Airborn by Kenneth Oppel
Running again, forward along the catwalk. If I kept going, I’d end up at the door to the passenger quarters. There might be a pirate stationed there, since it was near the exit gangways. How was I to get to A-Deck? I had a hunch that Szpirglas would assemble everyone in the starboard lounge. It was the biggest reception room on board, and it made sense to keep all his hostages in one place where he could guard them most easily.
I paused and thought. I couldn’t risk creeping around A-Deck, but I could spy down on it from the roof. I’d need to get on top of the passenger quarters, and the only way to get to it was from overhead.
I hurried along to one of the ladders leading up to the axial catwalk. Up I went, wary. Even with the sun high in the sky, it was shadowy along the catwalk, though the outer skin of the ship gave off a luminous moonlight glow, its silver surface reflecting the sun.
Axial catwalk, clear. I stopped at a supply locker, took a harness and coil of rope, and slung it over my shoulder. Forward I went, the walls of the gas cells puckering and sighing all around me. I stopped. I was now directly over A-Deck. Far below me I could see the ceiling. I tied one end of my line to the side of the catwalk and gingerly climbed over the railing in my harness.
Like a spider I dropped, straight down, spinning out my line as I went. Down through this shimmering mango-scented canyon. Gently I touched down on the roof of A-Deck. The bottoms of the gas cells hung only a few feet above, and I had to get down on my knees to move about. Any loud noise might be heard below. I figured I was over the gymnasium—not likely anyone was exercising right now. I shrugged myself clear of the harness. It did make me feel claustrophobic, the hydrium bags hovering above me, rustling against my back as I crawled beneath them.
Silver ventilation ducts formed a network on the roof, carrying fresh air through the passenger quarters. High in the wall of every lounge and cabin were narrow slitlike grilles. I could see through them if I could get inside the ducts. They were large, but it would still be a tight squeeze and slither.
I found an access panel and unscrewed the wing nuts. A gust of air wafted out as I set the metal panel aside. The opening was no bigger than the hole of a kayak. I would have to go in headfirst; there would be no turning around once I was inside. I gazed out over the maze of ducts and plotted my course ahead of time, for I knew it would be easy to lose my bearings. I slid my body in.
I did not like it inside there. It was dark, though at least not airless—the whole purpose of the ducts was to circulate fresh air. I slouched along, pulling myself forward on my elbows and forearms. My poor bruised and battered toes were sticky with sweat and dried blood, but they gave me good purchase and pushed me on through the ducts. One tight turn to the left nearly dislocated my spine. I took care not to dig in with my knees or elbows, for fear of making the metal dimple and pop.
I could hear voices and knew I was close to the starboard lounge. I took a turn to the right and the duct stretched ahead, light shafting in through all the slitlike vents on its left wall. I slithered to the first one and peered out. The opening was narrow, but when I moved my head, the view it gave me was quite broad.
The lounge was crammed with passengers and crew. The women and elderly were sitting in chairs, and the rest were on the floor. Hardly a square foot of carpet was unoccupied. Every single one of our passengers must have been there. I caught sight of Miss Simpkins in a wicker chair, one hand pressed tragically to her temple, the other fanning herself. Near her feet was the mustached cigar man who’d complained about his antique furniture being shifted. Like the other passengers he was silent, though he looked as if he wasn’t too far off having a go at complaining. I hoped he had the sense to keep his mouth shut. Pirates strolled among them, their pistols tight in their fists.
The Aurora’s officers and crew had their hands tethered and were lined up together against the outer wall, beneath the windows. I saw Mr. Rideau and Mr. Torbay, and there was Mr. Lisbon, our chief steward, Mr. Vlad, our chef, and not far from him, Captain Walken. They didn’t look like themselves. It was like gazing at portrait paintings that were all slightly the wrong color and shape.
I searched for Baz and found him slumped against the wall with Dr. Halliday at his side. Baz’s arm was in a makeshift sling, and a bloody bandage was wrapped around his shoulder. I remembered Bruce saying he’d heard gunshots. These wretches had shot Baz. I felt a great fist of grief in my throat.
“He’s in some pain,” Dr. Halliday told one of the pirates. “At least let me get some medicine from the infirmary.”
“No.”
“This is inhumane.”
“Just hope there’s no worse to come.”
“I apologize, Doctor,” said Szpirglas, coming into view. “But I can’t spare a man to escort you to the infirmary right now. When the rest of my crew arrives, of course, we’ll let you. But for now, I need all my men to tend to you here.” He said it with a smile, as though this was perfectly reasonable and he was simply asking for our help in doing his work.
I started counting pirates. A gaunt fellow with a pockmarked face and a blunderbuss in his fist, a second fellow who must have fancied himself something of a gangster dandy with greased hair and a carbine. There was Rhino Hand, the one-handed fellow, his thick finger barely fitting through the trigger loop of his pistol. The sight of all these guns took something out of me, I had to admit, all that deadly greased metal. Six pirates I counted, plus Szpirglas, and the great brute Crumlin made eight. Eight pirates. I hoped there were no more lurking on board.
I looked back at Captain Walken. He must know that these men were not planning on sparing them. But what could he do? Any attempt to overpower the pirates would mean people getting shot. It was not as if he had any chance to devise a plan, anyway. The pirates kept circulating among them, giving a kick to anyone who seemed to be talking. There would be no secret plans.
I saw Szpirglas give a nod to Crumlin, and they disappeared, headed for the kitchen. I wiggled along the vents, wanting to know what they were up to. I heard their voices, tinny through the ducts. Silently I wiggled closer and pressed my face to the grille. The kitchen was small, and I could only see the back of Szpirglas.
“Hazlett’s fast—he’ll have reached them in ninety minutes or so. Three hours, and we’ll have the rest of the crew here.”
It was as I’d feared—only worse. The rest of Szpirglas’s crew were coming, but faster than I’d reckoned. They weren’t all the way back at the village. They must have been searching another nearby part of the island.
Szpirglas said something, too low for me to hear.
“Why not keep her?” Crumlin asked.
“She’s of no use to us,” came Szpirglas’s voice. “She’s big and fat and slow, and we’d be inviting capture if we dared to sail her.”
“Seems a shame to scuttle her.”
“Ah, but she’s a treasure trove of parts. Her engines, Aruba fuel, wiring. We’ll strip anything of use from her beforehand.”
“And the passengers?”
“They stay with the ship, of course. We’ll send her up bled of hydrium and aflame. Lock them in the passenger quarters for good measure. They’ll not be able to reach the controls. In any event, we’ll shoot the crew.”
My mouth was so dry I couldn’t swallow. How could he talk of such terrible things in so calm a voice? A panicky hot flush seared my back and arms.
“Now let’s go tend our flock,” Szpirglas told Crumlin. “It might be an idea to shoot someone else before long. Keep them meek and obedient. Walken’s no fool. He’ll know there’s no merciful ending to this. I don’t want any crazed escape attempts.”
“Very good, sir.”
“And get that chef of theirs in here. Our lads may as well enjoy some fine dining while we wait.”
Their voices faded, and I was left lying in the duct, sick and weak with fear. Then I moved, fast, trying to remember the way back to the access panel. I was afraid my fearful heartbeat would hammer an anthem through the vents o
Out of the ducts and onto the roof of A-Deck again. For a moment I forced myself to be still and think above my mind’s noise. Bruce needed medicine. The infirmary was on B-deck. I crawled along the roof until I came to the edge and looked down. Thirty feet below me was the keel catwalk. I could see no one patrolling it, so I scuttled down through the bracing wires and alumiron struts. I padded along the catwalk to the door of the passenger quarters. I put my ear to it and listened, unlocked it with my keys, and slipped inside.
I was in the Aurora’s entrance lobby, at the base of the grand staircase which led up to A-Deck. I hurried past it and through the deserted corridors of B-Deck, past the staterooms and lounges toward the infirmary. I unlocked the door and was inside.
Daylight flooded into the room from the row of windows set into the floor. I swiped two rolls of bandages from the shelf, a bottle of peroxide to clean the wound, and pocketed a tube of antiseptic ointment. I knew Bruce was in a great deal of pain, and he needed something to dull it at least. He needed to be strong as possible for what was to come. I went to the medicine cabinet, but the glass door was locked, and that was one key I did not have. From the linen rack, I grabbed a towel and wrapped it thickly around my fist. I hoped it wouldn’t be too loud. I took a breath and smacked hard at the glass. It took two tries for me to get it right, and then the glass splintered and big shards fell rattling inside the cabinet. I paused, listening, praying no one had heard.
My eyes quickly drifted across the rows of bottles. I spotted the aspirin powder and, as I was taking it, saw a slender flask filled with dark liquid. I read the label and decided to take that too. I knotted up all my things in a clean towel and listened at the infirmary door before I opened it. Back down the corridor, through the door onto the keel catwalk, and, once I saw the coast was clear, I ran, taking great weightless strides toward the ship’s stern.
I soared past one of the ladder shafts leading to the axial catwalk, and my stride faltered. I stopped. My skin crawled. Fearfully I turned and peered back up at the caged ladder. Some vigilant part of my brain had sounded an alarm as I’d hurried past, but there was nothing there, nothing at all. I was sure of it. If there’d been someone on the ladder, I’d have seen him. But I hurried on, faster than before, to the ship’s stern.
Before I went down the ladder to the fin, I paused and took a good long look around to make sure I wasn’t being watched. Then down I went, whispering, “It’s me, Matt,” so they wouldn’t panic when they heard feet on the rungs. Kate and Bruce both smiled when they saw me.
“Let’s get that leg of yours sorted out,” I said.
There was no glass of water to mix the aspirin powder in, so I had Bruce stick out his tongue and shook a good dose onto it. He grimaced as he swallowed it down, for it was bitter stuff.
Gingerly I started unwinding the makeshift bandage, talking as I worked, telling them all that I’d learned.
“Eight of them,” I said, “including Crumlin and Szpirglas. This’ll likely hurt,” I said to Bruce, “so hold your tongue if you can.” I poured half the bottle of peroxide over the livid gash, and it fizzed mightily as it cleaned out the wound. I could feel Bruce’s entire body clench, but he made no sound but a low grunt. It was an ugly wound, no question. Just looking at it you knew it was gouged by the jaws of an animal, for it was ragged and deep.
“That needs sewing up,” said Kate. “It won’t close like that.”
I noticed she looked at the wound without any sign of squeamishness. She regarded it much the same way she beheld the bones of the cloud cat, with keen interest.
“No,” I said, “it’s best left open so it can drain. Don’t want to trap the infection inside.”
Kate looked at me, impressed. “Is there anything you can’t do, Mr. Cruse?” she asked.
“Can’t sing,” I said.
“Really?”
“Not worth spit. It’s a terrible sound I make. Now listen,” I said, dabbing Bruce’s wound dry with a clean towel. “The rest of the pirates will be here soon. I heard Szpirglas and Crumlin talking. They’re going to gut the ship, then kill all the crew and send her out to crash. We’ve got three hours before they arrive.”
I squeezed great globs of the antiseptic ointment into the wound, and then, with Kate’s help, starting wrapping it up in the fresh bandages, not too tightly. “Thank you,” said Bruce as we tied it off. “That feels much better.”
“The aspirin should kick in soon,” I told him.
We sat in silence for a moment.
“Three hours,” I said again.
“Well, are we all ready to whack some pirates?” Kate said.
“We’d better get cracking,” said Bruce, trying to sound decisive, but his mouth was dry.
I took a look around the narrow room: the rudder and elevator wheels, the levers and navigation instruments and control boards, all quiet and dark now, but ready to come alive.
I said, “We could fly her.”
“What’re you talking about?” Bruce said.
“The ship. We could fly the ship. Nothing fancy. Take it up so the other pirates can’t come aboard, and then we can set about freeing everyone.”
“Too risky,” said Bruce. “We can’t take off without the captain and crew!”
“We can’t afford to wait for them.”
“We’re just three people. It can’t be done, Cruse.”
“It can be done.”
“I’ve had two years at the Academy,” said Bruce. “And there is no way I can launch this ship.”
“I can do it,” I said.
“No.”
“I’ve spent more hours in the control car than some of the officers. I’ve watched everything. I know how they do it. I can do it.”
“He can do it,” Kate said to Bruce.
We both turned to her, and I didn’t know when someone’s words had made me feel so buoyed up.
“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” said Bruce.
“I have absolutely no doubt he can do it,” she said again. “Matt can fly the ship.”
“With your help,” I said to them. “It has to be done, Bruce. We get her up and clear, and we only have eight pirates to deal with. We wait until we have twenty, and that’s the end of it. That’s the end of everything.”
“He’s right,” said Kate.
“How do you propose we do this?” Bruce demanded.
“We need to start casting off lines.”
“Do you know how many lines she’s got on her right now?” he said, incredulous.
“Of course I do. She carries twenty landing lines on each side, and each one of those splits into five spider lines. That’s two hundred lines, plus whatever extra we’ve put on her.”
“Exactly. We’d need a ground crew of hundreds to launch her properly.”
“We landed her without a ground crew. I know it’s dangerous,” I hurried on before he could cut me off. “I’m not saying it isn’t. But we’re in luck. There’s not a breath of wind right now. We cast off the port and starboard lines first. The bow and stern lines will be enough to hold her snug until we’re ready to launch. We’ll slip the stern line last, dump ballast, and go.”
“The moment the engines come on, they’ll know we’re here.”
“They’ll go to the control car first.”
“Fine, but then they’ll come running straight here.”
“We won’t be here by then.”
“No?”
“No, we’ll be hiding. And they’ll be dopey.”
“Dopey?” said Bruce.
I lifted the flask I’d taken from the infirmary and showed it to Kate. “Is this the same as Miss Simpkins was taking?”
She smiled slowly and gave a nod.
“Your devious little mind has given me an idea,” I said. “The pirates are hungry. They’ve got Vlad in the kitchen cooking for them. He’ll make them a proper meal—better than the slop they serve themselves. If I can get
“He’s on A-Deck,” Bruce said. “How’re you going to get past all the pirates?”
“There’s no one on B-Deck. I can get into the kitchen down there and take the dumbwaiter.”
“It’s tiny.”
“I can be tiny.”
He looked at me then chuckled, shaking his head. “You’re a madman.”
“How fast does this stuff work?” I asked Kate.
“I don’t really know. Quite quickly, I think. But Marjorie never needed much help falling asleep. All she needed was a few drops.”
“They’re getting all of it,” I said.
“Well, that should do nicely.”
Bruce nodded. “If it works fast enough, all we have to do is wait for them to drop, tie them up, and free the crew.”
It seemed too much to hope for. “I’ll need someone to go with me and work the dumbwaiter.” There were no controls inside.
“I’ll come,” said Kate.
“Good. Bruce, do you think you can start casting off?”
Slowly he stood, testing his leg. “It’s not really two hundred lines,” he said. “If we just slip the main landing lines from the hull, that makes only forty. Safer this way than messing about with the moorings on the beach. They might spot us from the windows.”
“You’re right,” I said. “We’ll do the lines forward of the passenger quarters, you take care of the ones aft. Is that all right?” I felt badly for him, with his leg torn up and blazing with pain.
Bruce nodded. “What about the bow line?”
“I’ll take care of that too. Leave the stern line on until we’re all back here.”
“Let’s do it,” he said.
For just a moment the whole enterprise seemed insane. But it was our only hope, and there was no going back now.