Marshal Law

by Adam D Jones

  “They’ll see the fire, for sure,” said Marshal, “but they haven’t shown any sign of slowing down all evening, so I don’t suppose this hurts us at all.”

  Dawn agreed.

  “And, Dawn, your friend found something you’ll be happy about. While you were hanging up there, he was going through the Republic supplies.”

  “Oh?” Dawn dusted off her hands and collapsed by the fire.

  I’m not tired. I’ll be fine. I’ve worked all night before. Sure, those times I didn’t ride a lazy donkey all day and then try not to get shot, but it’s the same thing.

  The prisoner held up what looked like a brick wrapped in tight paper, but when he brought it closer to the fire she could tell exactly what bounty he had discovered. It was just what they needed.

  “Coffee.”

  Marshal laughed. “I’ll have to sleep. Sorry, but I’m not strong enough to be any good to you if I don’t. But maybe now you two can get through the night.”

  “I think we’ll have to.” She pointed to the cooking gear they had found and then looked to the prisoner. “You know how to make that?”

  He nodded and began searching through the pans.

  “I assume,” said Marshal, “that you’ve got a brilliant plan for turning that ship over?”

  Dawn waved a dismissive hand. “Easy. Just turn on the engines on the bottom half and it’ll flip itself over. It’ll be ugly, but it’ll work. The hard part is what’s next. We need to find fuel. And if we can’t find it, we’ll have to mix some ourselves.”

  The prisoner joined them around the fire, carrying a glass percolator and its metal stand.

  “Mixing the fuel could take a long time,” said Dawn, watching the prisoner add water to the percolator. “Then we’ll need to check the steam lines for cracks, otherwise the fuel won’t get hot enough.”

  “And that’s a problem?” asked Marshal.

  Dawn laughed. “Of course, it is.” She looked up and saw their confused faces, and she remembered they hadn’t spent their life in a laboratory. Dawn dug into her satchel and produced the three vials she had used earlier. “See these? They include the primary ingredients to make sandship fuel. I threw a handful of them at Marshal’s fire when he was shooting at us.”

  “It pushed the sand away!” said Marshal. “Like a sandship engine.”

  “Exactly. Let me show you.”

  She poured a little from each vial into her palm and rubbed the mixture together, careful to keep it from the fire. “Watch this.” Dawn held the mixture toward the ground, and they all watched as the sand bounced away from her fingers.

  “Simple alchemy,” she said, wiping her hand. “Now, if I tossed that into the fire it would make a little cloud, sending sand everywhere until the mixture burned up, because that particular mixture reacts strongly to heat. But if I mixed it with Dae water and then added fire...well, the sand would fly through us like bullets and grind up what’s left of this town.”

  Dawn noticed the prisoner staring with his jaw set, his eyes unblinking. His gaze was strong enough to make her uncomfortable. Why is this important to him? He acts like he knows less about alchemy than Marshal.

  Marshal puzzled it out. “So...the engines are just explosions, like that one you used on me?”

  “Well-engineered explosions,” answered Dawn. “And if the steam pipes are intact, things will get hot enough to move the ship.”

  The prisoner handed Dawn the first cup. She thanked him and took a hot sip, closing her eyes as the warmth and flavor calmed her. Of course, she knew it would take longer than a few seconds for the coffee to give her any actual energy. She also knew that her immediate reaction was based on her expectations, a mental conditioning she had allowed herself to develop. She also didn’t care.

  In the distance, she thought she could hear the approaching sandship.

  “It’s not your imagination,” said Marshal, reading the look on her face. “Sound really travels out here.”

  “Hmm.” She took another drink. “Marshal and I can look for the ingredients I’ll need to mix fuel. Prisoner, I’ve noticed a lot of metal sheets came off the sandship when they crashed. I want you to find as many of those large pieces of scrap metal as you can and try to flatten them out.”

  The prisoner handed the next metal cup to Marshal and then poured the last cup for himself, draining the last dark drop from the percolator.

  Gonna be a long night.

  18

  The first orange light of morning lit up the instrument rack as Dawn finished replacing the back panel. She had checked every single steam and fuel line from each engine all the way to the main panels, patching them up and tying them down as she went.

  The ship still lay on its side, but at least now she had complete faith in its inner workings. And in the harness she’d made so she could work on a sideways ship while dangling by a rope.

  The fuel was another matter. When she discovered every bit of fuel had leaked out of each ship, she’d sent the Lodi to search through the whole town for barrels, parcels, and even alcohol bottles, hoping he’d turn up something she could use in a mixture. While she worked on the ship, fixing struts and checking pipes, she would see him going through wrecked houses and barns and bringing back anything that looked useful.

  Marshal had mostly slept through the night. It obviously embarrassed him, but he needed it. When the morning rays of light woke him, Dawn was glad to see him sit up easily. He immediately looked to the horizon at the still approaching Republic sandship and gave a disappointed shrug, as if he had been secretly hoping it would change course. The ship wasn’t close enough to start shooting at them, but Dawn figured they had less than an hour before that would happen.

  “Feeling better?” Dawn dusted off her hands.

  “Sure as sand.” He rubbed his eyes and reached for a canteen.

  “Take it easy. Your strength will take days to return completely, even if you feel great now.”

  “I understand. How’s our progress?”

  “Fuel and steam lines are good. Just checked them. Instruments tested, too. And he’s mixing the last of the fuel.”

  The prisoner was leaning over a barrel and mixing the contents with a wooden beam.

  “Does he know how to do that?”

  “No. But I showed him. He’s smart. I’ve never had to tell him anything twice. Incredible memory. Anyway, he found the ingredients and I told him about how much of each one to mix.”

  “About how much?” Marshal winced. “Not exactly inspiring.”

  “Well, it’s not an exact science out here. Our makeshift fuel will ignite and do its job, even if the mix isn’t perfect. So far, he’s made two barrels worth.”

  Marshal chewed on a piece of dried meat. “Is that a lot?”

  “Two barrels are supposed to last a week. But since this mix isn’t ideal...two days?”

  “I’d better clean my gun.”

  Marshal opened a small bag, and then pulled out a white cloth and laid it out. He disassembled his wheel-lock pistol with practiced ease and arranged the pieces on the cloth. He drew a thin brush from the bag and used it to clean each part of his gun, smiling as pieces of sand were forced out of different parts. He poured a bit of oil on the edge of a smaller cloth and dabbed it onto the wood grip to polish it. After checking the wheel and flint mechanisms, he put the weapon back together and slid it into his holster.

  “I reckon we’ve got half an hour.” He squinted toward the oncoming ship. “We’ll be in rifle range by then. And it looks like your ship is still sideways.”

  “That’s going to be the best part. They’ll never guess we’re about to fly it out of here.”

  Marshal groaned. “They’re not the only ones.”

  Dawn helped the prisoner shut the barrel and they dragged it next to another just like it. The heavy lifting tired out her arms, and she suddenly felt the strain of working all through the night, a tiredness no amount of coffee could replenish.

  Shake it off. Almos
t time.

  “Get clear,” she said loudly, pointing away from the sideways ship she’d spent all night fixing. “I’m not sure what’s going to happen.”

  Marshal raised his eyebrows like someone hearing a good joke.

  Dawn tried to push away her tiredness. She made the now-familiar walk up the side of the sandship, climbing and stepping on beams and solid pipes. When she reached the top, Dawn knelt and reached down, toward the control panel on the deck. She could just reach what she needed. Time to get this thing on its feet.

  “Here goes!”

  If she was right, there would be just enough fuel left to ignite a small reaction. Leaning over the railing, she carefully pushed the primer three times to send the fuel to the engines, and then slammed her fist onto the ignitor.

  The ship rumbled as heat rode through the pipes.

  Stretching further, Dawn shoved down the lever that kept heat from passing to the starboard engines. The sandship rattled and she felt herself sway as the ship began to tilt.

  Dawn’s eyes widened and she nearly screamed as the sandship teetered on its edge and fell. She let go of the lever and let herself slip toward the deck that was rushing up to meet her. Please work! The other pair of engines kicked in as she released the lever, cushioning the fall. The ship settled, tilting back and forth, but eventually leveled out, hovering just over the sand.

  Dawn stepped to the edge of the deck. “Time to gas up.” She cooled the engines and lowered the ship gently to the ground.

  Marshal and the prisoner were already moving barrels her direction.

  “Where does this go?” asked Marshal.

  “You have to put it in the fuel line.”

  Marshal stared at her.

  Right. Not everyone has built a few sandships.

  “There’s a hatch on either side, in the middle. Just pour it in.”

  The three of them dragged each barrel over and worked together to lift them up and drain the contents into the metal hatch. When both barrels had been emptied, Marshal closed the hatch and spun the wheel that kept it shut tight.

  “I can hear their engines,” he said, testing to make sure the hatch was secure. “Time to go. Where’s your friend?”

  “He was just...” Dawn looked around. The prisoner had been standing there a few moments ago. “Load up. He knows we’re leaving.”

  She climbed the stairs into the sandship and stood on deck. Behind them, on the Republic ship, she could see the soldiers moving around and pointing at her.

  “I think they noticed what we’re up to,” said Marshal. “I ran the bellows the last time I rode on a sandship. S’pose I can do that again. I assume you’ll be at the controls.”

  “That’ll work. We’ll both teach him how to work the control rods work...well, there he is...”

  And he’s changed clothes.

  “Where did he find that?” she asked.

  “A few Lodi lived here, I heard,” said Marshal. “They must have had a Keeper.”

  The prisoner had finally changed out of Dawn’s clothes. He strode toward them in a faded yellow robe. It was simple, only a bit of embroidery to mark it as anything unique at all, but the cut of it fit his body and seemed to accent his walk like was born to it. He ascended the steps and shut the metal door behind him.

  “Fine.” Dawn turned to her instruments. “Marshal, last night we cleaned out a path, so we’ll be able to glide out of here through the debris. Go ahead and let the engines run hot at first to make sure we get away from them. Then I’ll let you know when to choke. Prisoner, when I say to, push those two levers halfway off the ground so they’re pointed straight up. After that, just follow my lead.”

  The prisoner grabbed both handles and nodded.

  One more time. Tell me you’re going to work.

  Dawn primed and sparked the fuel, and after a few moments they felt the sandship rise.

  She locked eyes with the Lodi. “Now!”

  He pushed the levers upright, surprised, at first, at the resistance they offered.

  The ship lurched.

  “We’re moving!” said Dawn.

  “I wish you didn’t sound so surprised every time your ship works,” said Marshal.

  “Oh, shut up and hang on to something.”

  Dawn spun the controls and the rickety ship picked up speed. “Prisoner, all the way!”

  He gritted his teeth and shoved the levers forward. The ends of the handles were as low as his knees.

  “Hang on!” Dawn screamed. “It’ll fight you but keep pressing down!”

  She knew the engines would push back to avoid being burned out, but she also knew the engines could handle being forced this way for a minute or two.

  The first gunshot took her by surprise. It didn’t land anywhere near them, but she nearly jumped over the control panel.

  “Just tryin’ to scare us!” shouted Marshal. “Don’t worry ‘bout it.”

  Dawn steered them through the path they had cleared out. Once they were past the broken settlement, Dawn maneuvered them close to the river. Behind her, she saw the Republic ship starting to make a wide arc around the remains of Third Bend, keeping clear of the debris.

  Keep going. Keep going…

  “They’re gonna catch up,” said Marshal, on his way to the front engine bellows.

  “They’ve got a faster ship, but they’re not going to catch up. Not this morning, at least.” She pointed behind them. “Remember the metal I had him find?”

  Marshal had been asleep when Dawn had the prisoner flatten out any long sheets of metal he could find and place them around Third Bend. By now, they were covered by sand.

  Marshal gazed out, and understanding dawned on his face. “Should we duck?”

  Dawn shrugged. “I’ve never done this before.”

  The Republic ship, with a tall officer at the helm, fired up its engines and barreled around Third Bend on a course to overtake Dawn’s ship. The prisoner, hands held tight on the control rods, turned around to watch.

  A chest-shaking boom rattled the deck and the Republic ship shot upward, like it had hit an invisible ramp. The sandship rose, nose first, and tilted. Soldiers fell and rifles clattered to the ground. The Republic ship, now bereft of a crew, tilted back into place and continued on a derelict path.

  “That’s why it’s called a sandship,” said Dawn.

  The wayward sandship turned away on its own while the crew chased behind it.

  “Ha!” Marshal grabbed her in a tight hug. “Get ‘em, girl!”

  She froze. His strong arm was only holding her shoulder, but even in the excitement the anxiety crept in. She waited, numb to the world, until he let go.

  He left her to tend to the engines, and Dawn felt her mind return to her body.

  Don’t do that again, Marshal. Don’t ever do that again.

  19

  They glided northeast along the Divide. It wasn’t much of a heading, and there was nothing to see but sand dunes and empty skies, but all three of them agreed it was smart to get away from Gamon.

  She had only been at the controls a few hours when Dawn felt herself swaying toward them with her eyes closed. It happened three more times before Marshal saw her and laughed. “The boy and I can keep us on course,” he said, shaking her awake. “Go below and get some shut-eye.”

  There were two doors on the metal floor of the ship’s deck. One led to supplies, Dawn had already explored there, and the other led to crew quarters, not much more than a few stacked mattresses. Bedding and blankets lay crumpled in every corner, scattered from the ship’s previous wreck. As soon as Dawn dragged a mattress onto one of the bunks, she fell into it and curled up.

  Even when she’d slept atop the wagon it had been more peaceful than her normal sleep. Her living quarters near the facility were comfortable, but she’d never found sleep easily. However, in this small, dark room with metal walls, with the engines knocking and rumbling the whole way, Dawn felt comfortable enough to rest and drift away to the rhythm of the
engines.

  She remembered her home. The endless grass and tall stalks rising high enough to hide the world.

  “Dawn!”

  She forced open her eyes. Light poured through the upper door where Marshal’s silhouette waited.

  “Dawn,” he said louder, “we’re in trouble.”

  She sat up and tried to make herself alert. “What are...is...?”

  “Don’t try to figure it out right now. Give yourself a few seconds to wake up and then run up here.”

  She stood and stretched, then pulled on her boots and strapped on her cutlass before climbing to the deck.

  “It’s been there for a while,” said Marshal. He pointed to a sandship behind them, small in the distance, but catching up.

  “We knew they’d catch up,” said Dawn.

  “Yes, but it’s worse than that. Look again.”

  She squinted and saw a second ship racing behind the first. “Fantastic.”

  “And they’re gaining quick,” said Marshal. “I’m not sure why, but they’re catching up faster than they should.”

  “No. We’re losing speed. We can’t run as efficiently as they can, and I probably underestimated that. I’ve never been in the field. It’s my fault.”

  “Don’t worry. You’re doing great.”

  Marshal reached his hand out to pat her back, but he stopped when Dawn flinched.

  “Just great.” Marshal pulled back his hand with a look of apology. “If you were one of my daughters you’d be doin’ me proud.”

  Dawn felt a smile creep onto her face.

  The Republic sandships spread out as they grew larger in Dawn’s sight. They approached, side by side, carrying soldiers with drawn weapons.

  Marshal put his hand on his sidearm. “If it’s a gunfight, they’ll blow holes in us before we can do anything clever. Too many of them.”

  “But not a full crew. Right?”