“With a stiff tailwind, Wind Breaker can give us fifty knots. That’s just about what I was figuring on us managing in order to hit Keystone in two days. There’s better than two thousand miles between us and our intended port of call. At this speed, we’re looking at five days. We were long overdue for a resupply even before we took on a new crewman. In a pinch the food will last, and we can always try for some fish if we come up short. With only two turbines running we can stretch the fuel. The problem is water. We lost a lot of fresh water in the attack. There’s a bit of ale left, and we might be able to manage an extra day on the drippings we can get out of the steam lines, but we don’t have the fuel to waste to boil up enough to be safe, and I don’t like the idea of coming up more than a day short on water with so much chance for more trouble before we make landfall.”
“You figure we’ve got to stop by the Lags?” Coop said.
“That’s what I figure,” the captain said with a nod.
“Would those be the Lagomoore Islands?” Nita asked.
“That they would. Though they’ve changed a bit since you Calderans closed your borders.”
“I would imagine so. They weren’t populated back then.”
“They aren’t populated now, either. At least, no more than a piece of meat is populated by maggots after a few days. A couple of enterprising traders took the place over, put up walls around all the springs, and otherwise found ways to wring a living out of the place. Resupplying there will cost us dearly, but it beats drying up, and it’ll give us a chance to get a patch on that hole up there. All this presents a problem for you though, Ms. Graus.”
“Why?”
“Getting down into the fug to talk to the fuggers isn’t the sort of thing you do all willy-nilly. It has to be planned weeks in advance. Before I even leave on a Caldera run, I make sure to set one up. It is scheduled for four days from now. With three busted turbines, we ain’t gonna make it, and this resupply trip is going to cost us another, or just shy of one.”
“How long will it take to reschedule it?”
“Can’t imagine it will be less than four weeks. Most likely you’ll either be back in Caldera by then, or else you’ll be with us for another month waiting for it.”
“No,” Nita said, anxiety in her voice, “that won’t do. My mother—”
“I know it, ma’am, but it can’t be helped.”
“It can be helped. Just let me fix the pipes.”
Captain Mack turned to Gunner.
“I told her, Captain. No repairs on the boiler.”
“Let me just do temporary ones then. I’ll remove them when we’re closer to shore.”
“Absolutely not. They’ll know.”
“I assure you I can do it in a way that won’t show.”
“Doesn’t matter. They know everything that happens out here. They probably know we’re here jawing about it,” Coop said.
“That’s silly. How could they?” Nita asked.
“Doesn’t much matter how they know. They just know, and I’m not gambling that this is the time they aren’t paying attention.”
“This has gone from a bizarrely restrictive business arrangement to pure superstition.”
“I don’t mind a bit of superstition if it keeps my ship and its crew safe. And I’ll thank you not to question any more of my orders,” he grumbled, with the hint of a threat in his voice.
“Well… I…” Nita grasped at scraps of ideas. “At least let me look at the damage a bit more. If I get a feel for the way the system is laid out, maybe I can find a way to reroute some pressure to the remaining turbines.”
The captain gave her a hard look, then turned to Gunner. “Gunner, show Ms. Graus everything she asks to see, and make it clear to her exactly what she can and can’t do.” He turned back to Nita again. “I’m giving you an awful lot of rope, Ms. Graus. Enough to hang yourself and the lot of us. So do us all a favor and don’t go tying any nooses.”
#
In minutes, Nita had changed back into her work suit. It may still have been wet, but she’d rather be damp and have all of her tools handy than dry and trying to get real work done in a dress. Now that she wasn’t constantly avoiding streams of dangerous steam, tracing out the operation of the boiler was at least possible. One thing was certain from the first hard look at it; the thing was needlessly complex. There was undeniable genius in its design, from components that were more intricate than she’d ever seen before to linkages that were nothing short of inspired, but for every work of industrial art there were two unnecessary features. Pipes traced nonsensical routes, folding back on themselves and tucking themselves far out of the way. Manifolds of intimidating complexity split pipes only to join them together again. Scores of extraneous components were placed in just such a way that removing or breaking even one of them would severely impair the function of the whole system. In short, it was fragile by design, intended to scare away would-be engineers and remain just sturdy enough to get back to the fug to be serviced regularly by its creators. It was a testament to the brilliance of its designers that, despite the purposeless complexity, it managed to be easily twice as efficient as the boilers back home.
If she had a day, she knew she could remove and reuse enough pieces to get most of its functionality back. If she had a few weeks, she could probably throw away half the mechanism and end up with a simpler, sturdier boiler that they could easily maintain themselves.
“It wouldn’t be difficult at all,” she concluded after explaining as much.
“And in exchange for that we lose our trade privileges with the fug folk in perpetuity. I don’t think you realize how much of their work and goods we rely upon,” Gunner countered.
“They are taking advantage of you. Of everyone! They’ve been doing your work for you so long that you’ve forgotten how to do it yourselves.”
“The advantage is theirs to take. And I’d keep my voice down if I were you. They are sure to hear you.”
“How? From where? Are they lurking in the shadows, Gunner?” She picked up a manifold that had been entirely dislodged by the boiler damage. “Is this bit of pointless complexity a listening device? They’ve got you paranoid.”
“Justifiably and stubbornly, so may we please move on?”
She sighed in frustration, throwing down the manifold and startling Wink, who had been staring at them with an indignant look since they chose to invade his domain. “You say you can replace valves, and we have one replacement. Where is it and which ones can it replace?”
He fished it out of the box and held it out to her, pointing with the other hand. “They’ll let us replace any of these five valves.”
“Well, those two are still working, and these two are on sections of ruptured pipe. This one was venting steam earlier, but if I followed it correctly, it only leads to the winches.”
Gunner nodded. “Come to think of it, those are always breaking down. Best to replace it.”
“What good would that do?”
“It would fix the winches.”
“That wouldn’t do me any good. I need the turbines working.”
“You are a member of this crew now. It doesn’t matter what is good for you, only what is good for the ship. You claim to be able to fix the whole boiler, let’s see you do some work.”
She nodded, more interested in getting back to her own task but not really able to argue with him. The procedure was the work of moments, something she’d done a thousand times back at the steamworks. When she was through, Gunner inspected it.
“Passable work,” he said. “That’s about all you can do in here then.”
“According to the rules, anyway. These thick pipes here lead to the turbines, I think. They run up to the next floor. I’m going to try to trace them out again. Maybe there is something I missed.”
“Suit yourself, but leave your tools so I can be sure you aren’t doing anything you shouldn’t. Perhaps you enjoy spending your time staring at pipes, but I’ve got a few hours of my ow
n to look at that fléchette gun from the wailer.”
“Oh?” she remarked, steadily dropping her tool sash, tool belt, and monkey-toe wrench to the floor. “I’m surprised the all-seeing fug folk will allow you to tinker with that?”
“It isn’t part of the ship. They couldn’t care less what we do with salvage.”
Gunner stood outside the door, waiting patiently for her to join him in the hall.
“Why do I feel more like a prisoner with each passing moment?” she asked.
“Because you are new on the ship and the captain doesn’t know if he can trust you.”
He tried to shut the door to the boiler room, but Wink scooted out just before it shut tight. The little beast glared with its beady red eye, first at Gunner, then at Nita.
“You know, for all I’ve heard about this thing being the ship’s inspector, I haven’t seen it do very much inspection at all. All it seems to do is sleep in the boiler room or stare at me.”
“He must be doing his rounds or we’d have shaken to pieces during those maneuvers, but as inspectors go, he’s not the best I’ve seen. I wouldn’t let the captain hear me say that, though. He loves that thing.”
“I wonder why.”
“I never cared enough to ask. See you at mealtime, and don’t do anything foolish.”
Nita nodded and set off toward the nearest ladder to find where the turbine feed pipes let out. Wink hopped along behind her, not taking his eye off her. It was the work of hours to trace out the maddening network of pipes again and again, trying to tease out an understanding of their layout. She stopped for meals twice, and once to sleep, but she was determined to find some way to keep to their schedule. Tracing the pipe runs from beginning to end more than three times revealed something new each time. Sometimes it was a new twist or turn that had escaped her notice on the previous pass, other times new valves presented themselves, or redundant connections turned up. Ginger taps to the pipes revealed that some were still getting steam, sending her once again to the start to find how it had gotten there and if it could be coaxed into running the turbines. A handful of adjusted switches and valves got the pressure as far as a leaky connection tucked deep in the space below some floorboards on the main deck that had been damaged during the attack. It must have been a troublesome connection even before taking a blow in the fight, because an ancient and moldy rag was tied around it, presumably in some fug folk approved attempt to get the leak under control. Now it was rushing with steam so viciously she could barely get near it.
“Ms. Graus. Sounds to me like some of those ailing turbines are showing signs of life,” the captain called out.
“Yes, Captain. This maze of piping is finally revealing its secrets. If I can just find one or two more tubes between here and the turbines, or maybe knock loose a clog, I think I could get them moving again.”
“Well, that’s fine, ma’am, but until you do, shut the pressure back off. Unless those turbines are up to full speed they’re just a waste of steam.”
“Agreed.” She reached down under the deck board and found the nearest valve, cutting the steam to the connection.
“We’re pulling up on the Lags,” he said. “I’ll be taking Butch, Coop, and Gunner to help me fetch the supplies. You’re here with Lil. We’re going to let the boiler go cold while we’re docked. I want the two of you to patch up the hole in the envelope, then scrape out the firebox and reservoir. Should get us another few knots.”
“Aye, Captain.”
“Ah! Ah ha!” Gunner crowed in triumph, the sound accompanied by a metallic grind as he pulled something free from the wailer craft. As Nita had been investigating the pipes, he’d been working on it with the same diligence and had managed to splay a sampling of the mechanical innards of the vehicle over much of the deck, piled in crates and baskets. “Finally got the gun free! And the grappler too!”
“Any use to us?” the captain asked.
“Both are steam powered. They’d have to be installed. You think we’ll have the money to have it done?”
“Let’s get there first. We can talk figures later. Stand ready, I’m bringing her down.”
A grinding sound kicked up above them, the same one that always accompanied their descents, and the ship tipped forward a bit. Nita carefully worked her way to the railing, held tight, and looked to the horizon. After her embarrassing first reaction to the view off the deck, and twice more nearly repeating it, Nita decided the churning her stomach did every time she remembered how high she was would have to be overcome, sooner rather than later. The number of times her pipe investigations had taken her to the deck gave her ample opportunities to immerse herself in the frightening view. Sure enough, each time it lost a bit of its bite. The pitch and shift of the ship still turned her stomach, but at least now she barely felt a flutter when she looked to the sky and sea. She watched the green specks against the sea slowly grow larger, the tiny chain of forgotten islands she’d only seen on a map until today. The sun was setting, painting the sky a rich gold and sparkling against the churning waves. Now that the gastric repercussions of the view had been put to rest, the beauty of it struck her with its full force, and it was nearly enough to take her breath away.
Gunner walked up to the railing beside her. “Nice to see you aren’t making any more offerings to the sea,” he said, fiddling a bit with the liberated weapon under his arm.
“Look at it, Gunner. How can you help but be awed by it?”
“The Lags? They’re one big cesspool of a place. What’s to be awed about?”
“I mean the view. Do you know how many painters I know who would give their firstborn children to paint a landscape like that?”
“If you wanted to see the world, you shouldn’t have closed your borders. Although I’ll tell you that most of the world isn’t half this pretty when you get up close. And something that’s only pretty from a distance isn’t really pretty at all, is it?”
“Beauty is beauty. It is present at any distance. You just need to learn how to see it.”
#
As deeply as Nita believed that there was beauty to be found in anything, she had to grudgingly agree that some places did a better job of hiding it than others. The Lagomoore Islands, for instance, lost any trace of beauty once the ship was near enough for them to see the clusters of rusty, ramshackle buildings and smell the rancid and acrid smoke that rose from them. The perfect, little points of emerald visible from the sea revealed themselves to be cluttered with the remains of easily a dozen airships that had crashed or, judging from the looks of the people milling about on the shore, been shot down. The Wind Breaker’s lazy spiral downward took them on an aerial tour of the largest island, where three more airships docked. Each ship had a unique configuration, but they all shared a similar level of disrepair. The largest of them was clearly the patrol ship for the island, based upon the raw firepower it had on display. It had as many cannons as it had portholes and twice the turbines that the Wind Breaker had.
Whereas a sea ship needed little more than to drop an anchor near the shore to dock, things were somewhat more complex for an airship. The anchor was always an option, but seldom a desirable one. In this case their dock was a quartet of rickety wooden towers jutting up from the shore in a roughly square configuration. The captain maneuvered his ship as gently as he could, bringing it to a near stop as they approached the first tower, where a man waited. Gunner heaved a mooring line to the man, who scrambled to secure it. Once secured, Gunner threw a second line to a second tower. Once satisfied the towers would keep them in place and the mooring lines were properly taut, Captain Mack gathered his crew.
“We’ll probably be onshore for the better part of two hours. Lil, Ms. Graus, your orders are simple. Patch the envelope, clean the boiler, and shoot any noncrewmember who tries to board the ship. If there’s time left after that, finish disassembling that wailer ship. Leaving it intact might draw some of their brothers itching for justice, but the parts should be worth something. We’ll be
back with as much food, fuel, and water as we’re willing to pay for in two hours. Be finished by then.”
With that, he and the rest of his crew were on their way.
“Okay, you heard the cap’n,” Lil said. “Follow me.”
She walked to a supply chest on the deck, still sporting some nails from the attack. From inside she fetched a lidded bucket of what looked like pitch, then handed Nita a brush, a long hooked needle, a length of rope, and some thread.
“Come on. I’ll show you the ropes,” Lil said. She led the way to the base of the rigging below the leak. It was a narrow net leading from a set of tie-downs on the deck to some fasteners on the envelope above. She gave the rigging a tug. “These are them. I’ll head up and get things ready. Give me the rope, then go cut a piece of the emptied-out envelope from that wailer you took care of. About… yay by about… yay,” she said, giving a rough sizing with her hands.
Lil clutched one end of the rope in her teeth and scampered effortlessly up the rigging. Once she reached the top she threaded the rope it and lowered it back down.
“Now put the brush in the bucket and tie the rope to the handle, then come on up.”
Nita tried to follow the directions. The first part was simple enough, but climbing the rigging turned out to be easier said than done. Nevertheless, she managed to reach the top with a bit of effort. Lil hauled the bucket up, tied off the rope, and pulled out the brush.
“The first step’s easy. Just slather a bunch of this black stuff around and over the hole.” She planted one foot on a knot in the rigging and swung out over the deck, reaching as far as she could and giving the fabric of the envelope a few good swipes. “Then you do the same to the cloth there. Not too much now. Then you slap it over the hole like that. Now the tedious bit. Gotta tie a sling so’s I can get a good angle on this.” She pulled up some of the slack end of the rope and tied a loop to the top of the rigging, then slipped her arms through the loop and stood against the rope, stretching the loop to its limit and positioning herself directly below the bulging patch. “Now you just sew it. Gotta do three rows.”
Free-Wrench, no. 1 Page 9
