Travelling on a steep slant, there
was no vibration, no mechanical noise; scarcely the suggestion of
movement, except for the muffled swish of the air.
Were it not for the receding city below him, Chick could have
imagined himself sitting in a house while a windstorm tore by. He
felt no change in temperature or any other ill effects; the cabin
was fully enclosed, and heated by some invisible means. In short,
ideal flight: for instance, the seats were swung on gimbals, so
that no matter at what angle the craft might fly, the passengers
would maintain level positions.
Below stretched the Mahovisal--a mighty city of domes and plazas,
and, widely scattered, a few minarets. At the southern end there
was a vast, square plaza, covering thousands of acres. Toward it,
on two sides, converged scores of streets; they stretched away
from it like the ribs of a giant fan. On the remaining two sides
there was a tremendously large building with a V-shaped front,
opening on the square. The play of opal light on its many-bubbled
roof resembled the glimmer from a vast pearl.
In the air above the city an uncountable number of very small
objects darted hither and thither like sparkling fireflies. It was
difficult to realise that they, too, were aircraft.
To the west lay an immense expanse of silver, melting smoothly
into the horizon. Watson took it to be the Thomahlian ocean.
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