The Delivery

Like a hammer to an anvil, the wall of the storm and the Caldera Mesa were coming together. Clement’s airship was between them, racing a hundred meters ahead of the storm wall. He briefly allowed himself to wonder if he’d pushed his luck too far this time. Then, he dismissed the thought and turned from the starboard rail.

“Anything?” he asked of the crew watching along the port side.

“Nothing yet, Captain Keyes.”

Captain. It was a word Clement still wasn’t comfortable with. As he mulled over his inadequacies, he made his way aft to the wheel.

“Perhaps they’ve given up,” suggests Clement’s First, Minda Whalen.

Clement snorted in amusement.

“Have you ever known a company gunship to quit?”

“There’s always a first time?”

A shout along the port rail stalled Clement’s retort.

“I see it!”

“Gunship!”

“This isn’t that time, Minda,” Clement said, before joining the crew on the port side.

Typically, the game of hunter and hunted brought a hard grin to Clement’s face. This time, the urgency of the mission kept his enthusiasm on a tight rein. There was no time for cute and clever. Well, there was always time to be clever.

“Where?”

One of the crew nearest pointed to the storm wall. Clement sighted along the older crewmember’s arm. There it was, just beginning to poke the bow of its air sack out of the storm. Privately, Clement had hoped that the gunship had sustained enough damage to turn it back. However, of all the merchant companies, the Piedmont Merchant Company was one of the most tenacious.

“I thought we’d done them good,” said one of the crew down the rail.

Another crewmember scoffed and replied, “PMC are fevered. You gotta put them down permanently, or they’ll keep crawling to their feet.”

From experience, Clement agreed.

“First,” he called, drawing Minda’s attention. “Slow the engines a quarter. Let the storm take us back again. Warn the crew.”

“Aye, Captain.” Minda turned and relayed the information to the aft crew before cupping her hands over one of the speaker tubes by the wheel, shouting orders into it. A second later, as more of the gunship pushed out from the storm wall, Clement’s ship slowed. 

Behind the ship, the storm wall drew closer.

“Back in again, eh?” Minda asked Clement as he passed her to stand at the aft rail.

The storms of Craccatu were dense not only with clouds and rain, but dust and ash whipped up from the playas as they raged across the planet’s surface. They’d stymied the first attempts at colonization, breaking many of the ships that attempted to land. It had taken decades to understand the storms and more than a century to learn how to survive them. Some spoke of mastery, but Clement wasn’t so sure.

“For now. The Mesa is over a hundred kilometers away. We might be able to stay ahead of the PMC, but it also means a long time for them to zero in their chasers. The last thing anyone wants, the last thing you and I want, is to crash on the playa with a storm rolling over us.”

Minda looked over her shoulder at the distant gunship still creeping out from the wall of the storm.

“That’ll put them ahead of us.”

Clement nodded, the stern grin finally making an appearance.

“Which is right where I want them.”

~~~

Over the next few minutes, it appeared as if the two airships were trading places. More of the company gunship emerged from the storm as it swallowed Clement’s ship in return. Crew opened chests on the deck, passing out storm masks. Each crew member quickly donned a mask, adjusting the straps to ensure a secure fit. The filters, woven from living lichen fibers found in canyons of the most northern mesas and buttes of Craccatu, trapped most of the dust and ash carried in the storm.

“Captain,” called his first from under her lifted mask. He acknowledged her with a raised hand. She set her mask back into place while pointing to port. She continued with a muffled voice, “Gunship.”

Clement, mask in hand, approached the port rail. The PMC gunship was further ahead of the storm now, and it appeared they were now aware of Clement’s location. They’d angled their rudders and propellers away from center, moving the gunship closer.

“Half power,” Clement called aft, receiving a raised hand of acknowledgment from Minda. She bent over the same speaker tube as before, lifting the mask slightly, and shouted commands into the tube.

The ship slowed abruptly, staggering some of the crew; their laughs muted behind the masks. Behind them, the storm seemed to gather speed, engulfing more of the ship.

“Captain,” someone said, tapping Clement on the shoulder. It was Jamaal, one of the deckhands, an older man with a balding pate. Through his mask, he loudly said, “I think they’re preparing to fire, Captain.”

“Really?” Clement’s raised eyebrows punctuated the surprised tone of his voice.

He followed Jamaal to the rail. Someone handed him a spyglass with a wide lens and rubbery ring that made it easier to use with the mask in place. Nearly half of his ship was in the storm. Mist, dirty with ash and dust, was already coating the deck near where Clement and the crew stood.

Across the distance, as viewed through the glass, Clement saw it was true. The gunship’s crew were already running the loaded and primed guns into firing position. From his position, Clement admired their precision. It was nice to see that the PMC still prided itself on discipline.

Clement lifted his mask, instantly tasting the dirty rain on his lips.

“Brace!”

He reset his mask and turned to watch as the gunship crew brought their slow match down to the touchholes. Even from a distance, Clement could hear the boom and crash as the rounds lept from the guns, shoving them backward even as they hurtled toward Clement’s ship. The rounds were quick, yet Clement could see their paths through the mist-edge of the storm. Several fell short, passing beneath the ship, beginning their long fall to the playa below. Two crashed against the hull of the ship before falling to join the others.

A single round struck the ship’s outer envelope just aft of where Clement stood. It lacked the energy to penetrate the sealed cloth and fell to the deck. There were muffled shouts of surprise and the sound of a large untuned bell as the cannonball bounced across the deck before striking one of the starboard cannons. One of the crew stopped the loose projectile before it could cause further damage and carried it over to Clement.

“Souvenir, Captain?”

“We’ll think of it as a loan,” Clement said. “Perhaps we’ll get the chance to return it to the PMC one day.”

The nearest crew laughed at Clement’s jest. The laughter spread like a slow cloud as crew turned to share Clement’s comment with those too far away to hear his muffled voice. For his part, Clement allowed himself a private smile as the storm caught them completely, hiding them from the gunship. He may well succeed after all.

~~~

“Power three-quarters and one mark,” Clement said, lifting his mask long enough to give the commands. “Run out the eye.”

They were buried in the storm. The gunship couldn’t see them. However, this also meant that Clement and his crew couldn’t see the gunship. But smugglers and pirates had a trick that Clement had adopted long ago.

The eye was similar to a spyglass, only in that it was narrow and had lenses on both ends. The real difference was the length. A spyglass was less than a meter. The eye was seventeen meters long and ran out along the bowsprit, several meters past the cables that led up to and over the hydrogen sack. Enough distance that they could see out of the storm and remain hidden.

To remain hidden, though, they would have to match the storm’s forward pace. While the designated crew prepared the eye, Clement took a position next to the speaking tubes. He watched the storm to port and starboard before lifting his mask to shout commands into the tube.

“Cut speed one quarter,” he said, then set his mask before watching the storm clouds around him.

They’d been moving faster than the storm prior to the command. Slowly, their speeds synced before the storm clouds seemed to pick up speed. Clement bent over the speaking tube again.

“Set speed two-thirds and three marks.”

The clouds slowed and then fell back, almost imperceptible to anyone without Clement’s experience.

“Eye set, Captain!” A crewmember waved from the bow as they settled their mask back over their face.

Clement waved Minda over to his position and then pressed the front of his mask against hers.

“Take control of the eye,” he said. “You know what to do. The moment we’ve pierced the storm, signal me. We don’t want to drift out and give ourselves away.”

“Of course, Captain.” Minda gave Clement a half wave, half salute, then jogged forward, one hand on a central guide rope strung up as a handhold.

Clement watched her as she reached the bow and sat on a metal crate lashed to the deck just before the eye-piece of the eye. One of the crew stood near, turning a small crank on the side of the eye, fine-tuning the focus as directed by Minda.

Around Clement, the crew waited in silence, as if they might hear what Minda saw. Or perhaps they thought the silence would help the first focus better on what she saw through the eye. Either way, it left only the sounds of the propellers chopping the air beneath the ship, the hushed hiss of the rain, and Clement’s own breathing inside the mask. 

This was like the moment before battle, when two ships maneuvered in the sky for position. They would swing to port or starboard and then back, hoping to throw the other ship off as they tried to work their way upwind. All the time, the other ship was attempting the same thing. Eventually, though, one captain or the other would have enough of the games and bring their cannons to bear. Then the silence was gone and fighting began.

Despite his reputation, Clement did not want a battle this time. He would be pleased if he could make it into the canyons of Caldera Mesa without firing a shot. A battle would only eat up time, and time he did not have. Already, the clock ticked menacingly.

Clement’s reflections didn’t keep him from his duties. Though part of his mind might be elsewhere, part of it focused on the ship’s bow and Minda’s back, her shirt dark with rain as she leaned into the eyepiece. He saw her left arm move slowly, as if in preparation to signal. In turn, Clement positioned himself in front of the speaking tube, one hand resting against it, the other hand on his mask.

He glanced at the clouds on either side and then returned his attention to Minda. Her upper arm was parallel to the deck, her shoulders bunched against her neck. Clement could imagine her straining to see past the storm edge, alert for the slightest hint of the gunship.

Then, her hand was up, waving eagerly. Clement was already pulling his mask away and leaning toward the tube.

“Slow two marks,” he shouted into the tube.

After resetting his mask, he turned to watch the clouds again. The first time he’d experienced a similar situation, the clouds slowing to match their speed, he’d almost gotten air-sick. Clouds or ships were meant to race by. To suddenly see them traveling at equal speed and no other reference, it was as if they and the clouds had stopped moving, trapped in time.

He’d been relieved to know that his experience was not unique and more pleased to learn that the other second aboard the ship had lost her lunch the first time.

With the ship’s pace matching the storm clouds, Clement hurried forward, mindful of the slick deck beneath his boots.

“How’s it look?” he asked loudly through the mask as he leaned down near Minda’s ear.

She flashed him a thumbs-up.

“Perfect,” she replied. “The eye’s just at the edge.”

“And the gunboat?”

“Straight off our bow with a little more elevation.”

Clement clapped Minda on the shoulder.

“Of course he is. Common practice. Now, all we have to do is find a way to thwart it.”

Minda turned and looked Clement in the eyes. She shared the same predatory smile.

“You have a plan.”

“I have a plan.”

~~~

The plan required time to pass. Instead of standing around like much of the crew, waiting, Clement made his way up the aft ladder into the sack and through a wooden hatch. Inside the sack, dirty rain was absent. Clement could remove his mask as he made his way along a central walkway. He made his way past tens of hydrogen sacks to a workstation in the middle.

The workstation was very much like the laboratory of a mad scientist. There were beakers, racks of test tubes, balances for weighing, more science paraphernalia, and several electrical heating elements as flames were a bad idea in a space filled with bags of hydrogen gas.

Sitting on a three-legged stool at the workstation was a tall thin man, a rubber apron strapped to him, rubber gloves on his hands as he slowly added a powder to a flask. Clement waited until he’d finished his task before speaking.

“Arlen,” he said. “How are things in the sack?”

“Good. Good.” said Arlen Shulte. He’d been the hydrogen master when the ship belonged to one of the merchant companies. When the ship was taken as a prize, he opted to stay with the ship. Clement considered that a win-win for the new owner of the ship. “I’ve primed some more of the algae slurry in case you need it fast. Will you need it fast?”

Clement laughed.

“Just might. We’re going to need a rapid elevation gain and then a drop with a hundred percent out of the engines.”

Arlen began removing his gloves, pulling on one finger at a time to tease his hand free.

“You’ll want me to be ready to divert gas to the engines, then?”

“You and your team can handle it?”

“Of course.” Arlen seemed more focused on removing the second glove than on Clement.

Clement looked around. Besides the workstation, there were several tight-lidded buckets that held pre-soaked patches. They were just large enough to quickly cover any puncture made by bullet or bolt. For the occasional large hole made by a cannonball, there was the covered trough opposite the workstation, just below the bunks used by the sack crew.

“Speed will be easier,” Arlen said as he laid the gloves on the table and smoothed them flat with his hands, “since we don’t have cargo to worry about.”

“Convenient,” said Clement with a lopsided smile.

“Planned, I presume,” said Arlen. “Like the company packet ship you managed to overtake.”

“Convenient,” Clement repeated. He could afford the financial loss of such a long run without cargo. The crew knew it, too, but that wouldn’t stop them worrying they wouldn’t get paid at the end. Plus, there’d be no bonus. That was why Clement had attacked the packet ship.

“Like the payroll chest you stumbled across.”

Again, Clement laughed.

“Indeed, Arlen, indeed.”

Clement took one last look around the interior of the hydrogen sack. Arlen’s team were working, climbing rope ladders to access the hydrogen bags. They would be checking meters for pressure and temperature, adding algae slurry as needed, bleeding off hydrogen as required. They pumped most of the excess hydrogen through tubes to a tank in the ship’s hull, where it would later help power the motors that turned the propellers that moved the ship through the skies.

“Hopefully we’ll make it home without damage,” Clement said. Then, with a nod, he moved past Arlen to use the forward ladder down to the deck.

“That’d be a first,” Arlen said as Clement passed.

“Indeed,” Clement said with a laugh.

~~~

The forward ladder to the deck continued down into the ship, terminating on the crew deck just below the main. Clement passed through the rows of gimbaled bunks, the mess, and the private cabins for senior crew and the occasional passenger. Just past the center of the ship heading aft, Clement used another ladder that took him down past the empty hold into the engine room at the very bottom of the ship.

The engine room housed three engines that drove the main and auxiliary propellers. The engines were gas combustion, utilizing the bleed-off hydrogen from the sacks above and atmosphere filtered free of particles. Because of the explosive nature of the combustion engines and the potential damage to the entire ship if even a single jet of flame reached the hydrogen sacks above, the room was wrapped in sheets of metal. The metal containment was further contained by a dense wood resistant to burning. As a final precaution, there were emergency releases. The entire lower quarter of the ship, engines and all, could be separated from the ship.

That was one emergency Clement had never encountered and hoped for his entire life it remained that way.

“Knock, knock,” he shouted as he stepped off the ladder.

Shouting was required not only because of the noise of the engines, but because the engine crew all wore hearing protection. Clement didn’t plan on an extended visit, so disregarded the extra pairs of ear coverings hanging on a series of hooks next to the ladder.

“Well, if it isn’t the lord of the upper deck,” boomed a voice behind Clement. “Come to grace us with your presence, then?”

Clement turned to see the grinning engine master, Rossana Meier. Rossana was broad shouldered, with muscles bulging even under loose fitting coveralls.

“Come to bask in yours,” said Clement, returning the grin.

“Well you should, Captain. Well you should. How’s things in the heavens, then?”

“Quiet for now,” Clement said. “Going to get busy soon. We’re going to be depending on you for a hundred percent power here in a bit.”

Rossana patted the central engine, the larger of the three, with one gloved hand.

“Haven’t let you down yet,” she said. “Not about to start. What you got planned? Making a run?”

“Will be,” admitted Clement. “After a few jibs and tacks.”

“Keeping everyone on their toes. Understood. We’ll be ready.” Rossana looked upward. “I’ll expect that we’ll be getting a lot of hydro before you need us going full?”

“If everything goes to plan.”

“Ah, well, I like it when things go to plan.”

Clement laughed.

“I like it, too.” He reached for the ladder. “We’ll give you as much forewarning as we can.”

“We’ll be ready, Captain.”

~~~

As Clement climbed the ladder out of the ship and onto the deck, one of the crew met him at the hatch.

“First wanted me to tell you, Captain,” they said loudly through their mask, lending a hand to Clement. “The storm’s front is beginning to fall apart.”

It was as Clement expected.

“Thank you, Hollis.”

Clement stood and brushed at the legs of his pants as he gathered his thoughts. Storm ceilings were less than a hundred meters above the tops of the plateaus and mesas. They formed over the playas, often far from the higher landmasses. They drew up moisture from unseen sources and then released it near the plateaus, mesas, and buttes as shifting wind patterns tore them apart. Still, traces of the storms always made it onto the elevated topography, watering the canyon farms enough that the crops on the walls continued to grow, while feeding the few ponds and lakes that survived in the shadows of the canyons. Or, in the case of Caldera City, feeding the lake in the center of the crater that gave the city and the mesa its name.

Thoughts of storms and the need to reach the city kept Clement company to the bow, where he dismissed them by talking to Minda.

“The gunship?” he asked, after once again pressing his face shield against Mindas, dispelling all other concerns.

“We’ve kept it dead ahead,” Minda said, one eye still focused on the eyepiece of the eye. “They’ve shifted south, putting themselves between Schmidt and Radic.”

“They know we can’t use Nyman. That canyon is too far north for us to reach with the way the winds are pushing.”

Of the four canyons visible from this approach, Schmidt and Radic were the most accessible. Doyle was possible, except it was too far north without the storm for cover.

“They’ll expect us to use Schmidt,” Minda said. “That’s why they’ve put themselves closer to Radic. But not by much. They’re trying to lure us into action.”

“I’ve no intention of using Schmidt,” Clement said.

Minda was right. Schmidt was the obvious canyon to use. It was the narrower of the two. Radic was a hundred meters wide at some points, while Schmidt never widened more than fifty at the most generous points. A pursuing ship had all the advantages in that scenario. Radic, on the other hand, opened the possibility for a running gun battle. That would equalize both ships’ positions, but would slow Clement’s efforts to reach the city.

Unless he could maximize his speed and reach the point where Radic temporarily became two channels. Clement clapped his hands, rubbed them together, and then pulled off his mask. It would be uncomfortable for a little while, but soon, they’d be out of the remnants of the storm.

“Retract the eye,” he said, clapping Minda on the shoulder before turning to the nearby crew. “Prep the wings for deployment.”

There was a moment of inactivity as Clement’s orders registered on the brains of the crew. Less than five kilometers from a mesa wall wasn’t the normal place to open the wings. Then training overrode their hesitation. There were muffled shouts of ‘Aye, Captain,’ and a few ragged waving salutes. Then, the crew was moving quickly but cautiously across the deck to bring the long poles and canvas wedges of the wings into position along the sides of the ship.

Clement made his way aft. Minda quickly caught up with him. She’d also removed her mask, her face already wet with the dirty drizzle of the faltering storm. She took Clement’s mask from him as they walked.

“You’re going to do something crazy.”

“Again,” Clement said.

Minda passed the masks to a crewmember who would clean them before stowing them in their chests for the next time.

“How much luck do you think you have?” she asked.

“I don’t know,” Clement answered with a shrug. He turned to Minda and smiled wickedly. “But let’s find out.”

“If you….”

“I know. If I die, Nola will kill me. So let’s not die, eh?”

“Lets.”

Their conversation brought them to the wheel, where two crew members were controlling the ship’s path and position. Clement nodded to them before leaning over the speaking tube that connected to the engine room.

“Okay, Rossana, hundred percent.”

There was a muffled response that made Clement chuckle.

“Minda? Check on the wings. We’re going to need as rapid a deployment as we’ve ever needed.”

“You got it, Captain,” Minda replied with a wavy salute before turning to stalk her way along the deck where two teams were moving the folded wings into place, setting the pintles into the gudgeons as they lowered them over the sides. Other crew were running out sheets and lines, attaching tackles for a speedy and smooth deployment of the wings when the time came.

Clement was silently grateful that the winds had been in their favor to this point. He needed them to cooperate just a little longer. Once inside the canyons, the winds would matter less.

First, though, he had to get past the gunship he’d allowed to take the lead.

“Take us two points to port,” Clement said, watching the gunship, a mere shadow of itself, through his spyglass. The PMC hadn’t seemed to have noticed their ship coming up fast. But when they did, there’d be a flurry of action. “Hold there. Wait until I give the order, then we’ll want to turn to starboard and aim for the north wall of Radic.”

“Aye, Captain,” said one of the two crew on the wheel.

Some of the crew Clement had known as long as he’d been in control of the ship. Some of them had been part of the original crew and, like the hydrogen master, Arlen Schulte, agreed to stay with the ship. It had been just enough crew to escape Peneplain Mesa. Clement had picked up others along the way and over the years. He’d treated them all well, giving them shares of profits, something they’d never experienced before. It certainly made for a loyal crew.

“Movement,” Minda shouted from the bow. “On the gunship. Movement!”

Clement brought the spyglass back to his eye and focused on the rear of the gunship. There were two men there, shouting forward while pointing vigorously towards Clement’s ship. A hundred fifty-plus meters separated the two ships by this point. The storm, now a shredded version of its previous powerful self, had lost momentum, falling back as Clement’s crew pushed the ship forward.

“Get ready,” Clement said.

“Aye, Captain,” the two on the wheel said in hard voices. They both stood with feet widespread to improve their grip on the deck. They flexed their hands before gripping the wheel tighter in preparation.

“They’ll turn to port,” Clement said, more to himself than the surrounding crew, “to bring their guns to bear because they think we’re going to try to shoot past them on that side for Schmidt Canyon.”

Even as Clement spoke, the gunship began to turn. It was a subtle movement. Likely, the captain of the gunship hoped to fool Clement long enough to bring his cannons around far enough before Clement realized what was happening. What the captain of the gunship didn’t realize was that Clement had once stood in the other captain’s position, received the same training, and developed tactics the same way.

Clement held up one hand.

“Be ready.”

He watched the other ship, its movement to port barely noticeable except that the gun ports had gone from looking like narrow slits to perpendicular rectangles twice as wide and getting wider. Furtive glances from inside the gun ports were flickers of pale patches compared to the otherwise dark rectangles. The gun crews were taking aim.

“Turn!”

The two crew on the wheel turned it, leaning into the effort and grunting with exertion. The ship turned slowly, but faster than the gunship could fully bring its cannons to bear.

“Wings!” Clement’s voice boomed, nearly as powerful as a small chaser cannon. “Deploy!”

On either side of the ship, the wings unfurled, opening downward. Crew leaned on ropes, controlling the boom at the top of each wing. Other teams took in slack or loosened lines to bring the wings into position, sticking out from the ship at right angles port and starboard.

The ship lurched forward like a wild animal released from a cage. There was laughter and shouts of surprise from those not prepared. Clement had held tight to the rack of speaking tubes, his eyes on the gunship.

The captain of the gunship had a dilemma. Should he continue to turn to port to bring his guns to bear? He’d have to keep turning to port to follow and find himself facing bow into the winds, slowing his efforts. Or should he abandon that action and start turning to starboard? His crew would have to stow the port cannons, securing them in place before rushing across to open ports, load more cannons, and run them out. All the while, Clement’s ship would be rushing away, propelled by sturdy props and broad wings that captured the wind.

A rolling boom, backed by billowing smoke, exploded from the gunship. The rounds from the cannons missed Clement’s ship, cutting the air twenty meters aft of the propellers. However, at the very moment the cannons fired, the propellers and rudder had turned, pushing the ship to starboard. It would have been a useless effort except that the recoil aided the push to bring the gunship around.

“Clever,” Clement said, adding an appreciative nod.

The gunship continued to come around even as its starboard cannon ports were quickly being opened. Clement’s ship was passing close enough that he could hear the shouts of encouragement from the officers onboard, extolling the crew to move their blasted hides faster. It wouldn’t be fast enough, for even as the fastest of the gunship’s crew were running out their cannon, Clement’s ship sailed past, its wings bulging with wind, the gunship struggling to bring itself to starboard.

The one ready cannon fired just before Clement’s ship moved out of its angle of fire. The cannonball struck a glancing blow off the aft end of the ship. Clement felt the impact and heard the crunch of wood as the ball bounced away, falling to the playa far below.

Now, it was a race to see if Clement could get his ship into Radic Canyon before the gunship could figure out how to stop him. Clement was feeling confident, but he wasn’t going to let his guard down. As clever as he’d become as a free ship captain and occasional smuggler and pirate, he’d been equally clever when he’d been a captain for the merchant company.

The captain on the gunboat could be his equal, or better. Clement was privately hoping the captain was overly confident. They were the easiest to outsmart and outmaneuver.

“Sir? Captain?”

Clement turned aft to find one of the crew standing a meter away. They waved a salute as he brought his attention to them.

“Is there a problem, Heike?” Clement asked.

Heike looked over her shoulder, past the aft rail, toward the gunboat that was now following them steadily, though slowly losing ground.

“Maybe, Captain,” Heike answered. “I think they’re loading their chasers.”

The chaser cannons on the bow were good for long range. That would be a problem as long as Clement kept the ship on a straight line. He had enough distance on the gunboat that he could afford a little zigging and zagging.

“Thank you, Heike.”

“Sir?”

“Yes?”

“They’ve set up braziers as well.”

“Ah.” Now Clement understood why Heike had thought it important to tell him about the chasers. They were going to use hot shot. He was dealing with an overconfident captain after all. “Excellent work, Heike. Let’s get the fire blankets and water buckets ready.”

“Aye, Captain.” Heike waved a salute before turning and hurrying to one of two lockers lashed starboard and port near the aft rail.

Fires on airships that depended on hydrogen were a death sentence if they got out of control. The fire blankets had a special coating that smothered the fire. They had similar blankets, though lighter and smaller, ready in the sack as well.

In the distance, a cannon boomed as it flung a ball of iron in Clement’s direction. He caught a glimpse as it sailed past and then downward. The second chaser fired a moment later, just missing the aft end of the ship. The crew shouted insults at the gunship, laughing as they did. Clement hoped they would all still be with him at the end to laugh some more.

“They using chasers, Captain?” Minda had arrived on the aft deck. “Not going to do much damage the speed we’re going.”

“They don’t have to do much damage if they can make contact. They’ve fired up the braziers.”

“Hot shot?” Minda shaded her eyes and looked toward the gunship. “That’s some arrogance.”

The cannons fired again in a ragged volley.

“Watch yourselves,” warned Clement as one cannonball struck the aft starboard rail and ricocheted away. Smoke wafted up from the impact site. A crewmember quickly covered the ship’s wound with a fire blanket. No one saw the second ball until it fell to the deck, nearly bludgeoning Heike, who yelped with surprise when it landed at her feet. It sizzled, burning the deck before another crew member captured it in a fire blanket.

“Check the sack, Minda? We only have to keep this up a little longer.”

“Aye, Captain.” Minda trotted to the ladder leading into the sack and began climbing.

The gunship’s chasers boomed again. It shouldn’t have been so soon by Clement’s reckoning. Someone was getting desperate. The two iron balls, glowing red, flew through the space between deck and sack. Crew jumped to the sides to clear the way. One cannonball grazed a steel cable and veered away. The other one struck the foredeck, embedding itself in the wood. Crew were instantly on it, dousing the wood with water as they wrapped the still hot cannonball in a blanket.

“Safe to come on deck?”

Clement turned to see Minda hanging her head out of the hatch in the hydrogen sack.

“If you’re quick,” said Clement. “You might even make it for the fireworks.”

“Fireworks?” Minda slid down the ladder, her feet on the outside, serving as brakes, which she employed to bring her to a smooth stop a few centimeters above the deck.

“Someone’s trying to rapid fire hot shot.” He turned back to watch the other ship just as the two chasers boomed and hurtled their glowing red cannonballs across the space between the ships. One went wide, but the other grazed along the side of the sack.

Clement ran to the starboard rail to investigate. Several of the crew were already climbing the rope ladders that helped to hold the ship to the sack. The crew carried fire blankets wrapped around their necks like oversized scarfs.

When Clement leaned over the rail and looked up, he could see a small fire flickering to life, encouraged by the wind racing past. Two of the crew were nearing the spot, securing their legs to hold them while they prepared their blankets to extinguish the fire. They remained focused on their duties even as everyone else was startled by an explosion too large to be a cannon firing.

“There it is,” Clement said and hurried aft to the rail.

The gunship’s front split, with part of it falling away, leaving a black char where a cannon and a brazier had once been.

“You can’t rush hot shot,” said Clement, more to himself than anyone else. He had never experienced it, but he had heard tales and seen the aftermath one other time. Putting gunpowder into a red-hot cannon barrel and then ramming the cannonball home. If they’d removed the rammer fast enough, they might have been okay. But they hadn’t, and the subsequent explosion split the cannon. The flames likely hit the powder waiting for the next load, setting it off, too.

“They’re lucky they didn’t set off the hydrogen sack at the front,” said one of the crew nearby.

Clement nodded in agreement. Though the gunship lost its chasers and likely several of its crew, the accident could have been a lot worse. Had the exploding cannon pierced the forward hydrogen sack, it could have set off a chain reaction that would have turned the gunship into a fireball. There would have been no survivors. Clement had seen that, too.

“Keep an eye on the gunship,” Clement said. “Let me know what they do, if they do anything.”

The logical thing would be to cut engines and fix the front of the ship. The captain had to know Clement wasn’t going to turn about to attack. There’d been plenty of opportunities to do that through the storm.

Leaving several of the crew to watch the gunship, Clement joined the two crew at the wheel. He looked past them, seeking Radic Canyon. They were close, the north wall of the entrance clearly visible. Under normal conditions, they’d be slowing down, preparing for the last leg of the journey into Caldera City.

With the gunship damaged and likely out of commission, Clement could make a normal approach, but he didn’t trust the captain behind him. Clement would stick to his plan and assume things hadn’t changed.

“Captain, sir?”

Clement looked over his shoulder, aft.

“They’re still coming,” said the same member of the crew.

“They’re lashing another cannon to what’s left of the foredeck, sir,” said Heike. “I don’t think they’ve given up.”

“I think you’re right.” Clement looked around. “Minda, get the crews to the wings. Axes in hand.”

“Axes?” Minda was startled by the order, though she’d follow it.

“We’re going to cut the wings loose once we’re in the canyon.” He turned aft again. “Heike. They still trying to get a cannon in place?”

“Aye, Captain. It’ll be awkward loading it and difficult to adjust, but they looked determined.”

“Of course they do,” Clement muttered.

He turned his attention forward, watching the canyon entrance as they approached. They were moving fast and pulling away from the gunship. The loss of the wings was a small price to pay for reaching the relative safety of the canyon. When they got there, the situation would change, depending on how the gunship captain behaved.

Radic Canyon split into two channels. The split was a quarter of a kilometer if someone took the north channel, and a little longer if they took the south channel. Clement’s problem was that they were moving too fast to make the sharp turn into the north channel. They had no choice but to continue further south to the longer channel.

The gunship was moving slower. If they knew what they were doing, they could make the sharp turn and take the shorter passage.

Depending on the speeds of the two ships, they could both reach their respective exits at the same time. If the gunship captain could pull more power out of his engines, he could exit first and put himself in the dominant position. He’d need more hydrogen to power the engines if he wanted to move fast.

Clement reached for the speaking tubes, bending over the one labeled for the air sack.

“Arlen, we’re going to need a rapid increase in hydrogen in a few minutes. We want elevation.”

After a brief pause, the response came.

“Acknowledged.”

Excess hydrogen was pumped into tanks that fed the engines and the heating elements for the cook. There was also a tank in the sack with a reserve for emergencies. In battle, sacks were occasionally pierced. Once patched, the algae slurry would slowly fill the sack once more with their hydrogen byproduct. That was a slow process, so they often added reserved hydrogen to the repaired sacks.

This time, they’d be using it for a different kind of emergency.

Clement moved over to another speaking tube.

“Rossana,” he said, his eyes on the mouth of the canyon ready to swallow them, “we’re going to go topside.”

Quicker than Arlen, Rossana responded.

“I’m already giving you all the power we have.”

The response squeezed a laugh out of Clement.

“You never give me all the power, just in case. This is the ‘just in case.’”

“Fine.”

Clement stood and grabbed the speaking tube stand to steady himself. They were banking as they turned to port, rushing past the north wall of Redic Canyon, closer than he would have otherwise liked. A quick glance back showed that the gunship hadn’t given up its pursuit.

“Captain?”

Minda was standing near the starboard wing’s pintle, ready to pull a retaining pin that would separate it from the wood spar of the wing. Along the rail, crew stood with axes ready to cleave the lines that also held the wings to the ship. On the port side, Jamaal was standing ready, his hand lightly resting on the pintle retaining pin.

“Not yet,” Clement shouted back. They’d cleared the mouth of the canyon and were racing at a diagonal for the south channel. “Fly the colors!”

On the foredeck, two of the crew dropped a bundle of cloth over the side. Lines secured the top of the cloth to the ship, weights along its bottom assured it would unfurl and be visible to the guard tower carved into the rock bisecting the canyon.

They’d let Clement’s ship pass unchallenged. The gunship would ignore any challenge as it dove into the north channel, but the guards would pass the word and the other towers, armed with cannons, would be ready. Clement just had to stay out of the way if his evolving plan failed.

“Captain!” Minda’s voice sounded strained.

This ship was fast approaching the north channel.

“Begin the turn,” Clement said to the two crew on the wheel.

They leaned into the wheel, moving it counterclockwise. The ship was still moving to the far wall of the canyon even as it brought its nose around to point at the channel.

“Now!” Clement shouted. “Cut them loose!”

A series of thunks sounded as axes cut lines. The wings began to sag and swing forward. Jamaal and Minda yanked the retaining pins, both grunting with the effort. The wings fell away, and the ship ceased sliding sideways toward the canyon wall, shooting into the north channel.

Along the deck rose a cheer, filled with relief as they avoided the rocky collision.

Clement turned to watch the canyon mouth as the airship entered the channel. The gunship was now in sight and making a sharp turn to the north channel. A predatory smile slid its way across Clement’s face. His idea still had a chance of success.

“Elevation,” Clement shouted into the sack’s speaking tube before shifting to the one for the engine room. “Rossana! More power!”

In seconds, the passing canyon walls began to slide down and back. They could gain forty to fifty meters of elevation without risking topping the canyon.

“What now?” Minda asked, having joined him on the aft deck.

“Cannons,” Clement said, looking at the port side of the ship. “Negative elevation, grapeshot.”

Grapeshot was a bundle of two and three-centimeter-sized rocks. The merchant companies and plateau navies often used them to rake the decks of their enemy. Clement didn’t like them and only used them as a last resort. This was one of the rare moments where he was happy to employ them.

“Aim for the sack,” said Minda, nodding in understanding.

“Aim for the sack,” confirmed Clement. “Hurry, we don’t have much time.”

Minda waved a salute before jogging forward, stumbling once, to shout orders. Along the port side of the ship, gun crews opened the ports, and the cannons made ready. The carriages that held the cannons allowed for forty-five degrees of elevation change in both the upward and downward direction.

Airship battles happened in three dimensions.

“How far until we exit?” Clement asked the crewmember closest to him at the wheel.

“Hundred twenty meters, Captain, give or take ten.”

“Good.” Clement checked the navigation pedestal, watching the elevation gauge. They’d gained fifty-five meters. He hurried back to the speaking tubes, directing Rossana to level off the power to the engines and tell Arlen they had enough height.

The sound of the propellers changed slightly. Next to the airship, the canyon walls no longer looked like they were falling and moving backward. Now, they looked only like they were moving backward.

On the main deck, Minda had the gun teams ready. They’d angled the cannons downward as far as the carriages would allow. From observation, Clement knew that the powder and grape were loaded. Gun captains stood ready, slow match burning in their cupped hands, ready to be set to the touch hole, igniting the gunpowder.

Minda caught Clement’s eye. She gave him a thumbs up. The crew was ready.

Now it was only a matter of waiting until they cleared the channel as it and the other channel became one. Clement stood along the port rail, watching in the distance, looking for the end of the rock wall to his left. It only took a few minutes before he identified its edge.

“Stand by to bring us to port,” he told the crew on the wheel as he joined them. Then he stood in silent anticipation.

Along the deck, the crew did the same, their bodies still but tense, their eyes keen on the rock wall sliding by. Someone gave a nervous cough, barely audible above the sound of the propellers and the air rushing past.

Then, crew on the bow shouted. They’d sighted gunship.

“Ready, First,” Clement called out to Minda.

“Ready to fire,” Minda said to the crew as the airship emerged from the channel.

When the ship completely cleared the channel, Clement had his first view of the gunship’s position. They were higher than expected. The gunship captain must have had a similar idea to Clements. He had not, however, risen as high as Clement’s ship.

Already, Minda was exhorting the gun crews to raise the barrel angles to compensate for the difference in expected elevation.

“Fire at will, First.”

There was a pause as the last gun was locked in its new position. Then Minda gave the word. Booms of cannons firing echoed through the canyon. Smoke billowed across the deck before being left behind like a lost cloud. On the deck, the gun crews cheered even as they reloaded for a second volley.

Clement doubted it would be necessary. He’d seen over twenty of the grapeshot tear into the gunship’s air sack. Someone on the gunship yelled and their cannons fired in return. They’d already started losing elevation. Half of their rounds struck the hull of the ship, the rest smacked against the canyon wall.

More shouting on the gunship and its propellers slowed, its forward motion diminished. A figure appeared at the bow of the ship, wearing a blue jacket with gold epaulets and buttons. Clement had one just like it, stored in an old sea chest at home. The figure raised a defiant fist and then turned to bark orders at the crew.

They would be busy patching tens of holes in the hydrogen sacks. Likely, the gunship captain would take this lesson and deploy it himself in the future. Clement would have to keep an eye out for this gunship in the future. He might not be so lucky next time.

As for now, with the gunship slowing to repair before hopefully retreating from Cladera Mesa, Clement was free to focus on the city a few kilometers ahead.

“You gonna freshen up?” Minda asked as she quietly joined him. Smoke residue dusted her face, her eyes shiny with the adrenaline rush.

“I might just do that,” Clement said. He touched his chin, realizing he hadn’t shaved in some days. His shirt probably needed changing, too.

“You want to go to the dockyards? Or your personal dock?”

Clement grinned at the question. His ‘personal dock’ was little more than a ten-meter gangway with ropes for rails. It swayed when the evening winds came through. The dock existed for emergencies, but maybe this was an emergency? Or close enough.

“You don’t want to join me?”

“Someone has to clean up around here and pay the crew.”

That was the reason they’d raided the packet ship on the way home. No cargo meant no pay. Clement could cover the losses from his own accounts, but he’d been worried the crew might insist on going without pay because of the occasion. He didn’t want that on his conscience.

“Fair enough. I’ll be below.”

“I’ll let you know when we reach the dock.”

~~~

Clement was fixing his neckcloth when the knock came at the door.

“Dock ho, Captain.” Clement recognized the voice.

“Thank you, Jamaal. On my way.”

He paused long enough to grab the small box on his desk and then hurried topside. They were in the middle of Caldera City now, slowly making their way to the southeast wall where he’d established his home. All around them, climbing the walls like vines, were the homes of the citizens. At the bottom of the bowl that was the center of the mesa, there was a freshwater lake, trees, parks, and the government buildings.

It was, in Clement’s opinion, a beautiful city. He’d seen many of the larger plateau capitals with their industrial factories and slums clinging to the canyon walls near the ground. He’d take Caldera City over any of them, especially now that he’d learned what it was like to be truly free.

“Here we go, sir,” said one of the crew.

Clement pulled himself away from the view and walked to the starboard rail. They’d removed a section and laid a plank to cover the gap between the ship and the dock. He stepped up onto the plank before turning to the crew gathered nearby and Minda with her smudged face and wide grin.

“Thank you. Everyone.”

“Aw, go on with you, Captain.”

“Tell my cousin I said hello,” Minda said. “I’ll come to visit once I’ve settled my responsibilities.”

“She’ll be excited to see you.”

“Not as much as seeing you, Captain. Now, off with you. Us working people got to work.”

Clement gave them a wavy salute, then turned and walked the plank to the dock. With one last look back at the ship, he turned and hurried along the dock to the terrace, where several people waited for him.

“Waltraud. Laquita,” Clement said, raising his hand in greeting as he stepped from the dock planks to the patterned stonework of the terrace. “Am I too late?”

“Indeed not, sir,” said Waltraud, the house custodian and husband of Laquita.

“Though it’s been a fine line, Captain Keyes. I shouldn’t waste any time.”

“Then I shall not, Laquita.” Clement headed for the wide doors that opened onto the terrace, revealing a room of opulence.

“Is that it, sir?” Waltraud called after him. “The box. You got it, then?”

Clement held the box upward and gave it a shake. He was too far away for Waltraud to hear the muted thunk and jangle of the contents.

“Huzzah, Captain. Huzzah.”

Clement passed over the threshold from the terrace to the great room. Double doors on either side led to more rooms, all facing outward to the city. Ahead, doors led to rooms carved into the rock walls of Caldera Mesa, and a wide staircase provided access to floors above and below.

Where Clement wanted to go was up, and he took the stairs two at a time, quickly reaching the next floor. Here, a wide corridor went left and right, parallel to the rock wall. Clement went right. The doors along the left wall were the bedrooms with large windows and balconies. Doors to the right were bathrooms, storerooms, and servant quarters.

At the fourth door, Clement stopped. He took several deep breaths and then wiped at his hair and the front of his jacket and shirt. The ship had left its mark with a light scent of gun smoke and the rainstorm. He’d have liked to have changed, but he wasn’t willing to risk being late. Not for this.

With one last deep breath, Clement stepped over the threshold.

“I was wondering if you were going to make it,” said a woman, her voice strained. “Especially once we heard cannon fire in the distance.”

Clement approached a narrow bed where a woman lay in a reclined position. Her hair was up in a bun, though quite a few strands had worked their way loose. Her face was red and dotted with sweat. One hand rested across her distended belly.

“I wouldn’t let something as mundane as a ship battle keep me,” Clement said as he approached the bed. A nurse and doctor backed away as he approached. The midwife remained by the other side of the bed. He kissed the damp forehead of the woman on the bed. “Nola, my love, I brought you something.”

Clement set the box on Nola’s belly. She steadied it with both hands. The doctor, nurse, and midwife leaned in, drawn by the presence of the box.

Nola’s eyes were wide as she studied the box under her hands.

“How?”

“Passed on a cargo shipment,” Clement said with a chuckle. “Caught the trade winds up high.”

“You didn’t ask my father,” Nola said, looking at the box, and then at Clement. “He would never.”

Nola grunted with discomfort, one hand slipping from the box to her abdomen. The doctor took her pulse while the nurse wrote notes on a tablet. After a few seconds, Nola looked at Clement and smiled a tight smile.

“You were going to say?”

“I knew I couldn’t ask your father,” Clement said. He gently took the box and turned a metal lock, causing the lid to pop open on hidden hinges. “So, I asked the person who really mattered. Your mom.”

“You spoke to my mother?”

“Don’t look so shocked.” Clement lifted the lid of the box further out of the way of its contents. “I had a little help getting to her.”

“Minda,” said Nola with a resigned laugh. “Of course.”

“Here.”

From the box, which he passed to the midwife to set aside, Clement lifted what he thought of as a wide bracelet but was told was called a cuff. It wasn’t an ordinary piece of jewelry. It would likely annoy the creators of the device, who were centuries dead on another planet, to hear it referred to as a cuff.

Clement put the bracelet on Nola’s right wrist. As he understood the story, the bracelet once monitored the wearer’s vital signs. The black rectangle across the top would display the necessary information. No one alive had ever seen it work. All they had were the stories. But every woman from Nola’s family traditionally wore it for the birth of their first child.

“It was a heck of a race to get here,” Clement said, taking Nola’s hand, kissing the palm. “But you’ll be able to keep your family’s tradition.”

“Thank you.” Nola’s voice rose in pitch to a restrained cry of pain. She grasped Clement’s hand tightly, turning it white with her grip. She panted to regain her breath before laughing. “I think your daughter’s on the way, too.”