Free-Wrench, no. 1

by Joseph R. Lallo

  “Coop, you idiot!” Gunner growled, scrambling over the mound of loot and reaching for his dangling crewmate’s foot. “Nita, bring us gently to the right!”

  “I ain’t so worried about gentle so much as fast!” Coop countered, his voice a bit more steady than it ought to be for a man racing over the street hanging from an airship.

  Nita feathered the control stick and managed to move the cart in range of the steadily lowering Coop without dislodging Gunner. When the deckhand had been successfully hauled aboard again, the pair guided the hook down and looped it around the support above one of the wheels. The Wind Breaker loomed over them, inching the other chains into reach.

  “Boys, could you hurry it up?” Nita said, nerves fluttering her voice.

  “Doing the best we can,” Coop said.

  “Well, do it faster! We’ve got two problems! We’re running out of road!” she said.

  “How can you see that in this soup?” Gunner asked, struggling to secure the second hook.

  “That’s the other problem.”

  Ahead, the street that had thus far been mercifully straight approached a T-junction that would put their forward progress to a sudden and catastrophic end. Illuminating that hazard was a pair of additional patrol ships answering the distress whistle of the one they had blown out of the sky. The distant ships focused primarily on the airship, though at their extreme distance the fléchettes scattered in an unpredictable cloud of razor-sharp darts. They clanged off the cart’s hefty boiler, punctured pipes, and whistled by the exposed crew.

  “Almost got it,” Coop said, straining against the final chain to get enough slack to hook it in place.

  “Hey! You all stop messing around down there! Cap’n says you’ve got to the count of ten before he pulls up! And he’s up to five already. Four. Three. Two…”

  “Just… a touch… more…” Coop groaned.

  “Time’s up!” she yelled.

  The ship jerked upward, punching the hook through the side of the platform rather than hooking under it.

  “That’ll do her, I guess,” Coop said, scratching his head.

  The chains groaned against their load, but for a few moments the cart continued to trundle along the ground.

  “The Wind Breaker can lift this thing, can’t it?” Nita said, eyes widening as the details of the approaching wall of buildings became more distinct.

  “It can lift us,” Gunner assured her. “It can lift us.” Upon repeating, it sounded strangely like he was trying to convince himself.

  Finally the wheels began to stutter and skip on the ground, then the whole cart was hoisted into the air. As it rose, it rotated, crashing through hanging store signs and wooden shutters. Nita, Gunner, and Coop watched silently as they drew closer to the end of the street, each mentally comparing their rate of ascension to the remaining distance and not liking the results of the equation. Worse, the closer they came to the patrol ships, the more on target their weapon fire was.

  “We’re not going to clear the buildings… We’re not going to clear the buildings!” Nita cried.

  “Maybe we’ll get lucky and they’ll kill us with them darts before we hit the wall,” Cooper offered.

  “You all need to hold on and cover your ears. We’re just about lined up!” Lil called down from above.

  Nita salvaged just enough of her panicked brain to obey, wrapping an arm around one of the winch chains and plugging her ears. She watched through squinted eyes and dusty goggles, the buildings and patrol ships nearly on top of them. Then came the sound, a roaring blast that made the detonation of the warehouse wall sound like a whisper in comparison. Captain Mack had fired both sets of forward cannons simultaneously. Their scattershot load tore effortlessly through the envelopes of the enemy ships, one with a direct hit that caused the gondola to plummet a short distance to the vacant houses below, releasing its load of phlogiston in one glorious green plume of light. The other strike was a glancing one, yet it pulverized the propeller on one side to send the ship in a slower but more erratic path.

  The kick from firing the cannons cut the ship’s forward speed drastically, causing the dangling load of crew and loot to swing forward. Nita, Gunner, and Coop hung on for dear life, time seeming to slow to a crawl as their suspended cart lurched forward and strained at its chains. Though the slowing effect of the cannons was enough for the ship and the payload to clear the roof, they didn’t do so cleanly. The cart bashed like a wrecking ball through a stout chimney, dusting the crew with shattered masonry and nearly knocking them loose.

  “Is that it? Was that all of them?” Coop asked, shaking his head. “I hope so. If anything else sets us to spinning I’m going to end up making an offering.”

  Nita scanned around them as the winches began to draw them closer to the ship.

  “It looks like there’s two left,” she said.

  The air split again with another cannon blast, this time to their rear. It knocked the pursuing patrol ship from the sky and sent the cart on another pendulous swing.

  “Make that one,” she corrected, holding tight.

  They turned to the final pursuer. The craft could easily have been the Wind Breaker’s sister ship. Its overall shape was the same, and it had a similar—though considerably bulkier—turbine configuration. Notably absent was anything resembling armaments. In place were large grappling cannons on either side of the deck.

  Coop looked. “Aw, that’s just a tow ship. What could that thing do?”

  As an answer, a thump echoed as a grappler was launched in their direction. It traveled in a low arc, crashing down on the aft railing and beginning to reel in.

  “What have I told you about tempting fate?” Gunner growled, slapping Coop on the back of the head.

  Captain Mack pushed the engines hard, tearing the ship free of the tow ship’s grip at the cost of most of the rear railing.

  “Now would be a good time to get in here,” Lil called from above as the cart drew in as far as the winch would bring it. The crew scrambled up through the gig hatch. “Cap’n says Wink is hopping up and down something fierce. I think we’ve got something worse than a tow ship on the way.”

  Chapter 15

  The Wind Breaker breeched through the surface of the fug at full speed, dragging lavender streamers behind. Their mission in the fug had taken them far from the city center of Keystone, but not so far that the local mountaintops weren’t speckled with homes, workshops, and lantern-topped mooring posts. Night had fallen while they were below, but families sitting down at the dinner table were treated to quite a show as Captain Mack turned his prow toward the mountains while the tow ship burst from beneath them.

  “Is that cart of yours secure? If we lose that loot, we’re through,” he barked into the speaking tube.

  “I’m on it, Cap’n,” Coop replied.

  “Gunner and Nita, I want you on deck. Lil, reload all cannons.”

  The crew stowed their masks in the gig room equipment chest and jumped to their tasks. Gunner climbed out onto the deck first, Nita close behind. It had not fared well. Lines of fléchettes crisscrossed the deck, splintering struts, severing ropes, and turning the envelope into a veritable pincushion. The gummy layer of self-sealant and a few strategically placed reinforcement patches had kept it reasonably intact despite the assault, but even so a few leaks still faintly fluoresced from the residual fug.

  “Nita, I’m hearing some steam escaping, and the second starboard turbine is feeling sluggish. Get on that,” Captain Mack ordered.

  Nita nodded, looking to Mack.

  “Oh my gosh! Captain, are you all right?!”

  The captain had not fared much better than his ship. A long, bloody wound ran across his left side, presumably where a fléchette had brushed him, and a crooked metal dart stuck out of this thigh. Butch was already by his side on one knee, applying a bandage while the captain continued to guide the ship. Wink cowered at his healthy leg.

  “It was a ricochet. It’s nothing. Get on the rep
airs!”

  She lingered for a moment more but forced her concern aside and scanned the darkness for venting steam.

  “Gunner, I don’t want another grappling hook taking any more of my ship. Get that tow ship off our back. I think it’s time we broke out a ‘telescope.’”

  “With pleasure,” Gunner said, running to the railing and pulling free one of the blankets concealing an installed and operational fléchette gun salvaged from the wailer.

  “I’ll swing around. Make quick work of it,” the captain ordered.

  The engines labored and the ship slowly came around. Gunner’s eyes gleamed as he leveled the weapon at the moonlit tow ship. “Let’s see what this can do.”

  He pulled the trigger and sent a string of stolen darts at the enemy. They swiftly disappeared into the night, none seeming to have hit the target.

  “A bit difficult to aim at night,” he said, furrowing his brow. He adjusted and fired again, this time receiving the reward of a distant patter of impacts. Another string punched a large enough hole in their pursuer’s envelope to prevent it from maintaining altitude, and it disappeared back into the fug, where the escaping gas lit up the cloud like green lightning.

  “Good work, Gunner,” the captain said. “How’s the repair coming, Ms. Graus?”

  “Won’t be a moment. It was just a pipe puncture,” she said, clamping a cuff onto a pipe. “I’ll do a more permanent repair when I can.”

  “Okay,” Coop yelled from the hatch. “Loot’s all hooked up. You folks know there’s a sleeping fugger down here?”

  “Ignore him. Just get up here and keep your eyes peeled. Wink still seems a bit concerned.”

  He climbed up, a look of disappointment on his face. “You mean you already took out the tow ship?”

  “Indeed. The new gun worked like a charm!” Gunner said like a proud father.

  Coop tipped his head and furrowed his brow in the effort of thought. “How many fuggers you figure we killed?”

  “Aw, I wouldn’t be surprised if we didn’t kill any. The nice thing about these ships is they tend to crash pretty slow. And them fuggers are tough,” the captain said, wincing as Butch yanked free the dart in his leg without warning.

  Coop sighed. “That was pretty easy, when you really think about it.”

  Gunner scowled. “Didn’t we just have that chat about tempting fate?”

  “What else could they throw at us?”

  Wink, who seldom made a sound besides his incessant tapping, audibly squealed. He hopped desperately for the hatch below decks until he reached the end of his harness leash and was jerked from his feet. A few moments later, the sound that his sensitive ears had picked up became audible to the others. It sounded like propellers, the sort that might be on a patrol ship, but wrong somehow. The sound was deeper and less distinct. Then came the motion. A section of the fug began to bulge upward, like a bubble forming on the surface of a tar pit. A vigorous churning appeared around nearly half the dome, at least a dozen propellers chopping at the surface of the fug. The purple mist slid away from the top of the bulge, revealing first several strings of serrated fins, then the gleaming sheen of some sort of metallic cloth.

  Two brilliant shafts of light suddenly erupted from beneath the fug, spotlights of some kind, burning like lime lights. They pivoted and swept as the thing continued to rise. It was an airship, but larger than anything they’d encountered before. When it finally cleared the fug, it was revealed to have three envelopes keeping it aloft. The main one was an armored and barbed mountain of a sack, easily five times the size of the whole of the Wind Breaker. The secondary balloons were a bit less than half the size of the main one, slung behind the main one to support what was less a ship and more a multitier gun platform. Cannons and lesser guns utterly ringed the platform, and manned turrets even spanned along the front edge of the envelope, while droning fans lined the entire rear half of the main envelope’s circumference. It was a vicious and predatory thing, a warship without question.

  “Ho-lee hell… a dreadnought…” Coop said, his jaw dropping open.

  “Gunner, slap Coop for me, would you?” the captain said.

  Gunner obliged, delivering a motivating slap to the back of his crewmate’s head. “Your talking privileges are revoked.”

  “Have you ever seen anything like this before?” Nita asked once she’d wrestled aside enough fear to speak.

  “Withholding repairs is how the fuggers keep ships in line. Withholding resources is how they keep cities in line. The dreadnought is how they keep nations in line. Just knowing the thing exists has been enough to keep both Circa and Westrim from forming an army and breaking their hold on us,” he explained, shutting down the turbines and turning a knob that shut off the lights. “We must have got our hands on something really good, if they sent that thing after us.”

  “Why did you shut off the turbines? Shouldn’t we escape?”

  “It is faster than us, and there’s nothing we have that will be able to knock it out before it can knock us out. Best we can do is run silent and hope it looks the wrong way, then run.”

  They all stood in silence, watching the spotlights at the forward edge of the dreadnought methodically scan for the Wind Breaker. As it did, the captain spoke orders just loudly enough to be heard.

  “Gunner, how are we on ammunition for the dart gun?”

  “Not much left, Captain. We only had what was left in the wailer, and what we could salvage from what had been fired at us.”

  “Make sure it is ready to fire. If you’ve got anything in that collection of yours that might do some good, be ready to use it. Coop, help him haul up whatever he thinks he can use. Glinda, you’d best load up on fresh bandages.” They quickly got to work. “Ms. Graus, how is that repair?”

  “Strong enough.”

  “Strong enough to take a little more pressure than perhaps your new boiler was really meant for?”

  “For a little while, probably.”

  He was silent for a time, the two of them alone on the deck.

  “You done good work for us in these last few days, Nita,” he said. “It takes a special sort to find a place on a ship like this. You ain’t perfect, but I think there’d be a place for you.”

  She sensed that, for this moment, he wasn’t speaking as a superior officer addressing his crew. He was McCulloch West, the man, wishing to share something that he might not get a chance to say in the future.

  “I never would have set foot on a ship like this if I didn’t have to… but I must admit that I feel I’ve lived more in these last few days than in the years before,” she said.

  He nodded. “A ship may cut your days short, but it’ll make sure the ones you’ve got are filled to the brim. I call it a fair trade.” He squinted his eyes, and his face hardened. When he spoke, it was once again with the tone of authority. “That spotlight is coming our way. We’re made. Go find Lil and help her feed the firebox. A double load of coal. No slow-burn. I want us running hot, Ms. Graus. Too hot.”

  By the time he finished delivering the order, a spotlight cast its blinding light upon them. He pushed the turbines to life. Nita dashed for the hatch and navigated the halls of the ship. Lil waited near the aft magazine.

  “Come on, we need to feed the firebox. A double load,” Nita said.

  “He wants to overstoke? Must be something real bad out there, huh?” Lil said, running quickly toward the fuel room.

  “A dreadnought.”

  She shot Nita a look that seemed wholly out of place. It was fear. “The dreadnought. I never seen it. I was always kind of glad about that.”

  “What is this overstoking?” Nita asked.

  They reached the fuel room and began to load up. “It was something he used to tell us about. He got in a real bad scrape on his first ship, years ago. The Vanguard or something like that. A dozen wailers. He overstoked the boiler to squeeze some extra speed out.”

  “Did it work?”

  “Well, he’s alive, but he a
in’t got that ship no more, so yes and no.”

  They made their way to the boiler and began to feed in the coal. There was a distant thump, then the ship rocked violently to the side. The captain’s voice came blaring out of the speaking tube.

  “We are taking fire. Get that box stoked. Lil, you’ll be on both fore and aft cannons. Keep them loaded. Grapeshot aft, standard shot fore. Nita, on deck. I want you on hand for repairs. I’m going to need everything this ship can give me. I can’t afford to be coping with disabled controls, or we’re through.”

  They finished their current task and Nita rushed for the deck. The ship lurched aside again, not with the suddenness of a weapon hit but with the swing of a dodge. She climbed to the deck to find the dreadnought already nearly on top of them. Captain Mack pushed his ship to climb, but their heavy load robbed them of their nimbleness. The dreadnought, for its size, was terrifying in its maneuverability. The one thing it didn’t seem to be able to do was climb quickly, so the battle was, for the moment, a slow race skyward. Mack had been able to keep them just barely above the main cannons. The attack ship did not appear to be fully manned, leaving several of the upper turrets without operators, but at least two were harrying them with darts that made those of the patrollers and the wailers look like toothpicks.

  “They aren’t aiming for the envelope, and they weren’t targeting direct hits when we were in range of the main cannons. They must be trying to recover the cargo intact. The higher we go, the less likely they are to be willing to shoot us down,” the captain said as Gunner heaved a sack of weaponry onto the deck. “Gunner, I want those lights out. Those fuggers can see well enough in the dark, we don’t need them getting any help. Once those are out, fire at will. Now’s not the time to hold anything back.”

  “On it, Captain,” Gunner said. He rushed to the fléchette gun and pitched it down toward the spotlights.

  The brilliance of the light made it difficult to target directly, but a few quick crisscrosses of the approximate area managed to shatter the glass of the first light and fracture its workings. While targeting the second one, the fléchette gun ran dry of ammo.