Free Charon by Jack Chalker Page A

the walk and the street a wall of some glassy substance ran the length of the street and had a roof attached to the roofs of the buildings themselves. Although there was some seepage through cracks in the walk, it was pretty well watertight—a clever idea. There was also some airflow, which felt oddly chilling, although I couldn't figure out where it came from.
      Our host, as soaked as we, examined us with a sour smile, and I knew we probably looked worse than he did.
      The second coach arrived shortly after, and the rest of our party joined us and went through the same drying out—not that we were dry by any means.
      "It doesn't rain like this all the time, does it?" I asked the native.
      He laughed. "No, not like this. Usually it's no more than an hour or two, but in early spring and late fall the rain sometimes lasts two, three days at a clip, dumping up to three centimeters per hour." He paused a moment for that to sink in, then added, "We do have a good drainage system."
      They'd better, I thought, more amazed than anything else. Three days of such a downpour at that rate would come to almost two meters of water.
      "What season is it now?" someone asked sourly.
      The middle of spring," our guide responded. "It's gonna be getting hot soon." Unfortunately he didn't say it like he was joking.
      The group was led into the nearest building, which proved to be—well, rustic. It was composed of logs of some kind, including log bracing for the log ceiling, which was very high. There were wickerlike chairs around, some tables, and very little else. The building was also lit by those basic lamps, and they did a very good job I had to admit, despite the slight flickering that took some getting used to. The floor was carpeted with a rubbery-feeling tilelike substance with an elaborate grooved design—to allow water run-off, I supposed. Still, if this place didn't flood it must be well designed indeed.
      Groaning, we sank into the chairs, feeling as if we'd put in a full day already despite the fact that we had actually done very little. The tension was beginning to wear off, producing a general lethargy.
      "This is normally the lobby of the town's hotel," the woman told us. "We requisitioned it for a few days so that you could get acclimated. We reserved the top floor rooms for you—although I'm afraid you'll have to share two to a room for the most part. We need the lower floor for regular guests, and they're cramped as it is. The guests and townspeople will not come in here while we are using it, and for the first stages of orientation we'll take all our meals here as well. I would recommend that, pending our series of talks, you avoid any of the townspeople you might meet in the lavatory or on the stairs. Don't be mean, just don't strike up any conversations or get into any arguments. Most of them are natives here and won't understand your lack of familiarity with Charon and it's no use getting into trouble before you know what you're getting into."
      Several of us nodded in agreement on that. "What about getting out of these wet clothes?" I asked.
      "We all have wet clothes," she replied. "Well try and get some dry ones for you as soon as we have your sizes down, but for now you'll have to make do with the ones you have."
      A pretty young woman in our party shivered slightly and looked around. "Is it my imagination or is cold air blowing in here?"
      "It's not really all that cold," the man told her. "But, yes, cooler air is circulated through a system of pipes that blows cool air from below ground, where there are natural underground river caverns, and some man-made ones as well. The blower system is powered by windmills located on top of the buildings, and it keeps us from frying or strangling in stagnant air."
      Pretty ingenious, I had to admit, although I couldn't help wondering why the ban on machinery. The spaceport terminal was tiny, it was true, but it was quite modern, electrically