by S A Shaffer
“Then one of the airdestroyers beside the Intrepid burst into flames and dove toward the still-burning city below. The Bergs, now finished with the Viörns, turned their cursed focus-lens on the Alönians, and silent death struck as airships spontaneously combusted. Admiral Ike held up a few fingers, and as if a part of some airshow, the Alönian line broke apart into sporadic maneuvers.”
Now the little boy ran back and forth across his bed, spinning his little airship in a random pattern. This caused his mother to lose hold of his pajamas, but the man caught the boy up in his thick arms and placed him on his shoulders, racing around the room as an airship in flight.
The mother laughed as she picked up the discarded book and read on even as the two animated the scene—father and son: “The Bergish airships and tactics were as different from the Viörns as their culture. The mass of Bergish super-fortresses carried immense firepower, both long and short range, yet they were slow and cumbersome. Each boasted thick armor that surrounded balloon and ship alike. Few of the super-fortresses carried the focus-lens array, but those that did were formidable. Only the Bergish armada know the secret of the weapon, though rumor has it that the device projects its silent death from some rare crystal discovered deep in the Bergish mines.
“As Admiral Ike neared the Bergish line, his brave airships rained fire down upon them, but they were no match for the super-fortresses, brave airships or not. Each Bergish ship could shrug off an attack from ten destroyers firing in unison, which is why Admiral Ike had divided his forces before the battle ever began. He separated his skiff-carriers from the fleet groups and left them hiding in the cloud bank. At this very moment they floated unseen just behind the Bergish picket. A maelstrom of skiffs, each armed with a single torpedo, poured from the clouds like rain in a Southern Ocean storm.”
The father lifted the little boy from his shoulders and guided him like an airship diving through the clouds. The boy’s mother raised her hands twice, a concerned look on her face, but she restrained herself. The man guided the boy back onto the bed with all the gentleness of a loving parent amidst squeals of delight.
“Alönian skiffs are a novelty in the Fertile Plains. A single pilot defends himself with duel stationary chain-guns. While they carry less firepower than Viörn gunships—and are far less armored—nothing in the skies can match their speed. The brunt of the Bergish firepower and focus faced the wrong direction, much as the Viörns had in the first engagement. Half of the Bergish fortresses fell from the sky as Alönian pilots released well-aimed torpedoes at point-blank range, bursting the fortress boilers and melting the structures from the inside out. The remaining fortresses clustered together, trapped in the midst of the resupplying skiffs, the relentless airdestroyer guns, and the Rorand Mountains.
“Admiral Ike sighed as he ordered his airships to advance. He knew the Bergish commander—Admiral Vojh Nović. They had met once before, and he was as Bergish as they came—proud and unrelenting. There would be no surrender.
“As in the past, so it was on this day that Bergish pride proved their downfall. Admiral Ike removed his hat as he watched. Admiral Nović, rather than admit defeat, superheated his flying fortresses and attempted to cross the Rorand Mountains. Even as he watched it happen, Admiral Ike knew that the remaining super-fortresses would not be seen or heard from again. Their wreckage and the countless souls they carried would be lost along the mountain peaks. When Admiral Ike looked back at his men, every single aeronaut gazed in wonder at him and at the great victory they had just witnessed. His face grim, the admiral said—”
The boy interrupted, “He said, ‘A fine job, my fellow Alönians, as fine as ever there was. Make safe the city. Assist in any way you can. Collect our wounded … and the dead.” The boy now stood poised on his bed straight and stiff in a military stance. Then he plopped down on the covers and guided the airship in his hand to a landing on his soft pillow.
His father nodded as his wife finished the story: “As the aeronauts set to their tasks, Admiral Ike looked back across the Armstad valley, and the massacre he had wrought, grateful his men had forgone the usual cheering. A single tear carved a furrow on his dusty cheek. So much death—would it ever wash off?”
The mother took a slow breath and then continued, “Against all odds Alönia proved victorious in the Protectorate War. Armstad was free. After the battle, Admiral Ike and his armada helped rebuild the war-torn city before sailing back to the Houselands, for the people of Alönia value friendship and peace more than riches. Armstad rejoiced as they profited from their unearthed treasures, not as a protectorate, but as an independent country. Trade resumed between the realms as peace settled upon the Fertile Plains. For so long as the fleets of Alönia remained strong, Berg and Viörn would remain passive.”
The mother set aside the book, then pulled back the covers and the boy climbed under them. His father kissed his forehead and stood, waiting for his wife. The mother fished the airship out from under the covers where the boy had snuck it in a moment before.
As she set it on the desk beside the bed, the boy said, “When I grow up, I want to be just like Admiral Ike.”
“I have no doubt that you will, son,” the father said. “You have a hero’s name, and the heart to back it up.”
The mother bent over the boy and kissed him several times before she nuzzled his nose. “Sleep well, my little David,” she said.
As the mother and father shut the door, the boy closed his eyes, likely drifting off to sleep with dreams of a daring young aeronaut fighting to defend the Houselands.
THE SURPRISE MOTION
David hobbled for all he was worth. It was the first day of the rest of his life, the fifty-second day of Úoi Season, and he was not about to be late. He limped through the mugginess of the dark cobbled streets, mechanical arm slanting his shoulders and weak leg slowing his progress. Stone and steel structures shadowed the alley as he sloshed through the myriad of puddles. Steam fluttered his sandy hair as it puffed out from different exhaust ports while the under-city factories yawned, welcoming the start of the workday. He rounded the last building in the industrial district of Capital City, and the bright morning sunlight prickled his eyes in a rare display of Alönian blue sky—a good omen. He squinted up toward the Capital Orbital and smiled.
The orbital filled a good portion of the small blue patch. Rainbows and sunbeams accented the construct as it hung motionless. Four massive balloons held it aloft, each emblazoned with a thirteen-pointed golden star, the symbol of the Thirteen Houses of Alönia, though David couldn’t make out the points from so far away. The rest of the orbital’s structure looked like glittering crystal in the sunlight, with polished brass and glass windows catching the light.
A variety of airships dipped in and out of the clouds. Old galleons drifted along at a lazy pace, looking like ancient seafaring ships of war. Some of these vessels were upwards of a hundred cycles old, with real wooden hulls and oversized balloons. There were others too: great construction blimps, their hulking bulk looking small next to the Capital Orbital while carrying massive chunks of the new tower being built on the opposite side of the city. Warships glided along in guard patrol around the Houselands’ capital, swaying beneath their armored balloons, mounted revolvers and chemical throwers pointing out of their decks at odd angles. Tiny skiffs zoomed in the larger ships’ wakes, ferrying people to and from ship and orbital and city. The sky hissed with activity.
David let out a long sigh. Four cycles had passed since he’d been in the sky. Four long cycles of shoveling sludge, cleaning muck, and eating gruel. Finally! He had finally made it. Finally he could live in comfort. Finally he could provide for his mother the way she deserved. Finally he could leave the commons and frequent the clouds. If only his father could see him now, Jeshua rest his soul.
“I’m doing it, Father,” David whispered as he walked out from the buildings amidst the bustling people. “I’m finally honoring your memory. I’ll do you proud.”
Davi
d had been awake for three hours, two of them in the dark. From his apartment he’d boarded the nearest public train to the only steam transportation hub in all of House Braxton. He had then traveled by airship across the Easterly River to the outskirts of Capital City. He couldn’t afford to go any farther by airship, at least not right now, but that was all about to change. From the city outskirts, he took another public train to the industrial district. Now, finally, he could board a public sky-liner direct to Capital Orbital, free of cost.
David moved through the crowds to the transportation tower. Together they bunched into lines and packed into steam shafts that rocketed them to the top of the facility. Massive sky-liners with rotating turbofans affixed to their sides sat anchored at the tower’s sides. They were the newer model, cockpit and cargo hold built directly into the balloon instead of cabled beneath. Portholes dotted the lower portion of the balloon, and a windscreen gleamed at the bow. As David waited on the roof of the facility, one of the massive ships weighed anchor and drifted away from the tower. After a few seconds the turbofans whirled to life, and the ship’s lazy drift transformed into a controlled ascent.
David gaped at the spectacle. What it must be like to captain those behemoths in defiance of gravity …
But as he dawdled, he let a gap form in the line, and another wayfarer prodded him in the back. “Move on now. We don’t got all day.”
“Right, sorry,” David said, putting on his most earnest smile.
But the other traveler only grunted as he checked his pocket watch.
As David neared the front of the line to board his airship, another sky-liner drifted in and filled the space left by the departing one. The ship slid into dock without so much as bumping the tower, lowering four cargo doors like ramps for its passengers.
“Well done,” David said in a quiet voice.
But then he noticed he’d let a gap form again, and he hurried forward. No one else seemed to even notice the pilot’s skill anyway, let alone care.
As he stepped into the sky-liner, he felt the floor beneath him sway ever so slightly as more people crowded into the open bays and filtered toward various seats. David marveled at the number of people the ship could hold as hundreds packed in, filling the seats and then the spaces in between. His stomach tingled with excitement. How he’d dreamt of this day. He took a seat next to an elegant-looking lady and across from an old man who appeared to be very crotchety. Neither one seemed interested in conversation. The old man’s face looked more accustomed to frowning than breathing. One young lady looked interest in talking, but when she hid her smile behind a hand, David realized she was smiling at his manner of dress and not his friendly disposition. No doubt she believed him another tramp attempting to sneak onto the orbital for a little sightseeing, only to soon be thrown out by the capital guards. David let his head hang as his cheeks flushed. He knew his suit was old, but was it really that bad?
They had been his father’s clothes, one of the last things David had to remember him by. The shoulders drooped and the sleeves hung too long, ill fitting to be sure. David the father had been tall and broad shouldered. David the son—well, half of him was the same: the nonmechanical half. He had his father’s face too: handsome and naturally gruff. It suited his father just fine, but on David a strong face with a broken frame looked awkward. He unconsciously flexed his mechanical hand and listened to the fingers click.
The ships swayed a little as the dockmaster cut her loose from the tower. A voice crackled over the intercom: “This is the captain. We are underway. Please remain seated for the remainder of the voyage.”
David looked up in expectation as the boiler heated and the rhythmic hiss of the engine pumped away from deep inside the ship, the great beast coming alive. He wasn’t near a window, but he could feel the ship list and sway as it rose into the air. As they gained altitude, David felt his ears pop. He clutched his satchel to his chest—he alone knowing its value.
The trip was shorter than he expected, and within ten minutes they slid up against the orbital dock. The travelers climbed to their feet and made their way to the bay doors. David neared the doors, and he felt his pulse quicken as bright, pure sunbeams radiated through the opening. He stepped off the sky-liner and gasped. He’d seen the orbital before from the ground, but being on it was so much more than he had imagined. What he could see of it was enormous: a golden polymer dock stretched out next to the airship and funneled everyone into a glass atrium, shaped like a half-moon. The Alönian Houselands colors of royal blue and gold trimmed the floor, railing, and ceiling. The sky-liner docked on the side of the orbital at the second level, looking like a skiff next to a man-of-war. Pure, crisp air filled David’s lungs and was then exhaled in steam—not cold enough to bring a chill, but enough to redden his nose. A twenty-five-degree difference separated the ground and the orbital.
There were three levels to the orbital’s structure, each winding between and around the four behemoth-class balloons. From what David could see, glass paneled every surface of the orbital, everything save the massive balloon on the right side of the dock. How much glass could there be on such a massive structure before it broke apart? Rumor had it that even some of the floors were glass, though David doubted it. What kind of idiot would stand on glass nearly a grandfathom in the air?
From here David could count every point of the Alönian star. The center of the orbital represented the Alönian Assembly Room, the place where the representatives of the Houselands gathered and conferred, proposing and striking laws.
“Come on now, move along,” said the same man David had held up back at the transportation tower.
“So sorry, it’s just so many new things to see,” David said.
But when he looked back, the man was lost in the crowd.
David walked with the rest of the day workers to the glass atrium at the end of the dock. The throng broke into several lines that filtered through security checkpoints. Large capital guards stood at attention and wore unfriendly expressions as they eyed the passersby. A wide bandoleer betrayed the repeaters resting on their backs, and the bulges in their doublets spoke of hand cannons resting against their hips. One of them cradled an impressive chain-gun, his thumb idly rotating the many barrels. David was so preoccupied admiring the weapon that he failed to notice the guard glaring at him. The guard’s eyebrow twitched, and he nudged one of his companions. David saw the movement and put his head down, making his way to the checkpoint with purpose.
“Name,” a checkpoint agent asked in a curt tone.
“David Ike.”
“Of course you are,” she said, rolling her eyes. “Let me have your authentication, then. Come on now. We don’t—”
“I know, I know,” David said as he presented his papers. “We don’t have all day. So I’ve heard.”
“Quite right,” said the checkpoint agent as she squinted and held the capital pass out a good distance from her face. “Well, well, another David Ike. What a surprise. Unlike the others you might actually get noticed, in that suit anyway.” She handed his papers back and motioned him along.
David sighed as he returned his papers to his satchel. It wasn’t his fault that Ike was such a popular last name and that practically every Ike within the last sixty cycles had named their sons David. However, David was different than all the other lads named David Ike because he was not named after the Alönian war hero. David was named after his father. It was his father who had been named after the admiral of the Protectorate War. So in reality it wasn’t so different at all. But to him it was.
After asking a young woman in a bustled dress for directions, getting lost, and asking two other gentlemen, David found his way through vibrant halls of more blue and gold and down a steam lift to the lower level. Everything looked like brass, but the weight would surely be too much for an orbital. David rapped his mechanical knuckles against a golden wall and listened to the hollow thump—polymer.
Eventually David reached a small, out-of-the-way off
ice with a sign above the door in gold lettering: The Offices of House Braxton—Third District Representative.
David paused in front of the door for a moment, heart racing. He drew a few long, calming breaths.
This is it, he thought. Here goes nothing.
He knocked on the door three times and stepped back. As he heard footsteps moving toward the door, he attempted to straighten his ill-fitting jacket. His mechanical arm was seeping fluids again. Luckily the stain faded against his royal-blue coat. As the door rattled open, he stiffened and assumed his best posture.
An elegant brunette woman with hazel eyes opened the door. She looked tall and proper in her navy-blue dress and satin teardrop hat, feather poking from the top. A silver pendant hung at her neckline. She seemed deceptively young, her natural beauty slowing the touch of time, perhaps middle-aged, or not—impossible to tell.
“Good morning,” she said in a round, silky voice. “May I help you?”
“Hello, I’m David Ike here to see Mr. Blythe. I’m his new aide.”
“Yes, we’ve been expecting you. Won’t you come in? Ms. Paula Carbone, secretary for the Third,” she said with a curtsy.
“Pleased to meet you, Ms. Paula,” David said, entering the office.
It was a huge room, at least to David—though if he’d visited any of the other political offices, he might have known it was actually rather small. One circular main office space conjoined two other rooms. A few benches lined the wall next to the entry door. Five desks spread out to the right. Closed double doors stood opposite the entry door, and on the far left side of the room a solitary couch sprawled beside a tall, narrow door. A long blue-and-gold carpet ran from the entry to the double doors opposite.