by Karen Garvin
She slipped through the thermal, barely touching it and racing to the next. By the time her pursuers caught on to what had happened, they were already trapped in the thermals lift and had to work to get out of it.
Mary aimed for the next thermal and caught a glimpse of Eric just exiting it. She entered the thermal halfway up. Sure, she lost some lift that way, but she had good speed to force her way to the top and out quickly.
Slowly but surely Mary caught up to Eric and was within a hundred feet, with about a quarter of the race to go. She started to lose ground to the closest pursuer behind her though, and he was right on her tail.
As Mary rode the next thermal up, her pursuer came in hot and heavy right above her, blocking her ascent. Mary had to angle away, abandoning the thermal in favor of the next. She had to scrub a lot of speed exiting, but managed to catch a break from a slight tailwind.
Mary was high enough that she skipped through the next two thermals, only skirting the very edges. She came up to the next, only feet away from Eric, so close she could almost touch him. He turned to her and grimaced, apparently surprised she was so close. Mary followed him up the thermal, employing the blocking technique that had been used on her. It worked, just a bit, the lighter wings he had kept the effect from being too dramatic.
No matter what Mary tried, she just couldn't close up the final gap between them, and there were only a few thermals left.
Only a drastic measure would get Mary the speed she needed. It could cost her the race, too.
Mary wing-tipped the next thermal, knowing it was a short one. The next one after that was a tall thermal, one she was familiar with. For a moment Mary was in the lead, but she had to climb the thermal to get her speed back up as Eric shot out of the one Mary had bypassed. He skirted the one she climbed.
Mary knew he was going to climb the next short one and then wing clip the next ones, barely hitting them for a bit of lift before heading to the finish line. If it worked, he would cross the line only a few feet up off the ground, but should have a nice lead.
Mary rode the thermal up, wincing at the appearance of Eric pulling so far ahead. At the top, she angled the nose down, hoping it would be enough. It had to be.
Mary felt the thermal give up, and she instantly turned the nose downward into a near vertical dive. It was all or nothing at this point. Even over the sound of the wind rushing quickly by her ears, she heard the crowd nearby gasp.
Mary's wing slipped through the next thermal, too strong. It pushed the left side up and threatened to drive her into the ground.
Mary fought the heavy wings with all her might, trying to keep level. She scrubbed speed. There was only one thing she could do. She allowed the turn, flipping upside down and using the momentum to right herself again.
Mary tipped the final thermal and slipped beside Eric just as they crossed the finish line. The cannon sounded. Had she won?
Mary landed heavily, shrugging the wings off and looking up at the judge’s stand. After a long moment, she was marked the winner. She had done it.
"Protest," Eric yelled, running up to the judge’s stand.
Mary rushed up to him. "I beat you fair and square."
The judges walked quickly up to them, thankfully pulling them apart before Mary lost her cool and punched him again.
"What is the grounds of your protest?" a judge asked.
"She missed a thermal," Eric said. "The last one."
"I did not!"
The judge held up his hand, silencing them both. They waited as another judge came running up the path from the final thermal.
"Did you see the contestants run through the thermal?" The judge leaned in, listening to the report. They conferred back and forth for a minute. Then the judge stepped forward and grabbed Mary's hand, holding it up in the air.
There was more cheering. Mary had done it.
Mary didn't want to get up into Eric's face so soon after beating him, but she needed her prize. "My wings?"
"No way. You cheated. I'm not giving them to you."
Mary heard someone clear their throat to the side. Eric's father stood there, arms crossed. He glanced at Mary. She could see the hatred in his eyes, but then he turned to Eric. "A deal is a deal. You will give the girl the wings."
For once, in all the time Mary had known him, Eric looked contrite as he shriveled back from his father's glare. "I will have them delivered to your house by the end of the day."
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Roland and Mary worked tirelessly over the next few weeks modifying the wings. She knew he still had mixed feelings about her leaving, but there was nothing he could say or do that would deter her.
Somehow, Roland managed to find Mary nine canisters; eight for propulsion, and one for the breathing apparatus that he had invented. When she asked him about them, he just shook his head so she didn't push the subject. They used a pump to fill one canister with oxygen, compressing it to near the breaking point. Mary tinkered a gauge that would open a tiny valve once a certain altitude was reached. She wouldn't need it much, just after a canister burn when she was at maximum altitude.
The mounting of the four canisters on either side proved to be the most challenging thing. In the end, they decided on a system that mounted the canisters close up to the wings, allowing for the least wind resistance, and allowing the canisters to be ejected after they were empty.
Mary rigged a cable system that would blow the valves off two canisters at a time, giving her twice the power and speed. Twist the cable one way and it would fire off the valve, twist it another way and it would release the empty from the back of the magazine, allowing the next pair to drop down into place, ready to be fired when needed.
Mary wanted to leave the day she had everything finished, but it had been raining. If she was going to ensure she had the best chance, a nice sunny morning to start would do the trick.
***
The trip up to the launching pad was a long one. Mary had mixed feelings about leaving. She had to try, Beatrice needed her, and she had been away far too long. But Mary had grown to love Roland and Alice, and a few others. Not Eric; Mary wasn't going to miss Eric one bit. But if she could make it back to the mainland, then she could easily get a boat and come back to visit whenever she wanted. But first she had to get back.
Roland slipped the wings up on her back. The extra weight was noticeable, but wasn't too bad. With the full canisters, the wings weighed only a few pounds more than the ones she had used in the games.
Mary slipped her arms around Roland's waist, hugging him tight. Alice stayed back with the few people that had come to see her off. Mary could see tears in her eyes, but she was smiling at the same time. Mary scanned the small crowd, disappointed when she didn't see Hubert. Mary had hoped he would make the journey over to see her one last time, but he hadn't.
No sense putting things off. Mary stepped up to the edge of the pad.
Alice rushed up and pushed a small sack into her hand. "I made sandwiches. Just in case you get hungry."
Mary started to say thanks, but Alice quickly hugged her and then rushed off down the hill. Mary could hear her sobbing as she ran.
Mary tucked the sack into her messenger bag and slipped on the face-mask Roland had made. She adjusted the valve to draw in outside air. It was a little uncomfortable, but she could deal with it. The goggles had blue lenses on a flip-hinge, so Mary closed them, giving everything a slight blue tint. She looked at Roland and nodded. She stepped off into the thermal. No sense delaying.
Mary rode the thermal up as high as it would take her, then slipped on to the next, and the next after that one. Mary slipped into the last thermal over land, slowly circling around as she rose beside the mountains edge. Hubert stood on a small path, waving at her.
Mary waved back. And then she was over the water.
***
Mary rode the weak thermals for nearly an hour and then came the point she had to use the first canister set.Mary angled the nose down, gather
ing speed before she twisted the cable to release the valve on the first set, then turned her dive into a steep climb. The directional valves Roland came up with worked and Mary had a nice steady climb. From the mask, she heard a single click, and cool air rushed in through the hose. She glanced at the altimeter. Right on 10,000 feet.
The sound of air rushing by slowed a bit and Mary felt the thrust from the canisters stop, so she leveled out and twisted the cable the other direction, expelling the empties. Mary turned her head to watch the next set drop into place as expected with a grin of satisfaction. She started a slow glide, seeking out thermals to keep the height up.
Mary wasn't sure how far she had traveled on that first canister set, dozens of miles perhaps, she really had nothing to judge by. At one point, she thought she saw a ship on the horizon and thought to fly to it and land in the water nearby. But she couldn't be sure of what she had seen in the first place, and it would have taken her off her direct route. She pressed on.
An hour or so later, Mary used the second set of canisters, shooting into the air once again. It grew harder and harder to catch a strong thermal over the water. On the island the natural vents made the thermals, out here on the water it was weather patterns that had to do the work. A cold patch of air could be the difference in making it to the mainland, or not.
Mary kept her climb at a low angle, going more for speed than altitude. When she heard the valve open for her breather mask, she leveled out, keeping only a slight climb going.
Once the second set of canisters was expended, Mary ejected them.
***
Mary rode the thermals for several hours, the sun sinking low behind her. Her back screamed in agony; she hadn't counted on the physical effort it took to make the trip. If her guess was right, she had flown about half-way to the mainland, though she really had no idea how far it was. She scanned the water for boats, or any indication of where she was, but nothing came to her.
As the sun dipped below the horizon, Mary fired off another set of canisters. The thermals grew weaker as night fell. When the canisters expended themselves, Mary twisted the cable. Nothing happened. One canister slipped out, but the other stayed firmly in place, cocked at an odd angle.
Mary reached back, trying to jar the canister loose, but she could barely reach the edge. She could only get the edges of her fingernails on the canister. Each time she reached back, the nose dipped down from her movements. Mary regained her momentum and kept flying forward. She still had a while before she would have to use the last set. Hopefully she would be within sight of land before that happened.
Catching thermals came a bit easier for a while, and once, Mary even passed over a few specks of island. Uninhabited, but at least she was able to catch a good thermal off of them. Mary flew like that for a couple of hours and knew it would soon be time to hit the next set of canisters. She needed to do something.
The canister that held Mary's oxygen was at her belt, clipped on with a small hook. She slipped the hook loose and reached back but the hose wasn't long enough. She slipped the hose free and used the butt of the canister to push at the one that was jammed. After several minutes Mary was finally able to push it free. As it shot out of the magazine, Mary dropped the air canister. Her fingers fumbled with it, almost catching it, but then it was lost, spiraling down to the black ocean.
Mary pulled the useless mask off and dropped it away. She knew it was going to be interesting on the next canister burn.
Mary was only a hundred feet or so off the ocean so it was time again. The weak thermals in the ocean wouldn't lift her enough without help. Mary fired the last set of canisters and rose quickly, keeping her ascent tight. There was no way she would be able to climb straight up, but still kept the angle fairly large.
Mary glanced at the tiny gauge on her wrist; at 20,000 feet, she saw dark cliffs and lights in the distance. The mainland. But from this height she could tell she still had miles and miles to go. Mary tried to do the math in her head, but she couldn't think straight. Her vision grew black at the edges and she was forced to level out. The canisters burned a minute longer, then stopped. That was it. Last chance to make it. Perhaps this close to land she would be able to find a boat.
Mary fought the urge to throw up. She was light-headed and found it a chore to breathe normally. It was like she had to work twice as hard to get the air needed.
Mary shivered in the cold. She thought about how she should have brought a coat with her, but that would have just weighed her down even more.
Mary ejected the spent canisters and set in for a long glide in the dark with her teeth chattering. At one point she thought she saw lights on the water, but couldn't be sure. The thermals at this height were few and far between, and difficult to find.
Mary drifted along, the wind burning through her watery eyes. Her ears were raw from the cold. Still, the lights of the mainland drew closer and closer.
Three hours passed, and then four. Mary was frozen to the bone. She couldn't feel her feet at all and her fingers were numb blocks of ice, even in the gloves she wore.
Mary flew over a few small islands, but there didn't appear to be any lights, so she bypassed them and headed on until she slipped over the outer edge of the mainland.
Mary smiled to herself. Now she just needed to find a spot she could land near a town. She had no idea where she was, or if this was even England. But at this point it didn't even matter.
The dark shadows of buildings appeared on the horizon, with a few lights in windows. Her altitude had dropped to just over a thousand feet so she tilted the nose down and aimed for the middle of the town and a small park that was surrounded by street lamps.
Mary tried getting her feet out under her to land, but she was too weak and ended up swooping down over the land and tilting one wing tip over until it could touch the ground. The tip dug in and flung her around. With frozen fingers, she slipped the release on the harness and went tumbling along the wet grass, thumping heavily against a tree.
Mary lay there on the grass, shivering and faint. A few people must have seen her descent and were closing in. She had made it somewhere at least. But she knew her journey still wasn't over; Beatrice was waiting.
<<<<>>>>
Karen Garvin
Edward Gray’s dark eyes shone with barely concealed excitement and a small smile tugged at the corners of his mouth as he scanned the telegram. He normally wasn’t one for openly displaying his emotions—unless, of course, it was frustration or anger. The clerk who had delivered the message eyed him warily and took a step back, unsure of how to react to Edward’s sudden display of apparent humanity.
Edward reread the message from his nephew, taking note of the date that Samuel was expected to arrive at Seacombe Island. It had been nearly a year since Edward had come to Seacombe and he was pleased at the prospect of seeing Samuel, his only remaining family. Their relationship was close, even if it was often fraught with arguments. Still, it would be good to see family and catch up with gossip from London.
“Thank you,” said Edward crisply, folding the paper and stuffing it into his coat pocket.
The clerk, who was by now standing next to the office door with one hand on the doorknob, lifted an inquiring eyebrow. “Any reply, sir?”
“No, thank you. No reply.” Edward sucked at his teeth, making an ugly noise that caused the clerk to frown. Edward ignored his expression as he pushed past, making his way over to the long wooden table set against the wall, where Clyde Ackerman, a research scientist, was staring through a microscope. Edward dragged over a wooden stool next to him and climbed up on it with some difficulty.
Behind him, the door slammed. Edward swiveled, ready to shout at the clerk, but stopped short when he saw Mr. Turner, a well-dressed official who worked on the top floor of the Seacombe complex, at some important position in the island’s labyrinthine bureaucracy. Grunting, Edward heaved himself off the stool and approached the newcomer.
“I’m sorry to bother you, Mr.
Gray.” Turner waited until Edward crossed the room and then lowered his voice. “I know you’re busy, so I’ll keep it short. But I thought you would like to know that I’ve received another telegram from Professor Meade.”
“Oh, bother. What’s it about this time?” Edward scowled, and a sinking feeling made his stomach churn. He forced himself to take a deep breath and try to relax. Meade was a stickler for details and his constant requests for reports always left Edward feeling irritable and rushed.
“Professor Meade sends his regards,” drawled Turner. He smiled then, a thin, stingy smile that did little to improve the appearance of his pockmarked face. “But he wants us to increase production of the Hekatite.”
“Increase production? By how much?” Edward shot a glance at Clyde, but the man hadn’t moved except to change slides on the microscope, and he gave no indication that he had heard Turner’s remarks.
“Here are his requirements.” Turner handed Edward a thin sheet of paper covered with calculations. “It seems that the ministry is entering the Seacombe airship in a race to the South Pole. Professor Meade has managed to convince them to field test the Hekatite fuel during the voyage.”
“What!” Edward’s eyes were drawn to a circled number that was underlined twice. He barely heard what Turner was saying. Instead, his head snapped up and he stared at the taller man as though seeing him for the first time. “But, this is impossible, Mr. Tuner! It simply cannot be done!”
“Mr. Gray?” called Clyde. “Are you all right?” The young man had gotten to his feet, obviously worried about Edward’s reaction to Turner’s news.
“Yes, I’m … No!” Edward waved his hands in the air, the paper fluttering in his grasp. He paced the length of the room and returned, rubbing his face thoughtfully. Edward liked a challenge, but this was way beyond anything he would consider a challenge. It was impossible. What did Meade think they could do? The Hekate orchids, which yielded the sap they were refining into the Hekatite fuel, only grew here on Seacombe Island. And there were precious few of them available to Edward. He chewed his lip and continued pacing, aware that the other two men were watching and waiting. “We can’t make that much Hekatite in three months! There aren’t enough orchids ready for harvest.”
