“Aye,”
Max shouted, almost hanging sideways from the instrument panel. She slapped up the forward master hydro-lever
on the hydrogen board, flooding the front ten compartments of the airship and
the portside cells with every last cubic inch of hydrogen left in their main
supply tanks.
If
any of those gas cells were punctured, if any were on fire, if flames somewhere
licked a cracked feeder pipe, well, they would pop, vanishing from existence in
one stupendous flash. That was the way
so many airships disappeared, without a story or a trace for those left
behind. They would live on only in the
memories of the clan and perhaps in a children’s story or two about a ghost
zeppelin with a Martian aboard.
(from Romulus
Buckle & The City of the Founders by Richard
Ellis Preston)
7½*/10.
The complete review is here.
.
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