by Sean Wallace
“The Luminous Sky has figured out a way to bypass the codes.” Before the aviatrix could retort, Xin continued, “Control radiates out from the castle’s tower, yes.Your America uses the same technique to control its Minutemen robots, broadcasting control signals from the Statue of Liberty. Paris utilizes the Eiffel Tower to control her soldats en acier. Switzerland, Britain, Spain, they all follow this model. Even Mussolini has control towers jutting like needles from the Pantheon’s dome.” She went silent for a moment, losing herself in a faraway land of contemplation. “And of course, Japan prefers its own method of hakko ichiu to be mobile and aerial: Tengu Castle. If we can wrest control of the tower, we control its robots. We end the war.”
Eva made a disgusted sound. “American technicians have tried inventing an override signal for years. You’re saying that your secret little band has done something no Western nation could manage?”
“Well we did invent paper before you,” Xin replied softly.
Li had to choke back a laugh.
Eva didn’t smile, but she began to clean her pistol, rubbing a rag across the brown grip and iron sights in loving strokes. “Look, if you think you can override the robots, that’s swell. Just tell me what you need me to do.”
“We may encounter resistance once we’re at the castle,” Xin said. “I shall need you to watch my back.”
By way of answering, Eva cocked the Colt’s hammer and grinned.
The Lantern crossed the airy gulf to Tengu Castle and now, only a hundred meters away, Li saw what distance had hidden before: sleek black shapes moving around the castle like sharks he had once seen while pearl-diving; ominous shapes hanging above him in the murky water. These shapes were black, nearly invisible and betrayed only by the winking of starlight around them as they made their lofty patrols.
“It’s a dragonboat fleet,” he breathed, and he looked to Xin for signs that the Luminous Sky had anticipated this.
Or for signs of treachery in her face, he thought.The American’s doubts were growing like a toxic seed in his own mind. What if this was all a trap?
“I see now why you told me to ground my plane,” Eva admitted. She had donned her flying cap and scarf again, out of habit, perhaps, or a pilot’s superstition that they had talismanic powers of protection beyond simply protecting her from the chilling wind. “If we’d flown up here . . .”
“Even the best flying ace would have attracted the Japanese dragonboats’ attention,” Li finished for her. “It looks like the entire invasion force, aside from what they sent to soften the beach and bay.”
Soften, he thought bitterly. Now I know I’m a military man. Thousands of my countrymen have been “softened”, and in the summer heat their dead bodies will grow soft indeed.
The Lantern tilted backward slightly, like a rickshaw drawn by an over-eager driver. They were bearing down on Tengu Castle now, slipping silently past the dragonboats in the predawn darkness. Snow glittered on the curving tenchu-style castle roof.
Sure enough, a transmission tower stood out from the uppermost roof like a mighty acupuncture needle. Xin lifted a hatch and pulled out a length of black rope ladder, which she dropped over the Lantern’s side and let unroll below them. “I’ll go first, with Li behind me. Eva, I’m switching the Lantern over to manual control. While we’re down there, you steady her until I can plant the override device and get back.”
“I’m a Flying Tiger,” Eva snapped, “Not a glorified balloon mistress!”
“Since we’re fresh out of glorified balloon mistresses,” Xin said crisply, “you’ll have to do.”
Li helped her clamber down the rope ladder while the American went to the manual wall-controls. The shingled rooftop was only meters below them. He was relieved to see the absence of guards; the thin, cold air precluded them from being stationed outside.
He followed Xin down the twisting ladder. The Lantern’s propeller chassis fought against the wind; Eva fought to steady them.
When Xin reached the rooftop, she slipped on the icy surface; Li caught and steadied her. Snow like confectioner’s sugar spilled off the shingles and fell, in dream-like slowness, to the roiling ocean of clouds.
“All Under Heaven,” he said with a smile.
He expected she might grin at the small joke. Instead, she peered into his face, as if trying to read lines on an oracle bone.
“Do you believe in it?” she asked pointedly.
“Of course,” he said defensively.
“I wonder how many do? China has returned to the Warring States period; it is all chaos. The foreign devils merely compound an underlying fracture.” She fingered her amulet and craned her neck to regard the transmission tower, the blinking lights reflected in her eyes.
She took a step toward the tower. Li watched her go.
It seemed that someone punched him from behind, a sharp blow to his kidney. The snow in front of him splashed red, resembling the Imperial Japanese flag with its streaks of crimson lines.
“Xin!” he screamed – tried to scream – but a second bullet slammed into him. He pitched forward, lost his footing on the ice, and rolled to the edge of the shingles. He stopped just short of tumbling off the rooftop altogether.
From this angle, he could see Xin climbing the tower like a cautious spider ascending a weathervane.
Then he heard snow crunching under boots. His body was suddenly sluggish, and he could feel numbness spreading along his limbs. He managed to lift his head, staring up into the eyes . . .
. . . of Eva.
For a moment, all he could do was stare uncomprehendingly. Above her, the Lantern spun in a neat circle, like a balloon caught in a strange combination of drafts so that it rotated around and around, listing dangerously but going nowhere.
“You . . .” he began. “You were . . . my friend!”
Eva clucked her tongue. “We’ve known each other a goddam week. You set a low bar for friendship. Now . . .” She turned and aimed her Colt at Xin on the tower.
“No!” Li pleaded. “Please don’t!”
“Don’t what, Li?” Eva cooed. “Don’t conclude my deal with Hirohito and be made a rich lady with a fleet of planes under my command and my own palace in the Orient?”
Xin was a tiny figure now, a delicate creature, only two-thirds of the way up now.
So close . . .
“You’re not with the Americans?” Li asked Eva, trying to stall her.
“Remember what Odysseus told the Cyclops? ‘I am Noman.’ Same with Captain Nemo, whose very name means ‘no man’, beholden to no country, no people. Well, that’s me!” The woman flashed a smile that was so warm, so brilliant and full of charm, that for an instant Li was half-convinced this was all some sort of joke: the blood on his back, the pain he felt, the spreading numbness, this was some silly prank, and all would be well, Xin would reach the top of the tower . . . the girl was only six meters from the zenith now!
“But no one can be that selfish!” Li whispered. “Why would you betray all of us?”
“Salad,” Eva replied, laughing. She had removed her leather flying cap while in the Lantern, and now her chestnut curls flailed wildly around her head. “You’re a Nationalist, Li. But there are other factions in China who were willing to parley with the Japanese, just to see your side defeated. They struck a deal with the emperor and prime minister. The best part? I get paid in triplicate. China, America, and Japan.”
Li began to mount another stalling effort, but Eva shushed him.
“Want to see me slay a Steel Dragon?” the aviatrix purred, and she inched the pistol’s sights higher, turned the barrel slightly into the wind, and fired at Xin.
She missed! he thought, hoped, prayed.
But she hadn’t missed.
Xin was only two meters from the top of the needle, now, but something was wrong. She was no longer climbing. She was clutching the steel rungs as if she had fallen asleep there. A dark stain began to spread from the center of her back.
“What was that th
ing she kept saying?” Eva asked, aiming the muzzle a fraction of an inch higher. “What was it, Li?”
Li squinted at the Lantern spinning above them. “All . . .”
“All Under Heaven!” Eva laughed. “Watch me send your Luminous Sky friend straight to hell.”
She closed one eye and steadied her aim. For a moment, it seemed to Li that she actually was summoning hell itself, for the aviatrix was suddenly aglow in fierce, crimson light from no discernible source. Then Li saw that something was leaping out of the Lantern’s hatch, dropping down upon them. Something with burning red eyes . . .
The qilin landed against Eva and knocked her sprawling. Whatever else she was – traitor, villain, spy – she was also as agile as a cat; she rolled over backward, avoided a lunge from the best’s steel jaws, and fired point-blank into one of its eyes.
Sparks exploded, wires hissed like a nest of vipers. The qilin lunged again, head-butting her and driving the wind from her lungs. Despite only one eye functioning, it succeeded in clamping its jaws down on her pistol-hand. Eva’s eyes bulged and her mouth stretched into a howling scream as she squeezed off more rounds into the creature’s metal throat.
Then the qilin wrenched its head sideways. Eva’s hand came away.
Li pulled himself to his feet. He looked toward Xin. She was barely hanging onto the tower’s rungs. Her tunic was sodden with blood, yet he watched her pull herself up another rung.
One meter from the top now.
The qilin lunged again. Even wounded, Eva proved her agility; she nimbly sidestepped the beast, drew a smaller, concealed pistol from her jacket with her left hand, and aimed. The beast slid on the icy roof, turned to face her.
She fired into its other eye.
The qilin shook its head, wires dangling, smoke gushing from its ruined sockets. Still, it lunged for her, striking out at the last place it had seen her.
“To the right!” Li cried – but his voice wouldn’t come. He collapsed, the strength leeching out of his limbs. He fell to his knees in the snow.
Eva tossed her last pistol to the roof’s edge. The qilin leaped at the sound, lost its footing, and slid to within an inch of the last row of shingles. The aviatrix hurled herself into it, giving the needed push to send it rolling off into the endless sky. She laughed as it fell out of view.
Summoning his very last vestige of strength, Li held up his hand, palm out, to Eva. The hand with the ring from the Luminous Sky. The dragon sigil was still facing east.
He rotated it so it was gazing north.
In that same moment, Eva turned to face him.
Li squeezed the ring.
Light sprang from the sigil, only it wasn’t the soft revealing beam he’d used to identify Xin. This was a golden lance that shot forward, hitting Eva squarely in her face. She shrieked wildly, and suddenly the air stank of burning flesh.
When the light went out, Eva was a half-melted, blinded thing. She flailed in a tight dance of agony, arms lashing out for him. Her boots slipped on the ice. She tumbled away, cursing wordlessly, and vanished after the qilin.
Li let out a satisfied sigh. His arm fell to his side. He tried to turn his head to see how Xin was progressing, but now his sight was failing, graying at the edges and, finally, turning dark.
In that private darkness, he heard his eldest brother’s voice:
Don’t lose your smile, Li, even if you must hide it at times.
Li smiled, and with that smile, he died.
* * *
Xin pulled the medallion off her neck and, with the last of her strength, she slapped it against the tower antenna. The wind bit and shook her. Her hands were numb.
Below her, the rooftop door flung open, and the first of seemingly endless Japanese troops scrambled onto the snow like ants emerging for war. They fanned out, found Li’s body. One soldier spotted her, and every rifle swung in her direction.
In the howling gale, she never heard the bullets.
Bloodied, entwined into the antenna like a wet flag, she grinned as much as Li’s corpse was grinning below her.
All Under Heaven, she thought.
It was a Chinese concept that world peace was only possible when the divided countries of the world were united under a single banner. But China had failed miserably. War-torn Europe had failed. The Middle East, the Americas . . . all were squabbling barbarian states. None of them were deserving of the mandate. None of them could bring about a unified world.
Only one empire had come close, so close, to achieving global conquest. To achieving peace.
Xin fell from the tower, hitting the rooftop with a sickening collapse of bones. Her body slid along the shingles; a soldier reached for her but missed, and a moment later she was tumbling down from the sky and into the clouds.
The tower began broadcasting its secret signal, freezing the Japanese robots on the shore, yes, but also rippling out, nabbing every other communication tower from the Eiffel to the Statue of Liberty, bringing all under one control, one command . . .
Xin tumbled down to the ocean, weeping in joy.
One world, united, under the Yassa of a resurrected Mongolian Empire.
Long live the Great Khan, she thought, and even as she died, robotic feet all across the world marched to a new pulse.
Tunnel Vision
Rachel Nussbaum
Folks around here used to think the sky was freedom. Of course, that was before two things: air traffic control and prohibition. Now the sky’s a mess with airships full of ritzy snobs flying round the globe, trying to find a place to wet their beaks. I don’t like looking up at the sky at night these days. All those constant blinking lights give me a headache, and you can’t see the stars or moon anymore. This isn’t freedom.
I’ll tell you what freedom is.
It’s right beneath your feet.
Today, I got a spring in my step. As I walk down the street to the oddity shop, not even the darting shadows of the airships above can sour my mood. I’ve just made bank, got a list of several new clients begging me to give them top picks at my excavations, even got myself a new haircut. But I know that ain’t the only reason I’m feeling so chipper.
I’m going to see Alma.
Around the World Curios is the poor man’s sky tour. Despite the heavy traffic up in the clouds, not everyone can afford their own airship. Some can’t even afford a pay-by-the-hour tour. Because of that, this little oddity shop has managed to carve out quite a niche for itself, selling wonders from half the world over and displaying odd old antiques and contraptions. I open the door and saunter in, past the Chinese jade sculptures and the mounted rhino heads on the walls. But I’m not looking at all that. I’m looking at the counter in the back.
And there she is. Alma.
Like everything else in her parent’s shop, Alma’s a bit odd. Her full length dresses and bodices are at least twenty years out of fashion, I’ve always figured she wore them to attract business to the shop. For some reason, they’ve never made her look like an old maid. They make her look like she’s from a different time. Mysterious. She’s as pale as I am dark, and she’s got these wild brown eyes. Her copper hair is as bright and shiny as a new penny, and she wears it long, although today it’s twisted out of view under a large feathered hat, only a handful of locks spilling out from the sides. As I walk over to the counter, she looks up at me with those big, brown eyes, and lowers her book, shooting me a crooked smile.
I swear, that smile could make a dead man’s heart start up again.
“Well, well,” Alma says, looking me up and down. “If it isn’t The Prospector.”
“Is that what they’re calling me now?” I ask.
“It wouldn’t be the worst thing you’ve been called. What can I do for you, Lloyd?” she asks.
“Your father asked me to bring in anything interesting, got some iron pyrite and some pretty nifty quartz formations,” I say, pulling the pouch out of my satchel and putting it down on the counter.
Alma puts her book do
wn and starts thumbing through it, humming as she pulls out the pieces that interest her and casting aside the ones that don’t.
Alma’s brothers and I were friends back when we were youngsters in school together. They were supposed to help her run the shop, but being experts of antiquity around the world, they both ended up captaining a fleet of trade airships, networking and finding more business partners for their parent’s shop along the way. Alma, though, while she accompanies them plenty, she never got a ship of her own. She stays here, managing the store, which was probably wise on everyone in the family’s part – she’s not exactly diplomatic. A real bearcat, and not afraid to hiss at anyone.
That’s one of my favorite things about her.
“So Prospector,” she says, picking up a chunk of fools gold and pulling it up to her eye to examine. “How’s the dirt these days?”
“It’s keen. I heard your brothers just came back from Egypt. Any chance they brought a mummy back? I always wanted to unravel one of those and see what they looked like in the center.”
“They did get back from Egypt, but no mummy,” she says. “Speaking of their airships, you never took us up on our offer. My father really wanted you to go up on the last trip with him.”
“No thanks,” I say, waving my hands. “Not a fan of heights.”
“Not a fan of heights, but not afraid to drill down into the ground and be buried alive,” she says.
I smile and shrug, and Alma shakes her head.
“You know, Father came across a drill once, a really old one. It was too big to display in the shop, though.”
“All drills are really old. Mine was made at least fifty years ago, and that’s being generous,” I say.
“Really? How does it manage to stay running?” Alma asks.
“Those old beasts could last three hundred years.You should have seen what kind of condition old Jules was in when I refurbished her. Now you’d hardly recognize her,” I say, feeling prideful just thinking about it.