7.a.iii.
Also in the
dark, but in the other direction, was Franklin Buck. And he was falling. Not straight down a shaft, but in a curling
tube, like a water-park slide, only much steeper. And without the benefit of the water. Or the enjoyment.
The slide didn’t
alter its course, remaining on a continuous downward corkscrew. The friction had burned for the first few
minutes but the tube walls eventually became greasy. This decreased the burning sensation but
increased the speed of his descent. With
the added velocity came the nausea. He’d
been falling long enough to be sick once already and he could feel t queasy
roiling in his stomach return. Still, at
least it didn’t burn so much anymore.
He felt bad
for the next person to fall down this tube.
They’d have to slide through his puke.
Then his mind, through a process of deduction, pieced together a
solution to a question that was, he hadn’t realized, nagging him.
Where had the
grease in this tube come from?
The solution
that assailed him involved the breakdown and decomposition of vomit ejected by
previous riders of this dark corkscrew drop.
The greasy smear that would result.
And he was forced to admit that there was a dank stench in this
place. He was also forced to endure
another set of wracking heaves as his stomach added to the lubrication all
around him.
