Apparatus 33 by Lawston Pettymore (bearly read books TXT) 📕

They sat on the ruined, partially dry pillows that Nicolaus now cursed himself for adding to the interior, reminding them both that NIX was originally a sewer pipe after all.

As the space constraints were extreme, the controls were correspondingly Lilliputian. There were no foot pedals or corresponding cables to clutter the interior, giving greater access to the forward seat. As with Pyotr, still orbiting inexorably above, Nicolaus’ legs were useless appendages when navigating NIX, and stretched useless but painfully forward. In the hatch’s closed configuration, no manual operation was possible or even desired there being no porthole to steer by. And because they were underwater, the view would have been as black as obsidian anyway.

Once the hatch was sealed, all maneuvering was done by the self-control and memory of sequencer. The pilot’s only responsibility was to pump the bilge, and otherwise watch the knobs and levers operate on their own. In this manner, NIX was like a ghost ship, a Mary Celeste, a Flying Dutchman.

Halina shaped her body to conform to the internal contours of NIX so she fit into the remaining passenger seat as much as her figure would allow, each contortion pushing the baby further into its birth canal.

The precipitous drop at the end of the duct threw Halina against the top of the pipe, leaving a small scrape on her cheek and pushing the fetus farther out, its head now fully exposed. After crying out to Nicolaus, who could do absolutely nothing, Halina coddled the baby’s head in her hands to assist it with gentle pulling.

Nicolaus had no way to help and instead focused on the story being told by the instruments. The sequencer was doing its job, and in fact was in better frame of self-control than any of the passengers, now approaching three in total.

Halina continued to work with the birth, and Nicolaus, in his anxious state, was almost convinced that hours had passed, and that Zerrissen had rigged the blue microcassette to kill them as the only surviving eyewitnesses of his Nazi days from Die Kuppel. He tried to listen for traffic noises or other clues that they were headed for the North Sea, the Baltic, or the Tiergarten.

The chronometer argued to the contrary, their insane dash for freedom was only a few minutes old. Not ready to take the clockwork’s word for it, Nicolaus prepared to heave open the hatch and pull Halina to safety, even if it meant the baby would be born in the filthy river.

As his hands fumbled with the lever that sealed the hatch, positioning his back against it to push the meter of water above it away, the sequencer illuminated a blue lamp on the panel and a buzzer, signifying the hard turn needed to do an accelerated port up the boat ramp, throwing Nicolaus into the bilge water collecting in the back section behind the pilot’s seat.

The hull resonated with the large clap of the casters hitting the concrete boat ramp at high velocity, while Halina, wincing in pain, oozing, and spraying fluids from all orifices, pulled her baby into her lap. Buttercup was nowhere to be seen was probably already dead.

Nicolaus braced himself against the hatch, thrust it open before NIX came to a rest, not caring whether she might still be underwater. This sent the heavy lid banging into the side but allowed in the much-welcome fresh air. Inhaling a few gasps, he opened his eyes to find himself face-to-face with his rescue team. Their mouths were gaping wide open as they stood around the boat ramp he recognized as the Tiergarten.

Nicolaus leapt from the pilot seat onto the boat ramp, the cramps in his legs sending him into a drunk stumble. Then, as he regained balance, signaled to his friends to help Halina, though she had already performed the hardest part of childbirth. As they pulled mother and child from NIX, an agent approached Nicolaus, his hand extended in greeting, but Nicolaus, gasping fresh air, was still trying to process the reality of the unconceivable situation.

“Damn,” he said to the agent, hands on his knees, watching them carry Halina to the waiting ambulance.

“Dead reckoning. That shit works.”

Halina has spoken

Those who were not attending to Halina or cooing to her baby, were staring at the odoriferous and unclean NIX, pointing to the various structures and controls, and asking Nicolaus questions regarding its performance, and regarding the particulars of the sequencer, which was always a crowd pleaser. An agent from the Israeli Naval Service struggled aloud with the idea that civilians could contrive, appropriate materials for, and then utilize this craft to extract two adults and an infant from East Berlin. Having regained his breath, Nicolaus corrected him.

“Actually, two people. Two went in. It’s just that three got out.”

The issue of citizenship would have to be dealt with, the claim being that the baby was born west of the centerline of the river, making it a West German citizen. The mother, being Polish, would have to go through some paperwork, though the agents, according to Israeli policy, would accept both Halina and her child as naturalized citizens of Zion, should they so desire. Notably missing from the negotiations were any American contenders, their noses normally poked everywhere in post-War Germany. Nicolaus had intentionally misdirected them, informing them that they were to be expected at the US checkpoint rather than the actual location they arrived at in the Park. He knew that anything he informed Americans would be in East German and Soviet ears before his tongue formed the final syllable.

During this impromptu welcome reception, Nicolaus’ thoughts were pulled back across the river to imagine an abandoned Zerrissen, each time his eyes resting on the RETURN lever on the right side of the pilot seat. He wondered if Zerrissen was in any condition or, in fact, dire need to save himself with NIX. An agent who had just learned the purpose of the lever noticed his furtive glances and somewhat reduced Nicolaus’