by Frank Tuttle
“There is another portion on the stove. Please, help yourself. I regret that we may not remain to dine with you.”
Meralda stood. “Yes. We must be going. Mother, please don’t stray too far from Celestia today.”
“I plan to remain aboard. We have barely inspected a quarter of the craft. I believe it is safe to pry a bit alone, don’t you? Celestia can warn me of any dangers.”
“I suppose so,” Meralda said. “But be careful all the same. And please don’t try to operate every piece of machinery you see. We can’t afford to be reckless.”
Her mother gestured with her fork. “I’m merely flamboyant today. But tomorrow, who knows?”
Meralda shook her head and marched away.
“She is the most infuriating woman I’ve ever known,” Meralda said, as the doors slid shut behind her. “I apologize for that ridiculous display.”
“She was well within the boundaries of decency,” said Donchen.
Meralda huffed. “I disagree. She was dressed most inappropriately.” She paused as they came to an intersection of corridors. “Celestia, which way to the extrusion station?”
“Follow the indicators,” the ship replied. A green arrow appeared on the wall beside Meralda.
“She has your attention, though,” Donchen said, as they walked. “I surmise that was her intent.”
“She need not parade about half-clothed to accomplish that. What is she up to?”
Donchen stuck his hands in his pockets and fell into a saunter. “I believe she wishes to show you that she is more than just the cold, heartless woman you remember. Perhaps she even wishes to prove that same point to herself.”
“I have accepted her for who and what she is. Is that not enough?”
“Apparently not. But.” He stopped talking.
“But? But what?”
“We have much to do. Perhaps this conversation is best left for another time.”
Meralda stopped. “Oh no.” She crossed her arms over her chest. “I wish to hear you out.”
Donchen turned to face her. “As you will. I have spent some time with your mother, you know. Enough to know that she has mastered the art of projecting any number of personas, depending on the needs of the moment.”
Meralda nodded agreement. “She is permanently deceptive. What of it?”
“She deflects. Manipulates. And yes, she can lie easily and quite convincingly, when she chooses. To influence situations for her gain, whatever that might be. Agreed?”
“Oh yes.”
“That is one aspect of her personality,” Donchen replied. “One might say the dominant one. But I believe there is another, dearest. One she hides with greater skill and determination than even the one we have discussed.”
Meralda frowned. “And what might that be?”
“I offer a conjecture. A conjecture only. That day she sent you away? That ride to the stage?”
“What about it?”
Donchen softened his voice.
“Perhaps there were two broken, frightened people on that cart. Mere conjecture.”
Meralda turned, glared at the arrow flashing on the wall, and marched wordlessly away.
The extruder hummed, and then disgorged a square piece of transparent material into Meralda’s hands.
She smiled as her frustration with Donchen was instantly forgotten. “It has no weight!” she said, with delight. When she tried to rip it in two, the substance twisted but refused to tear or even stretch.
“And you can provide us with a fully formed shape, Celestia?” Donchen asked.
“Yes,” replied the ship. “As long as the longest axis is less than four hundred meters.”
Meralda gave up tearing the sheet and handed it to Donchen. “How can you do that?” she asked, eyeing the extruder’s wide, flat spigot. “That’s more than twelve hundred feet. This can’t be more than a yard – a meter – wide.”
“It will be folded before dispensing.”
“Marvelous,” said Donchen, who also failed to tear the paper-thin section of material. “We also need ropes or cables of some sort. Celestia. Can this machine also fashion cables, perhaps from this substance?”
“Specify length and diameter.”
“Later, thank you.” Donchen grinned. “I believe we have our gas envelope, and all the cables we will need. What’s next? The fans, the heater, or the basket?”
“Why not form the basket from this?” Meralda said. “It’s certainly lighter than any metallic basket we could lash together.”
“Indeed.”
Meralda looked about the chamber, which was obviously a machine shop of sorts. Aside from the extruder, the Celestia had identified a composite fabricator, a six-axis thermal conjoiner, and something called a Winhelm back-guided integrator with the optional domain heads included. Meralda had not asked for clarifications as the ship named the devices – one thing at a time, she’d reminded herself.
“Celestia,” Meralda said. “I need a small source of heat. Something that could be rigged to run from a battery, or something that simply burns fuel. I need to heat large volumes of air.”
“There are six spare thermal injectors in storage. They burn emergency thruster fuel.”
“Is there a way to store this fuel in a container, separate from the ship?”
The ship hesitated. “Inadvisable,” it replied. “Safety protocols prohibit such an action.”
“But can it be done?”
“Authorize entry into conversational mode two,” said the Celestia.
“Authorized,” Meralda replied. She repeated the override phrase.
“Yes, that should work,” replied the ship. Perhaps it was only her imagination, but Meralda thought the ship’s tone changed slightly, becoming more alive, somehow. “But if any fumes escape, there will be an explosion. A large explosion.”
“I’ll keep that foremost in my mind.” Meralda rubbed her hands together. “Now show me these thermal injectors, please.”
An arrow appeared on the wall, showing the way.
Much later, Meralda and Donchen stood back to admire their handiwork.
“Well, it’s an ugly beast.” Mug flew circles about the apparatus. “But I guess pretty doesn’t matter, if it works.”
“It will work.” Meralda wiped her face, drawing a streak of grease across her nose in the process.
“Shall we test it?” Donchen asked.
Mrs. Primsbite, Skoof, and Miss Bekin emerged from the main doors. They joined Mug in inspecting the device. Skoof tapped the round head of the injector with a silver foot.
“You are wise to leave the landing ramp down,” he said. “That should mitigate the force of any explosions during testing.”
“Well thank you for the vote of confidence, Mr. Skoof.” Mug turned his eyes on Mrs. Primsbite and then on Meralda’s mother, who still wore her unusual garb. “I see we’ve decided to join the circus, should the crew return unexpectedly.”
“I might,” she replied, nonplussed.
“You’d all be safer behind the doors,” Meralda said. “In case something does go wrong.”
“We’d also be beyond helping anyone on this side, in that event,” said her mother. “We’ll take our places at the end of the ramp. That should be safe, relatively speaking. I don’t suppose there’s a way to turn it on remotely?”
“The throttle must be worked from here,” Meralda said. “And it’s not going to explode. I’m not entirely an idiot, you know.”
“Of course not, daughter. Good luck, then. Shall we?”
She proceeded down the ramp, Mrs. Primsbite at her side.
Skoof remained. “I am largely immune to heat and blast damage. I shall remain.”
Mug rolled half a dozen of his eyes. “How accommodating of you. Mistress, anything I can do?”
Meralda shook her head. “Keep your distance.” She set her jaw and approached the heater, determined to conceal her nervousness.
I’m not afraid the device will explode, she th
ought. I’m worried it won’t generate more than a modest campfire’s heat. Very little of what the Celestia related concerning the injector’s construction made sense.
She gave the fittings around the fuel tubes each a last tug, to make sure they were tight. The small bottle of fuel rested at her feet. She sniffed the air, smelled none of the fuel’s acrid stench, and laid her left hand on the throttle and her right on the ignition button. “Clear,” she said. Donchen strolled to her side.
“I did just say clear.”
“I heard you,” he replied. “I’m staying right here.”
“Oh, light it up!” shouted Mug, from the top of the ramp. “It’s just a simple torch. You’ve built airships from scratch!”
Meralda took in a breath, cracked the throttle until she heard a faint hiss, and pressed the ignitor button.
A shaft of white-hot flame ten feet long roared from the head of the injector. The heat of it was so intense Meralda raised her hand to shield her face.
She turned the throttle back, and the raging lance of fire shrank until it was barely larger than her hand.
Still, it howled. The flame was so bright it left spots dancing in her eyes, and Meralda felt the heat of the thing on her clothes and skin.
“Now that is a proper flame!” Mug sailed close behind Meralda and Donchen. “If that won’t lift your airship, nothing will.”
Donchen, his forehead shiny with sweat, nodded. “It’s already heating up the bay. Celestia, can you estimate how long this bottle will burn, at the current rate?”
“Approximately six hours.”
Donchen’s grin spread. “You’ve done it, Meralda. This will work.”
“Celestia,” she said, her mind already racing. “What is the heat output, expressed in the terms we discussed?”
The ship began to reel off numbers. Meralda took them in, and after a moment, she grinned too. “It’s far more effective than I hoped.” She turned the throttle to the off position, and the stubby noon-bright flame coughed and died. “This single injector will easily take us all aloft.”
A spatter of applause rose from the base of the ramp. Meralda watched as her mother approached, beaming, her ridiculous cape flapping behind her.
“I am quite proud of you, daughter,” she said, reaching the top as Mrs. Primsbite huffed and puffed in her wake. “I propose a celebratory late dinner—”
“Mage,” said a crow’s voice, from her earpiece. “We’ve seen movement. A swarm of Mag, attacking a walking engine. A mile from Celestia, but the engine is still in motion.”
Meralda lifted her hand for silence. “Moving in which direction?”
“Right toward you,” replied the crow.
“How many Mag?”
“Fifty. More arriving. Your instructions?”
“Hold a moment.”
“The Mag,” said her mother, in a statement rather than a question.
“Yes. Scores of them, attacking a mobile machine of some sort. Heading this way. Whether by intent or coincidence, I don’t know.” She looked to Donchen. “We need to close the ramp.”
As Donchen raced toward the wall-mounted control, Meralda’s mother spoke. “We should make an effort to capture one. We haven’t even seen a Mag up close. We hardly know what we are facing.”
“That would be unwise,” said Skoof, his footpads dancing nervously. “What one Mag sees, they all see. If this creature identifies this craft as your base of operations, they will converge on it, and while they may not gain entry at once, my experience suggests they will eventually.”
Donchen slammed the lever up. The ramp began to rise.
“It’s the walking engine we encountered just after entering the darkness,” said a crow.
“They are pulling it apart,” said the other.
“Perhaps we could reason with them,” said Meralda, hoping the Hub’s voice drowned out the sound of the ramp motors. “They are intelligent beings, are they not?”
“Quite intelligent but motivated only by the urge to consume and multiply,” replied Skoof. The ramp slammed shut. “I witnessed efforts to engage the Mag as sentient beings, to appeal to partnerships and suggest peaceful collective efforts. All ended in tragedy.”
“Celestia,” Meralda said. “Extinguish all external lamps. And turn off the bridge displays.”
“I have rendered the forward viewing panels opaque. Active noise canceling is now in effect.”
“Does that mean we can move about?” Mrs. Primsbite whispered.
“Normal conversations and movements will be inaudible from outside. I humbly suggest you refrain from drumming, though.”
“Hilarious,” said Mug. He pointed with a vine to the heater. “Mistress, a couple of those would make fearsome weapons. Unless these bugs are also fire-proof?”
“They are not,” Skoof said.
“We have five more injectors,” Meralda said. “I’ll keep one as a spare, for the airship. The others, though – they could serve to defend us.”
“Fire-lances!” Mug turned his eyes to the now-retracted ramp. “Take that, you cockroaches.”
“Mage, the Mag swarm is nearing Celestia,” said a crow.
Meralda’s stomach leaped. “Quiet, everyone. It’s close now.”
Donchen moved to her side, silent as a ghost. A knife appeared in his right hand.
A section of bulkhead behind Mrs. Primsbite flared to life, as though a window was suddenly opened in the metal itself. It showed the nearby wrecks, the scene lit as though by a bright noonday sun. Before anyone could speak, there was movement.
The enormous walking engine lurched into view. A seething mass of shiny carapaces covered it as powerful limbs tore at the machine’s exposed workings.
“That poor wretch,” said Mug.
The Mag swarm worked, tearing away hoses and rods and pieces of the engine’s mechanisms and hurling them away. Still, the engine trudged ahead, though it stumbled and trailed a thick stream of dark fluid and smoke.
“They must think we’re inside,” said Donchen.
The engine’s right front leg rose, but froze in mid-step. Its other front leg buckled, and with a thunderous crash it toppled onto its side, a single leg still bending and flexing.
The Mag swarm scuttled and clawed. The image moved, seeming to grow a few paces from the stricken walking machine, and Meralda’s blood ran cold.
Each Mag was easily taller than any man. Their forelimbs were strong, moving with an almost mechanical speed and precision. Claws would grip a part of the walking engine and pull. If the part gave, the Mag’s mandibles closed around it, and with a few determined heaves, the Mag bit through the rusted steel.
The engine shook and heaved, but as Meralda watched, they chewed their way through the machine’s outer casing and surged inside it. A moment later, the engine’s limbs fell silent, and its blunt head settled down onto the deck, still at last.
“Still want to capture one, Miss Bekin?” Mug asked. “Just scamper out there and grab one by the scruff of his neck.”
“Can you get closer?” Meralda asked. “Try to focus on a single Mag.”
The image shifted, centering on a Mag which continued to gnaw at the pistons on the doomed engine’s crippled hind leg.
It was indeed insect-like. Its body was in three sections, each covered in a smooth black carapace that shone like polished steel. Its three sets of legs moved surely, the clawed ends of them gripping and grasping like hands as it pulled itself quickly through the twisted debris.
The head was the smallest of the three sections. Massive ant-like pincers protruded from the jaws, opening and closing in anticipation.
The eyes, though. To Meralda, they were the most frightening aspect of the beast. They were huge and dark, half-spheres set wide apart on the head. Behind them waved jointed antenna, which whipped and moved in a blur.
The Mag turned its head straight toward the Celestia. Meralda was sure those ink black eyes could already see her, and she imagined its jaws working in the
hope of closing on her flesh.
“Ugly beast,” Mug said. “Think it knows we’re here?”
“Hush,” Meralda whispered.
The Mag leaped from the engine’s leg. It skittered across the cleared avenue and moved directly under the ship.
It’s right below my boots, thought Meralda. Donchen’s knuckles grew white around the hilt of his dagger. Meralda watched her mother withdraw a pair of her own knives.
The Mag darted in circles below them for a moment. Then it paused, raised itself up on its two largest legs, and strained to look directly at the raised ramp.
“Nameless,” Meralda whispered. “Do you see it?”
“Aye,” replied the crow.
“Go and make some noise, out of sight. Knock something over. Peck on something. Just get these wretched creatures out of my sight.”
Neither crow replied. But a moment later, the Mag whirled, dropping down on all six of its legs. After an instant of turning its head about, it scurried away, charging up easily up the pile of debris.
It flung itself over the top and vanished.
The rest emerged from the hulk of the walking engine. They streamed after the just-departed Mag, until they too were gone.
“Lead them away,” Meralda said. “But stay hidden.”
“Aye.”
The window in the hull shimmered and vanished.
“Not as big as I expected,” Mug said. “Big enough, don’t misunderstand me, I shouldn’t want to meet one outside.”
“Those were scouts,” said Skoof. “The workers are twice that size. And the warriors are even larger.”
“They’re growing impatient,” said Mrs. Primsbite. “Do you think they suspect we’re here?”
Skoof tipped his dome. “Unknown. If they return to investigate further, probably so.”
Meralda’s feeling of triumph at devising a source of hot air for the airship vanished, replaced by a cold lump of dread that took shape deep in her chest.
“We need the other injectors,” she said. Donchen nodded, already heading for the interior of the ship. “Fuel and hoses, too.”
“You’re going to build fire-throwers?” Mug asked.
“It seems I have no choice,” Meralda replied. “We can’t launch any airships without lowering the ramp. And we dare not lower the ramp again until we have a means to defend it.” She hurried after Donchen, Skoof quick on her heels.
