Title: UALyra (at least that's the working title. Suggestions are quite welcome.)
Summary: What was Lyra dreaming of when she slept in the retiring room cabinet? I'll add some background info at the end. This is definitely not as dialogue-heavy as much of my past work. I kind of like the changes!
Rating: G. There's nothing nasty here except puke. There's really nothing in the way of a plot, either. This is just a little character exploration.
Disclaimer: Add your own witty 'I own squat' disclaimer here.
Feedback: Please. Constructive criticism is not only great, but it's like pizza to a college student. All flames, however, will be used to roast marshmallows and cheerfully returned to the sender.
Visit www.terranbbs.com! I'm LyraSilvertongue there. Really, I am. Now go visit, and check your sanity at the door.
%%%%%
Lyra was lost. It wasn't hard for her to realize that. The hard part was figuring out where on earth she was. She looked down at herself and gasped. Not only was she dressed in strange thick blue trousers, but she was pulling a wheeled backpack behind her. At least she had her rucksack with her, so she rummaged through its main compartment. There were strange food items there (what were Goldfish crackers?), and a slip of paper. What had happened to the cabinet in the retiring room at Jordan?
"What do you think this means, Pan?" she asked her daemon, who had assumed the form of a very tiny, scared moth. Pantalaimon fluttered down to get a closer look at the thick card.
"I don't know. This here--" he gestured with an antenna at a section of it-- "makes no sense at all. What about that bit, on the right?"
Lyra looked, and found a detachable section. "Better leave it on, though, until we know what to do with it." It read:
BELACQUA/LYRA MS
from CHICAGO/OHARE
to DENVER
FLIGHT UA2347
GATE C4
SEAT 16A
BOARDS 11:25 AM
"What does it mean, though?"
"I dunno. Better to wait, I think. Let's look around a bit first."
Having decided to find out the meaning of the paper later, they both shifted their attention to the people around them.
These people were moving very quickly. Most of them had rolling baggage similar to Lyra's. Some of them were carrying their young children. Others were chasing after toddlers. A large cart full of old people beeped as it passed them. A group of men carrying briefcases hurried around the young girl. There was a moving pathway of sorts in the middle of the corridor. Nobody was smiling.
Suddenly, a voice came from out of nowhere. "Your attention, please," it said as Lyra looked for its source. "For your safety, smoking is not allowed in Chicago O'Hare International Airport, or on the upper walkway. Thank you!" Lyra had never been anywhere that had disallowed smoking before. Lyra wondered about what was so bad about cigarettes, anyway? The air wasn't fresh, at any rate, so the smell couldn't have been a problem.
The corridor was huge; full of strange pictures and signs. What was baggage claim? What was wireless service? Why would anybody want to change dollars into euros? Were dollars and euros simply part of some giant magic trick? The skylights and large windows illuminated most of the area, including the numerous shops and booths that had been set up. There was a scent foreign to Lyra emanating from a place called 'McDonald's.' As they entered, they complained about the length of the line; as they left, they complained about the price of whatever they had bought. There were rows of glass screens labeled "Arrivals" and "Departures," with lots of words and numbers unfamiliar to Lyra. Arrivals and departures of what? Those huge, metal glider-like things visible from the numerous windows?
And there was another crucial detail. Out of all these people, not one of them had a daemon. Upon noticing this, both girl and daemon shrunk into one another.
"They're alive, though, Lyra."
"How is that possible, Pan?" the girl whispered.
"Maybe... this is a different world? Like those we just heard Uncle Asriel talking about in the retiring room. Maybe in this world, they don't have daemons." Lyra always marveled at Pan's ability to reason under pressure. Often it would get in the way of an adventure, but this time, it would help to end it.
"Maybe their daemons are just hiding!"
"All of them?"
"They seem to have souls. Maybe their daemons are just invisible. That's what I suspect." Lyra's voice came clearer now, more confident. "Let's ask somebody what to do with this," she said before adding, after a moment of thought, "You'd better stay hidden. Be small so they don't see you."
"Go over there. There are some policemen over there; they may be able to help," whispered Pan before ducking into hiding in a pocket of Lyra's shirt.
Lyra timidly walked from her current position to that of the guards and asked, "Excuse me, sirs?"
"Yes, little girl?"
She was on edge immediately. People who would call an aristocrat like Lyra 'little girl' were bound to not be helpful.
Lyra had been planning to tell them that she was lost, but instead decided to say "I have this. What should I do with it?"
"Let's see..." the younger officer knelt to look at the paper in Lyra's hands. "That's your boarding pass. You see, this number; flight UA2347? That means you'll be on United Airlines flight 2347 leaving for Denver at--" he checked the ticket-- "11:25, if it's not delayed. It probably will be. Gate C4 is where your flight leaves. Go to the C concourse. It's just down the escalator. Follow the moving walkway until you reach another escalator. Go up that, and you'll be where you need to be. From there, find the place marked 4C. You'll want to hurry; they'll start boarding quite soon. It's eleven-ten now. Move along, now, little girl," he ended abruptly with a pat on the shoulder.
Lyra moved along, and was amazed at what she found.
The 'escalator' was a mechanical stairway of sorts; people got on one side and stood on one step. It then would take them up or down one level.
If the escalator had been a shock to Lyra, then the adjacent hallway was even more so.
"Look at all the lights, Pan!" The lights were tubes, bent into strange shapes. These intermittently lit colored shapes reflected off the mirrored ceiling to create an eerie effect.
And the moving walkway...
"Have you ever seen anything like this, Pan?"
"No, I haven't. And neither have you."
"Quit fussing! I'm gonna have some fun here." And she did. Lyra ran all along both legs of the moving walk, dragging her backpack behind her and running into all sorts of strange people. She then proceeded to go up the escalator by skipping steps, Pan all the while urging her not to do so.
%%%%
"C7 to Baltimore... 6 to Anchorage... 5 to Detroit... Ah! Here we go. C4 to Denver. Departing on time, boarding in six minutes. Well, then, I suppose I'll have time to use the ladies' room..." whispered Mary Malone to herself. She then grunted upon feeling the weight of a small, eleven-year-old girl thrust upon her.
"Pardon me, ma'am," Lyra said in her best 'remorseful' voice. This tone was her favorite when she was in trouble and being scolded. "I didn't mean to run into you."
"That's all right. Just slow down a little. Where are you headed off to?"
"Denver."
"Then you're in just the right place. Do you see out there? Beyond that outdoor hallway? That's our airplane." Lyra stored the word 'airplane' in her memory. So that's what those glider-things were. "Where are your parents? I bet they're worried about..." Mary paused to allow a yawn. "I'm sorry. I've been on a flight from London all night. Then, the flight I was supposed to be on last night got cancelled, so I haven't slept in at least a day and a half. This is the first Denver flight I've been able to get on to. Where was I? Oh, yes. Your parents. Where are they?"
"I en't got any parents. I'm not even sure why I'm here. I just know that I've got to go to Denver, on this flight. What's your name?"
Mary blinked in surprise at Lyra's sudden subject change before replying. "My name's Mary. And who are you?"
"I'm Lyra."
"Well, it's a pleasure to meet you, Lyra. Where will you be sitting?"
Lyra paused for a moment. Mary had a trustworthy air about her; Lyra felt she could be honest. "Seat 16A." They were both surprised after that. Lyra was startled by Mary's surprised reaction.
"I'm in 16B. Looks like we'll be--"
Their conversation was interrupted by the public address. "All first-class passengers on flight 2347 to Denver board now. Remember to have your boarding pass and valid government-issued I.D. ready at the door. We will be randomly conducting security checks today; please comply if you are asked to step aside. Thank you, and have a nice flight!"
Lyra started for the rapidly forming line, but Mary held her back. "They're only boarding first-class passengers now. We'll have to wait."
"What's 'first-class' mean?"
"It means that you get a better and more comfortable seat. You have to pay so much more for them, though. I don't think it's worth it."
"Hmm." They waited in silence and watched the line progress. The passengers placed their boarding passes into a large machine. The machine sucked the passes into itself and ejected the smaller section from a separate hole. The people currently boarding the plane were mostly businessmen. "What are those strange fabric things they have around their necks?" Lyra confusedly asked.
"They're called neckties, Lyra."
"What are they for? And why don't women wear them?"
Mary pondered. As she was about to tell Lyra that she didn't know, the public address system turned on again. "Thank you for your patience. We will now be boarding rows 15 and higher on United Airlines flight 2347. Repeat, rows 15 and higher may now board. Remember to have your photo identification ready. Thank you!"
"All right, Lyra. That's us! Let's get in line, shall we?" Mary asked.
Lyra stood with her and got in line. The person in front of them, a mother with a cranky toddler, got selected to stand aside. Lyra watched in awe as she set the child down and held her arms out, spread-eagled. What was that wand-thing that the guards were waving over her? There were simply too many mysteries here. She was barred from asking, however, when Mary grabbed her hand and pulled her to the machine.
"OK," the guard manning the machine said upon examining both boarding passes and Mary's I.D. "You're clear, ma'am. Is, um--" he paused and looked at Lyra's ticket-- "Lyra traveling with you today?"
Mary nodded. Upon seeing this, Lyra decided to answer affirmatively as well. Better to follow along and not be noticed.
"Is she your daughter?"
Lyra was taken aback. She didn't think they looked anything alike, and they had barely met. How could they be related, or even seem so? Yet Mary was nodding and smiling.
"Very well then. She doesn't need an I.D. if that's the case." He fed Lyra's pass through the machine, followed by Mary's. The small sections came out the other end, and they walked together through the folding hallway.
%%%%%
Lyra couldn't help staring at the interior of the airplane. So many seats, and they were so luxurious. Pantalaimon left her pocket in the shape of a fly to explore. He couldn't go far from Lyra, but he didn't want to anyway.
As they maneuvered through the crowded cabin, with Mary leading, Lyra following, agape, and Pan buzzing around them both, being careful to avoid anybody who would swat him, they found their seats.
Once all were seated, Mary showed Lyra how to stow her bags. Lyra spent the next twenty minutes asking questions ("What does this button do?" "What are these?" "How do they work?"), and Mary spent the time answering them. ("That calls a flight attendant to you. Don't push it now, they're all preparing for the takeoff." "Those are called headphones. You take this end and put it in here, and put these over your ears. Do you see those buttons? They control the music you listen to and its volume.") She reveled in the wonder she saw in this girl. Lyra looked to be eleven, but she still exhibited all the wonder and exuberance of a toddler.
Lyra, for her part, was becoming increasingly wary, though she was careful not to show it as she asked Mary about everything. What would this airplane-thing do? What had happened to her Oxford? Pantalaimon knew as little of their situation as she; he was just as scared. But they were together, and together they would survive.
Lyra's thoughts and questions were interrupted yet again by the speakers. She and Pan had been listening to music that sounded similar to what they played at Jordan, by a composer named Pachelbel. This music was cut off by the pilot telling everybody to pay attention to the safety demonstration and then prepare for takeoff.
They watched the demonstration. Lyra found the safety card and followed along with it. She hoped the plane wouldn't crash like it showed on it, though her anxiety visibly increased.
"Don't worry," Mary said, correctly interpreting Lyra's behavior. "There are very few plane crashes. The type of plane we're on-- it's called a Boeing 737, by the way-- is very safe to be on." Then, driven by an unconscious impulse, she touched Lyra's hand.
Lyra was somewhat surprised, but she liked the sensation this brought. It was a sort of comforting warmth that she had never felt at home. She had had caregivers as well as friends, but this seemed to be a mixture of the emotions evoked by both, and quite enjoyable.
Then the plane started moving. Lyra busied herself by gazing out the window as the pilot announced for everybody to stow their tray tables and place their seats in the upright positions.
Only a few minutes later (though to many of the passengers it seemed an eternity), the plane was on the runway. Lyra felt it accelerate, saw it pass trees and machinery and carts ever faster. "Now this is the fun part," Mary whispered to the enthralled Lyra. And the plane lifted into the air!
Lyra had never concieved of anything like this before. It was exhilarating, almost like being on the Jordan roofs again. Except it kept rising. "How high does this go?" she asked Mary.
"About thirty-five thousand feet, if I remember correctly," replied a smiling Mary. "I knew you'd like takeoff. And it's not done yet. Now just look out at Chicago."
Lyra looked, and was amazed. The haze was thick; that was to be expected from any large city. However, the sheer size of Chicago amazed her. It was bigger than her Oxford, more massive than she had ever imagined even London to be. And in the distance...
"How do they make buildings that big?"
"Very carefully, I expect," Mary replied with a chuckle. "Seriously, though, they use giant machinery and climb around. It's very dangerous, though."
"I bet! Is that an ocean?"
"No. That's Lake Michigan. It's one of the Great Lakes. I doubt there's that much water in the entire state of Colorado."
"Is that where we're going, Mary?"
"Yes, it is. Denver is the capital city of Colorado. It's not as big as Chicago, though. We'll probably spend about three hours in the air. Most of the land between here and there is farmland. Not that we'll see a lot of it through these clouds," she finished.
"Mary, my ears hurt."
"That's the air pressure changing. It's perfectly normal. Here, chew on this stick of gum until we're done taking off. It'll help you feel better." Lyra gingerly unwrapped the gum, examined it for a second, and then popped it into her mouth. She had never heard of something like this, either. It was sharp and strange and it tasted like mint. Her ears made a small 'pop' sound and then felt better. This was simply one more marvel of this strange place, Lyra reckoned, and decided to ask a different question.
"What is Colorado like?"
"I've never been there, but an old colleague of mine used to live there. He would always tell me about the mountains. He loved the mountains. People ski on them, and hike, and go bicycling. They are quite beautiful. Denver is the largest city; it's just east of them. East of Denver is nearly entirely farmland. It's very dry there, and the altitude is high. That means there will be less air to breathe."
"Why are you going there?"
"I'll be spending the week downtown for a physics conference. And you?"
"I really don't know. One moment, I was falling asleep at home, and then I was here."
"Well, that's strange. Nothing we can do about it now, though. Do you know your telephone number at home? We could call your house, let them know where you're headed."
Given Lyra's quizzical expression, Mary correctly deduced that Lyra had never heard of a telephone, let alone a telephone number. "Never mind, then. Here come the clouds. Have you ever been above a really large cloud? They can be really pretty."
They fell into a comfortable silence for a while, as Lyra and Pan watched the cumulonimbuses pass under them and Mary watched over Lyra. Lyra, for her part, was enthralled. She had seen clouds before, of course; it was hard not to be exposed to them in Oxford, or anywhere in England. She had never been so close to them before, though, and that was their appeal. Up close, they looked like raw cotton; soft and warm and inviting. They seemed to call to her, saying 'You will be here someday. You will fly among us and taste us. You will join us soon.'
Pantalaimon, however, had a different viewpoint. 'Clouds are clouds, Lyra. What are you fussing about?' he questioned her mentally.
'You know,' she replied. 'Clouds are so much different from up here. They're much more beautiful.' Then, to avoid a retort from the spider in her shirt pocket, she asked Mary another question. "When will takeoff be done?"
"In about ten minutes, probably."
"That's good. I have to use the bathroom, but the pilot said not to until the seatbelt light up there is off. How long will the landing take?"
"About as long as the takeoff. The landing is fun, too. Sometimes, though, landing in areas near mountains can be kind of rough. The wind makes it harder to land smoothly, you see."
They spent the next several minutes getting to know each other better. Mary talked about her job, movies, and all sorts of things foreign to Lyra, and Lyra told Mary about her life in the streets of Oxford. Their talk ended, however, when the 'fasten seatbelt' light turned off and the pilot announced that free movement through the cabin would now be allowed.
Lyra unseated herself hurriedly and moved toward the back of the cabin, where there were signs marked "lavatory." She had no trouble figuring out how to open the door, nor did she encounter difficulty locking the door behind her.
Her trouble came when she tried to take off her trousers. It took her several minutes before she realized that there was a zipper below the button. Once she realized this, it took her another length of time to split the two sides apart. Then she found the small metal tag and pulled it down, and she had no problems afterward. Everything was very clearly marked, and she found this extraordinarily convenient.
After relieving herself, Lyra returned to seat 16A, pushed past Mary, and sat down. She felt remarkably proud of herself for figuring out her pants.
"Uh, Lyra?" Mary asked tentatively.
"Yes, Mary?"
"Your fly is open."
"My what?"
"Your pants zipper."
"Oh. Thanks." Lyra reached down and fixed the problem.
"And you'd better fasten your seatbelt, too, Lyra," said Mary's gentle voice.
"Why? The sign's off..."
"That doesn't make any difference. You should keep it on."
"But why?" Before Mary could explain air turbulence (and how could you explain it to an eleven-year-old who had probably never heard of air pressure or any of the numerous related principles?), the airplane jolted slightly.
Perfect, Mary thought. "That's why. It's called air turbulence, and it can be a lot worse. Buckle up, now. I expect the pilot'll be turning the light on again momentarily if this keeps up--"
The pilot did just that. "Ladies and gentlemen, this is your captain speaking. We'll be going through some patches of turbulence for at least the next twenty minutes; please return to your seats and fasten your seatbelts. Flight attendants, move to your positions. Thank you!"
One or two minutes passed by with Lyra asking questions such as "what is air turbulence?" and "what causes it?" before the girl fell silent.
Both she and her daemon knew that something was wrong. They both felt sick; the last time they'd felt so bad was the time influenza came through Oxford when Lyra was eight. They had been unconscious for a day, and spent the next two days retching. Yes, this was not unlike that sensation.
Mary must have sensed Lyra's queasiness, for she asked "Are you all right, Lyra? Do you feel sick? You look green all over."
Lyra found herself unable to answer. She felt that if she even thought of opening her mouth, she would vomit on the seat in front of her for all to see and smell.
Mary must have realized this as well, for she quickly reached into the packet in front of her and fished out a small white paper bag. She opened it and handed it to Lyra. "Here you go," she said. "It's not bad to be airsick. On my first flight, I spent an hour kneeling over the lavatory."
This idea served no purpose except to worsen Lyra's condition. She stared into the bottom of the bag for a moment, studying its folds. Then, she heaved.
The sound and smell seemed to spread instantly through the cabin. Lyra felt that everybody was staring at her and thinking of her as a weak little girl.
Lyra couldn't have all the passengers thinking that, so she glared as fiercely as she could at the nearest one. The man who was her target shrank back slightly.
That's better, Lyra thought. She didn't feel sick anymore; she was in charge again.
%%%%%
After two hours of uneventful flight (except the in-flight movie, the very idea of which had enthralled Lyra), the seatbelt sign turned on again and the pilot announced that they would be landing momentarily.
The landing was not too rough. It reminded Mary of riding on a small roller-coaster; the dives and lifts were enough to enjoyably jolt her innards. Lyra had, once again, never felt anything like it. There quite simply was nothing similar in her world; no precedent that would provide any comparison to this remarkable sensation. It was also quite enjoyable now that she was used to it.
"I think you'll be wanting another stick of gum shortly," Mary told Lyra as she rummaged through her bag. "Start chewing on it now; it'll work better that way."
"Thank you," Lyra said absently. She was too busy watching the wings slice through the clouds to pay much attention to anything else. Then they were free of the moisture, and Lyra saw Colorado for the first time.
The section they were over was quite flat, with a lot of strange buildings on it. To one direction, Lyra could make out some beautiful mountains along the horizon. They were larger than the city she and Mary had left only recently. They were glorious.
And there was the airport. It seemed to be made of fabric, with numerous white tent-like things on top of the main section. There were three rectangular buildings, progressively farther away from the main one and seemingly unconnected, where there were lots of other airplanes parked. As Lyra watched them, one lifted off. She was amazed that she had done that herself only two and a half hours before.
The plane turned in a corkscrew pattern for a moment before coming closer to the ground, and closer. Once it reached a particularly long strip of pavement, it came parallel to the ground beneath and then touched down.
"Welcome to Denver, ladies and gentlemen! This is your pilot speaking. The weather today in Denver is 85 degrees Fahrenheit and cloudy. Local time is approximately 1:20 P.M. For those of you who are staying in Denver, your baggage claim carousel is number fourteen. We will be moving for a few minutes; please remain seated until I disable the seatbelt light. Thank you for flying United, and have a nice day!"
%%%%%
As they disembarked, it was hard to stay together. Everybody wanted to be let off the plane first. Somehow, though, they both made it onto the concourse at the same time.
"Now let's go to the baggage claim. To do that, we'll have to take the train to the main terminal..." Mary began. "Ah! Here we are," she exclaimed as she saw a sign pointing the way to the main terminal. "This way, Lyra!"
Lyra followed, and they went down two more escalators. There was a small train station there, and Mary led to one of the many doors on the right side.
"This train will lead us to the baggage claim. It shouldn't be too long before it arrives; there's one every few minutes." Even as Mary said this, a voice announced that the train would be arriving.
Lyra and Mary boarded, and Lyra immediately pressed her nose to the window, as she had done on the plane. As the train began moving, she and Pan shoved their way to the front for a better view of the tunnel.
By the time they had reached their goal, however, the train was stopping. Neither girl nor daemon was prepared for the sudden stop, and both fell to the ground. Lyra vaguely felt a pain in her head, a dimness, then nothing...
Lyra was awakened by her uncle Asriel. She and Pan vaguely remembered something about a woman named Mary and something called an airplane, but shook it off as a simple dream. They would have plenty of time to think about it later.
END
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So, what did you think?
Here are the origins of this story (for those who are interested): I recently flew (alone for the first time) from my home in Denver to spend a week with my aunt in upstate NY. I had two plane changes both ways, so I spent a lot of time in Chicago O'Hare (Isn't the hub system grand?). Sometime on the return trip, I started wondering "what would Lyra think of an airplane?" and filed the thought away until I could reach a keyboard. When I started writing, I wanted to make me the other protagonist, but Mary popped into my head and wanted a part, too. This story simply wrote itself from there. Though I didn't go directly from DEN to ORD, I've now spent enough time in both to be able to write about them, IMO.
I'll shut up now.
Summary: What was Lyra dreaming of when she slept in the retiring room cabinet? I'll add some background info at the end. This is definitely not as dialogue-heavy as much of my past work. I kind of like the changes!
Rating: G. There's nothing nasty here except puke. There's really nothing in the way of a plot, either. This is just a little character exploration.
Disclaimer: Add your own witty 'I own squat' disclaimer here.
Feedback: Please. Constructive criticism is not only great, but it's like pizza to a college student. All flames, however, will be used to roast marshmallows and cheerfully returned to the sender.
Visit www.terranbbs.com! I'm LyraSilvertongue there. Really, I am. Now go visit, and check your sanity at the door.
%%%%%
Lyra was lost. It wasn't hard for her to realize that. The hard part was figuring out where on earth she was. She looked down at herself and gasped. Not only was she dressed in strange thick blue trousers, but she was pulling a wheeled backpack behind her. At least she had her rucksack with her, so she rummaged through its main compartment. There were strange food items there (what were Goldfish crackers?), and a slip of paper. What had happened to the cabinet in the retiring room at Jordan?
"What do you think this means, Pan?" she asked her daemon, who had assumed the form of a very tiny, scared moth. Pantalaimon fluttered down to get a closer look at the thick card.
"I don't know. This here--" he gestured with an antenna at a section of it-- "makes no sense at all. What about that bit, on the right?"
Lyra looked, and found a detachable section. "Better leave it on, though, until we know what to do with it." It read:
BELACQUA/LYRA MS
from CHICAGO/OHARE
to DENVER
FLIGHT UA2347
GATE C4
SEAT 16A
BOARDS 11:25 AM
"What does it mean, though?"
"I dunno. Better to wait, I think. Let's look around a bit first."
Having decided to find out the meaning of the paper later, they both shifted their attention to the people around them.
These people were moving very quickly. Most of them had rolling baggage similar to Lyra's. Some of them were carrying their young children. Others were chasing after toddlers. A large cart full of old people beeped as it passed them. A group of men carrying briefcases hurried around the young girl. There was a moving pathway of sorts in the middle of the corridor. Nobody was smiling.
Suddenly, a voice came from out of nowhere. "Your attention, please," it said as Lyra looked for its source. "For your safety, smoking is not allowed in Chicago O'Hare International Airport, or on the upper walkway. Thank you!" Lyra had never been anywhere that had disallowed smoking before. Lyra wondered about what was so bad about cigarettes, anyway? The air wasn't fresh, at any rate, so the smell couldn't have been a problem.
The corridor was huge; full of strange pictures and signs. What was baggage claim? What was wireless service? Why would anybody want to change dollars into euros? Were dollars and euros simply part of some giant magic trick? The skylights and large windows illuminated most of the area, including the numerous shops and booths that had been set up. There was a scent foreign to Lyra emanating from a place called 'McDonald's.' As they entered, they complained about the length of the line; as they left, they complained about the price of whatever they had bought. There were rows of glass screens labeled "Arrivals" and "Departures," with lots of words and numbers unfamiliar to Lyra. Arrivals and departures of what? Those huge, metal glider-like things visible from the numerous windows?
And there was another crucial detail. Out of all these people, not one of them had a daemon. Upon noticing this, both girl and daemon shrunk into one another.
"They're alive, though, Lyra."
"How is that possible, Pan?" the girl whispered.
"Maybe... this is a different world? Like those we just heard Uncle Asriel talking about in the retiring room. Maybe in this world, they don't have daemons." Lyra always marveled at Pan's ability to reason under pressure. Often it would get in the way of an adventure, but this time, it would help to end it.
"Maybe their daemons are just hiding!"
"All of them?"
"They seem to have souls. Maybe their daemons are just invisible. That's what I suspect." Lyra's voice came clearer now, more confident. "Let's ask somebody what to do with this," she said before adding, after a moment of thought, "You'd better stay hidden. Be small so they don't see you."
"Go over there. There are some policemen over there; they may be able to help," whispered Pan before ducking into hiding in a pocket of Lyra's shirt.
Lyra timidly walked from her current position to that of the guards and asked, "Excuse me, sirs?"
"Yes, little girl?"
She was on edge immediately. People who would call an aristocrat like Lyra 'little girl' were bound to not be helpful.
Lyra had been planning to tell them that she was lost, but instead decided to say "I have this. What should I do with it?"
"Let's see..." the younger officer knelt to look at the paper in Lyra's hands. "That's your boarding pass. You see, this number; flight UA2347? That means you'll be on United Airlines flight 2347 leaving for Denver at--" he checked the ticket-- "11:25, if it's not delayed. It probably will be. Gate C4 is where your flight leaves. Go to the C concourse. It's just down the escalator. Follow the moving walkway until you reach another escalator. Go up that, and you'll be where you need to be. From there, find the place marked 4C. You'll want to hurry; they'll start boarding quite soon. It's eleven-ten now. Move along, now, little girl," he ended abruptly with a pat on the shoulder.
Lyra moved along, and was amazed at what she found.
The 'escalator' was a mechanical stairway of sorts; people got on one side and stood on one step. It then would take them up or down one level.
If the escalator had been a shock to Lyra, then the adjacent hallway was even more so.
"Look at all the lights, Pan!" The lights were tubes, bent into strange shapes. These intermittently lit colored shapes reflected off the mirrored ceiling to create an eerie effect.
And the moving walkway...
"Have you ever seen anything like this, Pan?"
"No, I haven't. And neither have you."
"Quit fussing! I'm gonna have some fun here." And she did. Lyra ran all along both legs of the moving walk, dragging her backpack behind her and running into all sorts of strange people. She then proceeded to go up the escalator by skipping steps, Pan all the while urging her not to do so.
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"C7 to Baltimore... 6 to Anchorage... 5 to Detroit... Ah! Here we go. C4 to Denver. Departing on time, boarding in six minutes. Well, then, I suppose I'll have time to use the ladies' room..." whispered Mary Malone to herself. She then grunted upon feeling the weight of a small, eleven-year-old girl thrust upon her.
"Pardon me, ma'am," Lyra said in her best 'remorseful' voice. This tone was her favorite when she was in trouble and being scolded. "I didn't mean to run into you."
"That's all right. Just slow down a little. Where are you headed off to?"
"Denver."
"Then you're in just the right place. Do you see out there? Beyond that outdoor hallway? That's our airplane." Lyra stored the word 'airplane' in her memory. So that's what those glider-things were. "Where are your parents? I bet they're worried about..." Mary paused to allow a yawn. "I'm sorry. I've been on a flight from London all night. Then, the flight I was supposed to be on last night got cancelled, so I haven't slept in at least a day and a half. This is the first Denver flight I've been able to get on to. Where was I? Oh, yes. Your parents. Where are they?"
"I en't got any parents. I'm not even sure why I'm here. I just know that I've got to go to Denver, on this flight. What's your name?"
Mary blinked in surprise at Lyra's sudden subject change before replying. "My name's Mary. And who are you?"
"I'm Lyra."
"Well, it's a pleasure to meet you, Lyra. Where will you be sitting?"
Lyra paused for a moment. Mary had a trustworthy air about her; Lyra felt she could be honest. "Seat 16A." They were both surprised after that. Lyra was startled by Mary's surprised reaction.
"I'm in 16B. Looks like we'll be--"
Their conversation was interrupted by the public address. "All first-class passengers on flight 2347 to Denver board now. Remember to have your boarding pass and valid government-issued I.D. ready at the door. We will be randomly conducting security checks today; please comply if you are asked to step aside. Thank you, and have a nice flight!"
Lyra started for the rapidly forming line, but Mary held her back. "They're only boarding first-class passengers now. We'll have to wait."
"What's 'first-class' mean?"
"It means that you get a better and more comfortable seat. You have to pay so much more for them, though. I don't think it's worth it."
"Hmm." They waited in silence and watched the line progress. The passengers placed their boarding passes into a large machine. The machine sucked the passes into itself and ejected the smaller section from a separate hole. The people currently boarding the plane were mostly businessmen. "What are those strange fabric things they have around their necks?" Lyra confusedly asked.
"They're called neckties, Lyra."
"What are they for? And why don't women wear them?"
Mary pondered. As she was about to tell Lyra that she didn't know, the public address system turned on again. "Thank you for your patience. We will now be boarding rows 15 and higher on United Airlines flight 2347. Repeat, rows 15 and higher may now board. Remember to have your photo identification ready. Thank you!"
"All right, Lyra. That's us! Let's get in line, shall we?" Mary asked.
Lyra stood with her and got in line. The person in front of them, a mother with a cranky toddler, got selected to stand aside. Lyra watched in awe as she set the child down and held her arms out, spread-eagled. What was that wand-thing that the guards were waving over her? There were simply too many mysteries here. She was barred from asking, however, when Mary grabbed her hand and pulled her to the machine.
"OK," the guard manning the machine said upon examining both boarding passes and Mary's I.D. "You're clear, ma'am. Is, um--" he paused and looked at Lyra's ticket-- "Lyra traveling with you today?"
Mary nodded. Upon seeing this, Lyra decided to answer affirmatively as well. Better to follow along and not be noticed.
"Is she your daughter?"
Lyra was taken aback. She didn't think they looked anything alike, and they had barely met. How could they be related, or even seem so? Yet Mary was nodding and smiling.
"Very well then. She doesn't need an I.D. if that's the case." He fed Lyra's pass through the machine, followed by Mary's. The small sections came out the other end, and they walked together through the folding hallway.
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Lyra couldn't help staring at the interior of the airplane. So many seats, and they were so luxurious. Pantalaimon left her pocket in the shape of a fly to explore. He couldn't go far from Lyra, but he didn't want to anyway.
As they maneuvered through the crowded cabin, with Mary leading, Lyra following, agape, and Pan buzzing around them both, being careful to avoid anybody who would swat him, they found their seats.
Once all were seated, Mary showed Lyra how to stow her bags. Lyra spent the next twenty minutes asking questions ("What does this button do?" "What are these?" "How do they work?"), and Mary spent the time answering them. ("That calls a flight attendant to you. Don't push it now, they're all preparing for the takeoff." "Those are called headphones. You take this end and put it in here, and put these over your ears. Do you see those buttons? They control the music you listen to and its volume.") She reveled in the wonder she saw in this girl. Lyra looked to be eleven, but she still exhibited all the wonder and exuberance of a toddler.
Lyra, for her part, was becoming increasingly wary, though she was careful not to show it as she asked Mary about everything. What would this airplane-thing do? What had happened to her Oxford? Pantalaimon knew as little of their situation as she; he was just as scared. But they were together, and together they would survive.
Lyra's thoughts and questions were interrupted yet again by the speakers. She and Pan had been listening to music that sounded similar to what they played at Jordan, by a composer named Pachelbel. This music was cut off by the pilot telling everybody to pay attention to the safety demonstration and then prepare for takeoff.
They watched the demonstration. Lyra found the safety card and followed along with it. She hoped the plane wouldn't crash like it showed on it, though her anxiety visibly increased.
"Don't worry," Mary said, correctly interpreting Lyra's behavior. "There are very few plane crashes. The type of plane we're on-- it's called a Boeing 737, by the way-- is very safe to be on." Then, driven by an unconscious impulse, she touched Lyra's hand.
Lyra was somewhat surprised, but she liked the sensation this brought. It was a sort of comforting warmth that she had never felt at home. She had had caregivers as well as friends, but this seemed to be a mixture of the emotions evoked by both, and quite enjoyable.
Then the plane started moving. Lyra busied herself by gazing out the window as the pilot announced for everybody to stow their tray tables and place their seats in the upright positions.
Only a few minutes later (though to many of the passengers it seemed an eternity), the plane was on the runway. Lyra felt it accelerate, saw it pass trees and machinery and carts ever faster. "Now this is the fun part," Mary whispered to the enthralled Lyra. And the plane lifted into the air!
Lyra had never concieved of anything like this before. It was exhilarating, almost like being on the Jordan roofs again. Except it kept rising. "How high does this go?" she asked Mary.
"About thirty-five thousand feet, if I remember correctly," replied a smiling Mary. "I knew you'd like takeoff. And it's not done yet. Now just look out at Chicago."
Lyra looked, and was amazed. The haze was thick; that was to be expected from any large city. However, the sheer size of Chicago amazed her. It was bigger than her Oxford, more massive than she had ever imagined even London to be. And in the distance...
"How do they make buildings that big?"
"Very carefully, I expect," Mary replied with a chuckle. "Seriously, though, they use giant machinery and climb around. It's very dangerous, though."
"I bet! Is that an ocean?"
"No. That's Lake Michigan. It's one of the Great Lakes. I doubt there's that much water in the entire state of Colorado."
"Is that where we're going, Mary?"
"Yes, it is. Denver is the capital city of Colorado. It's not as big as Chicago, though. We'll probably spend about three hours in the air. Most of the land between here and there is farmland. Not that we'll see a lot of it through these clouds," she finished.
"Mary, my ears hurt."
"That's the air pressure changing. It's perfectly normal. Here, chew on this stick of gum until we're done taking off. It'll help you feel better." Lyra gingerly unwrapped the gum, examined it for a second, and then popped it into her mouth. She had never heard of something like this, either. It was sharp and strange and it tasted like mint. Her ears made a small 'pop' sound and then felt better. This was simply one more marvel of this strange place, Lyra reckoned, and decided to ask a different question.
"What is Colorado like?"
"I've never been there, but an old colleague of mine used to live there. He would always tell me about the mountains. He loved the mountains. People ski on them, and hike, and go bicycling. They are quite beautiful. Denver is the largest city; it's just east of them. East of Denver is nearly entirely farmland. It's very dry there, and the altitude is high. That means there will be less air to breathe."
"Why are you going there?"
"I'll be spending the week downtown for a physics conference. And you?"
"I really don't know. One moment, I was falling asleep at home, and then I was here."
"Well, that's strange. Nothing we can do about it now, though. Do you know your telephone number at home? We could call your house, let them know where you're headed."
Given Lyra's quizzical expression, Mary correctly deduced that Lyra had never heard of a telephone, let alone a telephone number. "Never mind, then. Here come the clouds. Have you ever been above a really large cloud? They can be really pretty."
They fell into a comfortable silence for a while, as Lyra and Pan watched the cumulonimbuses pass under them and Mary watched over Lyra. Lyra, for her part, was enthralled. She had seen clouds before, of course; it was hard not to be exposed to them in Oxford, or anywhere in England. She had never been so close to them before, though, and that was their appeal. Up close, they looked like raw cotton; soft and warm and inviting. They seemed to call to her, saying 'You will be here someday. You will fly among us and taste us. You will join us soon.'
Pantalaimon, however, had a different viewpoint. 'Clouds are clouds, Lyra. What are you fussing about?' he questioned her mentally.
'You know,' she replied. 'Clouds are so much different from up here. They're much more beautiful.' Then, to avoid a retort from the spider in her shirt pocket, she asked Mary another question. "When will takeoff be done?"
"In about ten minutes, probably."
"That's good. I have to use the bathroom, but the pilot said not to until the seatbelt light up there is off. How long will the landing take?"
"About as long as the takeoff. The landing is fun, too. Sometimes, though, landing in areas near mountains can be kind of rough. The wind makes it harder to land smoothly, you see."
They spent the next several minutes getting to know each other better. Mary talked about her job, movies, and all sorts of things foreign to Lyra, and Lyra told Mary about her life in the streets of Oxford. Their talk ended, however, when the 'fasten seatbelt' light turned off and the pilot announced that free movement through the cabin would now be allowed.
Lyra unseated herself hurriedly and moved toward the back of the cabin, where there were signs marked "lavatory." She had no trouble figuring out how to open the door, nor did she encounter difficulty locking the door behind her.
Her trouble came when she tried to take off her trousers. It took her several minutes before she realized that there was a zipper below the button. Once she realized this, it took her another length of time to split the two sides apart. Then she found the small metal tag and pulled it down, and she had no problems afterward. Everything was very clearly marked, and she found this extraordinarily convenient.
After relieving herself, Lyra returned to seat 16A, pushed past Mary, and sat down. She felt remarkably proud of herself for figuring out her pants.
"Uh, Lyra?" Mary asked tentatively.
"Yes, Mary?"
"Your fly is open."
"My what?"
"Your pants zipper."
"Oh. Thanks." Lyra reached down and fixed the problem.
"And you'd better fasten your seatbelt, too, Lyra," said Mary's gentle voice.
"Why? The sign's off..."
"That doesn't make any difference. You should keep it on."
"But why?" Before Mary could explain air turbulence (and how could you explain it to an eleven-year-old who had probably never heard of air pressure or any of the numerous related principles?), the airplane jolted slightly.
Perfect, Mary thought. "That's why. It's called air turbulence, and it can be a lot worse. Buckle up, now. I expect the pilot'll be turning the light on again momentarily if this keeps up--"
The pilot did just that. "Ladies and gentlemen, this is your captain speaking. We'll be going through some patches of turbulence for at least the next twenty minutes; please return to your seats and fasten your seatbelts. Flight attendants, move to your positions. Thank you!"
One or two minutes passed by with Lyra asking questions such as "what is air turbulence?" and "what causes it?" before the girl fell silent.
Both she and her daemon knew that something was wrong. They both felt sick; the last time they'd felt so bad was the time influenza came through Oxford when Lyra was eight. They had been unconscious for a day, and spent the next two days retching. Yes, this was not unlike that sensation.
Mary must have sensed Lyra's queasiness, for she asked "Are you all right, Lyra? Do you feel sick? You look green all over."
Lyra found herself unable to answer. She felt that if she even thought of opening her mouth, she would vomit on the seat in front of her for all to see and smell.
Mary must have realized this as well, for she quickly reached into the packet in front of her and fished out a small white paper bag. She opened it and handed it to Lyra. "Here you go," she said. "It's not bad to be airsick. On my first flight, I spent an hour kneeling over the lavatory."
This idea served no purpose except to worsen Lyra's condition. She stared into the bottom of the bag for a moment, studying its folds. Then, she heaved.
The sound and smell seemed to spread instantly through the cabin. Lyra felt that everybody was staring at her and thinking of her as a weak little girl.
Lyra couldn't have all the passengers thinking that, so she glared as fiercely as she could at the nearest one. The man who was her target shrank back slightly.
That's better, Lyra thought. She didn't feel sick anymore; she was in charge again.
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After two hours of uneventful flight (except the in-flight movie, the very idea of which had enthralled Lyra), the seatbelt sign turned on again and the pilot announced that they would be landing momentarily.
The landing was not too rough. It reminded Mary of riding on a small roller-coaster; the dives and lifts were enough to enjoyably jolt her innards. Lyra had, once again, never felt anything like it. There quite simply was nothing similar in her world; no precedent that would provide any comparison to this remarkable sensation. It was also quite enjoyable now that she was used to it.
"I think you'll be wanting another stick of gum shortly," Mary told Lyra as she rummaged through her bag. "Start chewing on it now; it'll work better that way."
"Thank you," Lyra said absently. She was too busy watching the wings slice through the clouds to pay much attention to anything else. Then they were free of the moisture, and Lyra saw Colorado for the first time.
The section they were over was quite flat, with a lot of strange buildings on it. To one direction, Lyra could make out some beautiful mountains along the horizon. They were larger than the city she and Mary had left only recently. They were glorious.
And there was the airport. It seemed to be made of fabric, with numerous white tent-like things on top of the main section. There were three rectangular buildings, progressively farther away from the main one and seemingly unconnected, where there were lots of other airplanes parked. As Lyra watched them, one lifted off. She was amazed that she had done that herself only two and a half hours before.
The plane turned in a corkscrew pattern for a moment before coming closer to the ground, and closer. Once it reached a particularly long strip of pavement, it came parallel to the ground beneath and then touched down.
"Welcome to Denver, ladies and gentlemen! This is your pilot speaking. The weather today in Denver is 85 degrees Fahrenheit and cloudy. Local time is approximately 1:20 P.M. For those of you who are staying in Denver, your baggage claim carousel is number fourteen. We will be moving for a few minutes; please remain seated until I disable the seatbelt light. Thank you for flying United, and have a nice day!"
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As they disembarked, it was hard to stay together. Everybody wanted to be let off the plane first. Somehow, though, they both made it onto the concourse at the same time.
"Now let's go to the baggage claim. To do that, we'll have to take the train to the main terminal..." Mary began. "Ah! Here we are," she exclaimed as she saw a sign pointing the way to the main terminal. "This way, Lyra!"
Lyra followed, and they went down two more escalators. There was a small train station there, and Mary led to one of the many doors on the right side.
"This train will lead us to the baggage claim. It shouldn't be too long before it arrives; there's one every few minutes." Even as Mary said this, a voice announced that the train would be arriving.
Lyra and Mary boarded, and Lyra immediately pressed her nose to the window, as she had done on the plane. As the train began moving, she and Pan shoved their way to the front for a better view of the tunnel.
By the time they had reached their goal, however, the train was stopping. Neither girl nor daemon was prepared for the sudden stop, and both fell to the ground. Lyra vaguely felt a pain in her head, a dimness, then nothing...
Lyra was awakened by her uncle Asriel. She and Pan vaguely remembered something about a woman named Mary and something called an airplane, but shook it off as a simple dream. They would have plenty of time to think about it later.
END
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So, what did you think?
Here are the origins of this story (for those who are interested): I recently flew (alone for the first time) from my home in Denver to spend a week with my aunt in upstate NY. I had two plane changes both ways, so I spent a lot of time in Chicago O'Hare (Isn't the hub system grand?). Sometime on the return trip, I started wondering "what would Lyra think of an airplane?" and filed the thought away until I could reach a keyboard. When I started writing, I wanted to make me the other protagonist, but Mary popped into my head and wanted a part, too. This story simply wrote itself from there. Though I didn't go directly from DEN to ORD, I've now spent enough time in both to be able to write about them, IMO.
I'll shut up now.