Gaia's Brood

by Nick Travers

  Chapter 13

  “How about a warrant for your arrest?” Borker drawls like some cheesy detective in a cheap comic book. I’m already furious with him over the warrant and this does nothing to improve my mood. I’m jealous too, because I could never have thought up such a quip on the spot.

  We’ve just walked into arrivals hoping to pick up Nina’s trail and here she is, right in front of us. So she too noticed the missing pigeon—I thought she would.

  Some spotty kid behind a solid counter, his overalls splattered with pigeon droppings, is asking her for identification and she’s looking flummoxed. Well, whatever that pigeon was carrying is now evidence.

  We approached the Post Hub from below, through a storm raging beneath the grey cumulous cloud, hoping to sneak up on our prey. Despite the storm-lashed battering and the frayed tempers, the tactic has succeeded. She is ours.

  On arrival, our first duty was to report the suspected murder of Felix Swift. Borker volunteered for this irksome task and I, like a fool, let him go. My only excuse is my concerned for the state of my crew and ship. He returned, at length, with rather more than the incident report.

  Against my orders, Borker had only gone and issued a full international warrant for her arrest. His arms were laden with flyers for the crew to distribute—no wonder he took so long. “Here you are, boss,” he sneered, “Just as ordered.”

  What could I say? He made it look like my instructions. Inwardly, I fumed. Outwardly, for the benefit if the crew, I was compelled to play along, like an obedient puppy. What’s done is done, and he knows it—I have no choice. Hence my suggestion, in an attempt to regain control of the investigation, for us to visit the arrivals desk together.

  Nina spins round, shock splashed over her fine features. Surprise morphs to fear as she realizes she’s trapped, but how am I going to keep her out of Borker’s clutches and let her prove her innocence?

  I slide between Nina and Borker to keep them apart.

  Suddenly I’m on the floor looking up at a very fuzzy Nina Swift. Did she just hit me? Someone did.

  Nina is bending over me, her head curiously surrounded by a golden glow, like a halo. She’s shouting. I can see her lips moving, but the only sound I hear is the crashing of waves. She must have hit me so hard she decked me. She tugs at my arm and leans closer mouthing something about the place being on fire and getting back to my ship.

  Nina checks Borker over, her hair, unruly at the best of times, is full of dust and feathers. Borker looks worse than me and is bleeding from a head wound. Nina couldn’t possibly have taken us both out at the same time, could she? Something else has happened; something bad.

  An angry glow, no longer a halo, draws my eye. Fire—behind the arrival’s counter. How did she manage that? I hear my own voice, distant and far away among the rushing waves, like it belongs to someone else. “You?” My nose is bleeding all over my uniform.

  Nina hauls me to my feet and I grab the counter for support. “Of course not,” she shouts. The waves are ebbing away to a background hiss. “Now get going and take Borker with you.” As I help a dazed Borker to his feet, Nina pauses to snatch something from the arrivals counter, then pushes past and is gone. We’ve lost her again, but I’m not disappointed—at least she is out of Borker’s clutches.

  I support Borker as we stagger outside—ironic that I should be helping my enemy to freedom, but I wouldn’t leave anyone behind no matter how much I hate them. We entered the arrivals office from a crowded but ordered square; we exit into a scene from hell.

  The warehouse blazes furiously and the fire, fanned by a steady breeze, has already jumped narrow alleys to other buildings; the tinder dry walls are bursting into balls of flame. Everywhere people shout and scream and run. Fire crews charge to tackle the blazes, but they must already know it’s hopeless. The heat is tremendous now and even buildings on the windward side of the square are beginning to smolder. The fire has spread frighteningly fast.

  Some of our squad, who are waiting apprehensively outside, rush over to relieve me of my burden. I am surprised they are still here, but I suppose it’s not been that long really. Borker pushes away those trying to support him. “We’ve got to get out of here,” and he staggers around on wobbly legs, like a new-born calf. He’s coming around.

  A callow youth stumbles into me, then grabs my arm, staring at my uniform. “Please, Captain,” he pleads, “you must take control. Drop the Hub through the rain clouds into the storm below. It’s our only hope.”

  The youth staggers off into the smoke. “The control tower is this way…”

  Borker stares after the retreating youth. Then he glares at the smoke and flames as if they are an insult. “Back to the ship,” he orders as if he’s in control, and staggers towards the dock.

  “I’m staying,” I declare.

  Borker twists around to confront me and sways on his unsteady feet. “You’re the captain, young man.” A constable catches him. “Get off.” He staggers back upright. “It’s your duty to save the ship.”

  But he’s wrong, I have a higher calling and the youth has just revealed it to me.

  “I know what I need to do,” I declare, running in the opposite direction. “My duty is to protect and serve; my duty is to save these people,” I yell over my shoulder. “You go back to the ship if you want. The rest of you, with me.” To my surprise, the crew abandon Borker and follow me.

  We make our way hurriedly in the direction taken by the callow youth, though there is no sign of him now. Like most controls this one stands clear of the platform up wind, so for the moment it is clear of flames.

  Inside pandemonium reigns. “Where’s the captain,” I demand and someone points to a grey-haired gentleman hurriedly throwing maps and charts into a bag; clearly, he’s abandoning his post. How can he possibly quit so soon? The coward. I came here to offer assistance, but now I see more drastic action is required.

  I stride over to the commander and draw my compression pistol. “Going somewhere, Captain?”

  Everyone in the control room freezes, but before they can react my crew has them covered with their own weapons.

  The Captain turns on me. “Don’t be an idiot, kid. This platform is lost. The fire has already taken hold and there is nothing to cut away. The only option is to abandon the platform as fast as possible.”

  As we speak the platform collapses on one side, throwing us all off balance, but I still have him covered with my pistol.

  Evacuating an entire platform is a pretty hopeless task at the best of times—there are never enough life rafts. When the platform is a raging inferno, it is impossible. The only chance for those trapped on flaming decks is for ships to come alongside and scoop them off, and that requires someone to hold the platform rock steady.

  The Captain glares at me wide eyed. “All is lost. We must abandon the station. We’re all going to die.”

  I have met his sort before: a career platform—pilot happy to live the high—life, hob-knobbing with the high and mighty; attending glittering parties in the good times, but falling apart at the first sign of a crisis. All he really cares about is saving his own skin. “Your duty, Sir,” I remind him, “is to control this platform until everyone is safely clear.”

  “You’ll kill us all,” the Captain cries.

  “Probably.” I raise my pistol higher, aiming it right between his eyes. “I’m giving you a choice. You can die here, by my hand. Or you can die doing your duty and saving others.”

  “I’m in command here,” he growls.

  “Then command. And get this platform righted so people can get off.”

  Reluctantly, the captain sends a team off to release some blimps on the far side of the platform to straighten it, but as soon as the platform starts to level another balloon bursts sending the platform lurching in the opposite direction.

  Time for the youth’s plan. “Now listen, Captain. There’s a raging storm below us. If we drop the platform through the storm clouds there is a chance
the rain will put out the flames.”

  Suddenly, the Captain is galvanized into action. He absently pushes my pistol away and starts barking orders. Sending runners off in all directions to do his bidding. It’s like he’s morphed into a younger, keener, version of himself. My crew and I are suddenly consigned to the role of spectators.

  Before long the platform is plummeting earth-wards. Out the window, I see the flames now blazing skyward rather than continuing to spread throughout the platform. At least our actions have stopped the fire spreading to any more lower decks. Acrid grey smoke fills the control deck as flames roar up towards us. We may just save the rest of the platform while roasting ourselves.

  Without warning, we are below the storm clouds. A wild wind grabs the post platform like a giant fist and starts shaking it violently, while heavy rain drenches the top deck of the platform and cascades in giant waterfalls to the lower decks. Hissing steam replaces the smoke and the lurid glow of flames die down. We’ve done it.

  Cheering echoes from the lower decks, as those convinced they were about to die celebrate their salvation. Of course, I could actually be in a lot of trouble; I have after all held the control crew at gunpoint. So while the crew is distracted by the magnitude of their success, I shepherd my own people out the door as quickly as I can. However, just as I’m grabbing hold of the rough ladder to make my own exit I realize the Captain has spotted our departure. I freeze, expecting recriminations and pursuit. Instead, he salutes me and deliberately turns his back so I can escape. And why not, he’s the hero of the hour and he won’t want some smarmy kid telling everyone of his earlier cowardice.

  Leaving the Captain and his crew to bask in their glory I descend to the steaming mass of charcoal below and go in search of the postie from the arrivals hall—I bet he still remembers what was in that message from Nina’s Uncle