by Joseph Lallo
“Ma’am,” replied the messenger, stepping into the relative shelter beneath the gondola. “This isn’t for trade. One of your crew dropped it off. Along with this.”
“Gunner drop stuff off for us?” Lil said, grabbing the note.
She tore it open. As she read through the short and to-the-point message, her eyes widened.
“Cap’n! Cap’n!” she called, rushing back toward the crew ladder without looking. She ran headlong into Coop, who had climbed down the ladder in the meantime.
“What’s the rush, Lil?” he said.
“Coop! No time, I gotta tell the cap’n. Just help these fellas load up. It’s fuel and such for the return trip.”
“Return trip? To Caldera? But we just come from there! It’ll be weeks before we—”
“They’re in trouble, Coop! We’re headin’ back right now.”
She rushed up into the ship and dashed through the halls. In moments she burst up to the top deck and dashed to the helm, where the captain was just preparing to head below decks. Without a word, Lil handed him the note. Captain Mack looked it over, then handed it back.
“Coop loadin’ the fuel and ammunition?” he said.
“He better be, I told him to.”
“Then you help him. We’re leavin’ soon as we’re ready.”
“They got a head start on us, Cap’n. No tellin’ how much. You reckon we got a chance?”
“There ain’t no one that ever flew this sky that’s got a better chance than us. Now load up. I want us gone inside of five minutes. Them folks opened their doors to us. We ain’t lettin’ harm come to them for their trouble.”
Chapter 11
Nita and Drew worked away in the bowels of the East Seaward Hub. The current task, and one that would last the better part of the next month, was the disassembly of one of the distribution hubs that had been giving them trouble, in order to replace it with a fresh one. Though it was certainly a bit of skilled labor, it was easily one of the simpler jobs any member of the steamworks could be assigned to. The task was primarily the tightening and loosening of bolts in the proper order, and descended into a rhythmic tedium that left the mind free to wander. Typically, conversation, or even a bit of a sing-along, was crucial to maintaining sanity. But since the departure of the rest of the Wind Breaker crew, Nita had been quiet. Drew had thus taken up the slack.
“We’ll start on the coupler here, shall we?” he said.
Nita nodded and diverted the steam away from the next pipe. It would be a minute or two before the scalding-hot metal had cooled enough to work comfortably on it, so Drew picked up his thought where he’d left it.
“Deloris agrees. Together, we really believe the camera is the next great leap forward in artistic expression. And do you know what the missing piece is? The thing that has kept that remarkable tool from ascending to the proper position within our world? … Nita?”
She blinked, her eyes unfocused as she stared at the gleam of a gas lantern on the shiny pipe waiting to be installed.
“Mmm?” she said, suddenly realizing she’d been addressed. “I’m sorry. I was miles away. What is it you were saying?”
“The thing that has been missing from photographs? Color. Deloris has had a brilliant idea. I shall take photographs, my focus of course on framing and the selection of my subject. And when they are developed, she shall use colored washes to render them true to the vivid colors of life.”
“That’s very clever, Drew. I would like to see what you come up with.”
Drew looked her over. “I’ll tell you what. While we wait for this to cool, what do you say we get some fresh air?”
“That’s probably wise.”
The two of them walked carefully along the slick steam- and soot-soaked planks of the steamworks floor. Like all walkways and pipeways, this section of the mountain was carved out of volcanic rock. The rough, treacherous texture of the walls had trained them both to be sure of foot, lest they receive a nasty scrape. Nita led the way, lantern held high.
“You seem more distracted than usual, Nita. Ever since the Wind Breaker left,” he said.
“It’s just—it is the way of things. All this time I’ve been busy working out how to ensure they will be welcome here and preparing the things they would need. Now that’s all settled. I suppose without that to focus me, my mind is a bit scattered.”
“Forgive me, but from the outside looking in, I would say your problem is too much on your mind, not too little.”
“… Yes, I suppose that’s true.”
“So which of the classic sorrows plagues you?” he said. “Is it loss? Regret? Helplessness? Hopelessness? Doubt?”
Nita smirked. “A bit of them all, perhaps.”
“A fine thing then! That will make for some glorious poetry once it’s had time to ripen.”
“I’d just as soon be rid of it.”
“Then by all means, let it out,” he said. “The best grapes make for a terrible wine if the barrel isn’t well made.”
“… I’m not sure I appreciate the metaphor, Drew.”
“I work best in a visual medium. Literature is a weakness of mine. Listening, however, is a strength.”
She tried to gather her thoughts. “You’ve had more romantic dalliances than most the people I know.”
“I have dabbled in those most sun-dappled meadows as often as the opportunity has arisen.”
“Drew, as you’ve already admitted to lacking skill with words, perhaps it would be best if you kept to plain language for now?”
“I thought I’d painted a rather lovely picture with that one, but as you wish.”
“Have you ever… not been certain how you feel about someone?”
“No. Nor has anyone else.”
“That is a matter of—”
“That isn’t a matter of discussion, Nita. If you aren’t sure of something, it isn’t a feeling, it is an opinion. Feelings are not a matter of interpretation. They simply are. You may not be aware of them, you may not understand them, but your feelings on something—particularly on someone—are like the sun at dawn. They rise of their own, and even if hidden behind clouds, there is no doubting they are there.”
“You are getting flowery again, Drew.”
“Sometimes the situation calls for it. I presume the object of your confused affections is aboard the Wind Breaker as we speak? … It isn’t the tall fellow, is it? He is well meaning, but unless I’ve misjudged him, you would strike the end of his conversational repertoire at some point in the first evening of your courtship.”
“We are not discussing that aspect of the dilemma.”
“Then I have got excellent news. If there is a dilemma at all, and there plainly is, then your question is answered. You do have feelings for this mysterious person. The feelings of concern and doubt are painted all over your face, and have been since the moment the ship departed.”
They stepped into the sunlight and made their way down the stone steps to a small station with fresh water, both to drink and wash.
Drew took a towel to clean the soot and sweat from his hands and face. Nita did the same.
“I’m not so sure.”
He poured a tall tumbler of water, and one for her. “Let us frame it in this way. This mysterious other, are you afraid this person will hurt you. Emotionally or otherwise?”
“Absolutely not.”
“Then you must be afraid that you will, or have, hurt this person.”
“I suppose that’s true.”
“Then the answer is to throw caution to the wind. Throw your arms wide, open your heart, and take the chance. The worst that can happen is regret, and unless I’ve misread your expression, you’ve already got a dash of that. And even if things don’t go your way, there remains the possibility of some time in the aforementioned sun-dappled meadow before that happens.” He took a long sip of water and gazed at the sky. “And I have another reason to give your supposedly inscr
utable feelings a try.”
“And what is that?”
He pointed.
Nita turned to find, just visible on the horizon, a spot of red approaching. Even at that distance, it was unmistakable as the envelope of the Wind Breaker.
“What are they doing coming back already? It’s only been ten days. They shouldn’t be back for weeks yet.”
“You know what they say about when you love something and let it go?” he said.
She squinted at the spot, focusing as best she could. There was something wrong. A swirl of lighter color around it. The faintest whisper of green around its envelope.
“They’re damaged… and they aren’t alone!” Nita said.
Drew shielded his eyes from the sun. Just beyond the Wind Breaker, a larger ship was visible.
“Correct me if I’m wrong, but the agreement for safe harbor only covers the Wind Breaker. They shouldn’t be bringing anyone, right? … Nita?”
The comment was lost to her, barely heard as she streaked away. She was already a dozen steps down the mountain, bounding strides carrying her as fast as she could manage. Her mind painted terrifying pictures of what might have happened already. Attacked on the way back to Rim. Trailed all the way back in a running battle. But she forced herself to shove those concerns aside as well. What was important now wasn’t what had happened, but what would happen next. By now the keepers of the cannons would surely have seen them, and thus should have seen their pursuers as well. The word had been spread, and images of the ship passed to every cannoneer many weeks ago. They wouldn’t shoot at the Wind Breaker, and they would shoot at the pursuer, but some sort of a rescue party would need to be assembled in the event the ship wasn’t able to land. She’d fought so hard to give her crew a sanctuary in a hostile world. It would not end in bloodshed so near to her own home.
She reached the edge of the steamworks in minutes, her heart pounding in her chest and her lungs burning. The rest of the workers hadn’t noticed the ships yet, work continuing as though nothing was happening. She rushed past them and grabbed an armful of coil boxes on her way to the fastest carriage in the courtyard.
“Nita, it isn’t the end of the shift yet. We can’t spare you—” called Foreman Stover.
She turned to him. The man had an inspection glass around his neck, a field glass for quickly tracking down leaks in external pipelines. Without a word, she stepped up to him and snatched it from his neck.
“Now, Ms. Graus, those manners—” he said.
She looked to the ships with the glass. “Wailers. No. No,” she said.
Stover called after her, but she jumped into the carriage, his inspection glass still in hand, and sped out of the courtyard toward the shore. There weren’t any airships in all of Caldera. There was no way for her to reach them if they needed help. Unless…
She couldn’t spare a second thought. It was a long shot, but if there was even the chance she could be of aid, she would move heaven and earth to reach them. She nearly toppled the carriage as she rounded a turn and headed for the nearest of the shore’s cannons beside the salt fields. At this speed, assuming she didn’t break her neck, she would reach it in a few minutes. She prayed that would be soon enough.
#
Chaos reigned as Gunner fought to keep the ship under control. The wailer ship had been at the very brink of self-destruction when they’d taken control—evidently wailers did not take good care of their equipment—and in the days since then they’d been pushing it beyond its limits. It was well suited to half the task at hand, as there were as many telescopes as guns on the main deck. The same tools used to spot potential prey for raids worked perfectly for spotting the ship they were pursuing. In a testament to navigation, clear skies, and vigilance—not to mention Wink’s tireless sabotage—Gunner’s crew had spotted the false Wind Breaker two days ago. Since then they’d been running at full speed nonstop. Now the rattling of the engines threatened to shake them to pieces at any moment. The pipes of the steam system shuddered and popped, spouting leaks and fractures as quickly as the grunts could clamp on patches. Worse, of the entire “crew,” only Gunner had any formal training in an airship. Nothing on the ship was done properly unless it was done by Gunner directly or remotely via shouted orders. Kent and Donald knew how to keep the ship on course if pressed, and Dr. Prist was quick to absorb instruction. Nevertheless even keeping pace with the Wind Breaker, now that Wink’s sabotage had been discovered and corrected, took more skill than an amateur could manage. They’d fired much of their ammunition in the first few hours, barely punching a dozen holes into the envelope of the false Wind Breaker and damaging a few patches of hull before losing enough ground to put the ship out of range of their weapons.
For the last two days, Gunner hadn’t had a moment of sleep. His meals were hastily choked down while rushing from the ship’s wheel to the cannons or to the boiler and back. That he was even on his feet was a tribute to his sheer force of will. But will couldn’t wring any extra speed out of his turbines. And time was running out. The island of Tellahn was dead ahead. Rising up from its southern edge was the volcano that could well spell its doom. And just visible at the near shore were the first of its cannons. The most direct path to the volcano would take them over a thin patch of the eastern shore
“Dr. Prist,” Gunner bellowed in a gravelly voice. “We are getting to the ragged end of our options. I need you and the others to listen closely.”
“What do you need?”
“There are four wailer ships. I want you to ready two of them for flight.”
She squinted in the distance. “I’ll admit to not knowing them as well as you do, but it seems neither the ship or the land are near enough for a round trip on one of those vehicles.”
“The possibility of a round trip of any kind is well behind us. Just take notes and listen carefully. When the vehicles are ready, I want Kent and Donald to overstoke the boiler.”
“But that—”
“I want them to overstoke the boiler,” he repeated. “I want you to load seven charges into each of the two forward cannons. It should just barely fit, if you force it, which is why I’m having you do it instead of Kent or Donald. You’ve got the proper respect for explosives.”
“You’ll damage the cannons.”
“I’ll also get another few hundred yards out of them. Once the charges are in place and the boiler is stoked, I want you and Kent on one of those wailers and Donald on the other. Don’t bother with the false Wind Breaker. Don’t even get near it. Just head directly for shore.”
“What about you?”
“I’ll be riding a bomb with a burning fuse. One does not plan any steps further than that.”
“I won’t let you do this.”
“Samantha, regardless of how you feel about me or my decisions, at the moment I am the captain of this ship and you are a member of my crew. You have your orders. Follow them.”
Her fists tightened, but there was no arguing with him. At least, not to his face. She hurried down to the lower hatches, where Kent and Donald were wrestling with the latest failure in the steam system.
“We are abandoning ship,” she said.
“About bloody time!” Donald said.
“Guy wants you to ready three of the wailers, then pack the boiler full. I’ll be loading the cannons one last time, then we’ll be getting off the ship.”
“All of us?” Kent said.
“Guy is dead set on going down with it, but I intend to give him at least the option to do otherwise. We’ve got to move quickly.”
The three set off in different directions, Dr. Prist heading directly for the munitions room. She grabbed as much powder as she could carry, rushed to the breech of each cannon, and loaded the charges in. They were made to hold six of the carefully packed satchels of powder, but as he’d suggested, a bit of force allowed her to just barely ease the final charge inside.
As she locked the second cannon, she felt th
e ship’s already deathly shudder begin to intensify, and with the grinding of overworked machinery came an extra turn of speed. She hurried through the lurching, steamy hallways, her hair frazzled and her normally exquisite clothing terribly mussed, and wrenched open the special case she’d brought along.
“I’d intended to put these in Guy’s hands, but under the circumstances, I’ll have to make do with my own skills,” she muttered to herself, pulling out cloth-wrapped glass vials filled with dark blue liquid.
She filled two burlap sacks with as many as she could carry and dashed back to the top deck. Donald and Kent were already moving unsteadily out over the precarious planking that led to the wailer crafts.
“Donald!” she called, rushing to him. “Here. I want you to fly high over the false ship ahead on your way to shore and drop this bag on it. Kent and I will do the same.”
“That is not what I ordered, Samantha,” Gunner barked from the ship’s wheel.
“Consider it a mutiny!” she replied. “And there is a third wailer pressurized and ready for you. So don’t ride this blasted ship into the sea if you don’t have to.”
The ship shook with another pipe rupture, nearly pitching Dr. Prist over the side. Kent grabbed her and maneuvered her into the gun seat of the wailer. She had a few more parting words for Gunner, but Kent was a shade more pragmatic than sentimental. He unfastened the vessel from the mother ship and pushed its tiny turbine for all it was worth.
Dr. Prist had to shut her eyes and hold on for dear life as the ship screamed to top speed in moments. The wind stung at her face, and her hair tore free of its tight bun to trail behind her. After a few moments she pulled her darkened goggles into place and surveyed her surroundings. The height spun her head and turned her stomach, but she forced herself to focus instead on the ships both ahead and behind. Kent had guided their ship quite steeply upward. Donald was barely a dozen feet ahead and gaining thanks to the lighter load on his vehicle.