Skybreaker

by Kenneth Oppel

  We lurched into the hangar—and my heart sank. The end of the launching track had been completely mangled by cannon fire. The two ornithopters themselves seemed unharmed, dangling from the track by their trapezes. But now there was no way of moving them the forty feet into launch position over the bay doors.

  “It’s all right,” Kate said, taking stock of the situation. “We’ll just unclip one from the track, and I’ll fly it out. Straight out the bay doors.”

  “You can do that?” I asked.

  She nodded.

  “And you’ve flown ones like this before?”

  “Absolutely.”

  “Are you lying to me?” I asked.

  “As best I can, yes,” she said. “We’ll take that one.”

  She pointed to the larger of the two. It had four open-air cockpits, one behind the other. Kate scrambled up the boarding steps, peered into the front cockpit, and screamed. I jumped up beside her. Crumpled over in the seat was a frozen corpse.

  “Who’s he?” Kate demanded angrily.

  Beneath his icy leather coat, the dead fellow wore what looked like a butler’s uniform.

  “Hendrickson,” I said in amazement. “Grunel’s manservant.”

  No wonder we’d never found him in the staterooms. He’d tried to make a break for it when the Hyperion was being chased. But he’d lost consciousness, like everyone else, as the ship had hurtled skyward.

  “Well, get him out of there!” Hal croaked, stomping up the steps.

  With his good arm Hal grabbed one side of Hendrickson, and I grabbed the other. We heaved him out and he landed on the hangar floor with a nasty thunk.

  “Anyone have a problem with that?” Hal asked.

  Kate leapt into the pilot’s cockpit, quickly studying the controls.

  “So, how’s this thing work?” Hal demanded.

  “Crank start,” I said, pointing at the handle on the leathery fuselage.

  “And after that we pedal,” Kate said.

  “Pedal?” I exclaimed.

  “If we want to keep flying, yes.”

  She pointed at the two pedals jutting from the cockpit floor. I glanced into the seat behind hers and saw an identical set.

  “Dear God,” muttered Hal.

  I didn’t know if any one of us had enough puff to keep going for long. But I could not think about that now. We had no choice. My ears were starting to pop as the air pressure increased. I thought it best to get everyone settled in their seats before cranking up the ornithopter and opening the bay doors.

  Hal and I helped Nadira into the rear cockpit, and then Hal climbed into the one in front of hers.

  “Buckle up,” I reminded them.

  “Let’s get going,” Kate said, staring at the various throttles and gauges and levers.

  Hopping off the ornithopter I grabbed the crank handle. I gave it a single, sharp turn, as I’d seen people do with motorcars. Nothing happened. I tried again, fearing I was weaker than I thought. There was no reassuring sound of combustion.

  “Not like that!” Kate called down to me. “It’s like a clock. It needs winding!”

  “Winding,” I muttered. I’d forgotten. I took the handle and turned it round and round, and I could indeed hear a tiny, precise clicking sound inside the machine’s body. As I panted for air, I pictured all the little gears meshing and revolving, and wondered how on earth this would be enough to power the craft. After a minute the handle could turn no more.

  “It’s done,” I said.

  “Right,” said Kate. “Here we go.”

  She seemed to be pushing and pulling things, but nothing was happening. I staggered as the Hyperion’s stern dipped even lower.

  “Now would be good,” I said.

  “Maybe this one,” she said, and suddenly the great leathery wings twitched. Ice crystals leapt. In tandem the wings slowly and creakily began to rise, as though this bat were arthritic and very close to death. In fits and starts the wings lifted until they could go no farther. Then their leading edges angled forward and jerked slowly back down.

  I looked worriedly at Kate. “Those wouldn’t lift a dandelion puff!”

  “They’re just warming up,” said Kate uncertainly. “And look, the props are going now.”

  Sure enough, the ornithopter’s two overhead propellers began to spin, quickly becoming a circular blur. The wings flapped again, faster this time.

  I ran across the hangar to the bay doors and seized the wheel. It would not turn. The metal was welded with ice. I banged and kicked, but could not open the doors.

  “Cruse, what’s the problem?” Hal roared, lifting his mask clear of his mouth.

  “Frozen solid!”

  Reaching under his seat he hauled out his rucksack and heaved it over to me.

  “Blow the doors!”

  I loosened the drawstrings and yanked out Hal’s block of explosive putty, the wires, and the plunger. I took a breath. I had no idea how much to use, so I was generous. I stuck a great blob of putty dead center where the bay doors joined, jabbed in the wires, and uncoiled them to the far end of the hangar.

  “Cruse, how much did you put on there?” Hal shouted, straining to see from his seat.

  “A fair bit!”

  “Good Lord!” Hal said when he caught sight of my handiwork.

  “Too much?” I shouted.

  “Why not!” Hal said. “Everyone duck!”

  I crouched and pushed the plunger. The blast bowled me right over. When I looked up there was smoke everywhere. The ornithopter was swinging wildly from its trapeze, but seemed unharmed, as were all onboard. Best of all, the bay doors had been blasted away, and a tsunami of icy wind was crashing into the hangar.

  I rushed back to the ornithopter, whose wings were beating much more vigorously now. The propellers droned loudly.

  “Get aboard!” Kate hollered.

  I climbed up, slipped into the cockpit behind hers, and buckled up.

  I’d thought Rath was through with us, but just at that moment another fusillade of cannon fire hit the Hyperion. The ship heeled over. The explosion was so intense I knew instantly what had happened. The engineerium had been struck—and the dynamite that lined its floor. The ship would soon be an inferno. There was a terrible din of rending timbers and shrieking metal, and the Hyperion buckled violently in midair. Then, through the open bay doors, I watched in horror as the entire forward section fell flaming seaward.

  We were only half a ship now, spinning through the sky.

  “Go!” I shouted at Kate.

  She reached up and tugged at the handle that was supposed to release us from the launching track.

  “It’s not working!” she cried.

  I unbuckled myself and reached for the handle, but could not grasp it from my seat. Scrambling out I crouched awkwardly atop the hull. The ornithopter was lurching up and down now as its wingbeats became more powerful, and I struggled to keep my balance and stay clear of the whirling propellers.

  I grabbed the handle, and saw the rod was thick with ice. I pulled hard, then once more with my full weight. The trapeze snapped free, and the ornithopter dropped. I lost my balance and slipped. I hit the starboard wing and was swatted onto the hangar floor.

  “Get back on!” Kate yelled.

  It was not so easily done. The ornithopter was hopping about like a giant, crazed bat.

  “Keep it still!” I bellowed.

  “Hurry up!”

  It seemed Kate had completely lost control, for the ornithopter was bouncing along the floor, heading right for the open bay doors.

  “No!” I yelled.

  Kate reined the ornithopter in, bringing it to a halt right at the very brink of the hatch. I ran toward it.

  “Hurry, Matt!” I heard Kate yell, “I can’t—”

  Then, with a single flap, the ornithopter leapt forward, plunged down through the hatch, and disappeared.

  I stood there, gaping in total incomprehension. The ornithopter was here just a second ago. Now it was go
ne. I was alone on the Hyperion. A sinking ship. Stupidly I ran to the edge of the hatch and peered down, as though the ornithopter might be right there, just waiting for me to step on. I could see it, but it was already far, far below.

  The Hyperion would crash. I would crash with it. I looked wildly around the hangar at the other ornithopter, and then—

  Grunel’s winged suit, hanging undamaged from the wall. I ran over, took it down, and pulled it over my sky suit, fastening the clasps with my numb, trembling hands. I slipped my feet into the stirrups, which attached to the tail segment. Hurriedly I stroked my new wings, shaking out the ice.

  I ran clumsily for the open hatch.

  Just then the Hyperion’s stern dropped so sharply I fell over and started sliding aft. I shouted and cursed as I tried to scrabble up the tilted floor. Things came loose and avalanched toward me. A few more moments and the Hyperion would be standing on her stern. Then she would truly plummet.

  I was a mountain climber now, grabbing at floor cleats and metal seams to help me get higher. My head pounded and popped with the speed of the ship’s fall.

  I reached the lip of the hatch, now slanted at a forty-five degree angle. The ship thrashed and tried to throw me off. I made sure my oxygen mask was snug. Then I pitched myself forward hard and tumbled out into the sky.

  ICARUS

  I fell.

  I was aware of the vast bulk of the Hyperion’s stern hurtling alongside me, but I was faster and soon had left it behind. Instinctively I spread my arms wide and my wings opened. I felt some kind of powerful cross brace within them snap into place and hold. Instantly my fall slowed—so drastically that the Hyperion’s wreckage came plunging down straight toward me.

  I had but seconds. I tilted my wings, angling my feet to swing my tail rudder, and banked sharply. The ship’s severed body careered past, not fifty yards distant, and its massive turbulence completely capsized me. Somehow I managed to right myself and veer clear of the aerial whirlpool in the ship’s wake.

  I cannot say how I knew these things—only that it was second nature, and I felt as though the wings had always been upon me. Riding atop my terror was a soaring joy, for I had known this feeling all my life in dreams.

  I was still sliding steeply through the air. With difficulty I angled my wings and felt the speed of my fall decrease even more until I was flying level. I experimented. My arms did not have the strength to power a climb, so I began a series of loose, jerky circles. The wind was very strong; it would have smothered me were it not for the mask over my mouth and nose. My eyes were slits. High above me I thought I made out the dark profile of Rath’s airship, and I prayed they could not see me—or Kate and the others.

  I cast about desperately, trying to spot the ornithopter. Below, I saw the two halves of the Hyperion sinking seaward, the forward section spewing flame and smoke. The stern section was tipped over even more now. All that kept her from plunging like a skyscraper was a few intact hydrium cells amidships.

  Would Kate think I was still aboard? Surely she wasn’t reckless enough to attempt a landing, for it would be impossible, given the Hyperion’s angle and speed. I hoped she was sensible enough to stay well back—but not so sensible as to give up on me altogether. Kate was my only chance.

  Round and round I went, buffeted by the wind. Below, the Antarctic Ocean stretched to all horizons. I searched in vain for the dark wrinkles of the ornithopter’s wings. The intense cold squeezed me with the force of a glacier. I could not stay aloft forever. The sky would defeat me. My veins would turn to ice, my heart would stop, and my mind would empty of all its thoughts and memories and treasures.

  The Hyperion’s forward section hit the ocean first, crumpling soundlessly against the waves. In less than a minute, the ship’s stern joined it, piling into itself. After sailing the skies of the world for forty years, the Hyperion was reduced to flotsam in a matter of seconds. The inventions, the taxidermy, the bodies of the doomed crew: all lost. I marveled at how such a big vessel could suddenly become so pitifully small. Really, I supposed, it was nothing but hydrium and the dreams of Theodore Grunel that had kept it aloft.

  My mind was drifting, my thoughts already congealing in the cold. I spotted a pair of wings in the distance and shouted out, even though I knew they could never hear me. My only hope was that Kate and the others were also searching for me and would somehow see the little speck I made in the vast sky. I could no longer see the wings and looked all around in despair, not knowing which way to go. Perhaps they’d never been there at all.

  A feather whipped past my face, and then another. I was surely hallucinating now. But when I glanced over my right wing, in horror I saw that I was molting. Fast. As I gazed at my left wing three more feathers went whirling off.

  The ornithopter seemed to come from nowhere, cutting across the icy blue sky before me. Kate must have spotted me, because the wings waggled, and the flying machine made a steep turn and came alongside on my left. Hal was waving at me frantically, and I saw that Kate was bringing the ornithopter into the wind. She pulled ahead, dipping a bit lower.

  My feathers flew. I could see bare patches on both wings now. Before long, I’d be about as airworthy as a plucked turkey. I was slewing all over the place. The ornithopter was dead ahead, and I had only one try. I was slipping too far to starboard. Steering with my wings and tail, I veered to port to compensate, and then came diagonally at the ornithopter. When I was almost overhead, I took my chance, drew in my wings, and dived.

  I aimed for my empty cockpit, behind Kate, but didn’t quite make it. Instead I came crashing down in front of Hal, willing my frozen fingers to unclench so I could grab hold of something. Hal had only one good arm, but I felt it lock around me tight. With both hands I clutched the rim of my cockpit. My wings fluttered and billowed and I was nearly blown off the ornithopter. I had to jettison them. I kicked my feet free of the tail stirrups, and then swung my legs into the empty cockpit. My numb fingers fumbled with the suit’s clasps—and suddenly my Icarus wings went sailing off behind us. I collapsed into my seat.

  Kate turned around, her eyes wide with joy and disbelief.

  “You made it!” she shouted.

  “I’m okay!” I shouted back.

  “Thank God! Start pedaling!”

  Our touching reunion was over, and she returned to the controls. It was my first time in an ornithopter, and I can’t say I found it reassuring. It rode the sky like a small boat on water, humping through the air as its wings pounded. I put my feet to the pedals and started churning, winding up the clockwork engine. It was a marvel that Grunel had found a way of generating such power from the turning of tiny gears. I looked high in the sky and saw no sign of Rath’s ship. I hoped he was long gone by now, thinking we had gone down with the Hyperion.

  I leaned forward and shouted beside Kate’s ear.

  “What’s the plan?”

  She turned her head slightly. “Find the Saga!”

  Hal was thumping my shoulder, and I turned to him. He made a circling motion with his hand, and I knew he wanted Kate to stay in a holding pattern so we could look for his ship. I relayed his message. Kate just nodded and put the ornithopter into a slow turn. I had to admit, the flying machine was more supple than I’d expected, and it responded smoothly to Kate’s commands, despite the fierce wind.

  I glancing back at Nadira and was relieved to see she was still conscious, though far too weak to pedal much. The rest of us would have to make up for her. I reckoned we were flying at about fifteen thousand feet now, and though the air was richer, we kept our masks on. We needed all our strength, and the extra air would keep our vision sharp.

  I scanned the sky for the Sagarmatha. If she’d been steaming for the Hyperion’s last position, we were in the right place at least, though I was unsure at what altitude she’d be approaching. My great fear was that they’d see the Hyperion’s wreckage on the waves and assume we’d gone down with the ship.

  I knew we couldn’t keep pedaling fore
ver, but said nothing. We would never make landfall. My legs sang with pain, and I was sorely tempted to pause and rest. I had survived one free fall, only to face another. But as I stared at the back of Kate’s hooded head, bent intently over the controls, I felt strangely calm. It would be a quick death, hitting the hard waves. We would be together.

  “There!” Kate cried, pointing.

  We all started waving and shouting like imbeciles, but the Sagarmatha, a thousand feet above us, sailed on. Dorje was flying her with a skeleton crew, and he would have precious few pairs of eyes for lookout. They would certainly not be looking for something as small as an ornithopter.

  “Go higher!” I shouted at Kate.

  “Pedal harder!” she shot back.

  The ornithopter humped and struggled to rise, but it was obvious our exhausted legs could not supply enough power. It was all we could do to keep it level. Unless we were spotted, the Saga would sail away and take our last hopes with her.

  A red rainbow shot up into the sky, and my soggy mind took a moment to understand it had come from the ornithopter. Hal and I both turned around and saw Nadira holding a flare gun. She lifted her mask from her mouth.

  “Beside the seat!” she shouted, pointing down to where she’d found it.

  I gave her the thumbs-up.

  The crimson flare soared high, arching over the Sagarmatha’s bow. We all waited breathlessly, praying we’d been spotted. Slowly the Saga began to turn. Her bow dipped and she headed toward us.

  Overjoyed I was, but I also knew we were no longer flying level. Hard as I pedaled, we were slowly but surely falling. We didn’t have much time. All my numb indifference evaporated now that rescue was so close at hand. I wanted it more than anything.

  “I’m not so good at landing,” Kate shouted at me.

  “You’re fabulous!”

  “Remember the Eiffel Tower?”

  “Thing of beauty!”

  I pedaled hard. I didn’t know if it was killing me or keeping me alive, staving off the cold that otherwise would have frozen me solid. I leaned back to Hal.