by Paul Crilley
But it wasn't. Wavering plumes of thick, oily smoke drifted above London.
He stared at it in shock, then ran to the trapdoor and shouted below, “They've started! We're too late!”
The others rushed onto the deck. As they drew closer to the city they could see the smoke was coming from where the Houses of Parliament had once stood.
The buildings were gone. Just…gone. The old Big Ben was nowhere to be seen. All that was left was a smoking hole in the ground, a hole that was slowly expanding.
As they watched in helpless horror, London Bridge buckled. It sagged, and then the supports disintegrated and the entire structure dropped slowly into the Thames. The weight of the bridge sucked the water under, and a few seconds later it erupted upward again in a dark fountain that flashed into steam as soon as it touched the death ray.
There was no doubting anymore. Sekhem and Nehi were going to kill everyone in London unless they were stopped.
“Come on,” called Tweed, running for the hold where the pods were kept.
The others followed him into the dim underbelly of the ship, pulling on their flying goggles and strapping themselves in. Only four pods in all. Tweed and Octavia in one, Elizabeth and Molock in another, Faber and Ampney in the third, and Campbell and Kolotcha in the last. Strauss was staying behind to help with the hull-mounted guns while Solomon flew the ship.
Octavia took the gun, not because Tweed was better at flying than her (at least, that's what she said—he reckoned differently) but because she was a better shot than he was. (They knew this for a fact, unfortunately. They'd had a competition.)
Solomon pulled a lever and trapdoors in the hull fell open. The pods dropped. Tweed let them fall for a few seconds, then thrust the lever forward to build up some speed.
They peeled away from the airship. The other three pods dropped into the sky, then banked and veered to either side. They headed straight for the Houses of Parliament. Tweed squinted into the clouds. There. He could see the disturbance in the air, the same as when they were chasing the constructs. It was actually harder to notice against the clouds, probably because the Albion itself wasn't moving. No one else would even know it was there.
“Remember the plan!” Octavia shouted behind him.
He nodded. It wasn't much of a plan, if they were being honest. The others were going to act as a distraction while Tweed and Nightingale snuck aboard. They'd been chosen because they already knew the layout of the airship.
Tweed pushed the acceleration lever forward as far as it would go. The pod lunged ahead, shaking violently with the strain. The air howled in his ears. He pulled back on the steering stick, trying to gain some height. This was going to be tricky. They needed to hit the Albion from the bottom, but that was kind of difficult when they couldn't really see the bottom.
They were about a hundred meters from the airship when the ornithopters suddenly appeared, blinking into existence as they exited the invisibility field cast around the Albion. He heard the distant rattle of gunfire as they picked their targets.
Octavia swung her own gun on its pivot and fired solid slugs of energy at the ornithopters. Bullets zipped past their pod. Tweed banked, trying to keep moving so he wouldn't be an easy target.
Kolotcha and Campbell dived straight in, aiming for the closest ornithopter and firing madly. Their shots skimmed the wings of one of their attackers and it dropped through the air in a crazed corkscrew. Tweed tilted the pod slightly so he could see it crash into the waters of the Thames far below.
Tweed pulled to the left, hoping to avoid the battle and slip past unnoticed. But two ornithopters peeled away and came for them. Tweed turned slightly, moving side on to give Octavia a chance to fire. Her shots sliced through the air, missing their pursuers and disappearing into the clouds.
The ornithopters drew close, sticking to their rear. Tweed tried to shake them. He pulled up and they followed. He dropped, then banked. They did the same.
He got desperate, trying to twist and fall at the same time, skimming over the water and rising up about a hundred feet back along their path. He thought his pursuers would both follow. One did. The other slowed almost to a standstill, which meant Tweed brought his pod back up directly in front of him.
Tweed found himself staring into the barrel of a gun. Except it wasn't just one barrel. It was another of those autocannons. One of the cultists furiously cranked a handle and the barrel spun, spitting out bullets directly at them.
Tweed pushed forward on the stick, but he wasn't quick enough. Bullets peppered their side, cutting holes in the metal flank and barely missing Tweed's leg. He cut all power and dropped straight down. Octavia pulled the gun back and fired up at the ornithopter's belly.
Her shots struck home, ripping a hole right through the ornithopter. It somersaulted backward then dropped like a stone, trailing black smoke in its wake.
“Good shot!” Tweed shouted, pulling up. He craned his neck around to see where the second attacker was. He tried to see past Octavia's head, but she stiffened suddenly and pointed behind him.
He whipped around and saw the ornithopter coming straight at them, the craft's wings folded back in a diving position. What was the idiot doing? There was no way he could pull out of such an attack. Folding the wings was for when the craft were parked.
He was going to crash into them.
“DUCK!” screamed Octavia.
Tweed dropped his head and felt heat sear his neck as Octavia fired the gun. There was a scream, abruptly cut off. He looked up to see the ornithopter, smoking and on fire, heading straight for them. He yanked the lever to the side. The pod banked right. The ruined ornithopter scraped along the bottom of their pod, sending them spinning into the clouds.
Tweed managed to steady the craft. He quickly looked around. There were no more attackers coming for them so he aimed straight for the wavering spot that signaled the location of the Albion.
He slowed down as they approached, eventually moving at no more than a crawl. He stared intently upward, nudging their craft slowly up.
And then the wooden underside of the hull faded into view.
Tweed blinked, then realized they had entered the field given off by the invisibility generators. Octavia tapped him on the shoulder and pointed to a spot on the hull.
“Over there,” she shouted.
Tweed nodded and moved the craft forward. When they drew close he saw a trapdoor in the underside of the airship. But there was no way to open it from this side.
“Drop lower a bit!” she shouted.
Tweed did as instructed and Octavia fired the pod's gun at the trapdoor. It burst away into the ship, leaving a gaping opening in the hull. Tweed guided the ship forward and Octavia undid her safety harness, stood up, and leaped into the Albion. A moment later she poked her head out again.
“Come on then!”
Easier said than done. This was the tricky bit. Tweed undid his own harness, then balanced the steering stick with his knees. He reached up, but he wasn't close enough to grab the lip of the trapdoor. He'd have to stand.
He looked around at the clouds and mist all around him. Off to their left the others exchanged gunfire with the cultists. He watched Elizabeth fly her pod beneath an ornithopter, Molock shooting it from beneath. The enemy vessel burst into flame and spiraled out of the sky. Then Dr. Campbell flew through the thick smoke given off by the explosion, heading straight for two more ornithopters. Kolotcha stood up in his seat, firing widely into the sky. Tweed could see, even from this distance, that he was screaming defiantly into the air as he did so.
A bullet struck him in the chest.
Tweed cried out in horror. Dr. Campbell took her eyes off the ornithopters to see why Kolotcha had stopped firing. She saw the Russian slumped over in his seat and grabbed his arm. He was still alive, barely. He looked up and gripped her hand.
Both ornithopters opened fire on their pod, the bullets ripping it to pieces in seconds.
Tweed squeezed his eyes shut, t
urning quickly away. He didn't want to see that, didn't want to see them die. He took a deep breath and looked up to see that Octavia still had her head hanging out of the trapdoor. She had seen everything.
Tweed furiously wiped tears from his eyes and stood up in the pod. He steadied himself, then jumped toward Octavia. His fingers curled over the edge of the trapdoor, but his foot banged against the pod as it dropped away below him. He lost his grip and ended up swinging wildly, the fingers of one hand the only thing preventing him from falling.
Octavia grabbed his arm, steadying him. He reached up and caught hold of the hatch with his free hand. He waited a couple of seconds to catch his breath, then pulled himself up.
He stood up and looked around, avoiding Octavia's gaze. He didn't want to see her pain, didn't want her to see his.
They were in a narrow space between the floor of the airship and the actual hull. Tweed had to bend over so as not to hit his head. Toward the center of the space was a protective metal casing that dropped through the hull and rose up into the ship. The death ray. They hurried over, but the metal was thick and solid. They tried to fire their guns at it, but the electricity just skittered off the metal like oil on water. They weren't going to disable it that way.
Octavia led him to a second trapdoor that led up into the Albion itself. Into a store room, to be exact. The store room led out into a dim corridor. There were no lights lit anywhere. They paused in the doorway, listening. But all they could hear was their own breath.
They made their way through the airship, moving quickly up through the levels, drawing closer to the Bridge. That was where the scientists said they had built the controls for the death ray. That was where Sekhem and Nehi would be. They didn't encounter a single soul along the way. The airship was abandoned.
They arrived at the final set of stairs leading up to the bridge level. Tweed glanced at Octavia surreptitiously as they climbed the steps and moved quietly along the wood-paneled corridor. He had a plan, but he knew she wouldn't go for it. He had to do this carefully.
“Remember when Sekhem tried to make me choose between you and Molock?” he whispered.
“Yes.”
“Do you remember what I said if the situation were reversed? That I'd want you to do what was right? Not to save me because I'm your friend, but to do the right thing?”
“I remember. I also remember you couldn't make that choice yourself.”
“Because I honestly didn't think he would do it. After talking to him in his room…I don't know, I thought I understood him.”
“But you didn't.”
“I suppose not. But what if it was a choice between you and saving thousands of lives. What would you want me to do?”
Octavia didn't answer at first. “Why are you asking me this?” she said slowly.
“I just want to know,” he insisted. “What would you have me do?”
“What was right, I suppose. Thousands saved in exchange for my life? It's not really complex.”
“But only if you gave your permission,” insisted Tweed. “That's what I'm always trying to say. No one has the right to make that choice for someone.”
“I suppose…”
“I'd be the same,” said Tweed quickly. “My life for thousands? Easy choice.”
“Tweed—”
“Shh.” Tweed held up his hand. Octavia paused. “Sorry,” he said after a moment. “Thought I heard something.”
A lie. But he didn't want Octavia to ask him anything more. He'd put it in her mind now. That was enough.
He checked his gun. “You ready?”
Octavia took a nervous breath. “As I'll ever be. Do we have a plan?”
“I thought making it up as we went along was our plan.”
She smiled at him. He winked, then they hurried along the last ten feet of corridor, pausing before the door that led into the bridge. The last time Tweed had been here was to bring the captain and his crew their tea and coffee. He wondered where they were now. Had they made it off the Albion when Sekhem stole it? Or had they been among the unlucky ones who plummeted to their deaths in the desert? What about Violet? Had she made it?
He gripped the gun tightly, then carefully pushed the handle. He opened the door slowly, peering inside.
The interior of the bridge had changed. There was a new console in the center of the floor, replacing the globe of the world that had been there before. The console held a few levers and a view screen showing a grainy sepia image of London.
It also held Tesla's soul.
It was inserted into a slot in the center of the console, its white light spilling out over the brass and wood.
Sekhem and Nehi stood over the console, staring at the screen. Nehi muttered something and pulled the lever down, but Sekhem put a hand over hers.
“Slowly, my sister. We must make them suffer. They must taste the fear.”
They entered the bridge, guns extended before them. Octavia moved to the right and Tweed to the left.
“Move away from the console,” said Tweed.
Sekhem and Nehi spun around, both of them drawing thin swords from scabbards hanging at their waists.
“How did you get here?” snarled Nehi.
“Move away,” said Tweed, louder this time.
Sekhem stared at him, eyes narrowed. “I don't think so, Mr. Tweed.”
“I'll shoot you.”
Sekhem reached out and rested his hand on a button. “Shoot me and I'll push this button. It turns the power of the death ray up to maximum and locks it there. What you might call an insurance policy. For when your people finally boarded us and tried to shut it down. The two of us might die, but we'll take London with us.”
“You've proven your point,” said Tweed. “There's still time to stop this. To salvage the situation.”
“There is nothing to salvage!” shouted Nehi. “You killed my children. Your people will die in return.”
Tweed's eyes opened wide. “Your children…?” Tweed remembered when Sekhem was first telling him about Tak'al, about how the sickness was killing his people. He had stopped short when he mentioned his sister.
“My sister's son was one of the first to die,” said Sekhem. “Then her daughter. It was why we took the crown from Molock. He was not doing anything. He was just standing by and letting our children die!”
Tweed's hand dropped. He stared at Nehi. He could see the pain there. The agony of a mother losing a child. Even though their faces were different it was all in the eyes.
“Tweed?” said Octavia.
Tweed dropped his gun on the floor.
“Tweed?” said Octavia, more insistent this time.
Tweed ignored her. He took a step forward, then another. Sekhem and Nehi both pointed their blades at him.
“What are you doing?” snapped Nehi. “Stay back.”
Tweed kept walking until the points of the blades were only a few inches away from his chest.
“I'm so sorry,” he said. “So sorry for what happened.”
“I do not need your sympathy!”
“I understand now. Finally. Why you are doing this. But you must still see it's wrong. Your children died. Think of all that pain you are feeling. You are going to inflict that same torture on how many others?”
“They deserve it!”
“They don't. They're innocent. Like your children were. There is a way forward from here, Nehi. A way to fix this. To heal your people.” He looked at Sekhem. There was doubt in his eyes. The slightest flicker. He moved his hand away from the button. Nehi saw it too.
“No!” she screamed. “Sekhem. They must pay for what they have done. Remember Alabeth? The dead in the streets. The sick calling for your help. Whole families, rotting in their homes, still clutching each other in death. And it's all because of them!”
Sekhem's face hardened. Tweed saw him reach out for the button again. He sighed. He had tried.
“Octavia?” he called. “Remember what we just talked about?”
“What—?”
Tweed reached out and grabbed the two blades hovering before his chest. He felt their sharp edges slice into his palms. Sekhem and Nehi stared at him in surprise, then tried to pull the blades out of his grip. He winced in pain, feeling the blood well between his fingers. But he kept hold.
“Do it, Octavia!” he shouted. “Shoot me!”
“What?” Octavia screamed. “Tweed, what?”
“Shoot me! My life for London. Remember?”
“No!” screamed Octavia. “Tweed, I won't!”
Tweed gritted his teeth as Sekhem and Nehi tried to pull the blades away. The razor sharp blades sliced even deeper into his flesh. He looked over his shoulder at Octavia.
“My…choice…” he said, trying his best not to scream at the pain.
“Tweed…I don't…I can't—”
“I can't hold this much longer, Songbird. Please.”
Then he heard the snap of electricity and his whole body was slammed with something monumentally heavy. He screamed as the blue lighting surged through his body, down his arms, into the blades, and into Sekhem and Nehi. They cried out, the three of them caught in a deadly cage of lighting. He could smell burning, could hear a hideous buzzing in his ears, like gigantic bees eating him from the inside. Sekhem looked into his eyes, and the last thought that went through Tweed's head before his heart stopped beating was:
He understands. He respects my choice.
Octavia watched in horror. There was a huge, terrifying bang, and all three of them were thrown into the air. Sekhem and Nehi hit the wall and slid to the floor, unmoving. Tweed flew back toward her and landed heavily at her feet.
Octavia ran frantically to the console and yanked Tesla's soul out of the machine, disabling the death ray. Then she spun around and dropped to her knees next to Tweed. Smoke rose from his clothes. His skin was deathly white.
She put her head to his chest. Nothing. No heartbeat.
“No, no, no,” she sobbed.
She straightened his body, then joined her fists together and pushed down on his chest. One, two, three, four. She stopped, tilted his head back, then leaned down and blew air into his lungs.
