Sky Captain and the World of Tomorrow

by Kevin J. Anderson

  "I said relax, Polly." He bit off his words, sounding anything but confident. "Everything's fine." As if to prove him wrong, the indicator light began to flash insistently, and the annoying buzz of an alarm began to sound. He tapped the gauge, as if that might change the reading. "Damn."

  "We're out of fuel, aren't we?"

  The P-40 lurched, and the engine began to cough. Sky Captain adjusted his controls, trying to coax just a little more distance out of the trusty airplane. "Don't bother me right now."

  "I just asked a question." Polly wanted to pound the back of his chair. "Can't anything ever be simple with you?"

  With a final sputter, the plane's engine went dead. An avalanche of silence blanketed them, broken only by the faint whistle of wind, the rattle of the fuselage, and Polly's very audible gulp. The plane's nose dipped downward in its steady fall. The propellers spun just a few more times, then froze in place.

  Sky Captain worked the rudders, raising the wing flaps on the wings in an attempt to level the plunging aircraft. The Warhawk descended rapidly through layers of cloud like a huge artificial condor.

  "Buckle up, Polly."

  "How can you be so nonchalant about — "

  Hitting a zone of turbulent air streams, the plane shuddered violently and tossed her against one side of the cockpit. She stopped complaining and fastened her belt.

  Sky Captain lifted his microphone. "Come in Manta Station, do you read me? Come in Manta Station."

  A steady hiss of static was his only reply.

  "Where are you, Franky?" he said under his breath. "I could use a little reassurance right now."

  Another bone-rattling bump, and Sky Captain pulled back on the controls with all his strength, forcing the plane to tilt upward as he caught a rising air mass.

  As the P-40 shifted position, a loose glass bottle rolled across the floor, stopping at Polly's feet. She looked down to see Sky Captain's milk of magnesia. With a quick glance at him, she grabbed the bottle and took a healthy swig, then wiped the chalky liquid from her lips. The taste was awful, and it didn't do much to settle her stomach.

  "All right." Sky Captain reached for a lever. "I'm activating the landing gear." With a whirring thump and a locking click, the wheels came down in the underbelly and snapped into place.

  "Landing gear?" Polly watched, stupefied. The disorienting clouds were all around them, and she couldn't see a thing, but she knew from the charts that they had no chance of finding any dry land. "Joe, what are you doing? You can't land this thing on the water."

  "We're not landing on the water." Sky Captain hunched over the control panel, still trying to guide the falling airplane.

  When they suddenly pierced the cloud coverage, Polly's face went white, but Sky Captain smiled calmly.

  "We're landing on that," he said. It was a technological island in the sky, a huge metal-and-glass fortress held aloft by giant rotors that spun like giant fan blades. Guidance propellers and dangling rudders moved the levitating base to keep it hidden in the smokescreen of clouds. A complex of rectangular buildings formed a conning tower on one end of the station. The flag of the Royal Navy flew from a pole at the highest point.

  Polly stared in wonder at the incredible flying fortress. "What is it?"

  "A mobile airstrip. Dex helped design it, but the whole idea is kind of a secret." His voice became more deliberate. "You can keep a secret, can't you, Polly?"

  "Yes, I can keep a secret… though it won't do me much good if we crash before we can land on that thing." Out of sight behind him in the cockpit, Polly surreptitiously raised her camera to take a picture, then lowered it with a sigh of regret. "Two shots left…"

  It seemed that every place she went with Joe Sullivan, the experience became more and more amazing. How was she supposed to choose the most newsworthy photographs? Editor Paley would probably lecture her for hesitating, but she couldn't waste her only two pictures.

  A businesslike voice spiced with a thick British accent came over the cockpit radio. "This is Manta Station transmitting. Permission granted to land on platform three-two-seven. Maintain your present course."

  "Copy!" His voice held a truckload of relief. "Three-two-seven. I'll be there."

  "Welcome aboard, Captain Sullivan, sir."

  Sky Captain expertly guided the Warhawk between the mammoth rotors, aligning his course with painted marks on the runway beneath him. With the remnants of his momentum and control, he cruised over the landing strip, struggling not to descend too rapidly. Polly cinched her seat belt tighter only a moment before the plane struck the airstrip hard. The landing gear bounced once, then again. Blue smoke curled from the brakes as the plane screeched to a bumpy stop.

  Sky Captain slid open the canopy, filling the cockpit with fresh, chill air. Beaming, he stood up and waved, as if he made such desperate landings every day. He swung over the canopy edge and hopped down onto the deck of the flying fortress.

  Uniformed British naval officers ran briskly from the support buildings at the base of the conning tower. After a glance behind him to see that Polly could get out of the plane unassisted, Sky Captain stepped up to meet the small welcoming committee.

  In the lead of the group, a statuesque beauty with a distinct air of sophistication came forward. She wore a dark uniform, neat and perfect; under her Royal Navy cap, her dark hair was bound up per regulations. A black patch covered her right eye, hinting at a past as adventurous as Sky Captain's. She stopped to inspect him with wry skepticism, looking at his bullet-riddled plane. Her generous lips quirked in a cool smile.

  "Well, Joseph Sullivan, I thought for sure you'd be dead by now."

  "I might have been, if you weren't here." After a brief pause, Sky Captain threw open his arms. He and the lovely commander of the flying fortress embraced earnestly like old war buddies. "It's good to see you, Franky!"

  Neither of them paid any attention to Polly as she climbed down the side of the Warhawk. Polly flinched with an inadvertent jealous pang. "Franky? This is Franky?" She brushed the wrinkles from her clothes, felt her legs tingling and numb from being bent in the back of the little cockpit. Then she hurried forward.

  Sky Captain and Franky let their hug linger just a moment too long. Ignoring Polly, the woman stepped back to inspect Sky Captain's rumpled appearance. "This had better be important, Joseph, or one of us is in trouble."

  "Oh, it's important. Trust me."

  Franky glanced over at Polly, raising her eyebrows. "Who's the girl? Excess baggage?"

  Remembering his manners, Sky Captain made awkward introductions. "Uh, Captain Francesca Cook, meet Polly Perkins, reporter for the New York Chronicle."

  The two women squared off coolly with Sky Captain standing between them. "Oh, yes, Polly Perkins… I've heard so much about you." Franky formally extended her hand, and the two shook, but without warmth. "It's a pleasure to finally meet my competition."

  Stunned by the female captain's beauty and cultured manner, Polly felt inadequate and self-conscious. Franky had heard so much about her? What had Joe been saying? Polly doubted it was overcomplimentary.

  Done with the pleasantries, Franky turned all her attention back to Sky Captain. Her voice was full of innuendo. "It's been a long time since Nanjing, Joseph."

  Nanjing? Polly flashed Sky Captain an accusing glare. He became flustered, but tried to hide it. "Yes, a long time." After an awkward silence, he yanked off his flying gloves and briskly rubbed his hands together. "So, well… how's that number three engine, Franky? Dex always thought it was wobbly, and I remember it running a little rough — "

  Suddenly a warning Klaxon assaulted their ears. Flashing lights strobed up and down the flying fortress' runways. A voice boomed over loudspeakers mounted on the rotor towers. "General quarters! Man your battle stations. All hands on deck!"

  The emergency distracted both Polly and Franky. "Thank God," Sky Captain said under his breath.

  A uniformed officer bounded across the runway, waving a piece of paper at Franky
. "Commander! We're tracking six enemy submersibles, bearing thirty degrees northwest."

  "Most unusual. Do you recognize the configuration?"

  "No, Commander. Not a design we've encountered before. The submersibles are very large, and they seem to be heavily armed." The young officer hesitated. "There are indications that they may have spotted us already."

  Franky raised her eyebrows at Sky Captain again. "Who wants to kill you this time, Joseph?"

  He flushed. "Oh, you know, it's always something."

  A large explosion erupted in the clouds around them, so close that it rocked Manta Station. The rotors hummed more loudly, stabilizing the airborne runway. Royal Navy crewmen ran to their posts, yelling orders.

  The sky filled with flak fire. Echoes of successive detonations cracked like a thunderstorm through the cloud cover. It seemed like the grand finale of a fireworks display, and the flying fortress was right in the muddle of It.

  24

  An Island out of Nowhere. Undersea Machines. A Grim Incentive

  One of the blasts came close enough to tilt the station's vast deck, throwing Polly off balance, but Sky Captain instinctively caught her. The giant propellers strained to lift the heavy platform higher into the safety of the clouds. Franky shouted orders, but her well-trained crew already knew what to do.

  Through hatches in the flying fortress' deck, Royal Navy gunners climbed down ladders into upside-down turrets hanging from structures beneath the platform. Large-caliber cannons extended as the men strapped into their seats. They let loose a roaring barrage to bombard the unseen enemies far below.

  Sky Captain looked forlornly at his Warhawk, which sat motionless at the end of long black skid marks. "Franky, how fast can your people refuel my plane and load up?"

  "Not fast enough, Joseph. Follow me. Right this way."

  Hurrying, but showing no panic, Franky led them into the bridge structure. Sky Captain grabbed the edge of the door as another blast rocked the platform, and Polly went sprawling. Franky simply rode it out without losing her balance. "It'll take a while for you both to acquire your sea legs. Needs a bit of practice."

  During the emergency, the bridge was a circus of organized chaos. Naval officers stood at their stations, shouting rapid-fire instructions and responses. Fighter pilots checked in as they sprinted across the various runways to scramble aboard their planes. Outside, louder than the constant thunder of explosions, dozens of aircraft engines fired up, propellers whirring, exhausts roaring. From the gun turrets below, defensive fire continued from the hull-mounted artillery.

  Sky Captain marched close to Franky as if he belonged at her side, and Polly did not let him get too far ahead. Franky stepped up to her executive officer inside the command station. "I'll take over from here, Major Slater."

  "Yes, Commander." He seemed relieved to relinquish control.

  Sweeping her glance across the stations, Franky assessed their situation. "First order of business: raise us to ten thousand feet and deploy all countermeasures." The executive officer swiftly repeated her orders to the appropriate personnel.

  Franky stood with perfect posture. In a piece of polished metal on one of the bridge stations, Polly spotted her own disheveled reflection and grimaced. "I don't appear to be much competition at all."

  Franky went to a tactical table and spread out a map of the vicinity below. She motioned for Sky Captain to join her, and the two of them huddled over the charts. Their heads were very close together. Polly strained on her tiptoes, trying to peek over their shoulders.

  Franky used a slender finger to point out an area where someone had drawn handwritten notes and a question mark on a blank expanse of ocean. "Right about here, Joseph. Our reconnaissance located a small island three kilometers northeast of our current position. It's not on any of our charts."

  Polly couldn't contain her excitement. "That has to be him!"

  Franky looked up, quizzical; she seemed to have forgotten the other woman was behind them. "Sorry? Has to be who?" She directed her question to Sky Captain, pointedly ignoring Polly. "What did you get me into this time, Joseph?"

  His smile looked a bit too admiring. "Oh, it's nothing you can't handle, Franky."

  Their calm camaraderie and respect made Polly wonder again just how deep this friendship went. Her brow furrowed.

  Though the flying fortress was gaining altitude, lifted aloft by the churning propellers, one of the enemy missiles slammed into the bottom of the hull. Sparks flew from two control stations, and the level floor tilted at a severe angle.

  Seasick, Polly grabbed an instrument panel and held on for her life, but as she clutched the controls, she accidentally yanked a lever. One of the rotors roared with increased power output, and Manta Station tilted in the opposite direction. She felt as if she were trapped on a giant seesaw in the sky.

  Sky Captain lurched over and pointedly lifted her hand off the lever. "Try not to touch anything. In case you haven't noticed, we're in the middle of an emergency here."

  Franky worked at a different station to stabilize the flying fortress. The commander flashed a glare with her one eye.

  Polly sniffed. "I didn't mean to." Explosions continued to pepper the sky. The unending Klaxon sound was giving her a headache.

  With the flying fortress rising steadily again on a stable course, Franky stepped up behind a young ensign manning a sonar array. A pattern of bright blips crossed the display screen, blurred outlines like ghosts in the fog. "Ah, so there you are."

  "Commander!" the executive officer called. "Enemy warships, bearing three-one-six, mark four. Closing fast." He studied his own screen. "They're coming into firing range. We're about to have a spot of trouble, I believe."

  Franky strode over to uniformed engineers at a communications array. "Give me a visual please."

  The communications engineer activated a series of dials and switches. "Yes, Commander. Launching radio imager."

  After he depressed a button, bat-wing hatches beneath the flying fortress opened and dropped a tiny beeping probe. It tumbled through the sky, falling past explosions, gunfire, and clouds of dissipating smoke, until it splashed like a small torpedo beneath the waves. Automated systems kicked in, and the probe turned about, orienting itself in the depths. Its sensors and range finders targeted a group of hulking shadows that cruised underwater.

  "We're receiving a signal on-screen now, Commander," said the communications engineer. "Here comes the telemetry."

  Sky Captain, Franky, and Polly stood together watching a small circular display. On the curved glass screen, a school of fleeing fish streaked past. Then a crude blurry image slowly resolved into a startling picture.

  Twenty gargantuan iron machines emerged from the murk. The sea-bottom walkers plodded along like giant crabs, each with four massive segmented legs. They scuttled in inexorable slow motion, stirring up silt and mud from the ocean floor with every ponderous step.

  With its next signal, the radio imager finally broadcast a clear picture of the winged-skull emblem on the foremost sea-bottom walker. "Totenkopf," Polly said, stating the obvious.

  Then the crab machines' angular carapaces opened. With a gush of foam and flame, blunt rockets emerged, churning up to the target in the sky.

  "They're still firing at us!" the executive officer shouted.

  An explosive shell ripped through the flying fortress' deck, plowing through girders and thick hull plates before it detonated. Smoke and fire curled upward, stirred by the valiantly churning rotors. Debris showered down. Alarms and emergency signals ricocheted around the bridge.

  Franky finally had the good grace to look flustered. "I believe I've had enough of this." She turned to the pilot. "All engines reverse full. Get us out of here. My apologies, Joseph, but I have no choice but to retreat. The better part of valor and all that."

  Sky Captain staggered to the chart table and looked down at the map, determined. "Franky, you've got to get me onto that island."

  She did not seem amuse
d. "You don't ask for much, do you?"

  An undersea crab walker fired another volley of explosive rockets. Detonations rocked the flying fortress, ripping a huge hole through the armored deck. Now smoke began to fill the conning tower. Emergency crews ran about, spraying fire extinguisher foam.

  "Commander, we've lost power in the forward rotors! We're losing altitude!" said the executive officer. They could all feel the stomach-lurching plunge as Manta Station began to fall.

  Polly grabbed for something to keep her balance. She was careful not to bump any controls this time.

  Franky shook her head. "I'm very sorry, Joseph. You know I've never said no to you, but it's impossible. If we stay here any longer, we're dead — "

  Sky Captain gazed into her single bright eye, giving the only explanation that mattered: "He's got Dex, Franky."

  She looked at him, suddenly understanding. He had known that would be the trump card for Franky Cook.

  Dexter Dearborn Jr. had developed Manta Station after reading a Jules Verne novel called Clipper of the Clouds. At first glance, the design had made no aerodynamic sense at all, but Dex had insisted on it. Then he built models and proved his idea would work. Franky Cook had taken a great risk to support the young genius, advocating the strategic importance of flying runways that could deliver a squadron of aircraft to any battlefield in the world.

  And Dex had not let her down. He had overseen the construction of Manta Station, checked all the engineering himself, and flown on the maiden voyage. The young man had managed to endear himself to Franky, just as he had done with the rest of the Flying Legion.

  Sky Captain knew that Dex had an impossible crush on the lovely Royal Navy captain. He found the thought of it amusing, but Franky actually seemed to take the young man's advances seriously. She did owe him her life and her career, after all.

  On the huge station's second flight, Dex had been uneasy just from listening to the engines. He'd nosed around in the casing for the number three engine, though it had repeatedly passed inspection. At the last moment, though, Dex found a saboteur's bomb and deactivated it, preventing the destruction of the flying fortress and saving the lives of everyone aboard.