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Sharman Hix was sweating. That rancid kind of flop sweat. She could smell it. Her glands and pores reacting to some mental or emotional signal and saying, Better dump some of this out or you’re gonna drown in toxic soup.
Outside her pod the world was cold. Snowy white and cold. But inside, just Sharman alone with her machine, piloting the bubble-shaped wingless aircraft, she was working hard, perspiring, not panicking yet, but concerned.
Sharman had always thought of the pods as living, sentient beings rather than cold mechanical crafts. Like temperamental horses, she told the pilots she trained. You weren’t just piloting a pod, you were developing a relationship with it. Treat it well. Talk to it with your mind. Let it get to know you while you learn how to fly it.
Talking to it men
