Every Wind of Change

by Frank Tuttle

  Mrs. Primsbite arrived on the disembark deck moments after Meralda. She carried a pillowcase stuffed with bottled water and a stout metal club. “What can I do?”

  “Start unfolding the envelope,” Meralda replied. “Take it as far as the end of the ramp.”

  The spymaster took the envelope’s short cord and began walking, pulling the airship’s gasbag with her as she moved.

  Meralda flipped a switch, and the heater’s indicator lamps began to flicker. Meralda started assembling the basket, muttering under her breath as the rods kept catching in their pockets.

  The cargo door lifted, and Mug sailed through, followed by Mr. Gliff, Donchen, and Skoof. All save Skoof carried bundles or bags.

  “I’d hoped to rehearse this, but there’s no time. Please place your supplies in the basket and then take your assembly stations. Celestia, where is my mother?”

  “She is currently in the performer’s quarters.”

  “Tell her to get to the disembark bay at once,” Meralda said. “Mug. Mr. Gliff. Is Bruce ready to take flight?”

  “That’s going to be a no, Mistress,” Mug replied. “Unless you had better luck than I,” he said, to Mr. Gliff.

  He shook his head. “Even the Captain couldn’t get him out of that tank, I suspect. I’m sorry, Miss Meralda. I will help you get your craft in the air. But I won’t abandon Bruce. I hope you understand.”

  Meralda gave the stubborn rod a savage push. “You’ll both die here.”

  “Maybe so, maybe not,” Mr. Gliff said. “But if he stays, I stay. Begging your pardon for being blunt.”

  Meralda’s heart sank. “Mug. Are you sure? Is there nothing we can do to convince him to leave?”

  Mug flew to face Meralda. “I tried, Mistress. So did Mr. Gliff. So did your mother. It’s time we need to coax him out, and it’s time we haven’t got. I am sorry. But he won’t budge.”

  “We’ll close the ramp behind you,” said Mr. Gliff. “These bugs might be clever, but they’ve not seen the likes of Celestia. We’ll be just fine, lass. You take your folk, and you get gone.”

  “There’s nothing else to do,” whispered Mug. Meralda took a deep breath.

  “We’ll come back for you, Mr. Gliff,” she said. “That’s a promise. You and Bruce and Celestia, if I have to build a space-ship with my bare hands and push it all the way back.”

  Meralda’s mother charged through the door, her tiny dog squirming in her arms. “I’m here, daughter,” she announced. She crossed to the basket, dropped Mr. Reardon inside, and hurried off to her station beside the rudder linkages. “May I be excused to raid the liquor cabinet?”

  “We’ve cleared Celestia’s immediate area of Mag,” spoke a crow. “Make haste, Mage. More are coming.”

  Meralda shoved the last rod into place. Her heart pounded, and her mouth went dry as a bone. “This is it. Celestia. Lower the ramp. Nameless, Faceless. I need to know if a Mag notices.”

  With agonizing slowness, Celestia’s massive ramp began to inch toward the Hub’s deck. The creak and drone of the motors and the gears boomed like thunder, at least in Meralda’s mind, and she hoped the voice in the sky would mask at least some of the noise.

  Mrs. Primsbite hurried to the end, peeking down as the ramp tilted. “Wish me luck.” She leaped, pulling the envelope down and out behind her.

  “Brave woman.” Mr. Gliff ran a pair of extruded cables through a set of guides.

  Donchen knelt and began priming the three fire lances set in a row before him. He watched various dials for a moment before strapping a fuel canister to his pack. “I’ll go keep watch,” he said, hurrying toward the dark.

  Meralda grunted. She shoved the cage forward and then strapped it to the heater. “Mr. Gliff, if you’d please roll the rack this way?”

  “Certainly, lass,” he said, rolling a rounded metal framework her way. Meralda stooped, gathered up the envelope, and put it on the frame before rolling it over the heater.

  The envelope unfolded sideways, widening until it reached either side of the ramp. Meralda let go, ran to the heater, and flipped a series of switches.

  A shaft of blue-white flame gushed from the heater’s maw, hissing and roaring. The heat of it drove Meralda back, but the envelope’s fabric was unsinged.

  “Well, it didn’t burst into flames, Mistress,” Mug said, hovering well beyond the flame’s reach. “That’s a good start, I’d say.”

  Meralda nodded, watching as the envelope slowly began to puff and rise. “Should have put wheels on the heater base.”

  “Should have stayed in bed that last day in Tirlin,” Mug replied. “I’d better go help with the watching and the being terrified. Mistress, whatever happens – good work. You might just pull this off.”

  Mug darted away.

  The envelope billowed and flapped, slowly unfolding, taking shape. Hurry, thought Meralda. She stalked along the gasbag, watching it expand.

  Mr. Gliff charged up, puffing. “I’d hoped to see your world, Miss.” He dabbed at his face with his handkerchief. “I know you don’t think it true, but I believe your folk are my folk, many generations removed. And I’m happy to say, Miss, that I’m proud of you. So good luck on your journey, and I hope we meet again, one day soon.”

  He stuck out his hand. Meralda shook it. “We will return. You have my word.”

  “It has been a pleasure meeting you,” Celestia said. “Fly free.”

  “Mage,” said a harsh voice in her ear. “The Mag have heard. Three are returning, on a path that will bring them to the ramp. We have been unable to dissuade them.”

  “Donchen!” Meralda shouted, releasing Mr. Gliff’s hand and charging down the ramp. “Three visitors to welcome!”

  “A warm welcome it shall be!” called Donchen. Meralda caught a brief glimpse of him darting through the shadows. He vanished amid a tangled pile of rubble along the narrow path that led toward Celestia’s tail.

  The airship’s envelope began to take shape. Her nose was round and blunt, her tail tapering to a point surrounded by four blunt fins. The cage and her single fan were already straining to rise, held in place only by the weight of the heater – but it too began to shift and rock on the ramp.

  “Now!” shouted Meralda. “Pull! Get her free!” She raced ahead, joining Mrs. Primsbite and Skoof, who was already straining at the airship’s nose cable.

  Meralda took hold as well. Slowly, inch by inch, the trio urged the expanding airship down the ramp and out into the flickering dark.

  Skoof scampered beneath the envelope and secured lines to the cage just as the airship began to rise.

  Donchen’s fire lance roared to life. The brilliance of the flame turned the perpetual twilight of the anomaly into day. Shadows leaped and spun as Donchen broke from his hiding place and played a long shaft of white-hot flame to and fro across the path.

  Metal glowed and sagged, groaning as it tilted and fell. Meralda saw three monstrous insects forms silhouetted against the light, caught for an instant in mid-flight before the heat burned them to clouds of ash.

  “Five more approach,” said a crow. “From all directions,” added the other.

  “Close the ramp, Mr. Gliff!” shouted Meralda. “Everyone, get aboard!”

  Meralda ran to the basket. She gripped the side and tumbled over it, head first, nearly landing on Mr. Reardon, who began barking frantically. Meralda stood, found the switch that turned on the basket’s single lamp, and then started attaching the rudder and throttle cables to the levers that would control them.

  Mrs. Primsbite clambered into the basket, followed by Donchen. The maw of his lance glowed red, and his face was covered in a sheen of sweat. “I want one of these to aid me in my gardening,” he said, with a grin. “Very effective against pests.”

  Mug flew past. “Mistress, hurry, there are bugs everywhere!”

  “Mother!” Meralda shouted as she worked. “Mother, get aboard this instant!”

  Her mother appeared with a sword in her hand. “I’ll wai
t until the lines are released. In case one of these insects dares approach.”

  The airship’s envelope filled with an audible snap. The basket rose a foot, then jerked to a halt when the mooring line took hold.

  The ramp groaned, rising steadily. Mr. Gliff stood at the end, watching, his shoulders slumped.

  “Mother, get in,” Meralda shouted. She gave the fan control board a hard slap, and a bank of lamps flared to life. “We’re ready.”

  Her mother gripped the edge of the basket. “Go!” she cried, swinging one leg over.

  “Mrs. Primsbite,” Meralda yelled. “Release!”

  The woman pulled a lever, and the basket lifted.

  “Take good care of Mr. Reardon,” said her mother, her face somber. “I am so very proud of you. Please do remember that.”

  Before Meralda could speak, her mother swung her leg back over the side of the basket and dropped down to the Hub’s metallic deck.

  “Mother!” shrieked Meralda. She lunged, but Donchen’s arms wrapped around her waist, and he hauled her back.

  “You need the lift and the speed,” her mother cried. She turned and darted for the ramp, where Mr. Gliff was already lowering a cable fixed with knots at regular intervals. “Mr. Reardon takes his walks at six and six, on the dot!”

  Meralda cursed and struggled. Below her, shapes moved in the shadows. Hulking, stealthy shapes, creeping through the debris, closing in a circle with her mother at the center.

  Donchen released her. “The big lance!” he shouted, as he trained his device downward and squeezed the trigger valve. “Meralda. Fire it!”

  Donchen poured down fire ahead of the encroaching Mag. Meralda leaped to the bow of the basket, threw the cover off the airship’s main gun, and brought it roaring to life.

  Her mother took hold of the rope and began to climb. Mr. Gliff hauled and strained, pulling as best he could, but the mass of Mag poured in, seething toward Miss Bekin like a black writhing tide.

  Meralda aimed the nozzle down, and the lance spewed a long, ragged flame. She twisted the nozzle, and the inferno coalesced. When the shaft of blinding fire hit the Hub, it splashed and flared, incinerating Mag carapaces by the score.

  Meralda played the flame, as Donchen was doing. The Mag rush halted, then reversed, and as her mother reached the lip of the ramp, they fled.

  Meralda followed with her lance, burning scores of Mag as they scrambled up the sloping debris field.

  Donchen’s hand fell lightly on her shoulder.

  “That’s enough, love. Your mother is safe.”

  The airship’s ascent began to hasten. Meralda saw the dim outline of her mother and Mr. Gliff watching from the narrow opening left at the top of the ramp.

  “Damn you, mother,” Meralda said. Donchen squeezed her shoulder.

  Skoof’s thin limbs slipped over the edge of the basket. His dome appeared, and then he climbed aboard. “A mooring line failed to release. I severed it. Our rate of ascent appears to be in line with your calculations, Mage Meralda. Well done.”

  “How do you work this contrivance?” Mrs. Primsbite cried, from the fan controls. “Does this switch turn it on?”

  Celestia’s ramp shut with a boom that echoed like thunder. Meralda bit back another curse and then hurried to the fan controls, her mother’s dog nipping at her heels.

  23

  “We don’t have an altimeter, but I’d guess about five hundred feet,” Donchen said.

  Meralda heard but did not listen to Mrs. Primsbite’s reply.

  The shadowed, wreck-strewn heaps of the anomaly sped by below. Here and there, lights played among the gloom, winking in and out as the airship passed over them. The airship’s single fan whirred, surprisingly quiet for the volume of air it moved.

  Skoof stood at the front of the basket. Donchen was at the helm, having stationed himself there when Meralda refused to leave the fan controls. Aside from sluggishness in the right rudder cable, the airship was proving capable, if not graceful, in flight.

  The Mag horde had followed. For a few moments, they’d paced the airship – but as soon as Meralda had pushed halfway, they’d fallen behind. Now, none were visible.

  Mug flew his basket close, half his eyes turning upon Meralda.

  “There’s nothing you could have done,” he said. “She planned it all out, you know. Even had a rope waiting. You aren’t to be blamed for this.”

  Meralda didn’t reply. Mug waited a moment and then darted away to hang by Donchen’s ear.

  If I’d only grabbed her, thought Meralda. If I’d just reached out. But I just stood there. Stood there and let her jump.

  She wiped away a tear before anyone saw.

  “We are about to exit the anomalous space,” said Skoof, loud enough to be heard across the rush of wind. “I suggest you prepare your optical organs for bright light.”

  Meralda just had time to squint before the midnight gloom gave way to harsh noon.

  Just like that, the leaning canyons of debris and towering wrecks vanished, replaced by an endless steel plain dotted here and there with the stumps of generous trees and the few twisted heaps of metal that hadn’t been dragged into the anomaly. The quartered sky flashed and flickered, and the booming voice droned on.

  Meralda stood on tiptoe, gazing over the heater. There, behind them, a few blots of darkness seemed to emerge from thin air and begin moving slowly toward the airship. Meralda watched for a moment, holding her breath, but her craft sped on, and the Mag failed to keep pace.

  “They’re numerous, but not fleet of foot, it appears,” said Mrs. Primsbite, who had silently joined her. “Your flying machine is nothing short of a smashing success.”

  Meralda shrugged. She bent and scooped up Mr. Reardon, who began a determined campaign of licking at her chin.

  “Skoof claims we’ll be at the dock within the hour,” said Mrs. Primsbite. “Have you given any thought to what you’ll say to the commander of the Hang fleet?”

  Meralda cleared her throat. “None whatsoever. I suppose I could ask him if he’d rather be eaten alive by giant beetles or turn around and go home a hero.”

  “Blunt, dear, but essentially not a bad approach.” Mrs. Primsbite regarded Meralda sadly and then reached out for Mr. Reardon. “I’ll take him. Donchen wishes a word with you.”

  Meralda passed a wiggling Mr. Reardon over to the spymaster. “He isn’t determined to console me, is he?”

  “No,” Mrs. Primsbite replied. “He and Skoof have been discussing the particulars of the void dock. I believe he wants to know how to approach the landing, that’s all.”

  Meralda nodded and made her way to the front of the crowded basket.

  Donchen glanced at her as she moved to his side. The wind of the airship’s passage tousled his hair, and the intensity of his gaze ahead gave him, Meralda thought, something of a piratical air.

  “Skoof,” he said. “Tell the Mage what you told me about the dock.”

  Skoof rotated his dome. “Tripping wheel spacecraft docking takes several forms. But the smaller auxiliary docks are unique. A ship approaches. The Hub creates an internal chamber sized to accommodate the craft. The ship is drawn into this chamber, which is then sealed from the vacuum. An appropriate atmosphere is introduced, the extruded chamber moves through the Hub, inverts, and emerges on the interior. The chamber is absorbed, and the vehicle is left on a raised circular platform, which is then rotated to allow the next incoming craft to dock, and so forth.”

  “That means the Hang ship, or ships, will be unprotected on the surface.”

  “Unprotected and easily seen,” Donchen said. “It’s an efficient system, I suppose, but any Mag in the area will surely have noticed such activity. Especially after new path lines appear – and since ours did, we must assume theirs will also.”

  Meralda leaned over the basket, peering down toward the Hub’s flat, featureless deck. When the sky darkened, she could see a faint yellow path marker keeping pace below the airship, and her heart fell. “Ho
w far out are we?”

  “Another half hour,” said Donchen. “We could be there a bit sooner, but I’d rather leave the batteries with enough charge to give us some speed if we need it later.”

  “I agree,” Meralda replied. “I suppose our best course of action is to simply fly right in. We don’t have time to be subtle. We’ll just have to hope the Hang don’t decide we’re a threat.”

  “Indeed,” said Donchen. “I did think of that earlier but didn’t have time to discuss it with you. However. In the blue bag, below the fan panel? I took the liberty of creating a Hang flag. Affixing it to the lines might be prudent. Just in case my cousins brought along arms, you know.”

  Meralda gave Donchen a quick hug. “Good thinking.” She bent and searched. “Here it is.”

  “We never gave this craft a name, you know,” Donchen said, over the whistle of the wind. “Bad luck, according to my customs.”

  Meralda unfolded the flag, which flapped about her. “She is the Matriarch.”

  “Indeed she is,” replied Donchen. He didn’t look back to Meralda, but his left hand left the wheel and sought out her right. He squeezed it briefly. “We’re going home. Then we’ll come back. With an armada, and your mother’s cook. What is his name? I forget.”

  “You forget nothing. I’ll hang the flag. Get us there in one piece, won’t you, dear?” Meralda turned on her heel and went to fetch some line from the storage bin while the wind dried her tears.

  “I wish the bloody sky would stay lit,” piped Mug. His cage hovered above the Matriarch’s blunt prow. Half of his eyes looked ahead, the rest fixed behind. “Wait. I see something.”

  “So do I.” Mrs. Primsbite peered through a pair of brass opera glasses. “My word. What an odd contrivance.”

  The sky flickered. The quarter above lit and the Hub below was suddenly visible.

  Skoof raised his dome, putting it on a level with Meralda’s face. “Is that the craft of your countrymen?”

  “I’m afraid so.”

  Below, resting on the surface of an enormous raised circle of dull gray Hub metal, were two cylindrical craft not unlike the airships Meralda knew.