by R J Theodore
“They worry me less than that Imperial ship.” She frowned and chewed the inside of her lip. “But it’s like you said. All of us together, over this one patch of garbage? This breeze carries rot. I want to get our featherweight cargo to its buyer before this job blows up like a senile Rakkar’s laboratory.”
Dug handed her the scope again and moved off toward the wheelhouse to convey her orders to Tisker.
She stood in silence at Wind Sabre’s railing, scope locked on the pair of ships as they grew smaller. Trying to control the bounce in the viewfinder, she forced herself to breathe slowly. Out in the skies, the pumpkins were lavender, tinted with gold at the vines and along the ribs. Their glow would be at full strength in a couple of hours.
Flotsam didn’t spin fast enough to get them away from the area with any haste. At some point before golden dawn, Wind Sabre would have to make her escape or be spotted.
The lines creaked above her, tethering the buoyant lift balloon to the weight of the hull beneath it. Wood creaked. The steam engines at mid-deck hissed and hummed within their housings, puffing hot air up into the envelope and feeding pressure to the pair of turbine thrusters mounted to either side of the rudder. Through the soles of her boots, she could feel the rumble of Sophie’s belt-driven stoker rig as it tumbled dark bricks into the firebox two decks down. Talis fingered her prayerlocks, this time asking for their luck to hold. She loved the little songs her ship sang as it was under way, but now she wished the old girl knew how to whisper.
Paranoia. At this distance the noises should be lost before they reached that Imperial ship. She’d invested a dozen contracts’ worth of earnings to insulate the hull and the engine compartments, and knew her ship was as quiet as they came.
She laced her fingers into her ’locks and gave them another tug. Begged Silus Cutter that finding the ring would be the start of a lucky run, not the end of one.
The Imperial ship began to move. It peeled away from the Yu’Nyun starship and angled its bow to a trajectory that would intercept Wind Sabre’s current course.
Silus must have been too busy to perceive her wish.
Talis clapped the scope shut, yelling orders as she ran aft toward the wheelhouse.
“Kick those boilers and shift it to the thrusters!” she bellowed. “We’ve been spotted!”
Chapter 3
The Imperial ship was called The Serpent Rose. Talis got a look at its designation as it pulled away from the Yu’Nyun. Lighter than a warship, but with twice as much ammunition relative to its size. The smaller dimensions gave the ship speed, and the delicately sweeping line of its hull cut through wind resistance. This ship was meant for the chase. A hunter.
And Wind Sabre was her prey.
Their position was bad. If Talis and her crew wanted to get away, pinched against the far reaches of breathable atmosphere and a barrier of garbage was no place to find themselves with a hunter ship on their Nexus-side. The Imperials were between them and just about anywhere they’d rather be.
Tisker was at the helm, though, Talis reminded herself. He’d negotiated them out of a career’s worth of tight spots. It wasn’t just his skill. Talis had skill enough on her own. It was his instinct with the ship that had sealed his place on her crew. His left hand danced across the levers on the control board while he deftly managed the wheel with his right. She saw him shift his body to starboard and felt Wind Sabre angle to catch the wind, their motions synchronized. The ship handled as though they shared a bond, as though it was an extension of him. Some Cutters had that. Understood the wind, natural as breathing.
So Talis was a spectator. In good conditions, the ship could be run by one person if it had to be. A crew of four had no slack, so she’d made the right upgrades to ensure that. With Sophie aloft to watch their clearance and Dug supervising the engine output, Talis would only get in the way in the tight spaces around the engine compartments. The crew knew where to go and what was at stake.
All the same, The Serpent Rose gained on them. It seemed as though Wind Sabre was frozen in place, despite the bitter air buffeting her face.
Then movement from the Yu’Nyun ship caught her eye, the reflections of purple light sliding across its burnished surface as it changed direction. Once again envious of its closed hull, she watched as it descended in a straight line, down into the flotsam layer. The trash stirred around it, disturbed and displaced, sending shivers of movement in its wake. Good thing she’d already found the ring, or that little dip would have destroyed any accuracy in the coordinates she’d gotten from Jasper. The garbage would skitter and swirl around for days from that disturbance.
The starship’s arching dorsal fin cut through the wrecks and castoffs, the only thing visible as the ship became submerged in the detritus. Whatever business the aliens had with the Imperial ship, it had apparently been satisfied. Talis let out a breath. No doubt in her mind now. The aliens were looking for the ring, too.
Tisker navigated Wind Sabre through clusters of tiny islands that weren’t worthy of being mapped on the sky charts.
He’s hoping the Imperials catch one in the hull, she thought, amused. Or, better, in the lift envelopes.
But The Serpent Rose did not answer the challenge. She kept to her higher elevation, where the islands were big enough to spot, where she didn’t have to restrain her engines. Up where Wind Sabre needed to be if they wanted to take full advantage of their small ship’s handling and speed.
If we take the ship up at the right angle, we might not lose too much momentum, Talis thought. Just as the maneuver occurred to her, she felt the deck shift gently. Tisker was thinking on her level.
She looked back to the wheelhouse. Dug leaned out over the railing, communicating obstacles and the Imperial ship’s position back to Tisker, who remained focused on his controls.
With nothing else to do, Talis went below, to the galley where that mug of coffee sat waiting for her. But one cooled cup wouldn’t satisfy, and the ship’s activity had spilled some of it onto the counter. She put on another pot to boil.
The percolator, clamped to the tri-gimbaled stovetop in case of turbulence or eventful flying, seemed to take longer than usual to make the bitter brew. She paced, wishing the portholes in the galley provided the proper angle to watch their pursuers. Finally, the spurting sounds from the pot subsided, and she cut the flame. She poured, then carefully carried two mugs to the wheelhouse.
“Thanks, Cap.” Tisker didn’t reach for the mug she placed in the holder next to the control panel. Eyes set on the skies ahead of them, his normally easy smile put aside for the moment. Hands made small adjustments to the engines and the power outputs. His usual slouch had been replaced with a relaxed alertness, from the curve of his spine to the flex in his knees. When he was in pilot mode, nothing broke his concentration.
“Where you wanna bring us up?” Keeping out of the way along the railing, she leaned out from under the lift balloons enough to locate the shape of the Imperial ship as it cruised above them. Air rippled around all six of its thrusters, but there was no sign of strain on her lines. They’d caught a wind that filled their forward sail and took the pressure off their engines. The bastards weren’t even sweating.
Tisker turned on his usual careless smile long enough to respond. “I figure we give ’em an obstacle. Get us the chance to gain Horizon without being forced to come up right under them.”
He pointed out a dark blotch in the distance. Talis squinted at it, though by the light it blocked she knew instantly that it was an island big enough to hide them from view of their pursuers. If they angled the approach right, The Serpent Rose would have to navigate around the landmass, which would cost them some speed. Not to mention the proper angle for all but their forward cannons. If Tisker could get them up to Horizon altitude before The Serpent Rose could recover from the course correction, they could unfurl their stunsails, catch the slip winds, and try to rabbit.
She put a hand on Tisker’s shoulder and squeezed. Through the sleeve of his cotton jacket she felt the tension in his muscles. He nodded at her and put more power into the engines. Gave a lever the barest nudge, and Wind Sabre exhaled more steam into the lift balloon. Talis felt it pull against the shift in wind direction as the ship started to come up, and the engine hum increased its output to compensate for the resistance. Hopefully the adjustment would be smooth enough that the airship shadowing them wouldn’t get wise to what they were planning.
Wind Sabre was the first and only ship Tisker had ever piloted, but he came to it like a moth to flame. Stepped onto her deck with zero deference, just walked up the plank and ran his hands along the engine compartment amidship on his way aft to the wheelhouse. Talis caught him there and chased him off five times before he had the good sense to stand his ground and ask for a job. This lanky kid, in clothes that were too short for his adolescent limbs, with no Cutter prayerlocks in his filthy hair, and not one bit of spare fat on his bones.
Against her better judgment, she cleaned him up and fed him. Polished the natural-born pilot underneath.
The morning after he arrived, Talis had worried there’d be a whole street gang of orphans with their hands in her coffers, but she found only Tisker, curled up in a blanket around the wheel’s pedestal. He’d been too frightened to sleep in the crew cabin with Dug.
She hadn’t trusted him to guide them clear of the docks of Subrosa that day, but out in the open skies she let him take the wheel. She stood by his side, ready to snatch back control in case he pointed them at an island at full speed. It hadn’t been a necessary precaution. He was every bit as in tune with the movements of the ship that day as he was now. He might just be the best investment she’d ever made at Subrosa, and it only cost her a few meals and some hot water. She wasn’t sure whether it was Tisker or she who was more proud the day he received his first crew share from a job’s payout. He’d stared at the money in his hand, then tucked it away quickly, as though he were still a thief in danger of being caught. Bought himself that jacket of his with it, then showed the rest of them how to stitch hidden pockets that sly fingers couldn’t easily get into.
Sophie knotted his ’locks for him, a whole bank of them across his crown, and shaved the sides and back. It was his first haircut worthy of the name, and he’d never quit the habit of rubbing his scalp to feel the shorn stubble prickle against his hand. Except at the helm, where little could distract him.
Talis still took the wheel when they were on a long haul and Tisker needed a rest, but his place under the wheelhouse was secured, and he’d never given her a reason to regret that rare act of charity.
Tisker’s coffee was cold and Talis’s was long gone when The Serpent Rose finally made a visible course correction to move around the island. Tisker flashed her a grin, which disappeared just as quickly. His eyes were on the craggy underside of the hovering landmass, far as he could see it before the lift balloon blocked the view above. Jagged downward spires of rock with scraggly brush clinging to them pointed at the tender canvas of Wind Sabre’s lift envelope like dangerous clawed fingers. Tisker had allowed them plenty of room to slip under, and Sophie was on watch atop the envelope of course, but the sharp stone made its threats anyhow. The mica dust that collected in drifting motes around the island abraded her skin as Tisker accelerated through.
Dug brought them goggles, which they gratefully accepted, and the three of them stood watching the rough surface of the island. Collective breath held, waiting to see the clear skies open up again.
When the first stars sparkled beyond the edge of the landmass above them, Talis couldn’t help but let out a triumphant exhalation. Tisker adjusted pitch and Wind Sabre rose at a steeper angle.
At the same moment that Talis dared to believe they’d make it, Sophie yelled something from above that was swallowed by the winds. Dug moved quickly to the railing and echoed her alarm.
Around the bulk of the lift balloon, The Serpent Rose’s hull came into view before them. Directly in their path. Sitting there, all-stop, like it had been waiting patiently for hours. Gun ports open, and a field of cannons—eighteen-pounders at least—stared them down.
Talis felt an icy grip on her heart.
“Silus’s fragrant winds!” Tisker pulled levers and turned the wheel to prevent them from colliding with the larger ship. Wind Sabre slowed, shedding that precious speed that he had worked so hard to gain.
Sophie appeared down the ratlines, sliding on the insides of her boots and controlling her descent—just barely—with her bare hands. She hit the deck and slunk back into the shadow of the deckhouse, pressing herself against the structure. Not afraid, no, but anticipating Talis’s next order. Dug’s fist clenched so tightly that Talis heard his knuckles pop across the length of the deck between them. They all knew what she knew.
“All right.” She put her hand back on Tisker’s shoulder. “Top marks for trying. Let’s get ready for the boarding party.”
She looked at Sophie, hidden from The Serpent Rose’s view by the deck house and the lift balloon above. It wasn’t the first time they’d been stopped by a patrol, and they weren’t out of tricks yet.
“Sophie, man down.”
Sophie met the command with an impish grin—slightly feral, slightly childlike. “Man down, aye, Cap.”
“Put that ring in cold storage, would you?”
Already heading for the access belowdecks, Sophie waved her understanding over her shoulder as she made for one of the many hidden compartments onboard Wind Sabre. They were too small for most people. Laughable for Dug. But Sophie was shorter than the average Cutter, almost as small as a Rakkar, and tiny enough to comfortably fit in all but the smallest lockers on the ship. When The Serpent Rose’s crew unavoidably searched the decks for all hands, Talis would still have a game piece in play.
“They’ll be on our starboard,” she called after Sophie, then turned back to Dug and Tisker. “All right, you two. Time to look honest.”
Tisker gave her a crooked grin.
“Not even close,” she said and flashed him a scowl. But this was a practiced routine.
They stowed their expensive goggles and donned threadbare wool jackets and fingerless gloves. Covered tattoos and downgraded their appearances. Tisker wrapped a moth-eaten gray scarf over the gold and silver finery he wore around his neck and pulled a knit cap down over his glittering earring.
Not much could be done about Dug. A Bone man on a Cutter ship wasn’t a common sight, but it did happen. Best he could do was slouch and try to look less dangerous, and cover his warrior’s hairstyle with a felt hat. He bit down on a battered cigar, which made him look older and less predatory, somehow, and had the added bonus of preventing him from grinding his teeth when he had to withstand the inevitable Imperial insults.
Transformations completed, they looked like nothing more than struggling merchants with too few hands to manage the rigging. Beneath notice, easy to dismiss. Hardly worth the time of a ship as fancy and important as The Serpent Rose. And if that failed, there were knives sheathed on the backs of their waistbands below their thigh-length coats.
Wind Sabre came to a full stop, letting the Imperials cross the final distance to them. The other ship’s crew made quick work of tying off alongside their starboard railing. A gangplank painted a glossy cream slid across the gap between the two ships, and The Serpent Rose’s commander stepped up into view.
“Five hells,” breathed Talis. Dug shot her a look. She pressed her lips into a thin line in response. It wouldn’t be enough to just play innocent.
She took a deep breath and stepped forward as the Imperial captain paused at his end of the gangplank. He didn’t look half as surprised as she felt.
She crossed her arms and stood, blocking his path. “Hey there, Hankirk.”
Chapter 4
Hankirk stood at the far end of
the gangway, regarding Talis with the look of disdain she remembered so well instead of the surprise which she felt. She might not be able to surprise him by being here—and why was that, she very much wanted to know—but she could at least take him down a few notches in front of his crew by ignoring his rank.
“It’s Captain Hankirk, currently,” he said, his eyes narrowing. Sounded like he was counting on a promotion soon. “Some careers progress further than others.”
His connections had clearly served him well. He was well-polished, trim, healthy. Still handsome, though the smirk of entitlement on his face always ruined his good looks. He had no Cutter prayerlocks knotted into his hair. She recalled that he never seemed to think he needed any help from, or favor with, The Five. It wasn’t surprising to hear him boast, though his cadence was a bit formal compared to their last conversation. He was showing off—either for her, or for the crew that was waiting behind him to board her ship.
“Hey now, she’s a captain, too.” Tisker, even without knowing the history Talis and Hankirk shared, couldn’t let the implied insult go unanswered.
“That’s right,” Talis said, giving the Imperial captain the most insincere smile she could muster. “Look at that, we’re both captains now.”
At a nod from Hankirk, two of his men moved forward and crossed their rifles in Talis’s face. She was forced back a step so he could board.
He stepped onto the deck of Wind Sabre as if it were his ship. He had more personnel on board to command than she did, at that point, as his crew spilled onto her deck and began the expected sweep of the ship. Talis knew the pale coats would find everything tidy. She made a practice of stowing what the Empire felt she shouldn’t have where a cursory search wouldn’t disturb it.
Hankirk glanced around and took in her trappings, her weathered black paint and tarnished brass fittings. Glanced up, at a lift balloon patched in several places. Talis kept her eyes fixed on him. Willed him to make some remark and see what happened. She was as proud as a mother of her ship. And no ship with a crew small as hers wasted their days polishing brass.