Every Wind of Change

by Frank Tuttle

  Meralda gazed at the square of silky fabric. She reached down and touched it, found it smooth as glass. A short length of cable, its girth that of a pencil, protruded from the right side.

  “So, I pull that, and the envelope unfolds?”

  “Precisely,” replied Celestia. Complicated, moving drawings appeared on the black screen before Meralda, showing the unfolding process in detail. The mage watched, rapt.

  “An airship from a shoe-box. Celestia, you are a miracle.”

  “I shall add that to my specifications,” replied the ship, a hint of laughter in its voice. “If only I could fly again.”

  Meralda patted the bulkhead beside her. “I wish I had the knowledge, and the skill. I would fly away with you.”

  The ship mimicked a sigh. “Shall we do the basket now?”

  Meralda lifted the airship’s envelope. It was no heavier than a small parcel of groceries.

  “Commence,” she said, moving the envelope onto a rolling cart borrowed from Donchen’s kitchen. “Nameless. Faceless. Report,” she whispered, as the extruder began to hum.

  “Thirty-four additional Mag spotted since we last spoke,” replied a crow, its voice tinny and small in her earring. “They seem to be converging on a wreck some eight miles hence. Lights show from the windows. They have yet to gain entry.”

  “Good. Keep me posted. And be careful.”

  “Aye,” said the crows, in perfect unison.

  A wide red band crept across the bottom of the extruder’s display. Meralda watched it move as it crept from left to right, toward completion. “How long until the basket is delivered?”

  “Twenty-two minutes.”

  “And the rods, for the frame?”

  “An additional half hour.”

  Meralda began to pace. “I would still feel better if we had a backup heating source.”

  “The failure rate for the device you are employing is one incident per five thousand years,” said the ship.

  “Never trust to luck, especially good luck,” Meralda heard herself say. How many times did Fromarch deliver that hoary old admonition from behind that awful beard?

  Meralda sighed but continued pacing. The old goats are frantic, back home, she decided. Probably trying everything they can think of to call us back.

  She shivered. What if they try another contact? What if they wind up here, trapped with us?

  “You seem agitated,” said Celestia. “Many times, Captain Resnic requested music, when the pressures of command were extreme.”

  Meralda halted in her pacing. She sank back down into the extruder’s soft operator’s chair.

  “Play me his favorite, please,” she said.

  Soft music filled the compartment. It was simple music, nothing like the cacophonous noise Donchen had discovered. No, this was just a man – an elderly man, Meralda guessed – playing the guitar, and singing about a broken heart.

  Meralda realized, after a moment, that she was tapping the toe of her boot on the deck in time with the music.

  “Fromarch and Shingvere would adore this,” she said, softly.

  “Everyone loves the blues,” Celestia said. “Or at least Captain Resnic said so.”

  “The blues?”

  “A form of music popular on Earth during the twentieth and twenty-first centuries,” replied Celestia. “This singer is B.B. King. My catalog contains thousands of entries.”

  Meralda merely nodded. Then she sank back into the chair and let the hum of the extruder and the guitar lull her into a deep, unexpected sleep.

  ***

  By midnight, the airship was laid out on the landing ramp.

  The envelope, still folded, lay a few paces from the bulkhead. The cord faced away, ready to be pulled outside the Celestia once the ramp was lowered.

  At regular intervals along the ramp, the rest of the components lay in neat piles. The folded basket. The thin, flexible ribs that would slide through pockets made into the basket, giving it some rigidity, and a floor. Various lines and levers for steering her rudder or turning her single fan. The wicked-looking fire lance, its snout covered, for the moment, with a fancy feathered hat.

  By each stack of parts was a diagram, drawn in Meralda’s precise hand. Labels were carefully affixed to each piece.

  The bulkhead door opened, and Donchen, Mrs. Primsbite, and Skoof struggled to push the airship’s heater through.

  “I thought you said you were designing everything to be light,” Mug observed, as he floated above the heater.

  “It is a marvel of compact efficiency,” said Donchen, his face covered with a sheen of sweat. “Pray do not bait the Mage, friend Mug. She has been working all day.”

  Mug sailed to Meralda’s side. “Mages delight in being baited. It’s an ancient Tirlish tradition.”

  “So is pruning.” Meralda frowned at the heater. “Perhaps if I removed the secondary atomizer.”

  Mr. Gliff arrived, wheeling a hand-cart laden with boxes of smaller parts. “Here, lass, let me assist,” he said, joining Mrs. Primsbite at the back of the heater. “We’ll have this in place before you can take two steps of a jig.”

  Mrs. Primsbite, her hat askew, laughed as she pushed. “Is that your way of asking me to dance, Mr. Gliff?”

  The portly man grinned and winked. “Celestia has a very convincing dance hall simulator on the promenade. Perhaps you’d like to see it sometime.”

  “Let’s get this contrivance in the air before anyone starts planning grand balls,” Mug said. He eyed the array of machinery critically, his eye buds weaving about and around each other as he took stock. “Mistress, I think the rudder calipers are missing.”

  Meralda sagged. “I left them in the machine shop.”

  Donchen lifted his face. “I’ll go fetch them.”

  “No. You have your hands full, quite literally. The heater goes amidships. I’ll be back in a moment. Mug, is anything else missing?”

  “Aside from common sense, no, just the calipers,” Mug said.

  “Then help Donchen lay everything out.” Meralda strode toward the open bulkhead.

  “You hear that?” she heard Mug cry, as she entered the twisting corridors beyond the ramp and loading bay. “I’m in charge! Heave, you lot! Put those spines you’re so proud of into it!”

  Her head pounding, Meralda hurried to the moving room, which Mr. Gliff called an elevator. She approached it, and the doors slid open, to reveal her mother standing there.

  “I’ve been looking everywhere for you, dear,” she said. “Going up?”

  “Mother, I am in a hurry,” Meralda snapped. She glared. Her mother made a grand gesture of inviting her inside.

  “Oh, come in,” she said. “I’m not going to bite you.”

  Meralda stomped inside and folded her arms over her chest. “Deck two.” Her mother pressed a button, and the tiny room began to move.

  “You’re still cross with me,” said her mother. “You are nothing if not predictable, dear.”

  “You put us all at risk in a moment of drunken carelessness.” Meralda stared ahead at the shiny steel wall. She could see her mother’s smug small smile reflected in the metal.

  “I did no such thing.”

  “You were drunk. You lowered the ramp. To fetch water for tea, I believe was your reason. Mother, the Mag could have swarmed us!”

  “There were no Mag present,” her mother replied, coolly. “Nor was I as drunk as I seemed. And as for fetching water for tea – well, dear, perhaps you don’t know, but I loathe tea.”

  Meralda turned to face her mother. The doors slid open without a sound, and remained open, waiting.

  “Then why did you drag poor Mr. Gliff out into the debris field?” Meralda’s face reddened. “Mother!”

  Her mother laughed. “I have less interest in any amorous rendezvous than I have for tea if such a thing is possible. I merely needed to get the man alone. Get him alone, and make a proper judgment of his character, and intentions.”

  Meralda blinked. “I
am quite certain I shall be sorry I asked, but why?”

  Though the elevator was still, her mother seemed to stumble. She steadied herself with one hand on the wall. “You are so like your late father, you know. Trusting. Accepting. Instantly generous, to every ne’er-do-well or unfortunate who crosses your path. You do not know that man. You met him mere hours ago. He was floating in a tank of some unholy muck, with a hole in his waistcoat and a wild story about monsters and lights in the sky. Think, dear.” She took a breath, shaking her head as though repeating some old, tired argument. “He could be anyone. Anything. He could be any number of villains, or the architect of our predicament, for all we know. A little caution is only prudent, don’t you think?”

  “He’s a fat old man with worn-out shoes and a handkerchief,” Meralda said. “I cannot imagine him as a scheming sorcerer, eager to bring us to ruin.”

  “No. You cannot imagine him, or anyone else, in that role. And that is a dangerous thing.”

  “I am not utterly insensate,” snapped Meralda.

  “Not quite. But you cannot deny the facts. We knew nothing of this man, save that he was discovered in the company of the jabberwock, and a dragon. He has an intimate knowledge of this craft. I believe he could, with minimal effort, assume control of it. That I will not have.”

  “You pretended to be drunk,” Meralda said, slowly. “And you lured him into the wastes.”

  “I did,” said her mother. “I make no apologies. Neither for that nor for nudging you toward formally putting yourself in charge. Which you should have done much sooner, but I am quite pleased nonetheless.”

  “Will you ever stop being a monster?” Meralda said. She closed her lips tight. “I should not have phrased that so.”

  Her mother laughed, provoking a brief fit of coughing. She lifted her hand after a moment.

  “A monster is precisely what you need now,” she said when she could speak. “I am pleased to offer my talents. You will be happy to know I believe Mr. Gliff to be nothing more, or less, than what he presents himself to be.”

  A chill rode Meralda’s spine. Eyes like a knife, she thought.

  “If Mr. Gliff failed to convince you of his harmless nature?” she asked, whispering.

  “Then I would have returned alone, with a sad yet entirely plausible tale of misadventure,” said her mother, matter-of-factly. She regarded Meralda for a long moment. “Monstrous. I believe that’s the word you’re looking for.”

  “I’ll never understand you.”

  “I am merely protecting my only daughter. It’s marvelously simple, in that regard. Come. You did say you were busy. Where were you going, in such a hurry?”

  Meralda stepped out of the elevator and headed for the machine shop, her mother following silently at her side.

  * * *

  “How many?” Meralda asked, sagging at her workbench.

  “Hundreds,” replied Nameless. “More arriving. We see two lines of incoming Mag. They are dispersing throughout the anomaly.”

  “The closest to Celestia?”

  “A mile, perhaps,” said the crow. “A group of thirty is searching the debris. They are slow but determined.”

  “Thank you. Keep an eye on them. I want updates every quarter-hour.”

  “Aye,” said the crow.

  Meralda brought her hands to her face.

  About her, lights blinked and moved. Her makeshift laboratory, once Celestia’s costume and prop repair room, was silent. Meralda rubbed her temples and pondered asking Celestia to open the speaking machine to the bridge.

  “What’s the use?” she muttered instead. Mug is on watch now, but he’d probably rouse the entire ship when there is nothing to be done.

  Nothing but wait. Wait for her to create some miracle weapon. There are thousands of ravenous Mag out there, Meralda thought. Maybe more, all prepared to mass at the entrance to the spoke as soon as my airship leaves the anomaly. Even if we take off unseen, the guiding lines will give us away.

  Meralda stared wearily at the sketches of the airship that covered her worktable. Even if everything goes to plan, even if by some miracle my craft takes flight, what then?

  Just reaching the spoke doesn’t accomplish anything. We must open it and go through alone.

  “Alone, or not at all,” she said, aloud.

  The door slid open, revealing Donchen and Skoof.

  “As I surmised,” Donchen said. “You are not, in fact, getting a few hours of much-needed rest.”

  “Nor are you,” Meralda replied. “Good evening, Skoof.”

  “Captain,” said the metal being. His featureless dome rotated, as though looking first to Donchen, and then to Meralda. “Am I interrupting a mating ritual?”

  Meralda groaned. “You’re as bad as Mug. Both of you come in. I was going over the list of stores and machines again. Trying to find something capable of clearing the spoke of Mag, should we make it that far.”

  Donchen stepped inside, Skoof on his heels. “The large fire lance you are constructing should prove effective,” he said, pulling up a chair.

  “It will clear a narrow path,” Meralda replied. “But against so many? We might as well wave matches at them.”

  Skoof’s three spindly legs elongated suddenly, bringing him face-to-dome with Meralda. A single equally fragile arm protruded from the top of his dome, elongating until it touched the ceiling. “Have the Hub’s audio announcement played in this chamber.” His tone was grim. “Now, please.”

  Meralda frowned. Donchen stood slowly.

  “Celestia, the voice outside. Play it for us.”

  Instantly, the cabin filled with the roaring, alien voice. Meralda listened for a moment.

  “It’s changed,” she said. “I don’t know what it’s saying, but it’s different now.”

  “A ship has entered one of the auxiliary vacuum docks,” Skoof said. “The Hub is announcing the arrival and admonishing them to leave at once.”

  Meralda froze. “Skoof,” she said, struggling to keep her voice calm. “Have there been any arrivals, since the event that wrecked the Hub?”

  “None, until your band appeared.”

  “A ship,” Donchen muttered. “My countrymen, punctual as ever.”

  “They’ll be slaughtered,” said Meralda. She pictured the Hang ship’s crew wandering into a seething mob of Mag soldiers. Then another darker thought struck her. “Skoof. Their ship. Could the Mag fly it back home?”

  “As long as it is not overly complex, yes,” Skoof replied. “This is cause for concern.”

  “Silence the voice, please,” Meralda said. Her face paled. “Did the Hub announce the location of the void dock?”

  “No.” Skoof gestured with his single arm. “But I am familiar with all the docks. Only two are not entirely blocked by wreckage.”

  “How far is the nearest?”

  “Some sixteen of your miles beyond the anomaly. The other is some forty miles beyond that.”

  “Celestia,” Meralda said. “Please broadcast my next words to the entire ship.”

  “Ready.”

  “Attention.” Meralda’s voice echoed down Celestia’s corridors. “Report to the disembark deck. We are raising the airship and departing in half an hour. The Hang fleet has docked. We’re going to greet them before the Mag eat them. Gather what you can carry. Make haste, please. That is all.”

  Donchen nodded. “What of Bruce?”

  “Bruce too. If the Hang ship is intact, we must get it off the Hub. Before the Mag seize it and take it home.”

  “Once you clear the anomaly, your spoke paths will again be visible,” Skoof said.

  “Will the paths show the Mag to the void dock?”

  “No. Your spoke lies in the other direction.”

  “Then perhaps the Mag will gather at the entrance to our spoke,” Donchen said. “Leaving us free to board the spaceship and get safely away.”

  “Let’s hope so.” Meralda marched to the door. “Round everyone up. I’ll be down on the ramp.�
�

  “Aye, Captain. Skoof, if you will accompany me?”

  The trio parted ways in the corridor. Meralda raced for the ramp and the disembark bay, her mind racing.

  “Nameless. Faceless,” she said, as she ran. “Return to Celestia. I need to know how many Mag are within half a mile of us, right now.”

  The crows replied with a pair of harsh caws. Meralda rounded a corner and nearly collided with her mother.

  “A ship,” her mother said. She righted herself and fell into step beside Meralda. “We’re going to take it. How simply piratical of us.”

  The elevator doors slid open, and Meralda dragged her mother inside. “We’re going to save it. We cannot let the Mag have it.”

  “They’re just insects,” said her mother. She tugged at the shiny black clothing she had chosen. “They couldn’t fly a void-faring airship, could they?”

  “Skoof thinks they can,” Meralda replied. She stabbed the elevator button. “They’re certainly capable of devouring her crew.”

  “Naturally, you’ve decided to raise your airship and mount a rescue mission. A rather spur of the moment enterprise, it seems to me.”

  “We’re going to convince them to leave at once. If we can beat the Mag to the dock. Mother. Gather a few bottles of water and whatever food you can carry. Nothing heavy.”

  Her mother raised an eyebrow. “I’m certain the captain of this foreign vessel will be only too pleased to turn around and head home, on the word of a complete stranger. Think about this. You’re going to need more than a few earnest words to commandeer an airship.”

  The elevator opened. “Hurry, Mother. We won’t have another chance at this.”

  “There are some thirty-two Mag near Celestia,” said a crow, close by her ear.

  “Do what you can to lead them away,” said Meralda. “Be careful.”

  “That we are,” replied the crow. “The voice in the sky — it speaks new words.”

  “I know,” Meralda said. “The Hang fleet has arrived.”

  “We are here. We shall lead the Mag astray.”

  “Don’t stray far. We’re launching in a half-hour. I want you both back here by then.”

  “Aye,” said a crow, and the faint hissing that always accompanied their voices fell silent.