Flotsam

by R J Theodore

  As they returned breathless to their seats, Dug also left the cabin, but returned minutes later with a soot-streaked metal flask of home-brew that somehow survived the flames. Not as strong as the volcanic whiskey that awaited them in the Rakkar cities, but it still stung going down. They relaxed around the table, sipping the torturous moonshine and talking quietly about nothing of import until that bottle, too, was gone, and their eyelids drooped.

  Sophie, the only one of them who could still walk with any sort of skysuredness, fetched two pitchers of cool water and a bowl of lemon wedges. She forced them each to drink two full glasses and suck half a salted lemon before she’d let them leave the table to sleep it off.

  Talis didn’t remember undressing or crawling into her bunk, but when Wind Sabre began to shake, she was tangled in the blankets. She clawed for consciousness, struggling to free herself from the sheets twisted around her legs.

  Bless Sophie’s ministrations, she was sober enough, and her stomach solid, though her mind was still muddled, either from the drink or deep sleep—or both. Muddled enough that she forgot Nexus wasn’t causing headaches anymore, and that hers was all her own doing. She pulled on her pants and clumsily tightened their laced closure as she ran out of her cabin, barefoot and wild-eyed.

  The deck vibrated as though the keel was dragging across solid ground. Wind Sabre was doing her best, but the resistance of wind against the unbalanced weight was pushing her limits.

  Though no longer accosted by Silus Cutter’s stolen winds, the ship was still taking abuse from traveling through Peridot’s natural air currents. Both lift lines at aft had been severed by the alien weapons. The port line at midship, too. The hull sagged heavy at its stern, leaning to port and pulling them incessantly to that side.

  Thick as Talis’s forearm, the lift lines couldn’t be replaced from what they had onboard. The heavy ropes were reinforced with steel wires, coated against moisture with tar, and tightly braided with coils as dense as stone to discourage flames. They only got stronger from use, pulled tighter by the weight of the ship. A seasoned lift line might as well have been a length of tempered steel. They were designed to last a lifetime, or at least give a smart captain time to notice and repair or replace them if they were damaged.

  Just about every airship in the skies flew in confidence that a line wouldn’t fail altogether. And certainly not three at once. The canvas lift envelope might get eaten by moths, the wood of the railing might rot away. But a captain could count on the lift lines.

  The design had never accounted for alien beams of light that sliced like knives.

  On deck, Talis found Sophie crawling out of the starboard engine house, arms and face streaked with grease. If she felt any effects of the previous night’s celebrations, there was no sign of it. Her eyes were clear. Also clear was that she had nothing good to report from the Number Two engine.

  Talis pulled Sophie to her feet. “Can we make it to ­Heddard Bay?”

  Sophie’s face didn’t reassure her. “Can’t say, Captain. It’s not a matter of if the engines will fail, but when.”

  “Gods, both of them?” Talis had to put a hand on the engine house to steady herself, not sure if the alcohol was still running rampant in her body or if she’d reached the limit of how much bad news she could take. Before she realized what she was doing, she’d tangled the fingers of her other hand around her prayerlocks and tugged. Her heart ached at the futility of it.

  Airships were little more than wooden buckets built around the symbiosis of their twin engines and the lift balloon above. They needed both systems intact, and both systems needed to work together, or a ship was just a rock waiting to drop out of the sky. If one of the two engines failed, they’d limp for a while until the stress on the second got to be too much, and that would be it for their propulsion. Minutes later, that’d be it for the hot air that the engines fed to the lift balloons. As the air cooled to the same temperature as the sky around them, the weight of the hull would drag the ship down.

  “The compressor in Number One is barely working.” Sophie pulled a rag from her pocket and wiped at the grease coating her skin. “A bunch of pieces got shook free in there. I was able to put most of them back in place, but they’ve banged around real good and almost everything’s got to be realigned. I can hear some other piece kicking around loose in there, but I can’t get to it. It’s gonna stress ’til it fails, then Number Two is only going to be able to get us so far under this strain.”

  Sophie put the rag down on the engine block, closed her eyes as her chest lifted with a big inhale. She let it out in a sigh. “Hells. It could be the piston come free of its cylinder.”

  Talis put a steadying hand on her shoulder. This was Sophie’s area of expertise, and they needed her focused, not running down the what-ifs. “Okay, tell me what we do. Slow down? Take the strain off?”

  “Gods, no, Captain,” Sophie said without a pause. “The sooner we get to a dock and can shut down the system, the more of it we can save.”

  Talis looked out past the railing. The sky was tinted hazy green, so that the distant stars were muted. The view should have been partially obscured by the midship lift line, but what remained of that had been cleared from the deck. The anchor for it, built into the railing, was barren. The eye, meant to fix the heavy loop of rope, stared back at her.

  “Then we’ll take whatever line we have and re-string the three anchors. I know it’s thin, but—”

  Sophie turned her face up at the lift envelope, blinking. “—but it’s worth a shot. Anything we can do to ease off on the strain. And soon.”

  Talis swallowed. Sophie, whose optimism had no equal, wasn’t smiling. The engine was in worse shape than she’d let on.

  “Dug and I will meet you port-side aft. You good?”

  She was sending Sophie up to the catwalks built along the perimeter of the lift envelope. With three lines loose, the bob and hop of the lift balloon would try to shake her free with every step.

  “Good as a goat,” Sophie replied, mustering a tight smile for her captain. Her windlegs were a source of pride, second only to that which she felt for the ship she loved.

  Still, it was going to be a nauseating stroll at best. Talis didn’t move. Considered going up herself, instead. Her stomach lurched at the thought.

  Finally offering a real smile, Sophie clasped Talis’s wrist again. “I’ll wear a harness this time, Captain. Promise.”

  Satisfied, Talis nodded, then left her to fetch Dug.

  Standing on Wind Sabre’s lowest deck with Dug, Talis stared in disbelief at their inventory of line.

  The coils kept in the main hold were meant for small patch jobs, securing cargo, or—in a fix—for towing. She’d never given much thought to the length of the uncut spools, but she’d expected them to be longer than they proved to be.

  “There might be enough, Captain, if we don’t loop them.” Dug’s voice was low, as if speaking too loud would shake Wind Sabre free of what lines she had left.

  They frowned, their arms crossed, at the paltry supplies. Ideally, because the lines were lightweight, Talis had intended to double them up, so that two widths ran up to the balloon, looped the anchor up top, and ran down again to hold the lift balloon to the ship.

  But they might not even have enough to connect one length end-to-end.

  “That’s that, then.” She sighed. “We’ll have to shorten the length on the proper lines, too.”

  Which would jostle the whole ship. She might as well drop a hammer into the engine while she was at it.

  No choice. No time.

  She heaved one side of the nearest full spool, twisting it on its wooden disk to reposition it so they could both get a grip and maneuver it up the three levels to the aft deck.

  Sophie was waiting for them on the catwalk above, and lowered a wire as Talis and Dug rolled the heavy spool of line down the deck. Tali
s could see the dark straps of Sophie’s safety harness crossed against the lighter fabric of her coveralls. She wore thick gloves, the heavy cuffs of which covered her forearms. Talis and Dug ought to put them on, too. Last thing they needed was more wounded hands.

  Dug slipped the end of their rope into the loop on Sophie’s wire and secured it with a practiced knot. He and Talis freed the length of rope from the spool and laid the coil so it wouldn’t snag as they pulled it upward.

  Talis fastened the other end to the railing anchor with the strongest knot she could tie that wouldn’t get too greedy with length.

  Dug’s jaw was set in concentration. Last night, everything had been okay. Stable. But now Wind Sabre was falling apart. Talis couldn’t fool herself that they’d be able to just patch the hull up and sail off again. Repairs would take months. Months of sitting still and stewing over everything they’d lost. She wanted to ask Dug what he was thinking, but every time she opened her mouth to speak, it was easier to close it again and just concentrate on the work. If she didn’t ask, she didn’t have to hear the answer she was dreading.

  Dug waved an arm to signal Sophie. Hand over hand, she began to haul the line up. It was a big weight for the petite woman. Her feet were braced against the vertical rails of the catwalk, and she leaned back to counterbalance the weight.

  “Wouldn’t say no to an extra hand, Captain!”

  They needed to do this right. It wasn’t just timing, but balance, too. Talis inhaled. It was why she’d gone for the port line first, to balance the starboard line at midship that they still had. She wanted to get both aft connections to the lift balloon secure as soon as possible. But if Sophie couldn’t tie off the line up top by herself, there was no point.

  She looked to Dug. “I’ll go. Would be a sorry sight if I tried to get the next spool on my own, but you might manage it. Grab two more lengths of the thinner line while you’re at it.”

  On a good day, she loved to ascend the lift lines. Nothing felt so invigorating as fighting the wind for balance on the weather deck built into the top of the envelope, where the tiny calf-high railing was only a formality. The sky above and around her, and their natural element whipping about, trying to claim her. It was a refreshing place to go when she needed to clear her head.

  If the ship had more crew, there’d be watches along the lift balloon’s catwalk, too. As it was, with just the four of them, they made regular inspections on the guiding sails and on the lines but couldn’t spare the bodies to station someone there for a full watch.

  The Rakkar of Heddard Bay would have her in a bind and could ask any price they liked to get Wind Sabre sky worthy again. But just maybe, if there was anything left of Talis’s share of the money, she’d hire a couple more crew members. Give the ship a proper set of hands.

  But there were no spare hands now, no room for such thoughts. They still had to get to Heddard Bay with what was left of the ship if they were going to put in for any ­repairs at all.

  Talis reached the top of the forward ratlines. She didn’t want to jostle the midship line any more than she had to, so she’d cross the full length of the ship on the catwalks.

  The thin, springy planks of the walk bounced under her feet. She moved with as much haste as she could, but the unbalanced lift balloon wobbled irregularly. The catwalks leaped up as she stepped down, propelling each step higher on the next bounce.

  Sophie gave her a scathing look as she approached. Only then did Talis realize she’d crossed the hazard without her own safety harness or a lead line clipped to the railing.

  “Really, Captain? Why am I wearing this chafing thing, then? Don’t you feel the walks trying to buck you off?”

  Sophie braced the wire line and shifted her weight to free one hand. She jerked a leather-gloved thumb at the locker behind them. “Put it on, or I drop the line.” Her hand clamped back down as the line started to tug through her grip. “Captain.”

  The catwalk still lurched and tossed beneath their feet, even with them both standing still. Crossing it unfastened had indeed been foolish. Load of good Talis would do for everyone if she went over and needed rescue, or was beyond rescue and left them with two fewer hands to help get Wind Sabre back to civilization.

  She fetched a harness and, bracing herself against a rib of the lift envelope, climbed into it and secured it across her stomach. It had a short lead, only about two arm-spans, and was designed to keep her from plummeting to flotsam if she fell. She and Sophie’d likely get their leads all tangled up together, but she did feel safer with it on.

  The envelope’s line anchor was secured against the side in a pocket of canvas designed for the job. The forged metal ring was shaped like a belt buckle, triple-reinforced thick stitching all around the outer ring held it in place, and the crossbar in the center curved out to give room for the lift line, to prevent it from rubbing on the canvas and wearing either the line or the envelope.

  Sophie threaded the wire through and pulled as best she could. There was a break in the catwalk below the anchor, so the walkway wouldn’t be crushed beneath the tension of the lines. But it made for awkward work. She braced herself, toes against the lift envelope, one foot to either side of the gap below her, and pulled. Her shoulders leaned outward toward the misty green of open sky.

  Sophie bared her teeth. One elbow was clamped against her side for stability, her other arm straining. The knotted end of the line was mere inches away from making it through the anchor. But with the weight of the hull at play, inches were leagues.

  Talis moved behind her, braced her feet against the balloon outside Sophie’s, and together they pulled the wire. Talis could feel the thin material cutting into the joints of her fingers.

  “This the longest we got?” Sophie’s voice was strained.

  “The others might even be shorter.”

  Sophie’s only reply was a grunt, but Talis felt her increase her effort.

  Hand over hand, in hair’s-breadth increments, the end of the rope got closer and closer to the metal bar. The wire creased at the end of the loop. Talis had an awful image of the wire snapping, the line dropping, and them propelling themselves out over the catwalk. The impulse to tug her prayerlocks itched at her mind. An old habit that would take a long time to break, even knowing Silus Cutter was gone.

  When the knot of the line caught on the edge of the bar, they pulled together on count. Talis’s muscles burned, but she took a deep breath and channeled the last of her reserve energy as they wrenched on the final pull.

  The wire shuddered as the knot crossed over the bar. It gave them a small respite from the strain, but only just. She and Sophie still braced against the balloon. Her arms still burned in complaint.

  The knot was there. The line was pulled through and, if they could untie it, there was enough length to tie off to the anchor.

  Of course, they couldn’t untie it. Nor could either of them let go of the wire. The palms of her hands, and the insides of her fingers, were in agony. Her arm muscles twitched in protest at the strain.

  A rumble passed through the lift balloon, and the catwalk beneath them shuddered.

  “Ship doesn’t like the length of the line, does she.” Sophie’s voice was hard, even. It wasn’t a question, but there was a question behind it. We gonna make it, Captain?

  “We’ll shorten the others next,” Talis said, talking through her clenched jaw. Those few words took all the effort she could spare.

  The catwalk trembled again. But this time it was the welcomed rhythm of approaching feet. She would have breathed a sigh of relief if she dared relax.

  Dug came around the curve of the lift balloon, harness on and lead clip bouncing in its place along the catwalk’s guide rail. A length of rope looped over one arm and a small canvas bag of tools cradled in the other.

  The three of them together made faster work on the next two lines. Wind Sabre’s nose dragged agai
nst the winds, though, once the two aft lines were secured. To Talis, the temporary lines looked as thin as cotton floss wrapped around the massive line anchors. The hull protested the shift in tension, and Talis swore she could see the lines stretch thin against the tensile force.

  She wasn’t going to relax until they were safely docked, the hull braced, and the engines powered down for the rest they deserved.

  Until then, it was double effort to try anything they could. When the lift lines were as even as they could get them, she’d get on a swing and patch that tear in the underside of the envelope. Then tarp patches for the other missing sections of the hull, if they weren’t to Heddard Bay already. Whatever would reduce drag. Give Tisker whatever help they could to fly them into dock with a little of their dignity intact.

  She spared a glance for her pilot as they ran for the forward lines. Tisker was tight-lipped, eyes on the gauges of the console. His gauze-wrapped fists gripped at the wheel. His forearms braced along the handles to support his damaged hands.

  He didn’t look up at them as they moved past or call out a report of what the readouts said. She didn’t ask. From the set of his jaw and the knotting of his brows, she knew. She swallowed and ran faster.

  There was no system in place for tightening or loosing the lines. Like the planks of the deck, they were installed as a fixed constant. They were what they were. But they were too loose now.

  If they got through this, she’d never fly without backup line for the lift systems again. Something thicker and three times the length. High-quality stuff, reinforced, even if it wasn’t as big around as a full-size lift line.

  And winches. She’d install winches for making adjustments. Gears and cranks forged by master Rakkar metalsmiths.

  Talis made all these silent promises to her ship and worked as hard as she could with what they had.

  They slipped a loop of the thinner stuff through the tight gap in the line anchor at the starboard fore railing, tied it as tight as they could, and started reeling the lift line in. It was a battle with the tension, and the eye of the anchor didn’t spare them much room. Even less when the line started to fold back. Talis, Dug, and Sophie pulled against it, struggling to get the loop through the too-small gap.