by Dan Willis
“The only contact we had in the last six hours was a mining operation about twenty miles northeast of here,” Raff went on. “That and a congregation of Shredders down below us.”
Kest sipped his coffee before answering. The steward had brought it to him in a round china cup on a flat saucer. Both were white as snow and without decoration. The coffee was some exotic blend, imported from the Mayan Federation, slightly bitter but with a nutty aftertaste that Kest savored.
“Excellent, Captain,” he said at last, gently replacing the cup on the saucer in his left hand. “Have the engineers finished calculating how fast we can charge the capacitors?” He waved his hand at three glass columns mounted in the bulkhead. Each one had a steel bar mounted inside, serving as a core for a stack of wire-wrapped magnetic doughnuts, numbered from one to one-hundred. Each of the tubes was part of an enormous capacitor that would store raw power from the Flux Engine. As they charged, the individual doughnuts would magnetize and begin to repel its fellows, forcing the stack of metal rings upward toward the top of the glass tube. When they reached the top, it meant the capacitors were at maximum charge.
“A full charge will take forty minutes,” Captain Raff said. “An hour if we want to play it safe.”
“Safety first, I think,” Kest said, taking another sip of his coffee. “I’ll be in my quarters; inform me when we attain a full charge.”
“Yes, my lord,” Raff said, then he saluted and turned, barking out orders to various sections of the bridge.
Raff was a capable man who knew his business, and Kest left him to it. He made his way down the spiral stair that connected the bridge with the rest of the ship and along a well-lit corridor toward a lift. As he went, his boots trembled with the increasing, frenetic throb of the Flux Engine as Raff powered it up to charge the capacitors.
He smiled. At last, everything was ready, all the pieces in place. The preparation of several lifetimes would finally bear fruit.
O O O
The polished brass doors of the lift opened onto a small, velvet-lined car with a rail of burnished cherry wood running around it at waist level.
Kest entered the car, still carrying his cup and saucer, and pressed the middle of five buttons. The car gave a little jolt and began to descend smoothly toward the center of the massive airship. At each floor a bell rang out—a tinny, off-key sound that set his teeth on edge. He’d been meaning to speak to the maintenance crew chief about that and resolved that he had the time. Punching the lowest button, Kest rode the lift down to the lowest level and located the maintenance chief, a wiry man with a mechanical leg and matching arm. The chief promised to have the bell looked after as soon as possible and Kest took the time to inquire about the man’s responsibilities. One thing Kest had learned early was the importance of letting people blow their own horn whenever possible. It cost him little in the way of time and it reinforced their sense of importance. After taking the full report, Kest returned to the lift.
With its warbling, sour chime, the car came to a stop and the doors parted on the central deck.
O O O
The hallway beyond was carpeted and paneled with dark wood. Brass glowlamps with frosted glass chimneys lined the wall, casting the hallway in a warm, cheery light. At the far end, where double doors of hammered brass led to Kest’s private quarters, the light washed over the figure of a man. Now that they were airborne, Kest had dismissed his guards. This man couldn’t pass for a guard in any case; he was tall and gaunt with a shining bald pate over dark, intense eyes. He wore a simple loose shirt and vest with a gold watch fob shining in the dim light. His boots were sturdy and well-worn and he had a sword bound round his waist.
“Derek,” Kest said, as he reached the man, pulling him into a brief embrace. “It’s good to see you. When did you get back?”
“I just arrived,” he said, stepping back as Kest released him. “I came straight here to seek forgiveness from you, my lord,” he said, his back stiff and his tone formal. “I failed to clean up Sira’s mess and I let the secret of the red sand fall into the hands of our enemies.”
Kest smiled at that. Derek Morgan was an intensely dedicated man, the kind who took his duty seriously. It was easy to like him. Of all the people Kest had met, Derek was, perhaps, the closest to a kindred spirit.
“Don’t think on that,” he said, slapping the taller man on the shoulder. “It would’ve come out sooner or later anyway. That psychic at Castle Rock is just too damn good.”
“Perhaps I could rid you of that problem?” Morgan suggested.
“No, he’s too well protected there. We’ll deal with him when the time comes.”
Kest opened the door to his quarters and Morgan followed him in. It was a large suite of rooms with a richly appointed parlor, an office, and a bedroom. The parlor had comfortable couches and overstuffed chairs interspersed with tables and lamps and a wheeled liquor tray. A thick Persian carpet covered the hardwood floor and everything gleamed as if the entire room had been recently dusted and polished.
Kest paid the parlor no mind, pressing on to the office. In contrast to the perfect organization of the parlor, the office was a study in chaos. A bookshelf lined the back wall, but its shelves were mostly empty, their contents spread around loosely on the floor, some in stacks, other open with their spines sticking up, like leather-bound crabs. Maps, charts, and blueprints covered the rest of the floor, rolling over and under the books like waves made of paper.
Being careful not to tread on any of the latter, Kest made his way to a small desk, motioning for Morgan to be seated on a mostly empty sofa. The desk itself was clear of clutter, an island of tranquility in an ocean of chaos. A notebook stood open upon it where Kest had filled page after page with a series of calculations and formulae.
“Forgive the mess,” he said, sitting down. “I’ve been checking and re-checking my figures.”
“I have the utmost faith in you, my lord,” Morgan said, pushing a stack of books gently aside so he could sit. “Still, they do say that you should measure twice, blast once.”
Kest nodded and smiled.
“Can you feel it?” he said. “Everything our people have awaited for over a thousand years is about to begin. An hour from now, the world will tremble before our might and the restoration of our lands will be assured.”
Morgan considered this for a moment with a raised eyebrow.
“Do you really think the Alliance will return our lands after this demonstration of our power? They are weak, yes, but they are not fools.”
Trust Morgan to see things practically.
“No,” Kest agreed. “They’re not fools, but they’d be perfectly happy to sit by and let their territories try to stop us by themselves. Saint Louis has grown rich by exploiting the territories and everyone knows it. Now the territories want to be made states. If that happens, they’d have more votes in the Congress than the founder states. The founders can’t allow that. So, if we come along and take the territories down a peg for them, the Alliance won’t lift a finger to stop us.”
A sly smile spread over Morgan’s face and he nodded.
“And while we aren’t strong enough to take on the massed might of the Alliance, we could easily defeat one or two of the territorial militias.”
Kest reached into a drawer of his desk and drew out a bottle of amber liquid and two small glasses.
“It may not even come to that,” he said, filling each of the glasses in turn. “Once the territories see our power, they’ll know they can’t beat us in a straight up fight. They might just give us what we demand without a shot being fired.”
Kest offered Morgan one of the glasses and the tall man took it, holding it up so that the liquid within glowed in the light.
“To peace, then,” he said.
Kest’s grin widened until it showed teeth.
“To peace,” he agreed.
They drank and Kest poured another.
“Have you decided what to do about Sira?” Morgan asked a
fter drinking the second glass.
Kest hesitated, then drank his glass before responding.
“She’ll remain as she is,” he said.
Morgan raised an eyebrow and handed over his glass.
“She’s not as disciplined as I’d like,” he said. “She lets her emotions run away with her. I worry that, if left unchecked, she’ll get herself killed.” Morgan accepted another glass of the amber liquid. “Either that or she’ll leave an unmistakable trail of bodies in her wake.”
“She’s just a little high-strung,” Kest said. “She doesn’t have the benefit of your years of experience. Give her time.”
Morgan nodded, then drained his glass and turned it upside down on the desk. Before either man could say more, there was a polite knock at the door.
“The captain asked me to inform you that the capacitors are nearly charged, my lord,” the fresh-faced deck officer said after Kest bid him enter. “He awaits your presence on the bridge at your convenience.”
“Very well,” Kest said. “Please ask the Priestess Sira Corven to join us as well.”
The lieutenant saluted and withdrew. Kest chuckled as he replaced the liquor bottle in his desk drawer.
“Were we ever that young?” he asked, rising and straightening the wrinkles from his vest.
“No,” Morgan replied with a smirk.
Kest donned a white, double-breasted admiral’s coat with long rows of gleaming silver buttons running up each side and across the upper part of the chest. The lining was blue silk and shone where the sleeves had been cuffed at least six inches. A blue sash draped over his right shoulder and doubled as a baldric for a ceremonial sword. Unlike Derek Morgan’s short, broad-bladed sword, this was a long, curved cavalry saber with an oiled leather sheath and silver filigree on the crosspiece and handle.
“How do I look?” Kest asked once he’d done up the buttons and settled the sword in place. Derek Morgan looked him up and down and then broke out in a wide grin.
“Like the bellman at the Palmer House,” he said.
Kest laughed. None of his followers would have dared say something like that to his face. It made him appreciate Morgan’s friendship all the more. After all, you couldn’t rely on people who would tell you only what you want to hear, rather than the truth. And Raphael Kest valued truth.
O O O
They arrived on the bridge just as the last wire-wrapped doughnut in the tall glass tubes began to float above its brethren. A circuit was completed and a needle on a large dial swiveled to point at the word “‘Charged.”.’
“All capacitors charged and ready,” Raff reported.
Kest nodded and then said, “Proceed Captain.”
Raff turned back to the bridge, barking for the lookouts to report all clear. When they did, he turned to an airman sitting in front of a tall control console. He was grizzled with thick mutton chop sideburns and a bulbous pug nose. His eyes were frozen in a permanent squint, as if he’d spent too many years manning a lookout tower, and when he smiled, his teeth showed the yellowing of chewing tobacco.
“Deploy the resonators,” Raff said, and the old airman began pulling levers on his console.
A shudder ran through the ship and although he couldn’t see it, Kest knew that three long booms were being run out from the decks below. Each boom held a diamond-hard resonator crystal as big as a horse on its end, mounted in a three-axis cage that enabled them to be pointed in any direction. Two of the booms emerged from the sides of the Vengeance while a third dropped down below the airship from its tail. Each boom reached out one hundred feet before locking into place with a shudder that shook the enormous vessel from stem to stern. The airman turned dials, maneuvering the resonators until they all pointed at a single spot about a mile in front of the hovering airship. While he fought with his equipment, Sira appeared at Kest’s side, as silent as a ghost. Kest noticed with a smile that she chose the opposite side from where Morgan stood.
“We are ready to fire on your command, my Lord,” Raff reported.
Kest nodded and alarm bells began ringing throughout the ship. At the sound, the bridge crew immediately donned protective ear coverings made of padded leather sewn around a thick metal band to keep them on their heads. Captain Raff passed three of the leather ear muffs to his guests, then turned back and gave the wizened airman a thumbs-up sign. The little man stood up, grasping a long red lever that ran down the side of his control panel. He heaved, putting all his weight behind it. The lever trembled, as if trying to remain in place but finally, with a shudder and a groan, it slid down to the bottom of its track.
The three capacitors, partly hidden away below decks, surged, pouring their energy along heavy cables that ran from the ship to the frame holding the resonators. The massive crystals began to vibrate, filling the air with a cacophonous sound that grew louder and louder as the moments passed. Kest could feel the vibrations in the air, threatening to rattle the fillings from his teeth. The sound began to pierce the protection of the ear muffs, boring into his head and making it throb with pain.
Just as Kest began thinking that the sound would go on forever, it changed, shifting from ear-splitting noise to a single, harmonious tone. It hung in the air for a moment, that perfect lingering sound, then a rushing noise filled the ship as the resonators locked together, projecting their individual tones down upon the earth below, all three concentrating on a single point.
As the sound waves converged, the earth was torn asunder, opening up into a black crack that grew wider and wider. The Vengeance pitched and bucked as the resonators continued discharging their power. The fissure in the ground yawned wider and suddenly surged up, as if some vast monster below was trying to thrust free of the confining surface of the world.
With a long, trembling shudder and the faint echo of ringing crystal, the resonators ceased, their energy spent. On the plain below, however, the earth continued to rise up, pushing into a cone-shaped pile. A ruddy orange light suddenly appeared in the smoking black crack at the summit of the burgeoning mountain.
“Withdraw to a distance of fifteen miles,” Kest said, slipping off his ear muffs.
“You heard the man,” Raff yelled, startling the bridge crew back into action. “All astern, right now, and get those resonator booms stowed.”
Everyone on the bridge leapt into action while Kest, Morgan, and Sira kept their eyes fixed on the growing mountain. Fire and smoke erupted from its top and a river of liquid rock began running down its near side.
The deck of the Vengeance shuddered as the engines once more began driving the outboard propellers, dragging the airship backward and away from the frothing mountain.
“Most impressive, my lord,” Sira purred.
“Not yet, it isn’t,” Kest replied, keeping his eyes on the mountain. At his words the towering pile of rock and dirt began to swell and bulge, heaving in and out as if it were breathing. “More speed, Captain.”
“That’s all she’s got,” Raff called over the noise of the bridge.
“Then give her some altitude!” Kest yelled back. “We’re still too close!”
Captain Raff yelled something in return but his words were swallowed up in an abrupt roar that threatened to deafen them all. The new mountain exploded, hurling dirt, rocks, and molten lava high into the sky. The force of the blast slammed into the Vengeance, pushing her and turning her in the air as if she were a toy. Three windows on the observation platform shattered, spraying the bridge in shards of glass. Kest felt a razor-edged piece trace a line of fire across his cheek as he turned his head from the blast.
The next thing he knew he was lying on the floor. Alert sirens were wailing as his hearing gradually came back and he rolled onto his back and sat up. Morgan was up, of course, and he extended his hand to help Kest. A large shard of glass protruded from Morgan’s left bicep but that didn’t seem to bother him much. As Kest rose he could see through the forward windows and the open space where the glass had been on the observation deck. Below, the
new volcano was spewing lava and ash into the air in earnest, covering the nearby land in darkness. A column of fire rose straight up from its center, burning a hole in the roiling cloud above and lighting it in an eerie, orange light. Blue-white spears of lightning arced down from the roiling cloud of spreading debris, lighting up the scene of destruction. The surrounding hills were blackened and bare, every tree and blade of grass torn away by the force of the blast, leveled for as far as the eye could see.
“Come about, Captain,” Kest yelled over the din as chunks of burning rock began to pelt down on the Vengeance’s hull. “Get us out of here.”
Chapter 17
Castle Rock
For the first time in her life, Robi actually felt like she was in prison.
It was frightening.
Sure, she’d been locked up in lots of places, jails, cages, storerooms, and even once in a root cellar. But all those things had one thing in common. All of them had a way out. There were locks that could be picked, windows or bars that could be wiggled through, stupid or inattentive guards, or better yet, someone bribable. Compared to those, however, the tiny cell aboard the airship Desert Rose was an impenetrable vault. The mechanism holding the door shut was simple enough, a pneumatic piston under the floor slid the door back and forth in a metal track, locking into position with several hundred pounds of steam pressure. Like all prisons, it had a weakness, the boiler. If the ship lost steam pressure, the door would slide open easily. Unfortunately that also meant that the airship’s lift engine would fail and the whole thing would come hurtling out of the sky like a stone, cell, prisoner, and all.
Robi had always been able to control her circumstances in the past. She was charming and pretty, the kind of girl most people didn’t see as a threat. Except for Wild Bill Hickok. He’d looked her over with his cold, icy-blue eyes and taken her measure straight away.