One of the men had removed the air tubes from the helmet and coiled them in the boat with the helmet placed on top of them. The other disengaged the weighted boots from the suit, rinsing them, then rinsing the suit as best as the muddy water would allow. These were placed in the boat.
Etelka was drenched in sweat. She had removed the goggles to her forehead as soon as her arms were free, pushing her hair back. Her white shirt was scandalously clinging to her skin as were her black pants.
She came to him, climbing over the boulders.
Pool averted his eyes as much as he could and held the cylinder out, offering it back to her.
“Pretend that it is Miss Tagore that you’re talking to, with her relative lack of modesty,” she said. She took the slimy object from him, brushing off filaments of the tiny green plants that had colonized it.
Turning to the boat of pump-men: “Thank you dearly for your assistance, gentlemen. Do you know of a place across the River where I can take a bath?”
They did, in fact, know of a place.
“Then if you wouldn’t mind could I get a ferry over to the city?”
After a painful climb up the stairs of the mast, all the time with her leg muscles burning, she returned with a bundle of clean clothes. Both Pool and Etelka enjoyed the wind on them on the journey across the vast river.
Work in progress. Mistakes and misspellings are present. This is a very rough draft. Copyright 2021 Ion Fyr
#science fiction #scifi #fantasy
Ion Fyr 