by Shae Hutto
The captain eyed the door skeptically. “If you open it…”
“Zap,” said Nick.
“Perhaps we should just leave it shut,” suggested the captain, thinking better of risking his life and the lives of his men unnecessarily.
“If someone chased you out of your ship, and it was suggested that perhaps you should just let him have it, how would you respond?” asked Nick quietly. He was a little anxious that the captain would have them forcefully restrained to prevent them from opening the door and endangering the ship. He was relieved when the captain nodded his head.
“I see your point,” he said, still nodding. “Very well, then. Lieutenant, have the men hold their fire until after the cannon. Then they should aim and pick their shots.”
“Aye, sir,” replied the lieutenant and he ordered the marines to aim their muskets at the unoffending doorway, which they did. Orders were orders, regardless of whether they made sense.
“Give me a second to get clear before you fire, if you please,” said Nick politely.
“Be quick, we won’t wait long,” replied Captain Aubrey grimly.
Nick grasped the door handle firmly and felt the handle change under his touch. He could feel that the door was now connected to the corridor and behind it there was no cello, but instead a murderous metal giant waited patiently. His fingers tightened along with his leg muscles as he prepared to open the door and spring away, hopefully simultaneously. He took a deep breath and counted in his head: one… two… three! He threw the door open and dove to the side, hands flying to his face to cover his ears and eyes as best he could. Even before he hit the ground, there was the world ripping sound of the robot’s energy weapon firing and a split second later a concussion that reverberated in the cabin with ear shattering force. It felt like the world had ended violently just feet from his head. He felt the concussion wave push him even further from the door before he finally hit the wooden planked deck and rolled to his feet, calling his dagger as he did so. A ragged series of lesser explosions, that sounded like muffled popcorn to his deadened ears, marked the firing of the muskets. Amanda also blasted a .45 round through the doorway, but only one. The next trigger pull did exactly nothing and Amanda saw that the slide was locked back. She was out of bullets.
As Nick turned, knife ready, he took in a grisly scene. Thick smoke blanketed the room, making it hard to see very far and burning the eyes and noses of everyone inside. It was plain despite the smoke that the robot had beaten the cannon crew on the draw and its blast had blown yet another hole in the side of the wooden ship. Also in the line of fire were two marines who now lay on the deck, bleeding. One was writhing and moaning in pain, but the other was ominously silent and still. The blast of grape shot from the cannon had sent a hatful of one-inch lead balls through the doorway at 1000 feet per second, pounding the high-tech robot with massive low-tech force. The cannon crew was already starting the process of reloading the magnificent weapon. The captain was drawing his sword and Amanda was looking at her gun in frustration as she realized she was out of ammo. All of the marines had fired and were in various stages of reloading their muskets.
Nick looked at the robot, which was lurching drunkenly in the bullet riddled corridor; wires and circuit boards protruded from holes and electricity spat and sparked from ragged holes in its carapace. Huge, ugly dents covered it from top to bottom. It looked more like a discarded trashcan someone had used for target practice than a robot, thought Nick, but still obviously dangerous. Nick and Amanda both took steps toward the doorway, but Lieutenant Gardner beat them there, storming into the corridor with his sword drawn, looking like he was expecting a battalion of Frenchmen on the other side. He yelled something about King and country as he ran through and hit the lurching, whirling attack-bot with his sword with a ‘clunk’. The robot was oblivious to the sword attack as it continued to whirl about with its one deadly arm flailing the air. The captain joined the party, hacking and slashing at the robot alongside Gardener. Nick thought they looked like a couple of kids attacking a particularly tough piñata.
Nick and Amanda hurried through the door but stopped when the robot seemed to reorient itself and take stock of the situation. With lightning fast speed, it backhanded the captain, sending him flying back through the doorway. Amanda caught him as he fell through and his two hundred and forty pounds bore her to the deck along with him. Nick dove to the side again as the robot leveled its arm and loosed another bolt of deadly coherent light, narrowly missing Gardener who threw himself to the side. The bolt tore a chunk out of the corridor wall. Nick realized that this battle was lost for the moment. There was no way they could get the cannon loaded in enough time to hit the robot again before it killed everybody in the cabin. He knew he had to close the door, but the robot was between Gardener and the door. There was no help for it, the marine lieutenant would have to fend for himself.
“Run, Gardener, run!” shouted Nick as he slammed the door and cut off contact with the corridor and the robot. The odds were long against Lieutenant Gardener. No door would open for him, since he wasn’t from the same world as Claire. He was doomed to run down endless corridors lined with useless doors, pursued by God knew what. Even if they opened the door immediately, a whole hour would pass on the other side. An hour was a long time to be lost in an unfamiliar world and hunted by a homicidal robot. He hoped they could find him when they finally got back into the corridor. Maybe Claire and Roger would find him. Or Weenie. Until they found him, Nick knew his last sight of the marine lieutenant and the look of bewildered horror on his face would haunt him. But something deep in his mind, something with dark talons gripping his very soul, something that wanted Nick for itself, that something cackled with glee.
CHAPTER ELEVEN: Flies in a Fire
"Praise the Lord and pass the ammunition!"
- Lt Howell Murice Forgy, USN aboard USS New Orleans December 7, 1941
Amanda coughed in the stifling atmosphere. The cabin was quiet as everyone stood looking at the door with dazed terror. Thick smoke hung in the air, making breathing difficult but mercifully overpowering the charnel house stench of blood and ruptured organs. A tang of hot metal blended itself into the mix. The cabin’s usual odor of sweat, mildew and toasted cheese was completely driven away. Slowly, the usual oceangoing sounds of men working rigging and ship’s timbers creaking worked their way through their stunned and deafened ears, bringing a modicum of normalcy to the hellish nightmare they were currently inhabiting. The captain was the first to recover some sense.
“Show some spirit, men,” he growled as he levered himself off the floor and stood swaying in the hot, smoky gloom lit primarily by a new hole to the outside torn by the killer robot’s arm laser. “Get that cannon loaded, and somebody get those men down to medical. You two, bear a hand.” The room sprang to life as everybody remembered their duty and started obeying the captain’s orders. Doctor Maturin crossed himself and muttered something in Latin, then bent to examine the marine who was still breathing but had lost consciousness. The other one was an obvious lost cause, his recently internal vital organs now being neither vital nor internal.
“There’s no rush, captain,” said Nick with resignation in his voice. “No matter how much or how little time passes here, as long as it’s less than a year, no more than 59 minutes will elapse on the other side of that door.”
Captain Aubrey squinted his one good eye at Nick, trying to discern if Nick was having him on. He decided the boy was probably telling the truth and would be in a position to know. After a moment of solemn consideration, he accepted the absurd notion and moved on to its implications.
“That beast will have an hour to anticipate our dispositions and aim at us accordingly?” he asked.
“Yessir,” answered Nick. “And it’s likely when we open that door, it will immediately obliterate the cannon and its crew before they can hit it again.”
“We have another problem,” said Amanda quietly. Fear showed on her face. Nick and Capta
in Aubrey turned to look at her with grim expectancy. “Connix. He’s coming here. I can feel him.”
“Connix?” asked the captain.
“What in hell do you mean ‘you feel him?’” asked Nick in a low, dangerous voice while darkness pulsed around him. Captain Aubrey took an unconscious step back from him.
“Connix?” asked the captain again.
“The Eye,” stammered Amanda as she clutched her bag to her chest and stared at nothing. “I can feel him through the Eye. He’s searching for me. For it. Us. It won’t be long. He’s coming.” She gasped and breathed hard for a couple of seconds before visibly mastering herself.
“Who the devil is Connix?” roared the captain angrily. He was unused to being ignored in his own cabin and it showed.
“More of a what than a who, captain,” said Nick with a sigh. “And the what is a dragon. A bloody, winged, fire-breathing dragon.”
“Out of the pan and into the ointment,” said the captain, his nonsensical mixed metaphor making both Amanda and the doctor grin involuntarily.
“Or flies in a fire,” volunteered Amanda. Dr. Maturin uttered an unpleasant wheezing laugh.
“Precisely, ma’am,” said the captain, unaware or uncaring that he was being made sport of.
“How long?” asked Nick. Outside, a familiar piercing howling cry tore through the air and the sunlight coming through the impromptu hatch darkened as something massive flew over it. Men on deck yelled and called out in amazement and fear.
“Not long?” said Amanda apologetically with a shrug of her shoulders.
The captain turned to Dr. Maturin who was helping two marines who were trying to lift the wounded man without doing him even more harm as he was carried below.
“Stephen,” he asked deferentially. “In your studies, I’m sure you’ve come across dragons by the score. How large have you known them to grow?” Amanda and Nick looked at each other in surprise, then at the doctor with evident curiosity.
“That depends greatly on what type of dragon you’re referring to, Jack,” he replied. “The bearded dragon, or Pogona, grows scarcely larger than your hand, while the monitor lizard has been known to reach lengths longer than a man is tall.” He looked at Nick and Amanda and then back to the captain. “But in light of the nature of the assertions of our young guests,” he was interrupted by the horrible screeching of Connix, now much closer and louder. Pandemonium on deck increased in proportion. “In particular, the winged and fire-breathing bits, lead me to believe this particular dragon to be outside my experience. Although, recent discoveries of huge bones, and indeed whole skeletons, in boiling tar pits, would lend credence to massive reptiles. Some perhaps as large as this vessel.” While Dr. Maturin talked calmly and with the utmost attention of the listeners, the ruckus on deck grew to a magnitude that couldn’t be ignored any longer. The captain politely excused himself. Nick and Amanda followed him out the door and up the companionway ladder.
The captain’s presence and authority brought order out of chaos when he climbed on deck and began bellowing orders. The activity level actually increased, but this time with a method to the madness. The ship immediately began to clear for action and beat to quarters. The sails were trimmed and the heading adjusted to take the wind on the beam, laying the ship over as far as she would heel in the hopes of bringing the starboard gun battery to bear on a target that flew rather than floated. Connix soared majestically through the cloudless skies, wheeling and circling the ship below. Amanda tugged on Nick’s sleeve.
“What happens to our doorway back if Connix burns or sinks this ship?” she asked him with real concern. He shrugged.
“Do you really think it would matter?” he asked bitterly. “We’d be burned to a crisp or drowned like rats either way.” He thought for a moment and brightened up a bit. “Of course, if he knows his Eye in on board, I don’t think he would do either one, do you?
“He sure wouldn’t!” she agreed enthusiastically. She immediately reached into her bag and grasped the Eye. As she hastily pulled it from her bag, she didn’t notice the depleted blaster pistol as it fell from its perch in the bag and landed with a subdued clatter on the wooden deck. Neither did she notice when it was instantly picked up by the Second Lieutenant who hastily hid it in his uniform coat. She impulsively held the Eye up over her head and shouted at the dragon, a piercing but incoherent screech of defiance and exhilaration. He seemed to take notice and aggressively swooped down on the ship. Flame spewed from his snout, turning all the canvas on the foretopmast to a pyramid of crackling flame. Screams drifted down from the towering conflagration and one foretopman fell, burning and flailing, to bounce off the yard arm and splash hissing into the sea.
“Well, crap.” Observed Nick dryly. “There goes that theory.”
“We have to get through the door before that flying arsonist turns this boat into a blackened artificial reef,” said Amanda as she cast her agitated gaze at the mayhem on deck. Of particular note were the armed guards preventing anyone from fleeing down the hatches. They would need the permission, collusion even, of the captain to get to his cabin. He was busy shouting orders and directing the well-orchestrated chaos with remarkable efficiency. At his direction, a pump and leather hose was attached to the elm tree pump at an indecent speed and a stream of salt water was playing on the flaming rigging. The canvas on the foretop had already burned away. The fire all but vanquished for the moment, the captain turned his efforts to offense. Although now they were understandably reluctant to climb into the rigging, the marines were setting up a creditable musket fire at the great dragon. There was little evidence that they were doing any good, however. Connix, being unused to this type of combat, unwittingly aided his foes and almost got himself killed when he glided low over the water, wings still as he took advantage of increased lift close to the surface. He floated regally over the water, closing the distance until he could send a ball of roiling flame into the hull itself.
“Fire!” yelled Captain Aubrey in a roar that was heard over all the other din of battle and was instantly obeyed. Flame and smoke and thunder erupted from the side of the frigate and it heeled over even further with the recoil, almost spilling Nick and Amanda over the side. Fourteen iron balls, each weighing twelve pounds, howled toward the approaching dragon, violently splitting the air with their passage. With a startled squawk, the great dragon backed his wings to check his progress. All the balls but one missed him entirely or he surely would have been killed then and there. The one that didn’t miss tore a bloody gouge out of his shoulder, sending scales and hissing dragon blood flying in a small cloud to rain down with a gentle patter on the Pacific swell and to poison the innocent fish below. With a surprised yelp of pain, the dragon plowed into the ocean, sending up a huge cloud of steam and shattered salt water. He disappeared beneath the waves, leaving nothing but steam and foam. Cheering broke out aboard the ship.
“Silence, fore and aft!” roared Captain Aubrey, although he wore a look of profound satisfaction on his red and war-ravaged face that belied his angry tone. He put his telescope to the one eye not covered by bandages and observed the roiling sea where the dragon had vanished. He was about to close the telescope and order the crew to secure from quarters when the (now very angry) dragon exploded out of the azure sea and rose screeching into the air, pumping his mighty wings to gain altitude and exceed the reach of the guns. “He’ll not make that mistake again, I’ll wager,” muttered the captain grimly.
“Can you do anything with that wand of yours?” asked Amanda quietly as she and Nick watched the wounded dragon claw its way into the sky, shedding droplets of bloody saltwater like a tiny demented rain storm. She shifted her eyes to the sudden change in Nick’s expression. “Discreetly of course, Nick. Very discreetly.” He gave a nod of acknowledgement and jogged off toward the head of the ship, where the crew relieved themselves and which was quite deserted at the moment. Amanda watched him go with some unease. She made her way over to the captain, hoping to get his per
mission to try the door again.
“Captain, pardon the intrusion,” she began but was cut off by the captain himself.
“Here he comes again, boys. Gun crews at the ready, don’t fire till I say and make every shot count. Marines, see if you can put out his other eye!” The captain’s seagoing voice of command was a thing of awesome power, not just cutting through the noise, but beating it into submission, such was the power of a voice trained to be heard over the wail of a hurricane or in the thick of battle. Amanda, at close quarters, was shocked and almost deafened by it. A renewed sound of small arms fire heralded the dragon’s approach as it headed straight for the bow of the ship, determined to avoid the deadly broadside. Everyone on board who could see him held their breath as they saw the wyrm inhale and arch his bloodily glistening reptilian neck. With a crack like lightning, a bolt of violently blue electricity shot out from somewhere near the bowsprit as a hidden Nick attacked with his wand, narrowly missing the dragon who rolled violently to the side just in time and once again collided with the sea, this time skipping like a rock over the surface a few times before disappearing into the waves. After a second of stunned surprise, the crew started cheering again.
“Captain,” Amanda tried again. “If we can get through that door, the dragon will leave you alone.”
The captain looked at her for a brief moment before the dragon rose from the sea yet again, angrier than ever and immediately launched a fireball at the unprepared ship. He misjudged the roll of the Surprise and instead of tearing a blazing hole into the wooden heart of the proud vessel, the roiling ball of flames ripped a foot of railing and freeboard from the port bow and set the forecastle ablaze. From his hidden position, Nick blasted a series of staccato lightning bolts at the dragon who turned one wing toward the threat, deflecting and scattering the bolts in every direction. One of them ricocheted back at the ship, clanged off the ship’s bell (melting it sadly) and hit the Second Lieutenant square in the chest, frying him like bacon. As he collapsed to the deck in a blackened, smoking heap, his uniform and hair on fire, from his breast came a cheerful electronic beeping noise. Favoring the wing he used to deflect the attack, the dragon made a limping retreat beyond range, trailing a thin stream of black, greasy smoke.