opened the passenger door of the police cruiser. “Would you like to get into the car?” He was surprised to see Theo shake his head.

“I’d prefer to fly back, if you don’t mind. I’ve been cooped up all day.”

“But…”

“It’s all right,” Theo said quickly. “I’m allowed to go up, as long as I’m tethered to another flier. You’ll find my suit and harness in the trunk of the car.”

“Your father didn’t mention anything like that.” Hasson began to feel uncomfortable. “He asked me to pick you up in the car.”

“But it’s all right — honestly. I often fly home from school.” A note of impatience had crept into Theo’s voice. “Barry Lutze has offered to go with me, and he’s the best airman in Tripletree.”

“Is that the redhead you were talking to?”

“That’s him. The best flier in the country.”

“Really?” Hasson glanced across the intervening ground at Lutze, who immediately turned away and began staring into the distance while he stroked his nostrils between his finger and thumb.

Theo smiled. “Can I have my suit and harness, please?”

Hasson continued appraising Lutze while he came to a decision. “Sorry, Theo. I can’t take that responsibility — not without your father’s express consent. You can see my position, cant you?”

“Me? I can’t see anything,” Theo said bitterly. He found the car with his cane, got into it and sat down. Watched intently by the other boys, Hasson lowered himself into the driving seat and tried not to wince as the nerves in his back reacted violently to the flexure. He started the engine, drove away from the take-off area and turned towards the city. Theo maintained a reproachful silence.

“It’s a lousy day for flying, anyway,” Hasson said after a time. “Far too cold.”

“The chinook can make it warmer up top.”

“There’s no chinook today-just low cloud and a katabatic wind falling down from the mountains. Believe me, you’re better off out of it.”

Theo showed signs of interest. “Do you fly a lot, Mr Haldane?”

“Ah… no.” Hasson realized he had made a mistake in reviving the subject of flying in the presence of a sky-struck boy. “I don’t fly at all, as a mater of fact.”

“Oh. I’m sorry.”

“It’s all right.” The apology showed the boy felt a shameful admission had been made, and in spite of all the dictates of his common sense Hasson was suddenly unwilling to let the matter drop. “There’s nothing wrong with travelling in comfort, you know.”

Theo shook his head and spoke with bland certainty. “You’ve got to fly. When I can see again I’m going to live up there. It’s the only way.”

“Who says?”

“Barry Lutze, for one — and he knows. Barry says you can tell a good airman just by looking at him.”

Hasson recognised a disturbing echo of the angels” aced, the unsystematic and semi-instinctive mode of thought — too primeval to be classed as a philosophy — which was born in the minds of some who flew like supermen far above the drowsing earth. It was a dangerous aced, and one he seemed to have been fighting for the whole of his life. He recalled noticing the condensation on Lutz’s flying suit and once again, entirely without volition, the policeman in him began to test patterns of ideas.

“Barry seems to tell you lots of things,” he said. “Do you know him well?”

“Pretty well: Theo replied with simple pride. “He talks to me a lot.”

“Was he doing a bit of cloud-running this afternoon?”

Theo’s face altered. “Why do you want to know?”

“No special reason,” Hasson said, realising he had given himself away. “I’m just interested. Was he aloft?”

“Barry spends most of his time aloft.”

“It’s not the sort of weather I’d pick to go drilling holes in clouds.”

Who said he was flying in cloud?”

“Nobody.” Hasson, now anxious to abandon the subject, scanned the twin lines of unfamiliar buildings ahead of the car. “I’m not sure if I remember the way home from here.”

“Is there a sort of brown glass building at the next intersection?” Theo said. “A furniture store with a projection of a big armchair on the roof?” “Yes — just ahead of us.”

“Make a left there and follow the road till you pick up the north freeway. It’s a bit longer that way, but it’s easier when you don’t know the place too well.”

“Thanks.” Hasson carried out the instruction and glanced curiously at his passenger, wondering if Theo still possessed some degree of sight.

“I can just about tell night from day,” Theo said, “but I’ve got a good memory.”

“I wasn’t going to. …”

Theo smiled. “Everybody’s surprised to find I’m not completely helpless. I keep a map of the city in my head and I check off my position on it. I move a little dot along the streets.”

“That’s really something.” Hasson was impressed by the boy’s fortitude.

“The system doesn’t work in the air, that’s all.”

“No, but you’ll be fine in a couple of years, won’t you?” Theo’s smile hardened. “You’ve been talking to my father.” Hasson gnawed his lower lip, having learned yet again that Theo was a highly perceptive person with no interest in making small talk. “Your father did tell me you’d be having an operation or something like that in two years” time. Perhaps I picked him up wrong.”

“No, you picked him up right,” Theo said easily. “I’ve only got to wait another two years — and that’s nothing, is it? Nothing at all.”