by Ben Rovik
“For Spheres’ sake, just let me off here!” Cooper bellowed, thumping his fist against the front of the coach.
It was bad enough that the driver had been babying his horses all the way along the coastal road. The pair of nags had practically stopped to graze at every bend in the road, while couriers and farmers’ carts looped around to pass them. Cooper had ground his teeth in despair every time he’d seen a vehicle clop past through the unscreened quarter-meter windows. In the second hour of the trip, he’d finally closed the wooden hatches over each window so at least he wouldn’t have to see and hear how thoroughly the traffic to Delia was passing them by.
But now that they were in the city limits, having pulled through the Gilded Gates in the east thirty minutes earlier, his frustration levels were only higher. There was bound to be congestion in a city just shy of a million people, with even more travelers and merchants passing through in ships and wagons daily. Cooper acknowledged that, and accepted it. But from the way he was steering their coach into every single back-up in the city, the driver seemed to have a sort of mystical reverence for traffic. He was only happy if he was moving at the same pace a stick of butter, left to melt in the sun, would trickle along the cobblestones.
“I’m to take you to your shop,” the driver shouted back.
“I don’t care.” Cooper peered out the open window, wrinkling his nose at the dust and the pervasive smell of manure. People, bicycles, horses, and pedicabs were surrounding them in the too-narrow roads of the Toss. The district was infamous for the worst traffic in Delia, a symptom of its crowded apartments and unpredictable open-air markets, which might hijack any given block at any given moment. His many conversations with pedicab drivers had impressed on him that any sane traveler would have taken a right after entering the city, cutting north to Changer’s Way. It was the only sensible way to cross the city to Workshop Row, even if it looked like more kilometers on a paper map. Barreling straight through the Toss at this time of day instead had been pure idiocy. And I’m not going to stand Ensie up again because some fool doesn’t know how to drive.
Cooper swung the door open. A woman with a burlap bonnet looked up at him curiously as he stumbled down to the street. He shifted his grip on his satchel and his day bag and slammed the door to the coach closed with his elbow.
“Hey! Where are you going?” the driver said. He pointed a finger sternly towards the coach, as if ordering a dog into a crate.
“I’m better off on foot.”
“Burn me whole! Too slow for you, am I, big shot?”
You got it, Cooper thought. He stepped to the side of the street, under the nearest awning, and began to trot west.
“Know the way, do you?” The coachman sneered after him.
In fact, Cooper was trying very hard to keep his hazy mental map of the city in his head as he walked, big arms swinging this way and that. The Toss was adjacent to Workshop Row, but it was also adjacent to Bohock if he went too far south. What street am I on now? he wondered, peering up vainly for a sign. He saw two for taverns and one for a vendor of exotic sausages, but nothing to tell him what road he was walking along so briskly.
Still, he was already leaving the coach far behind. If he took the right roads—or at least got clear enough of the traffic to make hailing a pedicab worthwhile—he might make it to the Aerial compound in time for it to matter.
Cooper Carper ignored the straps of his bags as they dug into his palms, and doubled his stride.
Ensie fastened her goggles over her eyes.
She stuck the keypin in the ignition and readjusted herself against the plumped-up cushions. These are much nicer, at least, she thought, enjoying the plushness against her back and seat. She looked over towards the sandbags, where Iggy was ready and watching. No other figures were visible.
“Ready to go?” she shouted out, giving an inquisitive thumbs-up.
“Go,” the senior tech responded, giving her the same sign in return. “Single hops to start.”
Ensie double-checked the dashboard to make sure the dial for continuous travel mode was set to ‘off.’ Not interested in jumping before I’m good and ready. She tugged the last centimeters of slack out of her shoulder harness and lap belt and pulled her gloves down against her wrists. Taking in a deep breath through her nose, Ensie turned the keypin.
The engine bellowed into life and settled down into a purr just as quickly. The airy overtones from the two propellers seemed to complete the sound, creating an oddly organic noise from the disparate machine parts. Ensie squeezed the handlebars in satisfaction. It felt good to be in the pilot’s seat of a machine that sounded this powerful.
The latest round of repairs that they’d asked for from Upforth’s had been right on target, if the new-and-improved sound was any indicator. Which it wasn’t, of course. How the Flicker moved was what was important, not how it sounded. But all the same, it was a nice ego boost that the Flicker was roaring like a proper Aerial craft at last.
Single hops to start, she thought. Let’s see what you can do today, Flicker. Her boot hovered over the pedal, ready to give it a prudent tap. Instead, the grinning tech pressed down with a sudden, authoritative stomp.
The rush was amazing. Her body sank down into the cushions with the force of the lift. It took more effort than last time to turn her head enough to look at the measuring pylon. Ensie’s eyebrows rose when she saw a large black 5 m 250 staring back at her, right at eye level on the thin tower.
Sweet Spheres! Time seemed to freeze as she blinked at the numbers. I guess I got my oomph, she thought.
The 5 m began to float up and away as the Flicker descended. Ensie shook herself back to reality. She was listing a bit to port. She pulled and twisted at the handlebars to force the machine into a level descent. The propellers behind her complied with a rush of air and noise, and the metal insect she was controlling evened out.
Two full heartbeats later—long enough to notice and exhale the breath she was still holding—the Flicker clattered to the ground on its skis. Her head jerked forward, and the impact still reverberated through her body with serious strength, but the new padding made a big difference. It didn’t disguise the fact that she’d just fallen more than a story out of the sky, but it sure made it more bearable.
Iggy was running towards her, arms pumping. Ensie raised her hand to the keypin and hesitated. Her heart was pounding. Did the senior tech want her to stop the test?
“Are you all right?” Iggy shouted over the noise of the engine. She stopped a few meters away from the Flicker, squinting against the dust the propellers were kicking up.
Ensie nodded.
“Five meters and change? That’s a lot of burning lift for a single hop!”
“I kind of stomped it,” Ensie admitted. She shifted on the seat, the pressure of her harnesses feeling a little over-tight.
Iggy tilted her head to the side. Her sun-baked face was full of concern. “Our projections didn’t call for a bump this big. Last time you stomped it, we peaked at four five!”
She remembered the feeling of yesterday’s tests, and how much stronger the rush had felt when she pushed down on the pedal this time. Things were definitely different, and she could feel a creeping coldness along her arms beneath the heavy pilot’s suit. But she set her jaw and sat up straight. Don’t be timid.
“Ten, fifteen percent rise in altitude’s what we wanted,” she shouted.
“In max altitude, not on the first jump!”
“It made landing easier. I had time to think.”
Iggy crossed her arms over her chest. “You think you’re okay?” she said.
Her dubious tone was almost insulting. Ensie gave the senior tech an emphatic thumbs-up, trying not to let her irritation show. “Good to go,” she shouted.
Iggy turned and trotted slowly back towards the sandbags, her shoulders tense. She shot a glance back at Ensie, and Ensie deliberately turned her eyes forward. The squat-roofed fuel center was in front of her, wisps of gray sm
oke rising out of the pipes of the two-story building. “Go,” Iggy’s call floated into her ears from behind the barrier.
Since you’re so worried about me… she thought, twisting her mouth. She pressed the ball of her foot against the pedal as gently as she could.
The Flicker leapt straight up into the air, peaking below 4 m, as best as Ensie could tell. The shallower jump gave her less time to make adjustments for the fall, but the machine barely wobbled this time so little correction was necessary. She grunted as the shocks and padding absorbed the impact. Ensie looked through her goggles over to the sandbags. Well?
After a momentary hesitation, Iggy gave her a thumbs-up.
Ensie twisted forward on the handlebars, pivoting the propellers to give her forward momentum. Let’s travel, she thought, giving the pedal a firm press.
The Flicker tilted nose-down as it entered the air, and Ensie felt the thrilling rush of air press her down and back. There was a thunking noise she didn’t recognize from somewhere behind her, in the ranine coil box, and a barely perceptible ping in the dashboard. Ensie squashed her momentary flash of worry. The Flicker had never been used like this before, so it was to be expected that internal parts would settle themselves out the more she jumped, she told herself.
She hit the apex of her arc and hung weightless for a moment, until gravity settled around her, calmly, like a woolen robe being lowered onto her shoulders. Especially with these higher jumps, she had every confidence in her ability to steer the Flicker to a safe alignment well before touching ground. This was quite a forward leap she’d been able to make; maybe four meters. She banked the Flicker slightly starboard during the descent and evened it out just before the skis touched the ground, looking over her shoulder towards the sandbags. The Flicker landed—
—and launched again.
Ensie’s head snapped forward as the Flicker jumped into the air. Her neck lit up with pain. She gasped as she straightened her head, and a rush of dusty air swept into her mouth. Her stomach roiled inside her body as the Flicker veered to the side, almost bringing her perpendicular to the ground before she was able to twist the propellers enough to right her. Another few degrees to the side, and she would have effectively capsized, she realized, her body flaring with the pins-and-needles of fear. If the Flicker banked too far to one side, the propellers would stop providing lift. Instead, they would join forces with gravity to drive the machine that much faster into the ground.
The Flicker was already descending towards said ground after its unexpected jump. What’s happening?
Ensie risked another quick look behind her, towards the sandbags and her senior tech. Iggy had both hands locked behind the back of her head, frozen in shock, and even from this distance Ensie could see the whites of her wide eyes.
I need to get off this thing as soon as I touch down, Ensie thought, her mind struggling to keep up with what was happening. She braced herself as the skis made contact with the earth again. The impact erupted through her body despite the padding, much rougher than before.
And once again, the Flicker jumped.
Flames! Ensie gritted her teeth against the force of the launch. Each new jump seemed to be building on the previous one, if the increasingly intense downforce was any indication. She was far away from the measuring pylon now, battling with the handlebars to ensure she stayed inside their testing area. She reached the peak of her jump and began to fall, the propellers slowing her imperceptibly and giving this ride an illusion of control. Ensie knew better now. Something was seriously wrong.
She took a half-second to look at the dial for continuous travel mode. I swear to the Spheres I double-checked this before I started, she thought, dropping one hand from the handlebars. It hadn’t budged at all from the ‘off’ position. The ground was getting close again. Her knees tucked together tightly as she braced herself. Desperate, she twisted the dial to ‘on’ instead.
The dial spun effortlessly. Ensie gaped at it and turned it back to ‘off.’ It flipped back and forth breezily, like a play knob on a child’s toy. It’s not connected to anything!
The Flicker plowed into the ground and leapt again, like a rubber ball spiked onto a clay court. Ensie pitched forward against her harness at the moment of impact, and was thrust back into the seat just as hard upon going airborne. Her eyes were tearing up inside her goggles, but there was no time to wipe them clear. These new jumps were so forceful they set the Flicker wobbling off-kilter, each of the three skis below her feet shuddering within the suspension at different rates. It was all she could do to level it out by the time the machine reached its zenith, alarmingly close to the 7 m on the pylon.
I thought we were smarter than this, Ensie thought, a spike of black panic driving down her back. We projected what continuous travel mode would be like! We were so careful! We stuck to the tolerances! We accounted for wind, mud, topography… there’s no reason this thing should feel like it’s falling apart after a few continuous jumps. The box shouldn’t be powerful enough to do this to—
Ensie cried out as the Flicker hit the dirt again.
“Bail, Ensie, for fire’s sake—!”
Iggy’s voice was momentarily clear as she was at ground level, but then, just as quickly, she was hopping again. A clatter and a tinny snap came from somewhere below her, and the Flicker pitched to the side. The chassis was under stress from these too-powerful jumps. Ensie swung the propellers and her body as hard as she could to right the machine. It was barely enough to keep her from capsizing. The urge to vomit flared up in her throat, but she choked it down through sheer force of will. Later. Now, I need my mouth clear so I can scream.
The sky was beautiful; defiantly picturesque in the middle of her terrifying flight, orange-blue and woven through with gray clouds. A magnificent sunset was in the works, and it would continue on its inexorably magnificent way even as this machine shook itself—and her—apart. The world didn’t care one bit if she lived or died tonight.
Another bone-bruising impact left stars in her eyes. She closed them briefly, righting the machine through instinct and the gyrations she felt inside her head and stomach. With the outside world shut out, she felt like she caught her mental footing for a brief instant, just long enough to try to form a plan.
The safety clutch for continuous travel mode must be jammed in place. One of those innocent-sounding snaps she’d heard must have been when it happened. There’s no way to get in and troubleshoot it now, but as long as this machine is running, every landing is just going to lead directly into the next jump—
Her next jump knocked the wind out of her, but the death grip she had on the handlebars kept the Flicker almost vertical. After the wild, twisting leaps she’d been taking, the straight up-and-down hop was a welcome relief for her stomach. It also made measuring herself against the pylon that much easier, though, and the bland 8 m 500 looking back at her set her body quivering with fear. She squeezed her eyes shut again, breathing through her mouth.
Ensie’s eyes flashed open immediately as a thought struck her. As long as this machine is running… She thought through the words again, her heart starting to pound with something other than terror. If I just shut off the engine, the ranine box will lose pressure and the jumps will stop! And if she could time it near the end of a jump, she wouldn’t have that far to fall. She could trust in the suspension and her flight suit to keep her safe. Turning off my flying machine in mid-air... I can’t believe that’s sounding like my best option, Ensie thought, moistening her lips.
Another thought stopped her before she could move her left hand from the handlebar to the keypin. Wait... if the safety clutch is this far gone, any residual pressure in the ranine box is going to transfer to the coils even after the engine stops. It takes about five seconds for the box to shed its energy—
The Flicker touched earth again and she had to wrestle it under control. She hadn’t been lucky enough to keep it vertical that time. Ensie caught a quick glance of Iggy and a few other figures on the gro
und below, waving their arms. There was no time to pay attention to them now, even if they were trying to help her. If she was going to live through this, she was going to have to save herself.
If I turn off the motor close to the ground, odds are there will still be enough pressure to launch me one last time. And I won’t have the propellers running to give me lift or help me steer. The only reason she’d been able to survive this many jumps was because the propellers on their long stalks behind her were helping her hover just enough to ride this tiger. It was proof-of-concept, at least, for all the cold comfort it gave her now.
Okay. So say I turn off the engine as I’m rising, just before the apex. Then the ranine box would likely be depressurized enough to avoid a disastrous further hop by the time she touched down. However, she’d be making that touchdown at whatever speed and in whatever orientation gravity had in mind for her. The suspension wasn’t rated to handle falling from these heights, even with the propellers putting the brakes on her descent. So if I risk a drop without them, I might be crushed to pieces even if I’m lucky enough to land skis-down.
She was dimly aware of her own sobbing as the Flicker plowed into the test field and, again, launched her back into the air. White-hot sparks of pain were flaring up all through her seat and back. The Flicker wasn’t built to handle this punishment, and neither was her body.
Her odds of survival were bad if she turned the Flicker off, no matter when in the jump she turned the keypin. But she was running out of time to plan anything else. If she didn’t take action, the endless series of jumps would eventually make her black out and capsize, which would embed her in the flat dirt field so thoroughly the Aerial squad wouldn’t need to dig her a grave. Even worse, if she lost control, she might crash the Flicker into the people below, or one of the buildings all too close to the testing grounds.
One of the buildings…
As her eyes drifted over the squat fuel refinery, they fell on the steeple-roofed meeting house, where squads would congregate for briefings or drinking contests. The center of the building rose up more than three stories, peaking in a sharp triangle. But the southern wing, a later addition, was just shy of two stories at the intersection of its roofing planes. In fact, as another agonizing impact sent her back into the sky, she found herself looking down at that sharp, even ridge of textured brown shingles.