Excerpts
from "A
History of the CNAR - From Colonies to Freedom", ©1970 by
George Alonzo De Soto, PhD:
"With
the fall of
the Martian invaders after their (1st
recorded) invasion attempt in 1812 - 1814, Californian Emperor Edward
Norton
II - a distant
relation of England's Queen Victoria - suggested a reformation of the
several nations of the North American continent. His proposal was for
them
to join together to form
what he termed "the Confederation of North American Republics" in a
truly free nation, dedicated to the principles of individual liberty
and sovereignty. A nation wherein the rights of the individual
could
never be infringed upon by any mere governmental
bureaucracy and every person was able to have a voice in its governance
- if they so chose. In 1815, the former Spanish
colony of Old Mexico and it's northern territories, was the first to
sign the treaty, closely
followed by
the Texan Republic, the Canadian Territories west of Quebec, and the
former Spanish territory of Florida. The original United
States of America had been
divided in twain by the
destruction and disruption of the Martian Invasion; The Federated
States of America and the
Confederated States of America jointly
signed the treaty soon afterward - in 1816 - their
delay
being caused by the devastation of the 1812 Martian Invasion
having begun in the eastern regions of the North American
Continent..."
******
"During
the (2nd
recorded) Martian Invasion in 1860 to 1865, the former United
States and its territories had long been joined into this new
Confederacy of North American Republics; The Federated
States of America, mostly made up of those US states north of the
Mason-Dixon line and east of the Mississippi River. The
Confederated States of America - mostly those states south of the
Mason-Dixon line and east of the Mississippi River. The Republic of
Texas - mostly those states and territories east of the Pecos River,
west of the Mississippi River and north of the Old Mexican border. The
Empire of California - mostly the western coastal territories of
the US and the western coast of Old Mexico. The Territory of
Alaska,
the Kingdom of Hawai'i, and the Commonwealth of the West Indies had
also joined the Confederacy of North American Republics by this time. These nations
fought
against the Martians, sometimes alone, sometimes in concert, until the
destruction of the last Martian Fighting Machine on a battlefield in
the former state of Virginia in 1865..."
******
"The reign of Emperor Joshua Norton I - Emperor of California and
Protector of Mexico, if in name only - saw the Executive Council of the
CNAR establishing its
policy of remaining "officially neutral" in almost all international
relations. But in the following decades, public outcry within the CNAR
gave
rise to massive volunteer forces participating in such
troubles as the (3rd
recorded) Martian Invasion of Great Brittan and Europe in 1898 - 1901,
the Cuban Revolution against Spain, the First European War, the Defense
of China against the Japanese invasion forces, and the Second European
War.
So, in the fullness of time, the great airship fleets of the
CNAR
became famous for their globe-spanning travels to render humanitarian
aid to, and defend the downtrodden. Great Brittan, France, Germany, and
Switzerland also became famous for their airship navies. It was also
during this 'Golden Age of the Airship' that various nations worldwide
banded together against the new threat of Airship Pirates.
The most notorious of these was the infamous Airship Pirate Captain
known only as Cita Mouse, often called 'the Terror of
Caracas.'
This Venezuelan-born pirate chieftain is now thought to have been of
British extraction, highly educated, and a woman who was rumored to be
"death incarnate" to those who choose to invade the sanctity of her
beloved Venezuela. Her career as a Privateer and as a Pirate is
generally thought to have run its course between the years 1860 and
1880. Nothing is known of the final fate of this Lady Cita
Mouse. She disappeared during the late 1800s without leaving a trace of
her present whereabouts. It is rumored that she surrendered to
an
un-named CNAR Air Marshal - one of Emperor Norton's notorious 'Ghost
Riders' - who took her to wife and moved her to the western or
southeastern CNAR. The rumor goes that they settled on a small farm
there to enjoy a quiet retirement together as husband and wife, far
from the eyes of the civilized world..."
******
Classified - Military Records Excerpt, 1869:
Subject: Vila Resthal
Rank: Acting Captain, CNAR Airship Service,
Acting Special Agent, Deputy Sky Marshal
Report prepared for the Executive Council of the CNAR
by
Charles Arthur Gordon, Secretary General
CNAR Secret Service Oversight Committee
Vila Resthal, Acting Captain
Confederation of North
American Republics, Airship Service
Acting Special Agent, Deputy Sky Marshal
Recommended Posting:
1870:
Airship Nemesis,
Interceptor Class - Confederation of North American Republics
registry, Rank; Captain
Current
Posting:
1867-Forward: Detached Duty - Confederation
of North American Republics, Secret Service; Special Assignments
Previous Postings:
1866: Detached Duty - Confederation of North American
Republics, Rank; Acting Special Agent, Deputy Sky Marshal
1865: Airship Enterprise, Carrier
Class - Empire of California registry, Rank; First Officer/Pilot
(acting Captain, Special Forces)
1865: Airship Hornet, Carrier
Class - Republic of Texas registry, Rank; First Officer/Pilot
1864: Airship New Orleans,
Battleship Class - Confederated States of America registry, Rank;
Second Officer/Pilot
1864: Airship Knoxville, Destroyer
Class - Confederated States of America registry, Rank; Third
Officer/Ground Forces Commander
1863: Airship Oakland, Destroyer
Class - Empire of California registry, Rank; Lt. Commander/Combat
Specialist, Ground Forces
1863: Airship Savannah, Destroyer
Class - Confederated States of America registry, Rank; Lt.
Commander/Combat Specialist, Ground Forces - Special
Training; Dirigible & Fixed-Wing Aircraft Fighter/Bomber Pilot,
Ranking: 7th
in a class of 250
1862: Battle
Wagon Aaron Burr, Steam-Tank - Confederated States of America, Rank;
Master Gunnery Sargent
1861: Battle Wagon Sam Colt,
Steam-Tank - Empire of California, Rank; Master Sargent
(acting Major)
1860: 151st
Cavalry Regiment - Federated States of America, detached
duty to Empire of California, Rank; Sargent (acting Major)
1859: 151st
Cavalry Regiment - Federated States of America, Rank;
Scout, Sargent
1858: 7th
Cavalry Regiment - Confederated States of America, Rank;
Scout, Private, First Class
Conclusions:
Acting Cptn. Resthal has
repeatedly shown resourcefulness, ingenuity, and adaptability in combat
situations against the Martian Invaders as well as a talent for
command. From minor skirmishes in the early days of the last invasion
attempt to his decisive victory against the Martian Beachhead Base in
'65 he has demonstrated leadership and tactical abilities above and
beyond the norm. His service in our various nation's military organizations has
been nothing short of exemplary. It is the consensus of all in the
Secret Service Oversight Committee that he be promoted and reassigned
with all due speed. We need this man, and we need him now. Preferably
before the Martians return again.
Signed:
Charles Arthur Gordon, Sect. CNAR SSOC, 1869
******
By Order of
the Executive Council
of
the
Confederation
of North American Republics
This
is to certify that the bearer of this document is, before the
sight of all mankind, henceforth to be considered as
a representative of the collective nations of the
Confederation of
North American Republics. Be it
known that Vila Resthal, Captain of the Airship Service of
the Confederation of North American Republics Combined Armed
Forces, after many years of exemplary service to
the varied members of, or allies
to, the Confederation of
North American Republics in the
defense of our combined nations against the Martian Invaders,
is hereby granted the
rank of Special Agent and the rank of Sky Marshal, with all the
responsibilities
and duties of said ranks to be conferred upon him. We, the
undersigned, as duly elected or appointed representatives of our
various nations, do hereby bestow upon said Vila Resthal the rank of
Special Agent of the Confederation of North American Republics.
Furthermore, in time of need we extend to him the powers of; Minister
Extraordinary,
Ambassador-at-Large, and Air-Fleet Admiral. It is to be expected that
he
will represent the nations comprising the Confederation of
North
American Republics to the utmost of his
ability in all Diplomatic as well as Law Enforcement duties. The rank
of Sky Marshal is conferred upon him as an aid to his mandate to seek
out and bring to justice those who would seek to prey upon the
legitimate
trade and shipping interests of all nations either members of, or
allied to,
the Confederation of North American Republics. Furthermore, he
is
hereby charged to defend the Confederation of North American Republics
against any who would seek to
invade our member nations or the allies thereof.
Created
Special Agent and Sky Marshal
of and for the Confederation of North American Republics, this day of
April 15th 1870. Captain Vila Resthal is hereby assigned to
command the CNAR Airship Nemesis,
effective immediately. We also hereby instruct him to defend
the Confederation of North American Republics and the planet
Earth
against all foes both domestic
and extraterrestrial. We, the undersigned, as duly elected
representatives of our individual nations, by unanimous agreement, do
proclaim and invest Captain
Vila Resthal to hold all of the powers and responsibilities inherent
with the rank of Special Agent of the Confederation of North
American Republics, and Sky Marshal of the Combined Armed Services of
the Confederation of North American
Republics. We hereby charge him to uphold the laws of, defend the
nations and allies thereof, and protect the inhabitants of the nations
comprising the Confederation of North American Republics.
This, we
now do swear before all who would question us, is the unanimous will
of all signed below, even as we now so swear before the Almighty
Creator of All Things, and in the collective sight of all mankind.
For the Inhabitants of the
Collected Nations of the
Confederacy of North American
Republics
Signed this 15th
day of April, of the year 1870;
Joshua Abraham Norton I,
Emperor of California and Protector of Mexico
Robert E. Lee,
President of the Confederated States of America
Ulysses S. Grant,
President of the Federated States of America
Tiana Raven Gentry Houston,
President of the Republic of Texas
Justine d'Alembert,
Chief Executive of the Canadian Commonwealth
Albert Lung Mei Wing d'Azure,
Chairman of the People's Republic of Quebec
Don Diego Alejandro Cesar de la Vega,
Duke of the Mexican Territories of the Empire of California
Edward Arthur Henry Rudolph Plantagenet III,
Prince-Protector of the Commonwealth of the West Indies
Aleut Commare Romanov,
Chieftain of the Alaskan Territories
Lot,
Kamehameha V
King of Hawai'i
The Pursuit of Happiness
Or
"Bugger This For A Lark..."
A Steampunk Adventure & Romance
By
Dan L. Hollifield
Book I
Invasion: 1812
******
Prologue
No one would have believed in those last
years of the eighteenth century that this world of ours was being
watched by intelligences greater than human, and yet as mortal as
ourselves. No one gave a thought to the older worlds of space as
sources of danger. Indeed, it was the rare human being who even thought
of other worlds at all. After all, we had yet to explore the entirety
of our own world. Vast areas of our globe were uncharted, wild, and
populated with fierce animals and even fiercer "uncivilized" native
tribes. For in that day and time humanity had, as yet, not been forced
to unite against a common enemy. Civilized Man arrogantly believed
themselves restricted to the European continent and to tiny portions of
their far-flung colonies across the globe. The written history of the
known world only included Europe, the Middle Eastern region, and some
small fraction of far Eastern Asia. Even the European conquests of the
American continents, India, and Southeast Asia had failed to bring the
lesson home that wherever Mankind could be found, civilizations arose.
The European colonies upon the North American continent had only
recently concluded an armed revolt against their far-off mother
countries. New nations had been formed there, secure in the belief that
they would no longer need bow to any external authority. Freedom, and
liberty, and just laws for all seemed to fill the American air like the
perfume of exotic flowers. Grand treaties had been signed and solemnly
sworn to between the former colonists and the native tribes of American
Indian nations. Even those multitudes of African natives that had been
transported against their will, to serve as slaves in the colonies,
were gradually being given their freedom and the liberty to make of
their lives what they willed- Rather than serve the will of others. It
was a time of peace, new prosperity, new ideas, and fresh hopes for
mankind.
Yet across the gulfs of space, minds that are to our
minds as ours are to the beasts of the field, gazed at our world with
instruments and technologies unknown. These intellects- Vast, cool, and
unsympathetic to any thinking mind upon our Earth- They regarded this
Earth with envious eyes, and slowly but surely they drew their plans
against us. So it was that early in the nineteenth century came a
hammer-blow from the skys above. For the first time in recorded
history, mankind was forced to defend ourselves from explorers and
invaders from some other world.
******
Pt. 1
First Starfall
******
Pt. 2
Book II
Live Free or Die!
******
Prologue
******
Pt. 1
Beachead At Sumter
April 12, 1861
******
Pt. 2
The Battle for Bull Run
July 21, 1861
******
Pt. 3
Shiloh Slaughterhouse
April 6-10, 1862
******
Pt. 4
Antietam
September 17, 1862
******
Pt. 5
Fredericksburg
December 13, 1862
******
Pt. 6
Chancellorsville
May 1-6, 1863
******
Pt. 7
Gettysburg
July 1-2-3, 1863
******
Pt. 8
Chickamauga
September 20, 1863
******
Pt. 9
Spotsylvania
May 9-12, 1864
******
Pt. 10
The Battle of Atlanta
July 22, 1864
Diary of Commander Vila Resthal, 3rd Officer & Ground Forces Commander, CSA Airship Knoxville.
July 22, 1864: Having been put aground with 500 troops and five
cannon a week ago, I eventually joined up with a Confederate battle
group on Stone Mountain, just outside of Atlanta, while the alien
invaders raged within the city itself. We found ourselves with fifteen
cannon, ample powder, and diverse manner of shells between our two
groups. Our combined forces had but one order; Stop the Invaders, at
all costs! The Knoxville had
gone on to Savannah to fight the Invader machines that were attacking
that city. My men and I were on our own until the ship returned. These
Confederate troops were a God-send, as far as I was concerned.
The Invaders were making good their conquest of Atlanta. Even though
the White Man's city lay close to the borders of my ancestral Cherokee
homeland, I bore the whites no ill will over their long-ago
colonization of the continent that gave me birth. I had at my side men
of all colors, black Africans descended from slaves freed by
Jefferson's poignant pleas during my grandfather's day, fellow redskins
of several Eastern tribes, white farm boys of European ancestry who'd
grown up in this area, brown men of mixed Spanish and Mexican Indian
ancestry, even a few yellow men from the nations of the orient, far
across the Pacific Ocean... All stood together as North Americans, as
equals, aghast at the destruction wrought by the fighting machines of
the off-world invaders. We stood on our outpost on the flat peak of
Stone Mountain; we could see the fires as buildings were set alight by
their Heat Ray weapons, and the deadly fog caused by their Black Smoke
projectors. In my mind's eye I could visualize the people in the
streets falling to those twin weapons of terror. I clenched my fists in
fury, as yet impotent.
"We're doomed!" I could hear the commander of the Confederate artillery
battalion shout as he peered through his telescope beside me. I turned
and smashed my fist into his face, driving his cowardly frame to the
muddy ground. Spinning around on my heels, I shouted for the gunners to
elevate their cannon for longer range shots. I wanted them to drop
their case-shot, grape-shot, and explosive ammunitions into the pit
from whence the invaders had sprung. With scarcely a second glance at
their officer - whom I had felled - they leaped to their guns and
roared their anger at the fighting machines that were burning the fair
city of Atlanta to the ground. As one, they reloaded round after round,
firing at our other-worldly enemy in an anger that blazed like a
purifying flame. Out of the corner of my eye I saw one of the
Communications squad running up towards my command post.
"An airship is coming!" He shouted, waving a bit of paper at me. I
snatched it from his hands and read it eagerly. A Union Battleship was
indeed on its way. Our meager forces were about to be reinforced by the
firepower of the Federated States of America's airship Thunder Child.
The Sargent of Artillery who was left in charge once I'd struck down
their Lieutenant stood nearby, grinning at me through the beard that
obscured his dark face. Perhaps his father had been an African slave,
or his grandfather, it didn't matter to me. I saw only a soldier who'd
kept his head while his superior officer had gone coward. I waved him
forward and gave him orders.
"Elevate the guns and add in extra powder charges," I said. "Burst your
guns if you have to, but make very shot count! Kill that thing in the
Pit! Their landing craft, and everything around it! I want every alien
down there dead! After that we can target those War Machines. I want
every Invader dead!"
"Yes sir," he said as he turned to dash back to his gun crews. He
paused and turned his head to look over his shoulder at me. "You'll
do," he announced, as if passing judgment upon me. As he ran back to
the gunners, the communications squad dashed up, carrying their
equipment. Quickly, they set it up on a map table that happened to be
close at hand. A medic began to see to the coward that I'd struck down.
I indicated with hand gestures that I wanted the fool to be taken off
to the tents with the other wounded. Perhaps I'd face a Court
Marshal, but little did I care at the moment. I had a battle to fight,
and a city to save - If I could.
Our guns began firing with renewed fury. It seemed to me that they were
reloading and firing even faster than they had before. I could see
through my telescope that the shells were beginning to reach the
Invader's excavation, and the Landing Craft that lay within.
"Commander!" I heard the communications officer yell. "Off there to the North! The airship!"
"Tell them to ignore the individual Fighting Machines," I yelled back. "Target the Landing Craft!"
"Done, Sir!" I heard the answer. As our cannons fired yet another round
I set my telescope once more on the Invader's beachhead in the pit dug
up by their landing. Turning to focus upon the airship, I could see its
every gun blazing away at the Invader ship that lay hidden from my view
inside their pit. Then I focused my glass again upon the once fair city
of Atlanta. I saw the Fighting Machines pause, as if they were
receiving new orders. Then, as one, they turned to face the North, and
the Thunder Child. I could see them raise their Heat Ray weapons, even as Thunder Child
let go with volley after volley of explosive shells from her own
cannons. Turning to focus once more upon the airship, I could see the
small Heat Ray in Thunder Child's
bow light up and fire. The dreadful beam of incandescence swept the
ground around the Invader's pit as the crew of the airship fought for a
stable bearing from which to shoot. The thermals must have been
terrible. I could only imagine what they were going through as they
tried to bring every weapon of their ship into play. Smoke boiled from
their cannon ports as their Heat Ray flared like the flash of a camera.
I could see puffs of smoke from her metallic skin as the Invaders brought their own Heat Rays to bear on Thunder Child.
Still she bore onwards, all guns ablaze. My own gunnery crews redoubled
their efforts as our cannons fired faster and faster, volley after
volley. Clouds of smoke and debris clouded the ground around the
Invader's pit as our shells converted the very ground to something that
resembled the gates of Hell itself. Thunder Child
drove ever closer, the fury from her guns unabated. The Invader
fighting machines began to run towards their base, in order to better
protect it. Thunder Child
still bore onwards, her bow angled downwards toward the ground, her
every volley bringing death and destruction to those monsters that
dared to invade our Homeland. Through my telescope I could see holes
appear in her skin as the Invader's Heat Rays finally burst through Thunder Child's metalized
skin. Quickly she lost altitude, but never did her guns cease their
relentless, merciless fire. Thus did pass true Heroes from our ranks!
There was a bright flash. I dropped to the dirt, shouting at my men to
copy me as I covered my eyes and groveled in the muddy ground. Within
moments, a great, hot wind blew across our position. Tables were
overturned and tents were blown down as the dust and scalding steam
raged over us. I could hear the cries of the wounded and the curses of
the soldiers that were spared the horror of wounds. Finally the wind
died and I chanced a look towards the once fair city of Atlanta. A
great cloud, like a gigantic, malformed, evil mushroom loomed high over
where the city once stood. All was reduced to ash and flame. The city
was gone. Atlanta, flower of the Confederacy, was gone. Reduced to
rubble and trash, scorched as if the sun itself had come to roost there.
I stood and saluted the spot in the sky where Thunder Child had last flown. She had been burned to vapor, but so too had her enemies. Sic semper tyrannis,
I thought to myself. "Thus always with tyrants." Seek ye to conquer
mankind? Then make your peace with your heathen gods, and kiss your
arse goodbye! We accept no masters. We either live free or die trying
to kill those who would enslave us. That is the legacy of humanity. We will live free!
******
Pt. 11
Nashville
December 15-16, 1864
******
Pt. 12
Appomattox
April 9, 1865
******
Book III
Special Forces
******
Prologue
It had started with a telegram.
******
Pt. 1
******
Book IV
Against the Airship Pirates
******
Pt.1
The Journey Begins
"Course and speed, Captain?" The Steersman of the giant airship asked,
his voice a bit gruff from an old injury. The spacious bridge of the
CNAR airship Nemesis
gleamed with loving polish. The brass work was as shiny as a newly
minted coin. The pecan and mahogany woodwork had been waxed and rubbed
until it
rivaled the shine of the brass trim. The silvery hue of the aluminium
support
beams that were regularly spaced throughout the room served to contrast
the brass fittings and wood paneling. The Nemesis was a thing
of beauty, inside and out.
"Due South, Cyril. There's a Texan refueling tanker waiting for us dead
center of the Gulf of Mexico. It's at, " the Captain marked a spot on
the navigation charts, "this position. Or it will be when we get there.
All available speed."
"Very good, Sir." Both men turned to look ahead through the wide
observation windows. The air at this altitude was clear, for once
without the normal haze that usually hovered near the busy towns,
factories, and farms below. Extensive tracts of forest could be seen
ahead as the farmland surrounding the city behind them gradually gave
way to woods.
"And Cyril," the Captain said after a moment's pause.
"Sir?"
"Start the heating elements in the ballonettes. I want our absolute
maximum altitude. Any observers on the surface- Well, they need not see
us as
anything but a speck in the sky. We'll cool the gas and pump enough
into the storage tanks to make a rapid descent once we reach the
tanker's position."
"Then back up and off to our new assignment?"
"Exactly. I was given a sealed envelope that I'm not supposed to open
until we finish refueling."
"Wonder where to this time?"
"Cuba, I expect. Things are heating up there, Cyril. Or possibly South
America. There's always a war on, somewhere."
"Brazil would be nice. I hear the girls there-"
"Are equipped in exactly
the
same fashion as women anywhere else, Cyril." The Captain grinned at the
wiry steersman. "Brazilian women simply aren't as shy about displaying
their," he paused, as if to choose the correct word. "Equipage," he
concluded with a wry smile.
"Precisely
the point I was going to make, Captain. Very friendly they are, too. Or
at least, that's what I hear."
"A girl in every port, Cyril?"
"One can only hope, Captain. One can only hope. We've reached cruising
speed and we're ascending steadily, sir. We should reach our ceiling in
roughly fifteen minutes. Estimated time of arrival to the charted
position is eight hours from now - give or take a bit for contrary
winds."
"Very good, Cyril. Who will be the steersman on duty when we reach the
tanker?"
"Young Mister Anderson, sir. I'm glad that you asked. He'll be fine on
the navigation and descent, but I'd recommend that I, or one of the
other senior steersmen, are on duty to handle the docking. This is
Anderson's first tour of duty with Nemesis.
And while I'm sure his schooling is up to par,
I'd rather not risk my ship in his delicate pink hands just yet. Not
for a docking with a fuel ship that's bobbing up and down on the sea.
No sir, not just yet. With all due respect, sir."
"Point taken, Cyril. I'm no more eager than the next man to anger Miss
Scott by damaging 'her' ship."
"Agreed, sir. I totally agree!" The steersman grinned, as did the rest
of the bridge crew. "That is one lady I'd take pains to avoid angering,
indeed she is. Top-notch Engineer, though. She knows her stuff, and no
mistake! Nemesis
is in the best of hands with her aboard as Chief."
"My feelings exactly, Cyril. All right, I'm going to my cabin. Mister
Carter," the Captain nodded at his First Officer. "You have the con.
I'll be back on the bridge by the time we reach our rendezvous. Have
the wireless operators maintain communications blackout until further
order."
"Very good sir," replied Carter. "I'll keep an eye on Mister Anderson
when he comes on duty, rest assured. Miss Kelly will be available to
perform the docking procedure. Her shift would begin shortly after our
arrival at the coordinates, in any case. Steersman Cyril's concerns are
the same as my own, sir."
"Too right," said Cyril. "She'll keep Anderson in line. I can sleep
soundly if Kelly's the one doing the docking with that tanker."
"Excellent. Good day, gentlemen," said the Captain as he left the
airship's bridge. The double doors swung closed behind him. The
left-hand door gave out a slight squeak as it closed the final few
inches. First Officer Carter made a note on his clipboard to remind
himself to request someone in Miss Scott's maintenance crews to come up
and oil the door's hinges.
******
The day was drawing near to sunset as the Nemesis reached
the area that the Captain had marked on the navigation charts on the
bridge. The first shadows of evening were already darkening the surface
of the sea far below her keel. As she began a spiraling descent towards
the tiny dot that was the refueling tanker, the airship hummed and
throbbed with the sounds of the gas compressors reducing the
volume of Helium in her internal gasbags. A faint whine issued from
each ballonette as their internal cooling devices further reduced the
lifting power of the airship's Helium supply. The great airship sank
towards the sea below as would an elevator descending upon its cable.
Slowly, carefully, the ship and crew performed a delicate ballet of
organized chaos intended to bring the airship and refueling tanker
together without incident.
"Captain on the bridge," said the First Officer as the Captain entered.
"Carry on," replied the Captain as he took note of the progress of the
docking maneuvers. Mister Anderson, the most junior steersman, flashed
a brief look of panic towards the Captain, then returned his attention
to Miss Kelly's quiet lecture as she explained every step of the
procedure she was performing. The Captain pretended not to hear her
delicately whispered cursing at the junior steersman "Damn it! Look at me, not the
Captain! Pay attention to what we're
doing, boy..."
"Mister Carter, report," said the Captain.
"On schedule and descending to the tanker, sir. It is in position and
spotlight code signals have been exchanged. They have properly
identified themselves and are making ready the fuel transfer piping.
We'll be connected and refueling within seven minutes," said the First
Officer. "Miss Kelly is giving Mister Anderson a tutorial on the
docking, as ordered. All lookouts are manning their telescopes and the
area looks deserted - so far. We've seen no ships since we crossed over
into the Gulf, but we might have been observed as we passed over New
Orleans." The first Officer smiled briefly, then continued. "But only
if someone was emptying their drinks as we flew overhead."
"Very good," replied the Captain. "Proceed with the docking and
refueling. Is there a weather report?"
"Yes sir," Carter replied. "I hope that our orders don't send us
towards Cuba. We've picked up some wireless message traffic from
merchant seamen East of
there. They report that a storm is brewing. Possibly a hurricane, but
it's
still too early to tell."
"Understood," said the Captain. "we'll simply have to pray that we're
being sent somewhere besides there."
"Docking complete, Captain. The tanker has attached the transfer
pipes," said Miss Kelly. "Surface winds are as close to nil as we could
pray for. Fuel is being pumped aboard."
"What about our lift?" Mister Anderson asked. "Won't we have to
compensate for the added weight of the fuel?"
"Very good, Anderson. We will indeed," said Miss Kelly. "This mechanism
here," she added as she adjusted a lever on the control panel, "sets
the amount of gas being pumped into, or out of, the
ballonettes.
This dial shows the total weight of the ship. Pay close attention as it
changes from the weight of the fuel being pumped aboard. This one
right next to the first shows the amount of buoyancy from
the Helium. The trick is to keep the two readings as close to
equal as humanly possible. We can also heat or cool the Helium in the
gasbags to fine-tune the amount of lift."
"Still," the young crewman sighed. "Liquid Natural Gas is nothing to
take for granted. One spark, and we go up like a fireworks on the 2nd
of July."
"Mister Anderson," replied the Captain. "You are exactly right. That is
why the pipes carrying the fuel are made of brass, and the gaskets on
those fuel lines are made of rubberized fabric. To prevent sparks.
Still, I suppose that this is far better than shoveling coal. Plus, our
gas-fired steam engines are lighter and more powerful than a
coal-burning set would be."
"It's certainly faster
than
shoveling coal," replied Mister Carter. "A quarter of the transfer is
complete. Fuel tanks are now at 50% and the ballonette pressurizing
equipment is running smoothly. We should be finished refueling in half
an hour, at this rate."
******
"Refueling complete," the First Officer reported. "Standing by to cast
off the supply pipes and begin our ascent."
"Good," said the Captain. He pulled a sealed envelope out of the inside
breast pocket of his blue and gray uniform coat. "We shall soon see
what
fortune has in store for us. Cast off from the tanker ship. Increase
lift. Prepare to start the main engines on my command. Once we're clear
of the danger zone from any fuel that might have leaked, we'll grab
some
altitude and find out what our next mission will entail."
"We've cast off and are going up," said First Officer Carter. The
Captain slit open the envelope with his pocketknife and removed several
sheets of paper. Reading swiftly, he flipped through each page in turn.
Then he folded the pages carefully and returned them to their envelope.
He sighed deeply, then walked to the forward windows and looked out
into the rapidly darkening evening sky. His bridge crew waited as he
considered his orders. The frown on his face was reflected in the
forward windows.
"So," he finally whispered to himself. "It's fated to be a game of Cat
and Mouse..."
"Sir?" asked First Officer Carter. "Course and speed?"
The Captain turned to face the bridge crew. "South by Southeast, Mister
Carter. Full speed ahead," replied the
Captain. "Maximum altitude and continue communications blackout."
"Our destination, sir?"
"The East coast of Venezuela," replied the Captain. Remorse was evident
in his voice. "We're going Mouse hunting," he added.
"The Terror of Caracas," said Miss Kelly. The tall blond woman was
obviously shaken by the news.
"What?" asked Mister Anderson.
"The Lady Cita has become a thorn in the side of some powerful European
traders," said the Captain. "All effort must be made to capture or
contain her airship and crew. Those are my orders."
"Doesn't the Council know-" began Miss Kelly.
"Those are my orders!" snapped the Captain. "There's a price on her
head now. She's managed to disrupt exactly
the wrong businessmen. All Europe is up in arms. France and Germany are
ready to
declare war on Venezuela. Italy and Spain are outraged and prepared to
join forces with them.
Portugal is threatening to send troops into Europe if Venezuela is
attacked. England, Russia, and Poland are backing Portugal and
Venezuela. China and Argentina are upset with England. India is
negotiating with Australia, the Philippines and Peru to come to the aid
of Venezuela if they are attacked. And half of Africa is spoiling for
war against the European nations that used to have colonies there.
They're out for revenge, pure and simple. If Cita isn't stopped soon,
the world could be plunged into a huge, bloody, useless war."
"And the Confederacy?" asked young Anderson.
"We're neutral," snapped the Captain in reply.
"Yes," said First Officer Carter. "But neutral on whose side?"
"Our side," replied Miss Kelly. "Of course. Still-"
"Bloody damn pirates," said Cyril Jones as he entered the bridge.
"Always been trouble. Begging the Captain's pardon, Sir!" Cyril added
as the Captain turned to glare angrily at him. "But it's true, I've
always said that she'd cause you more trouble before everything was
said and done. I can't change the facts, Captain."
"You're right, Cyril. But I can't change the past," the Captain replied.
"Merde,"
Miss Kelly said quietly.
"What's the matter?" Anderson asked her, his voice no louder than hers.
"Cita Mouse and the Captain," she replied. "They have... some history."
"Ah," said Anderson, as if he understood. No one on the bridge crew was
fooled. Anderson was far too young to comprehend what was really
happening.
"Yes," said the Captain. "And now I have to either kill her or capture
her for trial."
"Merde,"
Miss Kelly repeated.
******
Pt.2
The Hunt
Ten hours of flying time later, the Nemesis
was perched high above the Northeastern coast of South America. The
paint on her metallic skin blending in almost perfectly with the sky, Nemesis pointed her
bow Eastward, towards the coming dawn. Her steam engines easily turning
her many propellers, serving to keep Nemesis
stationary against the high-altitude winds. From the ground below she
appeared as innocent as a dust speck, only slightly lighter in color
than the slowly brightening sky itself. Only the sharpest of eyes would
be able to discern her presence. Only the keenest of ears would be able
to gather the merest whisper of her engine's muted drone.
Far below, the city of Caracas slept. Early morning light began to wash
the streets and buildings. Gradually, the people of the city began to
stir, ready to start another day. In the streets of Caracas, the scent
of fresh baked bread wafted through the early morning air. Milkmen and
paperboys nodded greetings at each other as they went about their
appointed rounds. Roosters squawked quietly to themselves, preparing to
herald the swiftly nearing dawn. Night-hunting animals settled down in
concealed roosts for another day's rest in the edges of the vast,
sprawling jungle that surrounded the slowly stirring city. The innocent
inhabitants of Caracas slowly prepared to begin yet another day, all
the while remaining unaware of the great airship which hovered high
above them.
******
"So the Captain and this lady pirate have had run-ins in the
past.
I understand that. He's been in the service for ages. But I'm
still not sure of one thing. How shall we find
these pirates?" The question seemed innocent enough. Young
Midshipman-Trainee Anderson and Miss Kelly were sharing a breakfast
table in the airship's Mess Hall - talking shop and sharing memories
from their training days - so Anderson's question was perfectly
reasonable. After all, he was one of the newest crew members to have
joined the Nemesis,
only having been aboard a matter of a very few months.
"Run-ins?" Miss Kelly's voice was tinged with mild, good-humored
sarcasm. "I suppose that's one way of putting it. They've crossed paths
loads of times in the last few years. Even shared a dungeon or two on
occasion... Still, finding her in the past always seemed to be a matter
of chance. It's a big ocean, and an even bigger sky. If she isn't down
there in Caracas at the moment, we'll simply have to figure out the
most likely places for her to be, and then check each one as quickly as
we can travel to them. Eventually, we might get lucky. Her airship
isn't the sort of thing that can be hidden easily."
"I gather that she's not quite the villain that she's been painted?"
"Of course not. She's helped the Confederacy more often than not."
"Sort of like Jean Lafitte back during the first Martian attack? When
his pirate fleet joined up with the old US Navy and helped bombard the
cylinder that held New Orleans under siege?"
"Yes," replied Miss Kelly. "Exactly like that. Sometimes an ally,
sometimes an enemy - Well, no. More of an adversary than an
enemy. But always a law unto herself."
"So that's why the Captain doesn't really want to capture her. She's
been an ally-"
"You don't quite see it, Anderson-"
"Mark. Please, call me Mark. I hate being addressed my my last name
when I'm not on duty."
"Fair enough, Mark. And while we're off duty, please call me Alice. But
you still don't get it. They're in love! They've been avoiding having
to face up to that for years. Duty and honor over all, I suppose."
"He's going to have to jail-"
"Or kill," Alice reminded him.
"Or kill, as you say, the woman he loves? Surely the Council knows-"
"Of course they do!"
Alice
exclaimed, still trying to keep her voice down. "They aren't fools. But
personal feeling isn't always the same as duty. He has his orders, does
our Captain Resthal. And he'll follow those orders to the letter, no
matter how much he hates
them."
"That's - that's terrible!
Surely he can't be expected to kill the woman he loves!"
"Not even to stop a war? Yes he can
- And would, if he had no other choice. But I suspect that isn't what
the Council actually expect
him to do."
"What then?"
"I suspect that they expect him to find an alternative
solution. Something that prevents this 'World War' from happening, and
yet removes the threat that Lady Cita represents - without
her having to die. Something that they can't foresee. Our Captain has a
reputation for turning defeat and disaster into a fighting chance for
survival. Have you studied his record?"
"Well, no. That's not the sort of thing a Midshipman-Trainee is allowed
to go to the files and look up, is it?"
"You'd be surprised what a determined trainee can get away with doing,
Mark. In any case, Captain Resthal's record is quite
educational. Or, at least the parts of it that haven't been deeply
classified.
He's made himself a name for being able to accomplish the impossible.
Or the near-impossible. Pirates, smugglers, foreign governments, even
the Martians
respect him."
"What about Cyril Jones? He
doesn't seem to respect the Captain in the slightest bit. Cyril is
downright disrespectful
at the best of times."
"Cyril? He's... That's just his way. Cyril and the Captain have been
together since their Cavalry days. Cyril can get away with arguing with
the Captain in situations where anyone else would risk getting shot for
treason. They're that close. Cyril's been a second father to him. So
the Captain 'overlooks' any insubordination from that quarter. Think of
Cyril as a 'valued adviser,' maybe even a 'father confessor' figure, if
it helps you to understand their interpersonal dynamic at all."
"I see," said Mark. He took another bite of sausage, then another sip
of coffee before he next spoke. "Things are always more complicated
than they look. But you were talking about the Captain's official
record."
"You know he's one of the Ghost Riders?"
"What?"
Mark gaped in surprise, a fork-full of scrambled eggs halfway to his
mouth. "Emperor Norton's hand-picked special operatives? Those Ghost Riders?"
"Keep your voice down!" Alice hissed. "The very same. But don't let on
that you know. They're not something that a mere Midshipman is supposed
to be aware of."
"Aware of?
They're not even supposed to exist!
They're..." Mark's voice trailed off as he desperately searched for the
right thing to say.
"They're a rumor," Alice replied. "A legend, something to strike fear
into the hearts of criminals."
"How did you find this out?"
"Easy," Alice said. "I was Records Officer on the old Enterprise several
years ago. I got curious about the Captain- Well, he was First
Officer back then and was being promoted and transfered
ground-side for special duties. So I broke into the Classified file
cabinet in the
records section to sneak a look at his transfer orders. Nearly got
caught, too. But I managed to sneak a look
into the files, before anyone noticed. I wasn't cleared to look at that
sort of thing, but I got away with it just the same. Our Captain is a
legend in the service."
"And after seeing that, you trust him? The Ghost Riders are illegal. By the
Articles of Confederation anything even remotely resembling
a secret service of secret agents is forbidden. Secret Policemen? The
Confederacy doesn't allow that!"
"Nevertheless, they're real. And what's more, they're necessary. Someone has to have
the authority to police even the members of Governments. Without some
sort of checks and balances, what's to stop a government from becoming
corrupt and all-powerful? As far as trusting Captain Resthal, I trust
his sense of honor over that of anyone I've ever met. He's a knight in
shining armor, he is. No one has ever been appointed to the Ghost
Riders that didn't value justice above everything else..."
"Granted," Mark replied. "I've always trusted him. I respect him.
Matter of fact, I think that I'll be able to trust him even more, now.
But still..."
"Nevertheless," Alice overrode Mark's objections as if they were
trivial. "He's proved time and time again that he will always do
the right
thing, even if it costs him, personally. Even if it means he'll have to
do something he doesn't want to do."
"Like hunt this lady pirate down?"
"Exactly."
"I'm not man enough to disregard love. I just couldn't do it."
"One day, you might have to, Mark."
"I hope that day never comes," Mark said determinedly. "Never!"
"Oh, finish your breakfast," Alice said with exasperation plain in her
voice. "We've both got to get some sleep before our next duty shift."
"Yes Ma'am." Mark replied. Then both of them wordlessly set to
finishing off their meals. Around them, the rest of the graveyard shift
of crew members went about finishing their own meals, preparatory to
retiring for eight hours of well-earned rest.
******
"Captain," Cyril said quietly. "Could we have a word in private? Just
you and me?"
"Cyril, of course we can," replied Captain Resthal. "You're one of the
best advisers I've ever had. Here, in the briefing room. Oh, you'd
better go first. Just in case one of the Mid-watch officers needs to be
woken up and shooed out." The Captain grinned as Cyril opened the door
to the briefing room and grinned back over his shoulder at the Captain.
"You've matured a lot since our last ship," Cyril said. "Used to be
that you'd haul up some Junior Officer on charges if you'd of caught
them sleeping in a disused chamber while they were supposed to be on
duty."
"Used to be that we were at war with a bunch of murdering aliens," the
Captain replied with a smile. "Times change." They both entered the
briefing room, only to be confronted with a heavy wooden oval of
polished tabletop, ringed with empty chairs. The wood-paneled walls
were bare of ornamentation, but a single large window did serve to
reduce the room's isolated aura.
"Now look here, lad..." Cyril exclaimed as the door closed securely
behind the two men and they both sank gratefully down into a pair of
comfortable chairs. The older man propped his elbows up on the tabletop
as he continued speaking. "You and I both know that this is a crock -
your being ordered to chase the Lady down and all. We both know where
her base is - or at least, where it was a few years ago. And we both
know that she'd come running to meet you if you sent out the right
signals to her ship."
"Yes, that's why I'm stalling," replied Captain Resthal. "Her spies in
the Confederacy ought to have had almost
enough time to report the contents of my orders to her by now. She
could run off to the South Pacific, or-"
"Bullshit!" Cyril replied. "You know that she'd never run."
"That's what I'm afraid
of, Cyril. That's exactly
what I'm afraid of. She'd charge up with cannons blasting if she
thought that I'd of ever turned against her. And if it came to a battle
between the Nemesis
and her Sky Queen
-Well, I wouldn't want to make bets as to who would win..."
"She would,
without a doubt," said Cyril. "You're just not ruthless
enough to give the necessary orders to kill her in a pitched
battle. If
you were, I'd of failed in your raising. And I know damn well that I didn't fail."
"And she is
ruthless enough to kill me and
my crew?"
"You know that she is, lad. She's the de facto Queen of Venezuela,
she's spent her whole lifetime
protecting her people, and she's ruthless enough and dedicated enough
for anything- and crazy besides. No
one can predict what she's going to do- or what
lines she'll draw. If this country of hers was at stake, she'd kill
you, hands
down and no regrets until after the deed was done. She's a
right
nutter she is, and no mistake. But that doesn't make her in the wrong,
as far as protecting her country and her people goes. She's a bloody Queen! Her people
come first, and her desires don't even enter into the equation. I know
that you love her, and I know
that she loves you, but in a pitched battle? Ship to ship and
everything else being equal? My money would be on her to make the
final kill. Vila..." the older man's voice broke with emotion. "Lad,
you already know that the Council expect
you to violate the orders they gave you."
"I'm well aware of what the Council wants! What I don't
know is just how to go about it! Cita has to stop attacking the bloody
Germans,
and those
French buggers that are passing their shipping down here, but I don't
see any way of making
her
back down. If I could just prove to the Council that the ships that
she's attacked were running slaves, or even trying to overthrow her
rule here in Venezuela-"
"Can't be done, lad. If I know my European bastards- and no one knows
those worthless shits better than I do - they've covered their tracks
seven ways to Sunday. Mark my words, they've engineered this
confrontation. They bloody well planned this! And they hand-picked you to be the knife
they want to stab her in the back with. They want the both of you out of
their way so that you can't interfere with some long-term plan of
theirs. What we
have to do is figure out a way to turn the tables on the buggers."
"But how?
How the hell can I do my duty and yet keep from killing her? What the
hell can I do?
These buggers have me over a barrel, Pops. I've half a mind to desert
and turn pirate, myself! At least if I turned traitor, she'd never face
the gallows."
"Pops?" Cyril smiled. "You haven't called me that since we bombarded
the crap out of that bloody damn Martian base outside of Appomattox
back in '65. Boy, you give me hope. But you can't turn against the
Confederacy. Not in your nature, lad. Not any more than she
can stop protecting Venezuela from those bloody damn greedy-arsed
European war-mongering bastards! There's got to be a better way."
"Yes, in the name of all that's Holy, there's got to be a better
way!"
"Well," Cyril said slowly, as if tasting some foreign delicacy that he
didn't think was really edible by normal human beings. "You could
always marry the bitch and take her off to the wilds somewhere. That'd
save her life and save your honor at the same time. Besides, she's a
beauty, and no mistake. A man could do far worse than to
take a fiery little goddess like her off to the marriage bed, couldn't
he?"
"Pops! You're a bloody genius! But how could I get her to accept it?"
"Well," said Cyril. "Here's a novel idea, and no mistake. How's about
you tell her the truth and see how she takes it?"
******
Pt. 3
Come out, Come Out, Wherever You Are...
"What?" The Captain shook his head slightly, as if to clear away the
fog of his private thoughts.
"Sir? I said that one of the wireless operators is getting a signal,"
First Officer Carter sounded apologetic.
"Just one? How can that be?" Captain Resthal asked as he turned away
from the endless vista outside the airship's windows to face his First
Officer.
"It's the 'special equipment,' sir. The communication set salvaged from
an Invader craft, I mean. Regulations state that we have to keep it
manned and under observation at all times-"
"In case the Martians come back again," interrupted the Captain. "Yes,
I know the rulebook. So there's a Martian tripod down in the jungle
somewhere nearby? Or have they invaded again?"
"Neither, I suspect," replied Mister Carter. "I think that it is
someone else with a captured communicator, sir. The signals are in a
code that we don't recognize. Furthermore, they're not powerful enough
to be from a working Martian craft. What's more, they don't resemble
anything like what I've studied of the Invaders signaling to one
another."
"You did your university thesis on Martian communications, as I recall."
"Yes sir, and I'd stake my reputation that these signals are too
different from theirs to actually be from an Invader."
"Point taken, Mister Carter.Very well, call Second Officer Wilson to
the bridge, then join me in the wireless section. I'm on my way down
there now."
"Very good, sir. I shall join you shortly."
Mister Carter stepped over to a seated crew member and passed on the
Captain's orders. He watched as the Captain left the bridge and was
pleased to note that the door hinges no longer squeaked. Evidently,
Miss Scott's workmen had been up to the bridge with an oil can.
"Efficient," he said quietly.
"Sir?" asked the crewman at the inter-ship communications station.
"Just noting that Miss Scott's workmen are good at their jobs, Mister
Harris."
"Ah, I see. Yes sir, they are. Reply from Mister Wilson, sir. He's on
his way to the bridge."
"Very good, Harris. Thank you."
******
Captain Resthal entered the dimly-lit room that housed the duty
stations of the wireless operators, closing the thick sound-deadening
door behind himself. He paused a moment to allow his eyes to adjust to
the low lighting. Then strode through to a smaller compartment that
housed the machinery captured from a Martian craft during the most
recent of their invasion attempts.
"As you were," said the Captain as the crewman there began to stand.
"Show me the signals," he paused, "Smith, isn't it?"
"Yes sir, James Smith. Here is the record that I've been keeping since
the machine first started working."
"Hmm," said the Captain as he looked over the written report. "I see.
Not Morse, not a Martian code that I've seen before, and not any code
that I know. What do you make of it, Smith?"
"I don't know, Sir." Smith frowned as he replied.
"It seems rather simple - at least, the structure seems
simple. But I
can't break it. I thought it might be in Russian, but that doesn't
check out either. Every language that I've tried to use to decode it
comes out in gibberish. Just random letters and numbers, not words."
Both men looked up as Mister Carter entered the room. Captain Resthal
handed him the report. "See what you can do with it, John. The tape is
still running," Captain Resthal pointed towards a brass and glass
ticker-tape machine that sat quietly chattering away in one corner of
the small room. "We're not going to miss anything while we look this
bit over."
Carter looked at the message pad for a few seconds, then reached
over with his left hand. He unlatched and unfolded a desktop
from
its locked storage mounting on the wall. Its support
chains jingled quietly as he lowered it into position. Placing the pad
on the desktop, Carter reached
for a canvas-topped folding stool and motioned for Captain Resthal to
pull a similar stool up to the desk where they could both see the pad.
Carter looked over at Mister Smith. "What have you already tried,
James? No use wasting time duplicating your work."
"All three official versions of Morse used by the English-speaking
world. Every French, German, Spanish, Portuguese, and Italian code I
can find in the books. I tried Greek and Egyptian codes as well, but
there wasn't much to go on in the references. I thought of Russian, but
couldn't get anything but nonsense out of it that way... Oh, and the
translations that were done on the Martian signals during the last war."
"Good. Well, not really good-
as far as being able to identify the code - but good work,
nevertheless. At least we can eliminate the
standard references. Some pirate signals? Maybe based on one or another
native Indian language? What do you think, Captain?"
"It isn't Cherokee, I can tell that already. The word groups are too
small and regular for we redskins to to use. Unless the word groups are
artificially truncated..."
"I see," said Carter. "That's beginning to look like part of the
answer, in any case. None of these groups may be whole words."
"Might the length of the word groups indicate the beginning, or the
end, of a sentence?" Smith asked. There was doubt in his voice.
Obviously, he was a bit timid at interrupting the First Officer.
"Good point, James," said Carter. "I see no groups smaller than four
characters and none larger than seven characters."
"I noticed that the groups of seven are the fewest, sir." Smith said
with more confidence. "But they aren't preceded or followed by any
particular number of characters in a group."
"Let's hope it isn't Welsh," said the Captain. He grinned. "Twenty
seven consonants and a random vowel. That's the stuff of nightmares for
a code clerk!"
The three men laughed aloud, then got back to work. Any awkwardness
Smith might have felt at the prospect of working directly with the two
senior officers vanished like a morning fog being burned off by warm
sunshine.
******
"So it turned out to be some French smugglers? How did they get hold of
the Martian equipment? Want me to top that off for you, Vila?"
"Yes, Cyril," said Captain Resthal, holding out his glass for a refill.
Smiling thanks at Cyril, he took a small sip of the Irish Whiskey that
Cyril had brought along when he'd stopped by the Captain's quarters
after the end of their shifts. "Once we broke communications blackout
and asked the rest of the air fleet
to triangulate on the source, everything started to fall into place.
They turned out to be out in the North Atlantic, trying to sneak
truffles and escargot into Quebec. They'll be met by a Confederacy
steamship detachment that was dispatched from Nantucket right after we
reported to the Council. Someone in the People's Republic is going to
be mighty upset when inquiries start being made as to what happened to
all the Martian communicator units from the tripods that were shot to
bits, up in Canada."
"Not as upset as they'll likely be when their fancy French delicacies
fail to arrive in time for some rich man's dinner," Cyril said,
grinning. "Someone in a powdered wig is going to be shouting
unmentionables at his servants, right soon. I've always said that the
PR of Q is the Confederacy's weakest link. Ah! This Tullamore Dew does
hit the spot, 'eh lad? Yes, those froggies never could get the hang of
keeping the criminals out of their government."
"Yes, this Tully is just what I needed about now," said the Captain.
"And I agree with you about Quebec. I've never understood why Norton
and the rest of the Council let them get away with the rampant
gangsterism."
"It's all politics, my boy. Just politics," Cyril replied after taking
a healthy swig of his own drink. "It's better to keep the gangsters in
the public eye than to force 'em to hide behind the scenes. I'd lay
odds that the Emperor had to talk the Council into letting things
happen as they did, just so that they could justify putting an agent of
some sort up there to keep an eye on things."
"No doubt you're right."
"Still, lad. That was a sharp move by those smugglers to make up a code
in Algonquin to use for their reports to their customers. Any idea why
truffles and snails were put on the banned list in the first place?"
"That's a puzzle in itself, Cyril. But I could make a few shrewd
guesses."
"Guess away, Vila. Guess away. As the actress said to the Bishop,
'enlighten me, for I'm always ready to learn something new.' And if it
isn't something slightly dirty, I'll eat my hat."
Captain Resthal laughed as he hoisted his glass in a toast to his
mentor. "Only slightly dirty, Cyril. And even then, only in the
political sense. I'm guessing that the official reason of those items
being banned as a 'health hazard' was only a cover for their being more
profitable when smuggled. Just because they either crawl on the ground
or grow in the ground is no excuse for not having someone to test them
for diseases. No one has ever tried to put potatoes or onions on a
Banned List."
"Sounds about right," Cyril said. "More profit in supplying proscribed
goods to the rich than an honest market could provide."
"Plus," added the Captain. "having them smuggled in and extra costly
keeps them out of the hands of the 'common folk'. Criminals love to be
exclusive - like having their own little club, so to speak."
"What'll happen to the goods once that Confederacy detachment
takes the smuggler's ship?"
"Probably the usual thing," replied the Captain. "A prize crew will
sail it to New York and the mushrooms and snails will be sold at
auction."
"What's to keep the buyer from trying to smuggle them overland into
Quebec?"
"Not a bloody thing, Cyril. Except, I doubt that they'll be able to
keep them from spoiling before they can evade Quebec's customs patrols
and get the goods past their borders."
"Not to put a damper on our mood, lad - but this little distraction
hasn't put us any closer to finding the Lady, has it?"
"No, but she's somewhere close by, Cyril. I can feel it.
"Still haven't figured out how to stop her, Vila?"
"No, Pops. I have to think of something before we do
find her. Europe isn't going to hold off much longer. That damned war
is coming, and soon. I have to find a way to slow it down. I already
know that I can't stop it. But I have to try. I'll be damned before
I let
them use Cita as an excuse to start their bloody war!"
"That's my boy," said Cyril. "Well, I'm off. I've got roll call at
dawn, and it's after midnight now."
"Thanks, Pops. Thanks for everything," said Captain Resthal as Cyril
turned to leave. Once the door closed behind Cyril, Vila took a last
long pull on his drink. When the glass was finally empty, he sat there
for a long time, lost in thought. At last, he threw his empty glass
against the wall. It shattered with a loud crashing noise as the
Captain snarled in anger.
"I won't
allow it! I won't let them do
this," he shouted. Then, ashamed of his outburst after the rage had
passed, he turned out the lights and settled into his bunk. "She can't
die," he said quietly as he started to drift off to sleep. "I won't let
her die."
******
"We can't go on much longer just hanging over Caracas, sir. Even
station keeping uses up fuel that we're sure to need later." said
Second Officer Wilson to the Captain as the Nemesis
began her third day of hovering out of sight of the city below. "Have
you thought of a way to bring Cita Mouse out into the open?"
"Yes Wilson, I have."
"Oh, very good, sir. Your orders?"
"Maintain station keeping, Commander Wilson. Hold our position until
something happens."
"But sir, that could take forever!" Commander Wilson's discomfort was
plain. He was a man who preferred direct action above all else. This
period of forced inactivity grated on his nerves.
"Sir! Topside lookouts report an unidentified airship," announced the
young lady at the inter-ship communications station. "They are above us
and to our stern. Descending rapidly and closing on an intercept
course."
"Or," said the Captain with a slight smile. "It could take just a few
more moments. Patience is a virtue, Commander. You should cultivate it."
"Very good, sir. Your orders, now?"
"Signal the engine room. Make ready to stop all engines and switch to
full reverse thrust - on my order. We won't have much of a safety
margin. Have everyone stand by."
"Weapons stations too, sir?"
"Exactly, Wilson. Man all weapons. Make ready to fire on my command -
But only
on my command. If anyone fires without my express orders, I'll skin
them alive and make drum heads out of the pelt. Make that clear to all
the gunners, Commander."
"Sir! Yes sir!" Wilson snapped off a salute and strode over to the
communications station to issue orders to the crew. "Battle stations,"
he shouted into the ship's internal communicator. "This is not a drill.
I repeat, this is not
a drill. Look lively now! Prepare for special maneuvers, on the
Captain's orders. Miss Scott, make ready to reverse thrust on all
engines! Captain Resthal will give the word. Gunnery crew! Man all
weapons! Wait for the order to fire. The first man that fires without
orders will face the Captain's extreme
displeasure. Snap to it!"
The Captain walked over to stand near the helm. Cyril Jones strode onto
the bridge, still buttoning his tunic. "I'll take the helm, Miss
Kelly," he said. "You stand by in case I need another pair of hands,
please."
"Very good, Mister Jones. You have the helm."
"Don't get into a huff, Miss. If that's the Lady, then we'll either be
in
combat and taking fire, or having to dock airships, in just a few
moments. Either way, I'll need your help. I trust your reflexes," Cyril
said absently as he took his station. "Aside from me, you're the best
there is, girl. Stand by for action!"
"Thank you, Mister Jones... I think," Miss Kelly replied.
"Airship still on an intercept course," the communications officer said
as she relayed word from the lookouts. "Gunnery crew standing by.
Engine room standing by. All stations report ready for battle, sir."
"Any sign of them identifying themselves?" The Captain's voice was
calm. He radiated confidence in the way he stood, the way he looked
around the bridge in approval at the controlled chaos of the crew
coming to action stations. The crew was reassured even more by
his utterly relaxed
readiness. He
demonstrated this ability - to spring into action in an instant - just
by standing there as if he already knew what the future held in store.
At times like this it almost seemed as if the Captain was merely
waiting for the perfect moment to arrive. To the crew, a
Captain
who never seemed frightened or disturbed by unexpected dangers was a
Captain to treasure.
"No sir," replied the communications officer. "No signals either by
wireless, flares, flags, or lights. They're just diving headlong at us.
Lookouts estimate less than one minute until intercept, sir."
The Captain nodded. "That's her then. I'm betting on it."
"The Lady, herself?" Cyril asked. "Or someone using her tactics? And
how the devil did she get above
us?"
"No matter," replied Captain Resthal. "Her or not, we're ready. Stand
by for my command. We'll move out of the way at the last moment, then
bring all guns to bear. Stand by, engine room. Stand by, gunnery crew.
Ready the Heat Ray," he ordered. "She's using Hydrogen for
lift,
instead of Helium as we do. Or a little bit of both gases. Even if the
two ships were the same size, she could get an extra eight percent of
lift
over the best we can manage. But there's a price to pay for
using Hydrogen. A very high price, at that."
"What does he mean?" Alice Kelly's question to Cyril Jones was
whispered.
"Hydrogen burns like a torch," Cyril replied. "One shot from our Heat
Ray and the Lady's ship is a burning ember."
"But-" Miss Kelly began.
"It won't come to that," Cyril replied, whispering back. "Trust the
Captain. He's the best that there's ever been."
"Still," Miss Kelly said. "I hope you're right."
"I hope you know what you're doing!" Cyril called back over his
shoulder at the Captain.
"Don't I always?" came the Captain's voice in reply. "Stand by..."
"That thing is three times our size! The lookouts report that we're
about to collide," reported the communications officer. Her voice was
shaking.
"Closer to five times our size," said the Captain. "Any moment now...
Stand by Engine Room!"
"We're cutting it close," said Miss Kelly.
"You just think we are," said Cyril. "If the Lady wanted us dead, there
are
rockets on her ship that could have blown us out of the sky
before she
ever got close."
"Engine room! Stop all engines, now! Apply reverse thrust," shouted the
Captain. "Now! Gunnery crew! Ready all weapons!"
With grace that belied her size, the Nemesis
began to ease backwards under the influence of the headwinds that she
had been resisting for the last three days. As her mighty propellers
stopped, then reversed direction, Nemesis
quickly picked up speed. Within seconds, she was a thousand yards
Westward of her previous position, then two thousand yards.
"Engine room! Full stop! Go to station keeping!" came the shouted
orders of her Captain. As the bridge crew looked on, the enormous bulk
of Lady Cita's airship, Sky
Queen eased to a stop where the Nemesis
had once stood. Slowly, the mammoth airship commanded by the lady air
pirate began to turn more directly into the headwinds from the East,
while at the same time, its engines forced it to drift slowly sideways,
to the North. Wireless signals began to flash between the two airships.
Finally, communication was achieved.
"Identify yourself," came the message from the Sky Queen.
"You are invading Venezuelan airspace. Foreign adventurers are not
welcome here. Give me one good reason I shouldn't open fire!"
"Cita, this is Vila," came the reply from the Nemesis. "Do I need
to rescue you?"
******
"Vila! But how do I know it's really you?"
"How should I prove it to you, Cita?"
"Tell me about the day we first met, face to face," came the reply from
the Sky Queen.
"It was a warm October day," Captain Resthal replied in turn. "I met
your landing craft in Athens. The sky was a cloudless blue, the birds
were singing, and you stepped down onto the ground carrying nothing but
a back pack full of clothes. We drew close together, and we kissed.
Time stopped. The whole of creation stood still waiting for us. Then we
stood there in each other's arms for a long time. Once we felt like
moving again, we walked up a small hill towards my carriage. We rode
around the city looking at all the old buildings. We talked endlessly
about how much better it was to be able to be together instead of
talking by wireless. After a while, I
took you to my home out in the country. I carried you across the
threshold of my little house, then I cooked dinner for us. Spaghetti,
but I almost forgot the garlic bread. We ate, drank a couple of bottles
of very good wine, then we-"
"Enough! It is you," came the signal from Cita Mouse. "Now shut up!"
"But I hadn't even gotten to the-"
"Shut up! Wireless is too public, you bastard."
"I'll have you know that my parents have been married for sixty five
years," quipped Vila. "Ever since they were teenagers. And they've
never wanted to get divorced."
"It is you, and no doubt. Why are you here, Vila?"
"You know why I'm here. You're being used as an excuse to start a major
war. The two of us have to find a way to turn the tables on the people
trying to start that war. Damn it, Cita. I love you. I'm not about to
let some stupid banker
blame his greedy war on you
for protecting your country from his
rapacious schemes. We've got to talk, before their plans can go any
further."
"Agreed. Dock with the Queen
and come aboard. I'll have the cooks lay on something special for
dinner. You can have your crew come over, too. But make them take
turns. A few at a time shouldn't get you into too much trouble with
Josh and his cronies."
"It wouldn't be Emperor Norton that would bother me, Cita. But you're
right, it would do some of my crew a fair bit of good to see what life
is like on a Privateer airship commanded by a foreign ally."
"Ha! We're not foreigners, you
lot are. Hurry up and dock. I've missed you. Sky Queen out..."
"Cyril, you heard the lady. Mate our dorsal hangar with the ventral
hangar on the Sky Queen.
Be gentle, or she'll skin you alive," said Captain Resthal with a smile.
"Aye, aye Captain. Miss Kelly, if you'd be so kind as to assist?"
"Of course," said Miss Kelly.
"Mister Wilson," said the Captain. "Divide the crew up into groups of
fifty, liaise with Lady Cita's Butler for scheduling and send each
group over to the Queen
for dinner and a guided tour of their ship. Mister Edgar will let you
know how long to allow each group to stay aboard the Queen."
"Is that wise, sir?" Second Officer Wilson asked.
"Can you think of a better way to keep them occupied," replied the
Captain as he grinned, "than to give them half a hundred of our crew
members to keep track of while the Lady and I are in conference?
Besides, you'll like Mister Edgar. He's a man after your own heart.
Former
Royal Marine of the British Empire, decorated almost as many times as
you've been, as loyal to Lady Cita as you are to the Confederation...
Assign First Officer Carter to lead the first group. You lead the
second group. Assign Commander Swift to lead the third group, then
follow the roster on down the line. Oh, Miss Scott is to be exempt from
the rotation. She'll doubtlessly find her way to Lady Cita's engine
room and stay there until we drag her out. That'll be useful. Scott
will be our eyes and ears for the technical observation end of things.
Give her free reign, but assign an aide that will be able to remind her
when it's time to come home. Henderson, perhaps. He's always been able
to deal with Miss Scott's peculiar habits."
"Very good, sir. I will see to it right away," said Second Officer
Wilson. "You may depend on me, sir."
"Excellent," said Captain Resthal.
"Ready to begin the docking, Captain," Cyril said. "We've descended and
aimed ourselves properly to mate up with their ventral hangar
connection."
"Good," said Captain Resthal. "Proceed as needed, Cyril."
"Captain! Lookouts are reporting four airships on intercept courses,"
shouted Harris from his station at the communications equipment.
"What the..." said the Captain. "Contact the Sky Queen and warn
Lady Cita!"
"Yes sir," Harris replied. "They're already warning us, sir. They
signaled 'dinner shall be late' after telling me about the incoming
airships."
The Captain laughed. "Never a dull moment when Cita is around," he
said. "Where are the buggers?"
"Two ahead and two behind," said Harris.
"Tell the lookouts to watch for more coming at us from the sides," said
Captain Resthal. "Cyril, spin us around to face West. Harris, signal
the Sky Queen
to take the two
coming from the East while we take the two approaching from the West.
All gunners, stand ready! Mister Wilson, ready the special squads to
launch on my orders."
"Sir! Yes sir," The Second Officer responded. Turning to the ship's
internal communicators he began shouting for the 'Specials' to board
their craft and prepare for combat. "Battle stations!" Wilson said
loudly into the communicator mouthpiece.
"Harris, keep in constant contact with Lady Cita's ship," the Captain
said. "We'll have to work together on this or we'll all die."
"Yes sir," replied Harris.
"Cyril, keep us well below Cita's ship," Captain Resthal said. "If we
have to use the emergency engines I don't want to set the Sky Queen on fire."
"Way ahead of you sir," Cyril replied. "I dropped down lower while we
were turning around. She seems to have had the same idea and rose up
somewhat at the same time. There's plenty of space between us
vertically."
"Good," replied the Captain. "Mister Wilson, launch the Special Squads
when the enemy comes within four miles of us."
"Yes sir," Wilson said. "Nearly there now, in fact."
"Sir!"
"What is it, Harris?"
"Identification signals coming in from our pair of targets," Harris
said. "It's the Lexington
and the Detroit,
sir. Correct recognition codes and everything. I know the wireless
operators on both ships, sir. I took the liberty of asking them test
questions only they
could have answered. It's really them."
"Very good, Harris. And word from the two behind us?"
"No sir," Harris replied. "And that's worrying. They've had time to
identify, and they haven't. I'm ready to signal Sky Queen that the
two in the West are allies. Waiting on your order to do that, sir"
"Send it, Harris. Mister Wilson, are the Eastern targets within range?"
"Our lookouts report that they are just now crossing the four mile
limit, sir."
"Launch the Specials," said Captain Resthal. "Set two of them to watch
the North and South. Assign them stations at a distance of one mile,
and the rest of the Specials to orbit our position at half a mile."
"Yes sir!" Mister Wilson turned to the communicator, then gave the
launch orders.
"Harris," said the Captain. "Signal Lexington and Detroit
to position themselves to our North and South at a distance of three
quarters of a mile, and ask them to keep a sharp lookout for other
unidentified airships. Cyril, spin us around again to face East."
"Spinning now, Captain," Cyril said.
"Done, sir. Signals sent and confirmations received," Harris said.
"Signal from Lady Cita, sir."
"Oh? What does she say, Harris?"
"Her lookouts report that the approaching airships bear no markings at
all. She says-" Harris paused, his face frowning in concentration.
"Harris?"
"Sorry, Captain," Harris replied. "She stopped speaking English for a
moment and I had to translate. Her Spanish is very rapid. But she
says that they're either pirates, or idiots, or both. She's- Well,
sir..."
"Never heard such language from a lady before now, eh Harris?" Captain
Resthal grinned.
"She's switching languages faster than I can keep up, sir," Harris
replied. "Spanish, French, German, Greek, what sounds like Apache - but
I don't speak that one. Now she's cursing in Russian, sir. From what I
can make out, she thinks that something stinks. These two airships are
outnumbered and out-gunned, but they keep on coming closer. Signal
coming through in English now, sir. She says that she thinks that it's
a trap."
"The Specials and our sister airships are in position, sir," Mister
Wilson reported. "Should I assign one Special to guard our rear?"
"Mister Wilson," replied the Captain. "You just read my mind. Do
exactly that. There's something wrong. I can feel it. Cita is right,
this feels like a trap.Where are we not looking? That's where the enemy
will be..."
"The only place we're not watching," said Cyril. "Is the ground. And
the sea, I suppose."
"Ah!" said the Captain. He looked at Wilson, but before he could say a
word, Wilson turned to the communications station and began shouting.
"Ventral lookouts, all ships! Watch the ground and the sea," Wilson
ordered."Dorsal lookouts, all ships! Watch out for anything in the
skys!"
"Incoming! Lookouts report rockets fired," Harris said. "They're-
they're targeting the city! Sky
Queen is firing all guns at the rockets, sir. She's
dropping down below us to try and stop those rockets."
"Cyril, pick a target," Captain Resthal said. The anger in his voice
was frightening. "Ready all weapons. Heat Ray, make ready to fire."
"Target chosen, sir," said Cyril. "All engines online and running.
Ready to apply the emergency engines."
"Engine Room," the Captain said. "Emergency thrust! Full steam ahead!"
******
The Nemesis
leapt through the
air towards the two attacking airships. Her mighty propellers whirling
with a thunderous roar. In her engine room, steam engines began
spinning a great shaft, to which was affixed turbine blades taller than
two men. As the compression built up, liquid natural gas was injected
into combustion chambers. Tamed lightning sparked the fuel to ignite.
From deep within the Nemesis,
a blazing flame leapt out through a cone-shaped nozzle affixed to her
stern. Nemesis
bolted through the sky like the vengeance of an angry god.
"Target in range," Cyril said. His hands were white-knuckled from his
grip on the wheel. "I've got them both lined up, one behind the other."
"Heat Ray," said the Captain. "Fire!"
From the nosecone on the bow of the Nemesis
there sprang into being a bright, white light. Like a lighthouse beam
it focused on the first enemy airship. Then, punching through the first
ship, it fell upon the second. Both airships caught fire in scant
seconds. Wood
and fabric burned, metal melted, then everything the heat ray touched
flashed into vapor. The two airships exploded.
"Cease fire," said the Captain. "Stop the turbines."
The rogue airships burned as they fell from the sky.
"Cyril, take us back to Caracas," said Captain Resthal. "Harris, what
about those rockets?"
"Lady Cita's crew got three of them," Harris replied. "Lexington and Detroit
shot down one each. The last rocket struck the ground well outside the
city. It didn't explode. No damage to any of our airships."
"Good, perhaps there'll be enough of it left for us to discover who
made it," said the Captain. "Mister Wilson, recall the Special Squads."
Captain Resthal paused for a scant moment.
"Belay that! Cancel that recall order," he said. "Tell the Specials to
circle the city. A group at one mile, another at five miles, staggered
altitudes. Ask the Lexington
and the Detroit
to join the group at the five mile distance. We'll descend to treetop
level and drop anchors. Prepare a team to investigate that rocket. Put
our best people on the
job."
"Consider it done, sir. I'll lead them myself," said Mister Wilson.
"Harris, summon the First Officer to the bridge. Signal the hangar deck
to make ready a landing craft." He scribbled several names onto his
clipboard and then ripped the paper from it. Handing the paper to
Harris, he gave instructions for those crew on the list to report to
the hangar bay.
"I've never felt anything like that," Miss Kelly said to Cyril. "The
power in that turbine engine! We must have gone four miles a minute!"
"Close to that," Cyril replied. "But look at the amount of fuel that it
burned." He tapped a gage on the console as he shook his head. "Fast it
may be, but wasteful. That's the real reason we only use it for
emergencies. That engine is what makes Nemesis
one of the fastest things ever built. Only other Interceptor Class
airships have them. But our steam engines could have turned our
propellers for three days on that same amount of fuel."
"But how did we survive? Why didn't the engine explode? The forces
involved must be tremendous," Miss Kelly said.
"Thank the Martians," said Cyril. "We've had nearly sixty years to
study the secrets we've uncovered from their equipment. Every single
Martian ship or tripod taught us something from the wreckage left
behind. New metals, new machines, even whole new sciences. We got more
than the Heat Ray from them, that's to be sure."
"Captain,"
"What is it, Harris?"
"Message from Miss Scott, sir. She wants to check the whole ship for
damage from using the emergency engine."
"I agree," said Captain Resthal. "That thing is just too
powerful. We must have strained every rivet on the ship. Very well,
tell her to get her crews on it. Check everything, stem to stern."
"Yes sir," Harris replied.
"Approaching the city," Cyril called out. "Beginning our descent." In a
quieter voice he continued. "Miss Kelly, would you take charge of the
compressors and the cooling equipment for the gas bags, please? There's
a lot of play in the helm. Bloody turbine. Must have strained the
mechanism, somewhere."
"Happy to assist, Mister Jones. Compressors started. Cooling- started,"
Miss Kelly said in reply.
"Signal from the Sky
Queen," Harris said. "They're matching our descent and
will meet us when we anchor."
"Good," said the Captain. "Request another landing craft from our
hangar bay. Message the Sky
Queen that I'll meet with Cita on the ground. She'll want
to look the situation over first-hand, in any case."
"Message sent, sir. hangar bay asks if you'd prefer to use your
personal craft, or the Black
Hawk,"
"The Hawk
will do," Captain Resthal replied. "I think the Thunderbird would
give the wrong impression."
"Very good sir," said Harris. "Message relayed to the hangar."
"Thank you, Mister Harris."
The bridge doors swung open. First Officer Carter entered, accompanied
by several of Miss Scott's workmen. Carter conferred briefly with
Second Officer Wilson, then approached the Captain. Mister Wilson left
the bridge to join the crewmen who were assigned to examine the fallen
rocket.
"So that's what using the emergency engine feels like," he said to
Captain Resthal. "I'm glad that we don't have to do that on a regular
basis. Here's a list of injuries, ship-wide, sir. Nothing major. Some
bruises from bad falls - crewmen who weren't quite fast enough to make
it to their acceleration seats. I've taken the liberty of writing up a
schedule for a few drills to give them some practice for future
emergencies. Doctor Smith sends his compliments and pointedly requests
that you wait until he musters out of the service before you
order the turbine used again." Mister Carter grinned, then handed the
Captain the list.
"Zachary is a prissy old fuss-budget," replied Captain Resthal with a
smile. "The day he stops complaining is the day I'll start worrying
he's gone back to working for his old spy-masters in Quebec. He's
danced away from death more times than anyone else in the crew. After
surviving two
Martian invasions, plus thirty years of being a spy, he should be used
to emergencies by now."
"Truth to tell, sir," Mister Carter smiled as he replied. "I think that
one of Cyril's maneuvers caused Doctor Smith to spill a pot of coffee.
And you know how he loves his coffee."
"Yes, I'm aware. But on to serious matters, John. How did the Heat Ray
gunners fare when we attacked?"
"Captain, half of them were scared to death of the weapon blowing up
when we fired it. The other half were scared of being blamed if Cyril
mis-aimed the shot. You should have heard them yelling when everything
worked out correctly. Now all of them are checking and double-checking
the machine to see if it did itself any damage. On my way to the
bridge, I stopped off at the engine room. I talked to Miss Scott and
she agreed to assign a double work crew to inspect the Heat Ray
mechanism."
"Good. I'll leave that in your hands. But for the moment," Captain
Resthal frowned. "I have to worry about diplomatic matters instead of
my ship. Cita and I will have a meeting shortly. Somehow, I've got to
carry out my orders as well as keep the woman I love out of the brig -
and out from in front of a firing squad."
"A tall order, Captain. But given the way we were attacked, in addition
to her risking her ship to try and stop the rocket attack on Caracas,
do you really think that she's the one that's been harassing the French
and German shipping in this area?"
"Frankly, no. I think some European power is attempting to cause a
major war - using Cita's reputation as a pirate to keep us from seeing
through their plans. She's being used as a decoy. I'm sure of it. There
are plans within plans within plans..."
"I see another alternative, sir. I think that you're missing something."
"Oh? What is your view, John?"
"Somehow," Carter said. "I think this is aimed at you as well. Someone
wants you both out of their way. It might be a good idea for the two of
you to try and deduce who would be likely desire the destruction of
both of you, together. Someone you both faced in the past. Someone
insane enough to think of pitting Lady Cita and yourself
against
each other as some sort of artistic form of revenge."
"Oh, bugger. As if I didn't have enough to worry about already. John,"
Captain Resthal paused, then sighed deeply. "I think you've just hit on
the truth. Cyril said something similar to me a couple of days ago. But
I didn't give it enough credence."
"Cyril and I agree on something?"
"Yes, John."
"We're doomed," Mister Carter said with a grin. "The world is about to
end. I wonder if I have time to resign my commission and move to
Hawai'i. I feel a sudden need to become a Quality Control Inspector in
a brothel..."
"As Cyril is fond of saying, we can dream, can't we?"
"Yes sir, that we can. Do you have any suspects?"
"None worth mentioning, at the moment," Captain Resthal replied. "But
I'll be sure to talk with Cita about it and see if we can come up with
a likely villain. In the meantime, I'm going down to the hangar bay.
You have the bridge."
"Very good, sir," said Carter. In a quieter tone he added, "I think
Ensign Briggs ought to go with you on the ground party, sir. He's green
as a gourd, but he's been hitting the books altogether too much since
he got this assignment. This is his first tour with Nemesis. I believe
he needs to interact with other crew members more - As well as getting
over being afraid of we senior officers."
"I see," replied the Captain. "Does he have any special skills that
would relate to this investigation?"
"Sir, if there is anything that he doesn't
know about foreign munitions, I've yet to discover it. What he needs is to have
some responsibility thrust upon him."
"To crack him out of his shell?" Vila asked. "I understand."
"Exactly, sir. It would do him a world of good. He's over there at the
communications station."
"Very good, Mister Carter," the Captain said. In a louder voice, he
said "Ensign Briggs."
"Sir, yes sir!" Briggs replied, standing to attention as he turned to
face the Captain.
"First Officer Carter informs me that you have been studying foreign
weaponry. I may need you on this ground party, then. You're with me.
Mister Carter, you have your orders."
As the First Officer began issuing orders to the bridge crew, Captain
Resthal left the bridge with Ensign Briggs in tow.
******
"We're at treetop level, Mister Carter. The ship is facing into the
wind. Engines have been set to station keeping. We're ready to
drop our anchors on your order."
"Very good, Cyril. Deploy anchors. Mister Harris?"
"Yes, Mister Carter?"
"Message to the Captain, and to Mister Wilson's group. We're at rest
and the anchors are down. They can disembark when ready."
"Sending the message now, sir."
******
With the young Ensign by his side, Captain Resthal made his way through
the
airship until he reached the hangar deck. Nodding
automatically in
reply to the crew members he passed along the way, he
dismissed the turmoil in his
mind that would have kept him preoccupied at any other
time. As if he were giving a guided tour of the giant
airship, his steps carried him through the passageways and doors of the
mighty craft as they descended. Once they had reached the lower hangar
deck, he looked around as
though on an inspection tour of his command.
"It's so big," said Ensign Briggs. "I thought it would be far smaller."
"This hangar is
small," replied the Captain. "Compared to the dorsal hangar, this is
tiny."
The ventral hangar deck of
the Nemesis
wasn't all that
large, perhaps half the size of a typical college athletic field. "It
seems far more roomy without all the "Specials" lashed into their
berths. Notice the high ceiling?"
"Yes sir," replied Briggs. The extra clearance needed by the gasbags of
the "Specials" added
to the illusion of spaciousness. "Why is this so huge, then?"
"Because of the Special Squad airships," said the Captain. "The four
largest of the special
squad craft only hold three crew members. But the added weight of
their rockets, twin Gatling guns, and
ammunition makes it
necessary for them to have a larger gasbag than would be needed just to
lift the weight of three men."
"I've seen them, sir. But this doesn't look big enough to house all of
them."
"That is exactly why the biggest of the Specials are housed in the
dorsal hangar," replied the Captain. "They, and the two pinnaces, are
just to big for this little hangar bay down here. There's only room for
the small Specials, and my personal ship. What with having the
biggest auxiliary airship berthed down here along with the six small
Specials, too."
"The other six 'Specials' are one-man
airships, with fewer rockets and a single Gatling gun, aren't they sir?"
"That's right, Briggs. But the engines are somewhat larger so as to
make them faster. The extra weight means that they require gasbags only
slightly smaller than the three-man Specials. These tiny
airships
have proved their worth time and time
again. Like they did during the last Martian Invasion. As scouts and on
picket duty,
as the Nemesis
is using them now, they are without parallel." The Captain mused on
this as he approached the Black
Hawk, easily the largest of the auxiliary airships the Nemesis
carried. "Then there is our landing craft. It's hangared here along the
bottom of the Nemesis
because it is primarily intended to shuttle back and forth between the Nemesis and the
ground. Black Hawk
wasn't intended to be used as a combat airship. It's capable of holding
twenty crew members, and their equipment,
but it's only slightly better armed than one of the
three-man Specials." Captain Resthal glanced aside
at his
personal craft, the Thunderbird,
where it sat, covered and hidden, in a far corner of the hangar
awaiting his next Secret Service assignment. The sleek, arrowhead shape
of the hidden craft was hard to disguise, but the elite team of crew
members that were tasked with keeping his secrets had done their best.
As for the craft itself, whenever he was
called to duty it was a joy to fly. Thunderbird
was one of the few pleasurable things associated with Captain Resthal's
assignment to the CNAR's Secret Service. With a wistful half-smile, he
brought his mind back to the present and walked onward towards where
Commander Wilson stood with the crew who were to examine the fallen
rocket. Briggs followed him, beginning to feel more comfortable in the
Captain's presence.
"The hangar crew have almost finished filling the gasbag and have
locked the boat to the launch ramp," said Commander Wilson as Captain
Resthal approached. "We could almost ride the tether line
down to
the ground from this height," he added.
"I'd rather not leave the ship tied to us," Captain Resthal replied.
"In case of another attack, I'd want Nemesis free to
move to a better
defensive position."
"Understood, sir. My thoughts exactly," Commander Wilson said. "Is
Ensign Briggs coming down with us?"
"Yes Commander," the Captain replied. "Mister Carter pointed out that
his studies of weapons and munitions might prove an asset."
One of the hangar crew gave a signal. Captain Resthal, Wilson, Briggs,
and the
other experts who were to examine the fallen rocket boarded the Black Hawk
and took their seats. Captain Resthal took the pilot's position.
Commander Wilson took the co-pilot seat. The rest stowed the gear they
were taking down and settled into the passenger seats. Captain Resthal
went through a short checklist, started the small airship's dual
propellers turning slowly, then signaled the hangar crew to lower the
launching ramp and release the safety locks. Within moments, the Black Hawk was
floating free underneath the keel of the Nemesis.
Adjusting a small compressor to begin pulling helium out of the gasbag,
Captain Resthal guided the small airship down to the ground. As they
settled to earth and the gasbag became empty enough to keep a wayward
breeze from dragging the Black
Hawk
along the ground, the Captain set the little airship's anchors and
turned off the drive to the propellers. The entire exercise took all of
ten minutes. Once they were all standing on the ground, the Captain led
them to the crash site. They arrived at the same time as Cita Mouse and
her team from Sky Queen.
Commander Wilson took charge of the Nemesis party and
set them to work alongside the party from the Sky Queen. Vila and
Cita stood close together as their respective teams set about the task
of investigating the downed enemy rocket.
"I would demand that you kiss me," said Lady Cita quietly, "but my crew
is looking. That wouldn't be proper."
"Ditto," replied Vila, in the same tone. "We have to keep up
appearances. Let's just look solemn and stern while they get on with
the work. Wilson will keep everyone busy searching for clues."
They both grinned at the same time. Cita laughed. "I've missed you,"
she said. "You bloody heathen redskin. I ought to have shot your ship
all to hell-and-gone today. What is that idiot government of yours
thinking? Sending you to arrest me, or kill me, and knowing full well
that I'm not guilty of attacking any of their shipping. I've only been
harassing ships running munitions to pirates. Or defending my country.
I haven't sacked a legitimate trading ship in years!"
"I know," Vila replied. "But the bankers and munitions merchants have a
lot of political clout with the Council. You know how powerless the
C.N.A.R. government really is - they're servants of the people, not
our
masters. That's the only kind of government that we can trust."
"Bloody strange way to run a country, if you ask me," Cita said. "Why,
if I were to let that happen around here, the money-lenders and the
trade cartels would organize the surrounding countries and overthrow me
within a fortnight!"
"What makes you so sure that isn't what's happening right now? Someone
is trying to get you off the throne," said Vila. "So, what if they're
using my government to do the dirty work for them?"
"Shush! Here comes your Mister Wilson and my lad Albert," Cita hissed.
"Looks as if they've found something."
"Sir," said Wilson as he snapped off a salute.
"My Lady," said Albert, bowing to Cita.
"What did you find?" Vila asked.
"Quite a few of the parts are labeled in German," Commander Wilson
began.
"But there is something wrong with the lettering of the German words,"
Albert added.
"Quite," said Wilson. "Our Mister Briggs thinks that the parts aren't
up to German standards of workmanship."
"As do our experts, my Lady. If that piece of junk is an authentic
German
rocket," Albert said, "then I am a horse's arse." The anger in his
voice was quite evident. "Begging your pardon, Ma'am."
"But there was something interesting," added Wilson. "One of the
fragments that Lady Cita's crew uncovered had an area that had been
sanded down-"
"As if an identifying mark had been removed?" Vila asked.
"Exactly, sir. Some sort of stamping," Wilson said. "And when Miss
Fanshaw suggested painting a bit of acid on the spot to see if the
original marking could be revealed-"
"Some curious lettering showed up," Albert added, interrupting.
"What sort of lettering? And stop interrupting each other!" Cita said.
"I hate
being whip-sawed by a pair of boffins!"
Albert and Commander Wilson looked at each other briefly, then nodded
in agreement. "Remember Ensign Whitlow's hobby of language study, sir?"
Wilson asked. Vila nodded. "Well, he thinks it looks like Japanese.
What's more, if his translation is correct, this rocket is official
property of the Japanese Empire!"
"Now why," asked Vila, "would an isolationist bunch like the Japanese
be shooting rockets at Caracas? Or are you implying that the Japanese
Empire is selling shoddy copies of German rockets to some third party?"
"We think," said Albert after looking to Commander Wilson for
agreement, "That someone in Japan is badly in need of ready cash. So
they've hit upon the idea of selling off their surplus of sub-standard
munitions to some cartel of
gun runners."
"That makes sense," Cita said. "Especially when you take into account
just how many gun runners that I've been sinking lately. The sea and
sky have been full of them for the last two years. I've destroyed
twenty or more in that length of time."
"I think we have the beginnings of a solution to the mystery of who
wants Lady Cita dead," said Vila. "Now I need particulars for my report
to the High Council. After that, I think that I am going to
receive quite a different
set of sealed orders." Captain Resthal's voice was
cold, angry, and promised the prospect of sudden death for someone.
"I hate
that black suit of
yours," said Cita. Commander Wilson and Albert passed each other quick
looks that involved raised eyebrows and sudden panic at the possibility
of learning information that they really
would be happier not knowing, then they both stepped several paces away
from Vila and Cita. Vila turned to Cita and took her into his arms.
"It's just a suit of clothes," he said quietly to her. His soothing
tone of voice would have let any married man know that here was a
fellow in deep trouble with his beloved. "It's no different from any
other sort of uniform or protective gear that I've worn."
"I hate it," Cita repeated. "When I look at it, I can't see that it's you inside. Even
your eyes look different, evil, cold as ice..."
"I'm the same man, inside. The black suit is just another uniform,"
Vila said.
"No," said Cita. "You're not the same man when you're in that suit!
You're Marshal Ebon Black, Secret Service agent of your bloody damn
High Council! You're an instrument of death!"
"Of justice," Vila replied. "I'm not a murderer. But sometimes I do
have to kill to protect my country. I'm no different from any other
soldier that's ever lived. Show me the enemy and I'll fight to protect
my homeland."
"Words are cheap," Cita said angrily. "Don Diego and Marshal Reed have
turned you
into nothing better than an assassin! You've been trained to sneak, and
to kill, and to think that what you do is justified - if you do it for
your country! I just wish that I could make you see that it's this
secret life of yours that is keeping us apart!"
"You have your duty," Vila said sadly. "I have mine. I live for the day
when we can both give it all up and go somewhere together - Just us.
No duty, no country, no black suit. No throne of Venezuela, no
death and destruction looming on either side. You and I, together, forever..."
******
"Mister Wilson!" Vila called out, stepping away from Lady Cita's
embrace.
"Yes sir," Wilson answered.
"Gather up all the evidence we can carry. I want full reports from
everyone. I'll put together a packet that one of our sister ships can
carry back to the Council. This lunatic quest ends here and now. Cita
isn't any danger to our interests, but some third party wants the
Emperor to think
that she is."
"Yes sir," Commander Wilson replied. "What about Lady Cita's experts?"
"I want reports from them too. Every scrap of information, every shard
of that rocket we can get aboard our boat, everything!"
"You're making very bold with my people," said Cita.
"I'm saving your life, and very likely their lives as well," Vila
replied as he looked back at her. "Are you going to stand in my way?"
"Albert!" Lady Cita called to her crewman. She had suddenly gone from
an angry and disappointed woman to a Queen, in an instant of
decision. Her shoulders straightened, her manner went formal, and her
commands were not expected to be disobeyed.
"Yes, my Lady?"
"You heard the man. Everyone writes up a report on what we've found.
Help Mister Wilson get as much of the evidence on board Vila's shuttle
as it can carry. Someone is going to be made to pay for this plot
against our home. We cannot shirk our duty."
"I hear and obey, my Queen," said Albert. Turning to his crew members,
he shouted. "Step lively now! Form up and start putting that mess of
junk aboard the Norté
Americano
boat! Then put your thinking caps on and start writing up your
findings! No fancy language, now. Just the facts. That's all we need.
Time's a-wasting!"
"I'll have to pull rank on the captains of our other two airships,"
Vila said. "They might not like being turned into message couriers, but
I don't have much choice in the matter. I suppose that's one reason
that the Council promoted me to Sky Marshal at the same time they
promoted me to Captain - so that I could give orders to other Captains,
or even Admirals. Now that we have a plan in motion, what is our next
move? Who are we up against? Who
would be the most likely villain to have been plotting against us both?"
"Both of us?" Cita looked thoughtful. "We've managed to carve a wide
swath through most of the rotters that have infested this side of the
Atlantic! That's a huge list of menaces."
"I know," said Vila. "But unless we can deduce who our real enemy is,
we'll be stuck waiting for another attack so that we can gain more
clues."
"International arms dealers who could possibly hold a grudge against
us. Or megalomaniac madmen who'd want to rule the world- And who would
see us as
a thorn in their sides..." mused Lady Cita.
"Especially ones that would tend to think that setting me up to kill you
would be some sort of - poetic justice for the trouble... we've...
caused...
them..." Vila added, his voice trailing off in sudden realization.
Cita's eyes went wide. "Oh no," she said, real terror in her voice. "I
killed him! Once and for all, I killed him two years ago! I burned his
airship right out of the sky. I saw
it crash into the sea. No survivors. We looked! It can't be-"
"Oh, bloody hell," Vila said. "You're right. I thought I'd killed him
at least four times in the last ten years, myself. But who else could
it be?"
"Auric von Holfschlager," they said in unison. "The Beast of
Wolfsberg," Vila added. "The very devil, himself!"
"No," Lady Cita said. A frightened shudder wracked her slight form.
"Not him. Not again. He's dead! I know he's dead!"
"Know? Or just wish? I know
that I wish
he was finally dead," Vila replied.
"But he could buy rockets that were actually made in Germany! Why buy
fake ones? It doesn't add up," Cita said.
"How better to implicate the German government? Remember," said Vila,
"he hates them
almost as much as he hates us
- and
the CNAR. We've all stopped his dreams of ruling a united European
Empire a
dozen times - or more! He's rich enough to carry off this plot. He's
insane enough to think that setting us at each other's throats would be
artistic.
And he's tied to several smuggling rings and arms dealers in Europe,
Africa, and China... Unless I'm completely wrong-"
"God! I hope you are wrong." Cita said. "He'll want us at each other's
throats. He'll want us to kill each other. He'll-"
"He'll set the whole bloody world at war," said Vila, "in the hope that
he would be able to rule whatever was left unburned. My God! The
bastard even conspired with the remnants of the Martians
-
When he thought he could become their puppet ruler of the whole planet!
If pure, unadulterated evil has a face, it would be his. Auric von
Holfschlager, would-be ruler of the whole world."
"He's got to be stopped," said Cita. "Once and for all, he has got to
be stopped!"
"Now you
see why I don't just walk away from the black suit," said Vila. "There
are some evils that have
to be opposed. There are things that cannot be allowed,
cannot be ignored, menaces that cannot be left un-fought. That
is why I agreed to become Ebon Black. Someone has to defend the
powerless. Someone has to oppose the would-be slave masters. Liberty
must be defended..."
"That is exactly why I was forced to become Queen," said Cita. "To
protect my people. I understand. But I wish we were both free to be
ourselves."
"I think it's time to go," said Vila. "I think they've got the boat
loaded. Come on. Let's get aboard."
******
"Mister Wilson," said Captain Resthal, "if you'll do the honors..."
"Fly us back to the ship?" Commander Wilson replied, "It would be my
pleasure, sir. Is the Lady going with us?"
"Yes," said Vila. "Albert will follow us up and park Cita's scout ship
in our hangar, temporarily. That way, when her technicians are through
writing their
reports, we can send Black
Hawk off to the Lexington,
or the Detroit,
to carry our evidence back to the Council. After that, Cita will
accompany us to confront our real enemy. Cita's second in command will
stay here with her ship and whichever of ours doesn't pull messenger
duty. They will protect Caracas while we beard the dragon in his den."
"I'd be happier with Sky
Queen bringing her firepower to back up our own," said
Commander Wilson. "A ship like that could make all the difference, Sir."
"Understood, Mister Wilson," replied Vila. "But I have reason to
believe that if we leave Caracas unprotected, further attacks will
occur. If our enemy thinks that Cita is still here, on duty, then he
may stay his hand against the civilians on the ground."
"I see, sir. Wheels within wheels, 'eh?"
"Exactly. I think we're ready. Take us home, Mister Wilson. Liberty
aboard the Sky Queen
will proceed as we originally planned, once I get my message packet off
to the Council. After that, we'll set out for an island in the
Atlantic. One that used to be the main base for the fellow that Cita
and I think
might be behind
all of this. Maybe we can find another clue to his present whereabouts.
Or at least determine if he is still among the living."
"Yes, sir. It sounds to me as if this little venture has been more
productive than just finding a clue to the makers of a rocket," said
Commanded Wilson.
******
"Captain Richards," said Vila as he sat in the briefing room off the
main bridge of the Nemesis.
"I want you to take the Detroit
back and carry my report to the Council. All this evidence, and the
reports of both our crew as well as Lady Cita's crew, should prove that
Cita is innocent. Some third party is attempting to foment chaos and
touch off an international incident. There are too many things hanging
in the balance. There are too many countries poised to go to war for
this situation to be allowed to go any further." Vila looked at both
Captains of the two other CNAR airships now hanging above Caracas. They
had come aboard only half an hour earlier, in answer to a summons that
Vila sent out to their ships.
"You do have the authority to issue these orders, Marshal," said the
Captain of the Detroit
slowly. "But I wish it to go on record that I protest your
countermanding my orders from the Fleet."
"Your protest is noted," said Captain Resthal. "What's more, I
understand and I agree with you. Nevertheless, the Council need to be
informed. The Queen of Venezuela is not the enemy of the Confederacy.
She is being falsely accused by a third party. One that needs to be
stopped before his plots can drive the whole world into a war we
shouldn't fight."
"Thank you, Marshal. I want you to know that there is nothing personal
meant by my protest," Captain Richards said. "I believe that you're
right in your conclusions. I just want to insure that the Fleet
Admiralty doesn't decide to Court Martial me for following your orders.
I will have our landing craft remain here on the Nemesis
as a replacement for your own boat. Your reports and your technicians
will be delivered to the Council as quickly as I can get them to the
capital."
Vila nodded at the Captain of the Detroit
and turned to the Captain of the Lexington.
"Captain Henson, I want you to hold station here at Caracas and work
with Lady Cita's ship to keep the city protected. If I'm right, much
will depend on the illusion that Cita is still here, still defending
her people. If our enemy penetrates our deception, he may try
to
destroy the city. Revenge is his motive, and revenge is meat and drink
to him. He wants Cita and I dead just as much as he wants the
Confederacy drawn into his war. We cannot allow him to win."
"Understood, Marshal," replied Captain Henson. "We'll defend the city
as if it were our own. My First Officer will coordinate with Lady
Cita's second-in-command as closely as he would your own. You have my
word on that. We'll keep the deception going as long as humanly
possible."
"I think that Cita has already instructed her Mister Hudson to await
your
communication - He has agreed to work with you as an equal. From a
privateer like
him, that is high praise indeed. Mister Hudson has been ordered to act
as if Cita were still aboard her ship, but had delegated all
communications with you to himself. Deploy your Special Squads as you
see fit. Mister Hudson will do the same with the auxiliaries from the Sky Queen."
"I understand, Marshal. You can depend on Lexington and her
crew."
"Thank you," said Vila. "Godspeed gentlemen, and good luck."
******
"Mister Anderson, you dance divinely."
"Alice," said Mark Anderson, "I thought you agreed to call me by my
given name when we were off duty."
"I'm sorry Mark," Alice said. "It's just that you seem to carry
formality along with you like a cloak." Alice giggled as she and Mark
took a turn around the dance floor on the recreation deck of the Sky
Queen. She sighed in contentment. "I meant it though, you
are a wonderful dance partner."
Mark Anderson looked resplendent in his dress uniform, whilst the
Grecian gown that Alice Kelly wore fit her slim form as would a silken
glove. Mark was more than a little unsure of where he should put his
hands as he and Alice danced. For her part, Alice was charmed by Mark's
shyness and awkward formality.
The pair were far from alone on the dance floor. Half a hundred couples
spun and twirled upon the floor in a stately waltz. The crew of the Nemesis and that of
the Sky Queen
took their ease with equal parts wariness and pure pleasure. The
supposed pirates of the Sky
Queen showed no less awareness of the social graces as did
the highly trained CNAR crew of the Nemesis.
In fact, the chamber orchestra made up of Lady Cita's crew performed
the dance music of the day with a highly professional ease that belied
their other duties as pirates and privateers. The casual observer would
have thought the Sky
Queen to be nothing more than just another rich woman's
private yacht.
When the music ended, Marc and Alice retired to their table. They
gratefully sipped their drinks while gazing around them in appreciation
of the surprising beauty of the recreation deck. The orchestra began
another number- something sounding vaguely Spanish in it's driving
three-quarter time beat.
"Is that the Captain and Lady Cita?" Mark asked.
"It has to be," replied Alice. "But I've never thought of Captain
Resthal as the type to tango."
"That dance looks... almost obscene," said Mark. "They look as if
they're ready to do something- unspeakably private. Right there on the
dance floor!"
"Shush," said Alice. "They look lovely. So much in love..."
"At least they're not trying to kill each other any more." Mark said.
"And for what it's worth, they do look like they're having a good time."
"Wasn't that dinner absolutely divine? And the service," Alice said.
"Yes," replied Mark. "About dinner. I hope that I didn't embarrass you.
I really
didn't know- I mean, I've never even heard of gazpacho
before tonight! How was I to know that it was supposed to be
cold? I was raised on clam chowder and pea soup, for goodness sake! All
this high society is a bit beyond me."
Alice laughed in a kindly way. "Poor dear. Culture is something one
acquires through situations like tonight. It isn't something one can
research. You did quite well, actually. I mean, you could have over
reacted and thrown your soup bowl at the waiter."
"I didn't want to cause an incident," Mark replied.
******
There was only a single, dim light in Captain Resthal's cabin on the Nemesis.
In the glow of that lamp, two figures could be glimpsed in the bed.
Legs entwined, they lay closely against one another. The glow of the
lamp was twinned by the afterglow of their recently spent passion.
Quiet conversation consisting of murmured endearments gradually gave
way to more serious talk.
"I have missed you," said Vila quietly. "It's been too many months
since we've been together."
"I'm glad that you've been saving it up for me," Cita replied, just as
quietly. All lovers know the tone of this sort of conversation. The
whispered notes of a love long denied, yet finally given full reign
once again. "At least you let me keep my dress on long enough to get
back to your ship, this time." Cita added in a playful voice. "I
remember a time when we couldn't wait."
"You've always been worth waiting for," Vila said. "But I remember the
time you mean. When we escaped from that dungeon in Corsica, wasn't it?
Once we got free and into that smuggler's yacht headed out into the
Mediterranean? You fair wore me out that night, too."
"Silly bugger," replied Cita. "I seem to recall that you were a bit
more than just a willing partner that night. And other nights, as well.
But yes, I seem to recall that you ripped my dress off almost as soon
as we'd hauled the anchor up and cast away from the dock."
"Who would have thought that they'd have dropped the anchor while they
were tied up to the dock? And the way that half of those sailors blew
you kisses as you made them jump overboard into the harbor after making
them set the sails for us? Of course, a near-naked woman with a sword
and pistol would command my
attention, too. So I can't fault them
there. At least they demonstrated good taste," Vila chuckled at the
memory.
"Fool! Heathen redskin," Cita said as she snuggled closer to Vila's
chest. "I think the dried blood on your arms and clothes from where you
killed the guards in the dungeon might have had something to do with
the respect those sailors showed. That and the way you kept waving that
cutlass at them while you were cursing..."
"I wasn't cursing," replied Vila. "Well, not much. I was just yelling
at them to hurry up and get off the boat, if they wanted to keep
breathing.. It isn't my
fault that none of them understood Cherokee. And anyway, you killed at
least half of those dungeon guards."
"Yes, but I didn't make such a mess of my clothes. You're the one that
ignored the weapons they dropped when you ripped their throats out. I
just armed myself and laid into them as we fought our way out of that
fortress. You were berserk. Like an elemental force. You tore into them
before they knew you were there."
"Better not to give them a chance to find out that I'm there until they
were already dead. Well, I did finally pick up a sword. After I had a
chance to calm down."
"Calm down? You didn't calm down," said Cita, "until you'd ravished
me... Twice. At that, all you did was drop the cutlass and take me
again." She laughed at the memory. "Savage," she said. "Although you do
have your uses... Dear heathen Redskin..."
"And on that note, care for seconds?"
"I thought you'd never ask..."
******
Two days after leaving Venezuela, the Nemesis
was floating over a tiny spit of sand and volcanic rock near the middle
of the Atlantic Ocean. Isla de San Carlos, the charts called it. One
large, and hopefully extinct, volcano that was surrounded by a
narrow strip of vegetation, and outside of that, a narrower strip of
white sand beaches. Less than five square miles of what appeared to be
virgin, uninhabited island. Nemesis
hugged the wave tops, coming in low and slow. Her engines barely
turning over, she crept up on the beach as if it were a battlefield
loaded with booby traps. Finally reaching the un-marked sands, she
dropped her anchors and silenced her engines. Settling down low enough
for the launch ramp of her ventral landing bay to drop down to the
beach itself, she waited. Only the sounds of the wildlife normal to
such an island drifted out to her. It was quiet and peaceful.
Too quiet... Something had to be wrong.
"It's too quiet," said First Officer Carter. "I don't like it."
"Point taken, Mister Carter. How much fuel have we got left? What are
our options?" Captain Resthal asked.
"Enough LP gas to get us back to Texas, with some left over for
emergencies, or combat, along the way. Easily enough to get us to
Confederate territory in the West Indies, even if we have several
emergencies. We could put down both field cars and circumnavigate the
entire island several times before we have to re-fuel them. But they
don't have much in the way of weapons. Just a pair of .50 Gatling guns
and a single mortar cannon each. Or we could lift up and fly over the
volcano's rim wall. You said that the old base was inside there. We
could deploy everyone but the emergency crew, putting nearly a thousand
troops on the ground. Even if we dropped them inside the volcano walls,
we couldn't fight for long without the ship's guns to back up a ground
assault. With normal battlefield losses, against a determined defender,
we couldn't last more than three days of continued combat. Not without
risking the ship to cannon fire from the base inside the volcano. Or we
could just gain some altitude and Heat Ray the whole island - Melt it
down to sea level in about six hours time. If
the Heat Ray didn't blow itself up from being used for so long without
let-up. But that wouldn't leave anything to sift through for clues
about the location of von Holfschlager, or even whether he's
alive or dead. Sir, I recommend that I take a small party into the old
base and search it for clues. If we run into opposition, you could lead
the rest of our troops in to rescue us."
"I would agree with you," said Captain Resthal, "except that I'd change
a few minor details."
"Sir?" Carter replied. "Which details need to be changed?"
"We deploy the Special Squad ships to circle the volcano rim. We send
out both field cars, with all the ammo and troops that they can carry,
up to strategic points on the rim walls. We use the Specials and the
field cars for support of the team that goes into the old base. We
raise ship and make ready to destroy the base with our Heat ray, and
all the ship's guns, if necessary. Lastly... Lady Cita and I go in
alone, in Thunderbird,
to search the base for clues to von Holfschlager's whereabouts. If we
need rescue, you
lead it. If we die, you destroy this place and everything on the
island, then high-tail it back home as fast as the ship can manage."
The frown on Carter's face as he searched for flaws in Vila's
plan could have been used to chip granite boulders into pea
gravel. It was that sharp and firm. Finally, he let out a slow whistle
as his breath huffed out. Then he smiled, knowing that this was an
argument he was bound to lose, no matter how energetically he pursued
it.
"I concur," he said. "But I don't have to like it. Are you sure that
you wouldn't be better off taking ten or twenty troopers with you, sir?"
"Thunderbird
could only hold
six people, at the most. and that extra weight would make it vulnerable
to enemy fire from the base. Cita and I work well as a team. We can
watch out for one another well enough to make risking extra personnel
unnecessary. Besides, she's a better fighter than any five of our best
troops."
"I see one more objection sir," Carter said carefully. "Lady Cita is royalty, sir. If
anything happens to her, it'll throw her whole country into chaos. Can
we take that risk?"
"Son," said Vila. "Do you want to be the one who has to tell her that
she's too valuable to come with me?"
"Sir! No damn way, sir!
I'd rather face a Martian tripod with only a pocketknife! She'd have my
guts for garters!"
"Agreed, Carter. So she comes with me. You get to keep your intestines
in their proper place, and I get to be the one to attempt to keep the
pirate queen from getting herself killed." Vila sighed. "You've got the
easier job, I want you to know."
"All right, deploy the field cars as soon as they've been supplied with
ammunition and all the troops that they can carry. Then take the ship
up to where you can aim into the volcano without getting shot down.
Launch the Specials as soon as you're in position. In the meantime,
have my special hangar crew prepare Thunderbird for
launch as soon as the Special Squad ships are out of the way. Cita and
I will have to change clothes, then we'll go board Thunderbird."
"God be with you, sir."
"Thank you, Carter. You have the Bridge."
******
"Here - This closet has extra clothes you can use. If you find
something in your size. Weapons are behind this false wall."
"What do you mean, extra clothes?"
"Cita, unless you want to fight a pitched battle in that ball gown you
were wearing when we came aboard, I suggest that you look through my
closet for something more suitable."
"Oh. Right. Um..."
"Yes?"
"These are all men's clothes, Vila."
"This is the first time that I've ever needed to stock a woman's
wardrobe, Cita. You're the only woman that I've ever allowed into my
cabin. Perhaps in the future I can have a few combat suits stored here
in your size. But for now, you'll just have to make do with what I have
on hand. Someone's knocking at the door... Who is it?"
"Steersman Kelly, sir. I have some clothing for Lady Cita," came a
muffled voice from the corridor.
"Enter," said Vila.
"I beg your pardon sir," said Alice as the door opened. "Commander
Carter asked me to round up some clothing suitable for the Lady Cita to
use for combat duty. I think that these are all in her size."
"Thank you, Miss Kelly," said Captain Vila. "Just toss them on my bunk."
"Yes," said Cita. "Thank you very much, Miss Kelly. These should do far
better than the contents of Captain Vila's closet."
"Will there be anything else?" Alice asked. "I'd be only too happy to
help, Lady Cita."
"Perhaps," said Cita. "What is this bit? Where does it go?" Lady Cita
held up an item of female undergarment that was totally unknown to Vila.
"You two carry on," he said. "I'm going to go see to my boat. I'll be
back in half an hour. I'll get dressed then." Vila stepped through the
door of his cabin and fairly bolted down the corridor. He pretended not
to hear the two women laugh as the door swung closed.
******
"That was longer than half an hour," said Cita when Vila returned to
his cabin. "That nice Miss Alice left fifteen minutes ago. She was very
helpful. You know, I think I could get used to people who don't treat
me like royalty. By the way, why are these clothes so stiff? Bloody
uncomfortable cloth, this is."
"Stiff? Oh," said Vila. "I see. Miss Kelly gave you one of the special
combat outfits. There's armor between the layers of cloth and leather.
Made from material we discovered in the Martian machines after the last
two invasions. Tiny links of chain-mail made from alien metal that was
salvaged. The links are sandwiched between some sort of foam - two
different types. The stuff is bullet-proof against anything short of a
cannon. The outer layer of foam is fire-proof, as well. The best I can
figure is the the inner layer of foam spreads the force of a bullet
impact out over a wider area of one's body. The chain mail prevents
anything from penetrating to the skin. It's the same thing that's in my
Marshal's coat. Incredibly lightweight, for all its strength."
"Every soldier's uniform should be made of this stuff, then. I gather
it isn't," said Cita. "Why not?"
"Too expensive," Vila replied. "That jacket and trousers alone probably
cost more than a locomotive. My trainers told me my black suit costs
more than a train, in any case. There is hope, though. I've been told
that the metal has been reproduced by our scientists. They're working
on the formula for the two kinds of foam padding, as well. Sooner or
later, we'll be able to make it ourselves rather than using up the
alien salvage. The Council wants enough to re-skin the entire airship
fleet. Imagine that, indestructible airships! They'd be far lighter in
weight, so they could carry more cargo for the same amount of lift gas,
too."
"That would just drive everyone to build better cannons and heat-ray
projectors, dear savage. Imagine the loss of life that would cause,"
said Cita. "Nothing is indestructible. Still, lighter and stronger
airships would be more fuel efficient, have a longer range, and as you
said, could carry more cargo. Hadn't you better put that ugly black
suit on so that we can get started?"
"We have roughly an hour before the land cruisers can get into position
at the top of the volcano rim," said Vila. We can't start before then.
All the Specials are in the air and in position. The Nemesis
is aloft and circling the crater at a distance. If that base is still
active, their lookouts would have spotted us hours ago. Before we
reached the island, in fact. If anyone is there, they'll know that
we're coming. The troops will have time to reach their positions and
sight their weapons in on any targets in the base by dark. My little
ship would be nearly invisible at night, so that's when I plan to
launch. Besides, most of the black suit is stored in my little ship's
hanger bay. It wouldn't do my secret identity any good for me to tramp
back and forth between the hanger and my quarters whilst I was wearing
it."
"Then what was that in your secret closet, there with your guns and
swords?" Cita's question was asked in that wide-eyed, innocent tone
that women through the ages have used when they mean to express the
unspoken warning "if you are trying to lie to me, I'll castrate you
with a dull knife" to their husbands.
"My spare suit," said Vila. "Just in case I'm cut off from the hangar
and the storage bay for the Thunderbird.
If the ship gets boarded, or a mutiny. For emergencies." After a pause
he added, "Miss Kelly didn't see that, did she?"
"No," Cita replied. "You closed it back when she was knocking on cabin
door."
"Good," Vila said. "I'm sure she already knows my secret anyway, but
I'd rather that she didn't get confirmation of anything she might have
guessed at in the past."
"How did she find out?" The dangerous tone of innocence was back in
Cita's voice.
"She was seen coming out of the classified records section -
years ago, when we were both serving on the old Enterprise.
Nothing was proved by a quiet investigation," Vila said. "None of the
locks on the filing cabinets looked to have been tampered with, but my
service records were
locked up there. If she did
open those files, then she knows everything that the Fleet chose to put
in my official record. If she does
know, then she's kept it to herself."
"How do you keep your secrets?" Cita asked, real curiosity plain in her
voice. "Here on this ship, I should think that the fact that the
Captain goes missing every time Marshal Ebon Black leaves on a mission
would be clue enough for anyone to read."
"Ah," Said Vila. "Cyril came up with what he termed 'a cunning plan' to
cover for me. Doctor Smith helped formulate it, and keeps helping it to
continue."
"So," Cita said. "I knew that Cyril would be in on it, somehow. But how
did you ever consent to allow that turncoat spy from Quebec in on it?
What is this 'cunning plan' of theirs?"
"Cyril suggested that we use the greatest weapons that humanity has
ever devised," Vila said. "Rumors and innuendo. And Zachary helps out
because he knows that his neck is for a noose if he doesn't keep mum.
Cyril started a rumor that my orders include pretending to be Ebon
Black, as a cover for Black's
secret identity. Now those who would have thought it odd that I'm
missing when Black is gone think that I'm
hiding in my cabin, so that people will think that I'm Ebon and not go
looking for who he really might be. And Zachary keeps other rumors
flowing. That Black is some kind of zombie created by a voodoo
priestess in New Orleans. It was sold or given to the Council to use as
an un-killable agent. That this deal was to keep her from being shot as
a spy for some enemy nation or other. He keeps hinting that he keeps
the zombie in a refrigerated box in a secret room in the Sick Bay when
Black isn't actually off on a mission."
"You're joking," Cita said in disbelief. "People actually fall for that
nonsense? I can't believe that anyone would be fooled by that hogwash,
not for a moment!"
"One thing that I learned years ago," Vila said. "People will believe
some complicated fantasy that sounds
good a lot quicker than they'll believe a simple truth. If it
entertains, they'll eat it up. Sad, but true. Sometimes, I think that's
how politicians keep from attending a hanging, as the guest of honor."
"Politics! I hate
politics," Cita said.
Vila smiled. "I think it's time for us to go down to the hangar bay and
get aboard the Thunderbird.
Did you get a pistol out of my closet?"
"Two," she replied. "A revolver and a derringer. Plus a lovely dagger.
I think that's all I'll need."
"You better grab one of those cutlasses, too. We might need to fight
our way back out with no bullets left for our guns," said Vila. "I've
often found that the cut and thrust of debate is assisted by a long,
sharp edged weapon in your hand."
"That sounds like a good way to improve the practice of politics," Cita
replied.
"Indeed," said Vila. "Ready? Then let's go. My carriage awaits, your
Highness. If you'd be so good as to take my arm, we will proceed apace
to the lower hangar, and board my humble engine of destruction."
"It's the leather clothes, isn't it? You've always wanted a dutiful
squaw to follow you into battle," Cita said with a smile. "Savage
heathen, are there no Cherokee women good enough for you? Must you seek
out a civilized wench to bend to your desires?"
'There's nothing uncivilized about my people," said Vila. "Besides,
there's well over half of my bloodline that counts England and Europe
as the homelands of their ancestors. 'Tis no matter for jokes, Cita.
There were Indians in America that produced great civilizations, at the
same time your ancestors in Brittan were building Stonehenge. We aren't
all that different, you and I. Besides, I've seen you fight. You're as
bloodthirsty as any American savage, and twice as cunning. There's no
one that I'd rather have at my side."
"Flatterer," Cita said with a broad smile. "Come then, Heathen. It's
time to storm the castle of our enemy. I've a bone to pick with that
Austrian bastard. Try to have my beloved forced to kill me? I'll have
his guts for garters!"
"That's my girl," Vila said with pride. He grinned. "Auric von
Holfschlager, your days are numbered!"
******
Captain Vila and Lady Cita entered the lower hangar bay of the Nemesis
to find it deserted, except for five crew members in workman's
clothing. Sitting, locked to the launching ramp was one of the most
unusual aircraft that Lady Cita had ever seen. A sleek, black
arrowhead-shape, its wings now unfolded and locked into position. Its
hatchway was open, ready for boarding. Its engines were purring,
filling the empty hangar with a muted thrum of power. No propellers
were visible on the craft. Cita briefly wondered if it was equipped
with the same sort of turbine engines as Nemesis and Sky Queen used for
emergency thrust. Then she put the matter out of her mind and turned to
Vila.
"These people are all privy to your secret, too? Seems that your
secrets will be hard to keep secret for very long," she whispered to
Vila.
"They're privy to a
secret," Vila whispered back. "What they think they know is
of little moment. What they do
is keep my little ship in good repair. They've had to pull me out from
behind the controls and shift me up to Doctor Smith's surgery a few
times in the past, but they wouldn't dare pull my mask off while I was
injured. Nor try to discover if I stay behind in the changing room, or
if Marshal Black is really a dead man brought back from the grave to
serve the Confederacy. All of them were saved from the hangman, after
being falsely convicted of a crime. Emperor Norton sees to their
loyalty, in his own dirty little way. You get aboard. I'll go change
clothes and join you in a few moments."
"Then let me kiss you," Cita said. "As if I were saying goodbye. It
might help your illusion. God knows it'll make me feel better."
"Yes," said Vila. They kissed, then he left to go put on the clothes -
and the persona - that she hated. She put on a brave face,
then
went to board the tiny, strange black aircraft.
Within minutes, she saw Captain Vila emerge from the changing
room, then he turned and locked it behind himself. He was dressed all
in black, from head to toe. He wore a black leather mask over the lower
half of his face. A pair of flying goggles covered his eyes. She
watched as he tested a tiny blue light that shown like a beacon from
the right temple of his goggles. A wide brimmed black slouch hat
covered his graying hair. An ankle-length leather coat hid his sword
and pistol, as well as the belt strewn with pouches that held his
special equipment. A ten-foot whip was buckled to his belt on his left
hip, near his sword. His pistol was hidden within a flap-covered
holster on his right hip, but she knew that the holster contained a
LeMat handgun chambered for seven .41 pistol rounds and a 12
gage
shotgun charge seated within a second barrel. The sword on his left hip
was slim, short, and sharper than a shaving razor.
He looks positively evil,
she thought as she allowed one of the crew members to wordlessly strap
her into the co-pilot's seat of the Thunderbird. Once
the crew woman was done, she bowed to Cita and exited the craft. I
hate that suit! I know that it is him, but I can't see the man I love
underneath that bloody damn mask. When will we be free of this charade?
When will I escape the throne that chains me to serving my people? They
need me, but I chafe against the restrictions of being a monarch. I
want to be with my man! I want to be free! But my people need my
protection, lest some fiend tear down the freedoms that I've protected
for their sake. I need to find someone to succeed me, someone to do the
job as I know it must be done. And when will he be free of Ebon Black?
His duty drives him just as mine does me. We are both hostages to our
duty. Sworn to give our lives to protect our homelands. He's fought
Martians, and pirates, and criminals of every stripe. When will we both
be free? We want only each other, and a life away from duty and killing
and war. Why is that so hard for two people such as we to attain? God's
Breath! Haven't we earned our freedom a thousand times over? Duty, I
hate the taste of the word! We do what we must do, he says. We are
bound to protect others, just as our love binds us to each other. Ye
Gods! The man is infuriating! But I love him so! We were made for each
other, he says. I agree, but I want him all to myself. No duty, no
missions, no throne, no putting others before our own needs. But I
would rather wait for him to gain his freedom in his own way than to
put a choice before him. His duty or me? I know how I would have to
answer until I found a worthy successor for my throne. It is
no
different for him. Until his country is safe, he cannot retire to some
far place, with me at his side. At his side, forever... That is where I
truly belong!
Cita watched as Captain Vila - No, Sky Marshal Ebon Black,
she thought. Watched as he finally approached the hatch of the little
airship and boarded the craft, closing the hatch behind himself.
Wordlessly, she watched him strap himself into the pilot's seat and
begin the preparations for launching the tiny ship into the sky. She
forced a smile as he turned to her.
"Ready?" He asked, his voice muffled and made
flat by the
leather mask across his mouth. "This might feel a little strange at
first, but I've got it all under control."
"I'm ready," she answered.
"Good," he replied. "Let's go slay some dragons!" With that remark, he
flipped a switch. With breath-crushing speed a catapult
brutally
fired them down the ramp and into the night sky.
******
"Ye Gods," Cita gasped. "That fair took my breath away!"
"Sorry," the man in the black mask replied. "It was necessary for us to
build up enough speed for the wings and engines to catch enough air to
allow us to fly." He pushed a control and the craft accelerated. A low
growling noise came from the engines as the Thunderbird
increased speed. They began to spiral down towards the floor of the
volcanic cone below. "I'm using the lowest power settings. We don't
want to go too fast. On the other hand, if we go too slowly we'll drop
like a rock. This isn't an airship. There isn't any gas bag to keep us
aloft. Just the lift provided by the air flowing under the wings."
"How will we land," Cita asked. "Crash into the ground and pray we
survive?"
"No," he answered. "We'll spiral down and then roll across the crater
floor on the wheels. We'll have to have a fair amount of room to take
back off again, though."
"This is a crazy way to fly," Cita shouted. "Who invented this
death-trap? Don't tell me you actually enjoy this?"
"As a matter of fact," he said. "I do enjoy it. Quite a lot. This is a
fixed-wing heaver than air craft. Some boffins thought it up a few
years back. I've been using it since then. It takes some skill, but
this is the closest thing to really flying that we can have. Until
someone can invent a ship that actually flaps its wings. Now please let
me concentrate. The ground is coming towards us rather quickly."
"Aye aye, Captain," she joked.
"Whatever happens," he said without looking away from the controls.
"Always remember that I love you with all my heart."
"Just fly the ship," she said. "Bloody redskin thrill-seeker..."
Cita heard him laugh beneath the mask. "Hold tight to your seat," he
said. "We're coming in for a landing!" He worked the controls, pushing
what she assumed was the throttle to its lowest setting as he pulled
upwards on a lever between their seats. Looking out the side windows of
the ship's cockpit, she saw shadowy areas of the wings shift and
expand. "The flaps are set and locked," he said. "The engine is powered
down to just barely enough to keep us from falling out of the air. The
wheels are extended and locked... Here comes the ground! Pray that the
floor of the crater is smooth enough for us to roll over without
throwing us like a wild horse!"
"I'm praying," Cita answered. "I'm praying!"
She felt the wheels touch the ground, and the surge of her stomach told
her that the ship had bounced back up into the air. She saw him flip
the switch that silenced the growl from the engines. She assumed that
he had switched them off. The craft touched the ground again and her
seat seemed to rise up to swat the seat of her pants. Then she could
feel the rush of their forward motion against the ground slowly
decrease. He pulled another lever under the control panel and she felt
her body thrown forward against the strap holding her in the seat.
"Applying the brakes," he said. "Slowing... Hang on, I'll have to make
this turn sharp or we'll hit the crater walls!"
Cita felt the craft shift and slow. A quick glance out of the forward
windows revealed that they had turned to face back the way that they
had come. Then she felt the tiny craft heave to a stop.
"We're down," Vila said. "Safe and sound. Plus, we've got the whole
crater floor to use for a take-off run. Not bad. Not as smooth as I
like, but still, not bad."
"Should I kiss the ground," Cita said. "Or just shoot you for talking
me into this?"
Vila laughed under the mask. "Could I have stopped you from coming with
me?" He laughed again. "The easy part is over. We're down and safe. Now
we have to search this place and avoid any guards."
"Or kill the guards," Cita answered.
"There is that option," Vila answered. "Of course. But if we run into
guards and I have to use my pistol, I want you to get behind me and
watch our backs. There might be more coming at us from behind and these
damn goggles restrict my vision down to just what's in front of me.
Plus, I might have to set off a flare to blind our attackers for a
moment. I want you to be able to fight at your best, not half-blinded
by the light."
"Understood," Cita said. "Bring on the dragon. I want to
slap Auric von
Holfschlager's face before we kill him! And this time, the bastard stays dead!"
******
"Here," Vila said. "Before we go out, put this on."
"A flying cap and a mask? I'm not sure I need that," Cita replied.
"If we're seen," said Vila, "This will make it easier to keep the
deception going. You're supposed to be in Caracas, remember? Besides,
the cap and mask are armored. Just like that battle suit you're
wearing."
"Oh," Cita said. "All right. But no bloody goggles. I can't stand
goggles!"
"Agreed," Vila replied. "Ready? Let's go."
They exited the aircraft and began the short walk to the nearest
buildings that sat huddled within the extinct volcano's cone. Crossing
the smooth floor of the villain's old base, they reached the buildings
and sneaked inside the nearest door. No lights shown from within the
buildings. They seemed as deserted as the rest of the island that
they'd seen.Within moments, they came upon an open doorway, looming as
a blacker outline in the building's darkened interior.
"What's this then," Vila asked.
"Looks like a guard station," Cita replied.
Briefly, Vila activated the light on his goggles in order to better
scan the room's depths.
"Very dusty," he said. "Looks as if this building hasn't been used
since we were last here."
"I remember that," said Cita. "We escaped the guards before they had
time to escort us to our cell. Then we derailed von Holfschlager's
ambitions with a few well-placed explosions. Well, that, and the
arrival of your troop of Ghost Rider friends with a battalion of
soldiers..."
I remember," said Vila. "That was almost like a school reunion. I don't
think I've seen so many Secret Service agents together in one place.
All right, nothing here. Not even a scrap of paper. Let's keep moving.
We've got a lot of ground to cover yet."
"Lead on McDuff," Cita replied.
Proceeding on down the empty hallways, they eventually came upon a
passage to another building. "Is that a light," Cita said. "Up ahead
there?"
"Has to be," Vila answered. "It's full dark outside and the moon is
only half-full. Not enough to be that bright even if the angle was
perfect to shine through a window. Un-holster that hog leg you're
carrying and get ready for some excitement. Remember, I've got a
flash-powder charge primed up and ready to go in my LeMat. If you don't
close your eyes when I fire it off, you'll be blind from the flare."
"I remember, savage. You just make it count," said Cita. "If the room
isn't dark, the flash won't do you any good. The guards won't be
blinded, even for a moment."
"They will be if I fire this
charge off. Even in broad daylight it'd be blinding," Vila replied in a
whisper. "A photographer friend of mine gave me the formula. He used to
use it for daytime photos on battlefields. His newspaper wouldn't pay
him for pictures that they couldn't use. So he experimented until he
found something that would fill in nearly all the shadows he'd be
likely to run into. The only change I made was to add some gunpowder
and some shot to make it more useful. Quiet now. We're almost to the
door."
"Ready," Cita whispered back. They crossed the final few steps to the
doorway and looked into the chamber from the shadows that they were
using for cover.
"I can't see anyone," Vila said quietly. "Just an oil lamp on that desk
in the middle of the room. The lamp is too small to hold more than
eight hours worth of fuel. Whoever lit it must be close by. I think
we're about to be attacked, or at least we'll be revealed to whoever is
here."
There was a quiet hiss as Cita drew her sword and the robust click of
her locking back the hammer of her borrowed pistol. "I'm ready for
anything," she whispered. "Always remember that I love you."
"Ditto," Vila whispered back. "OK, on three we rush into the room... If
we're attacked, shoot the lamp first, then close your eyes while I set
off the flare. Ready? One, two, three!"
Vila leapt into the room, then turned on his toes to his right. His
sword flashed out to meet the cutlass that was held by the guard who
had been hiding beside the doorway. Cita dashed in, ready to cover
their left side. Quickly taking stock of the tableau of startled guards
in the room, just emerging from their hiding places, she quickly fired
two shots at the oil lamp that provided the room's only light. The lamp
smashed to fragments with her second shot, then she swung her own
cutlass blindly, in a wide arc at waist level. She pulled it backwards
for extra leverage as she felt the blade bite flesh. A guard screamed.
Cita couldn't tell if it was the one that she had wounded, or the one
who was vainly attempting to deal with her beloved Vila.
Vila closed his eyes against the darkness as he drew his pistol - just
as Don Diego had drummed into him. He shouted a warning to Cita in her
native tongue just as he pulled the trigger.
"¡Aviso!"
Vila shouted
to her in Spanish. She quickly closed her eyes tightly shut and thought
a quick prayer. Through her eyelids - and with her back turned, the
bright flash of Vila's flash powder charge from his pistol's shotgun
barrel nearly blinded her in the confines of the small room.
"Ejo lá,"
she said, opening her eyes to the darkness. She swung
her cutlass again and felt no resistance. Behind her, she heard a
German voice cry out "Mien
Gott!"
that ended with a gasping death rattle that she recognized from many a
fight upon a vessel that she had boarded in her bloody past. Someone,
she assumed it was one of their foes, stumbled into her. Nearly knocked
off balance, she swung her sword blindly in the dark. It met a
momentary resistance, then passed on through whatever she had struck.
Instinctively, she realized that she'd just cut someone's head off.
Behind her once again, she heard the scratching, hissing noise of an
emergency flare being lit. Making sure that there were no guards about
to leap out at her, she turned towards the light. She saw her beloved
holding one of their attackers by the throat. With his left hand, Vila
held the guard up high enough so that his feet could not touch the
floor. Vila's right hand held his flare up high, lighting the room with
a bright glare. Cita turned again to check the room for attackers, but
saw only the dead and dieing guards.
"Marshal Black,"
she cried out, remembering in time to use Vila's other name. "We need that one for
questioning!"
Vila turned his masked face towards her. His eyes were cold flames,
devoid of the of the humanity that she knew her lover's eyes normally
held. Or perhaps that was only a trick of the light.
"I think this one is their commanding officer," came Vila's muffled
voice from behind the mask he wore. "He fought well, for an idiot."
Vila released the hapless guard, who crumpled to the floor nearly
senseless. "He awaits your questions, Commander Light."
Commander Light?
Cita thought quickly. Oh!
He's given me a code name to keep my identity secret. I'm to be the
good interrogator, and he the bad one? I can play that game. So be it!
If it brings us closer to killing von Holfschlager, I can play along. Stepping
daintily across a headless corpse that she really
didn't want to have to think about right now, she leaned down towards
their captive, blood dripping off her sword as she shook it at him. "Mien Herr,"
she began, carefully choosing her words in the German language that she
rarely had need to use. "I know not how long I can restrain my
companion. He obeys me for the moment. But that can change without
warning. I suggest that you cooperate and tell us what we need to know,
while there is still life in your body. Now, where is von Holfschlager?
What are his plans? Speak quickly, or I will allow my companion to do
with you what he wills! And if you attempt to lie to us, I will make of
your last moments such misery as you have never dreamed!"
******
Once they had obtained the information that they had gone after, there
was still the small matter of getting out alive...
"That should be the last of them," Vila gasped through clenched teeth.
"There's the plane out on the sand. Run for it!"
"I'm not leaving you!" Cita said through the mask that she wore.
"You're my heart, my soul, my love, my life..."
"Shut up and run!
I love you too," Vila snapped at her. "But we can't do anyone
any good if we die here! Run
for the plane!"
"I'm running," Cita replied as she slipped out the door and began to
dash across the floor of the base towards Vila's silly little airplane.
"Don't you die on me, you red-skinned bastard!" Her pistols empty, with
no time to reload without getting killed herself, she ran as fast as
she could for the tiny vessel that promised some small measure of
safety.
"Too busy," Vila replied behind her. She heard the sound of steel on
steel that she knew full well signaled two swordsmen in a duel to the
death. "Run!"
she heard Vila
yell. Yet still, she slowed and looked back. She saw her beloved facing
off against three guards with swords. As if in slow motion, she saw him
thrust his sword into one of the guards. A killing blow, or she was no
fit judge. She, who had been present for a hundred or more boarding
parties against those who would seek to destroy the freedoms she had
fought for on behalf of the people living in the villages and towns of
Venezuela. Against all reason she stopped and turned to face her
beloved across the sands that had become a killing field. "Fool!" she
heard him cry. "Your master has deserted you! Abandoned you! Left you
to die, by my hand!"
The empty pistol in his left hand blurred as he used it as a shield
against his two remaining foe's attacks. The sword in his
right
hand became a brighter blur as he deflected their thrusts. He spun
about on one toe, kicking one foe with his opposite foot, then leapt
into the air as if driven by mighty springs, spinning, sword and empty
pistol outstretched towards his attackers. In a move she could scarcely
believe possible by a mere human, he landed on both feet, still
spinning like a ballet dancer. His sword flashed, his pistol deflected
his opponent's attacks. One quick leap and thrust, and his opponents
were suddenly reduced to one desperate swordsman - fighting for his
life. Vila pressed his attack, his sword moving through defensive
positions as if driven by a mighty steam engine - untiring, precise,
giving no quarter and asking none in return. With an unexpected lunge,
Vila caused his last foe to spill his life's blood upon the sand of the
volcano crater floor.
That makes thirty five
guards Cita thought as she watched her beloved pull his
sword from the body of the last man that had opposed their
exit. I killed seven,
but that damn bloody savage of mine killed the rest.
"Run!" Vila yelled again. Bullets began throwing up sand around as the
dead guardsman's fellows started shooting at the escaping pair. Vila
turned once more and threw a small, hissing package towards the
riflemen. It exploded with the force of two dozen sticks of dynamite.
The sniping ceased as Cita reached the airplane, and Vila thudded up
behind her only a few seconds later.
"Strap in while I get the engines running," Vila said. Cita wordlessly
complied with his order. As she pulled the straps on her seat tight,
Vila's odd little craft began hurtling towards the opposite side of the
volcano's crater - bouncing into the air with each dip and rise of the
ground. Cita heard the roaring engines suddenly scream, louder than a
tornado or hurricane, and then her stomach seemed to fall out of her
body. The tiny craft leapt aloft, then tilted almost to the vertical as
Vila wrestled with the controls. The engines roared like an enraged
dragon, then Cita felt the airplane level off and the awful forces that
had been pulling at her become gentle, and then benign. She sighed,
then tried to catch her breath.
"We're safe," said Vila. "Unless they have cannon that can be aimed very quickly. Are
you injured? At all?"
"Just out of breath," Cita replied slowly. "Amazed to be alive, but
alive I am."
"Good," Vila said. "Then I can let the rest of those idiots back on the
island live. But if they'd have injured you... I would Heat Ray the
whole island down to a puddle of melted rock."
"Did we get what we came after? The information that we needed." Cita
asked.
"We got what the bastard wanted us to have," Vila replied. "If there is
any truth in that,
I very much doubt. But the survivors on the island will get word back
to him. Confederate listening posts from Greenland to Cuba will be
waiting for the signals his puppets will transmit. We'll have his real
location soon, Cita. You can bet on it!"
Vila flew his tiny craft towards a docking with the Nemesis, and safety.
******
"Paris, in the catacombs under the Opera House..." Captain Vila said to
his First Officer. "Transmit that to the Council, Carter. Use our most
secure codes, and use the Martian signaling equipment. If von
Holfschlager's minion was telling the truth, or new the truth to tell,
then that is where we will find his present lair. Personally, I suspect
that it is just another trap."
"The troops and field cars have returned," said Mister Carter. "The
Special Squad ships are back in their berths. The ship is secured and
ready for departure, sir. We can be ready to leave for Paris in less
than half an hour. But if you're right and this is only another trap,
what good will it do?"
"It would make him feel as if we were stupid enough to have fallen for
his lies, John. Once you send that message to the Council," Captain
Vila said. "Please append this
coded message to the Admiralty. Send it in clear. It'll look like a
request for troops to assist in the search in Paris, but the council
will know what I really mean to do. This directs that a twin to Nemesis be sent to
meet us in the mid-Atlantic. We'll trade places with our twin, and go
where I believe the villain to really
be based. I expect that he'll intercept the message sent by the Martian
wireless and decode it. I hope to fool him into thinking that we're
stupid enough to go to Paris and waste valuable time searching the
Catacombs. Meanwhile, our twin will be covering for us while we go to
search his next-most likely base of operations."
"I wasn't aware that we had a duplicate," said First Officer Carter.
"What the hell
is going on? If you don't mind my asking, Vila."
"Our twin is the Atlanta,
John. A ship that isn't even supposed to exist. The original ship was
destroyed when the Martian cylinder that was attacking Atlanta, the
city in Georgia, was blown up during the last war. She was re-built in
secret at the Emperor's command. The Council holds her in readiness to
impersonate any Interceptor
class airship in the fleet. Within an hour of receiving our message,
the Atlanta
will be painted with new markings to match our own, and dispatched to
meet us in mid-ocean so that she can continue on to Europe, and we can
go... elsewhere."
"This is one of those 'burn before reading' secrets that you keep under
your Black hat," Carter replied. "Isn't it, sir?"
"One you could get shot for knowing, John. Aren't you glad that I never
tell you anything
like that? What you've never known," said Vila. ""You can't be held
accountable for. So don't breathe a word of it, even on your death-bed."
"What happens next? What course do I tell the crew to set? This is
bloody spooky
sir," said Carter.
"I expect that we'll be sent orders to meet with the Atlanta
- under a different name - for what the Fleet will call a 're-supply'
somewhere in the North Atlantic. After that, we'll head out for-"
"Do I need to know yet, Vila? What I don't know," Carter said. "I can't
spill."
"John," Captain Resthal said quietly. "I expect that we'll meet another
refueling ship and be sent to meet yet another refueling ship before we
reach our final destination. We'll have a long way to fly before we
come to grips with that Austrian bastard, unless I miss my guess. We'll
know for sure when the Atlanta
and her support troops reach Paris. Until then, I need to keep
everything else under my Black hat."
"I understand," replied Carter.
******
"Message coming in from Fleet Admiralty," said Mister Harris. "In
clear, sir. No coding, no secrecy."
"Very good, Harris. What is the message? Something good," replied
Captain Resthal. "I hope."
"We are ordered to meet with the airship City of New Orleans
for re-supply and personnel transfer at these coordinates."
Communications Officer Harris reeled off a set of numbers that would
only make sense when used to plot a position on navigation charts of
the North Atlantic.
"Very good. Thank you Mister Harris," said Captain Resthal. "Cyril, set
course for those coordinates, all possible speed."
"Aye aye, sir. I estimate it to be roughly sixteen hours flight-time to
reach that spot," said Cyril Jones. His face gave nothing away, but his
voice implied that he wasn't fooled a bit. Cyril was an old hand at
coded communications sent in clear. He knew that something was up, but
he'd die before he let anyone know what he suspected. He also knew that
if Vila hadn't told him what was coming up, then there was a damn good
reason for it. Any message sent in clear was expected
to be intercepted by an enemy, and was often phrased in such a way as
to fool that enemy into thinking exactly what the Fleet wanted them to
think. Bluff and double-bluff, double-cross and triple-cross, that was
the nature of the Fleet's communications that were sent ostensibly
uncoded. Cyril checked the reports of the repairs ordered since their
last ship-to-ship combat over Caracas. He could feel it in his bones.
The Nemesis
was going to be
called upon to use every trick that she had in her arsenal to
overcome their enemy. He mentally calculated the distance that the
airship could travel using the emergency turbine thruster engine. Then
he calculated how far they could travel with hampered main engines to
meet a refueling ship after the turbine drank almost all of their fuel.
Then he took a look at maps to see what fell within each of those
distances. Shortly after those calculations were done, he went off duty
and communed with a very large whiskey bottle. The next day, he
reported for duty on time, but was rather grim-looking. Math will do
that to you.
"Captain," Cyril said. "We're almost at the re-supply point. Any
special orders?"
"Wait for a contact signal from our sister airship," said Captain
Resthal. "Depending upon what signal we receive, we'll know who is in
command of the other ship and how much information we can trust them to
be able to deal with."
"Signal coming in, Captain." Harris said from his station at the
communications equipment. "In clear, sir."
"Oh," Captain Resthal replied. "Bugger... That is not a good sign.
What is the message, Mister Harris?"
"They said," Harris replied. "The sunset horse - was made of
steel."
Cyril turned from the ship's wheel and looked hard at the Captain, then
raised his eyebrows in an unspoken question. The Captain nodded in
affirmation at Cyril, then turned once more to Mister Harris. "Send
this reply. Quote, the Cisco Kid, comma he was a friend of mine, full
stop, end quote. Repeat it one time, Harris. Then wait for another
message. Once they acknowledge, send my compliments to his Excellency
and inquire if he wishes to come aboard to inspect my command. When he
declines, I have good reason to believe that I'll be summoned aboard
the other airship for a briefing."
"Sir?" Second Officer Wilson began. "Who is in command over there? You
act as if you're being called up onto the carpet - With all due
respect, Sir!"
"Henry," replied Captain Resthal, taking a few steps over to speak with
Commander Wilson quietly. "That signal is reserved for the exclusive
use of the Duke of the Mexican Territories. And I have good reason to
believe that I am going to have to explain to his Excellency just
exactly why
Lady Cita is
neither dead, nor in chains. As well as why I ordered a Confederate
airship to stay over Caracas alongside Cita's ship to protect the city.
Order one of the small Specials made ready for me to shuttle over to
the Atlanta.
Don Diego is not a patient man. Once he gives me an order, I don't want
to keep him waiting."
"Understood, sir. Will you need to take the Lady Cita over with you?"
Wilson asked.
Captain Resthal looked thoughtful for several seconds, then shook his
head. "No," he said. "I doubt that would be a wise move. She'd either
kill him, or at least try to, and that would lead to some rather
unfortunate consequences. It's best that she stays here, for now."
******
"Enter," came an imposing voice from within the Executive Suite on the Atlanta
when Captain Resthal knocked nervously upon the door. Vila opened the
door - not without wishing he was elsewhere - and entered the dimly-lit
chamber.
"Reporting as ordered, Sir." Captain Resthal said. He saluted, then
stood at attention.
"Oh... Do
sit down, Vila," Don
Diego said. "I didn't train you to be a waiter. Don't be so damned
formal. This isn't a Courts Martial, after all."
"Thank you sir," Vila said as he sat before the Duke's desk. "How much
trouble am I really
in, Diego? The Admiralty didn't send you out here to pat me on the back
and tell me that I've been a good boy, surely."
"You disobeyed their orders," Don Diego replied. "Just as they wanted
you to do. You saved an entire city and destroyed two pirate airships
that were attacking it, then invaded a gun-runner's base to gather much
needed intelligence. You escaped that trap without a scratch- As well
as without losing one single member of your crew in a pointless battle.
You even managed to show that troublesome Pirate Queen of yours that
there is more threatening her little country than just some local smugglers. I
take it that you have a clue as to who wants to foment this world war
that seems to be brewing?"
"I have a hunch, nothing more," Vila replied. "I got confirmation of a few of my
suspicions from
a guard on that island base, and a possible location of the villain's
lair. But I don't trust the information, Sir. I think that the Paris
catacombs is either a false clue, or a trap. Holfschlager is too smart
to have allowed his - his very minor
henchmen on that island - to know where his real base is located. Cita
and I were told exactly what Holfschlager wanted us to know. I think he
wants the two of us to storm off to Paris. Whether to waste time or to
walk into a trap, I can't say. But I am sure that he isn't in the
catacombs under the Paris Opera House."
"Oddly enough," said Diego. "I agree. Our foe, whoever he may be, has
proved too resourceful to allow his abandoned henchmen to hold any real
clues to his whereabouts."
"You have doubts," said Vila. "That Holfschlager is the man we're
after?"
"You said it yourself," Diego sighed. "You have only suppositions and
untrustworthy information to base your opinions upon. It is hardly a
foregone conclusion. No, we must keep an open mind until we find better
clues."
"But still-" Vila began.
"Remember your training," Diego replied. "Assume nothing, trust
nothing, search always for facts before you proceed. That is one of the
more salient points that separate you and I from mere vigilantes. We
cannot go beyond the law without facts to present the proper courts.
Otherwise, we are only murderers and terrorists. No better than the
villains we hunt."
"Yes sir," said Vila. "I do keep that in mind."
"I fear," said Diego, "that your involvement with this lady pirate will
lead you to make mistakes. She is beautiful, to be sure, and no doubt
that your personal feelings for her are strong. But personal is not
always the same as important. There may come a day when you will have
to choose between her, and your duty. Make sure that you choose wisely.
Quite possibly, there will be no going back once you cross that divide."
"Did you ever face that choice, Sir? Between duty and Lady Elaina,
perhaps?" Vila carefully kept his expression immobile as he asked his
former instructor the question.
"I did," said Diego calmly. "Yet I managed to find a way to keep from
betraying either. I trust that you will also find a way to keep all
of your vows sacred. Lady Cita is quite like my Elaina - fiery,
tempestuous, uncontrollable... All a man like yourself could ask for in
a woman, and more. But she is a Queen, by the choice of her people
perhaps, but no less a Queen for having been appointed to that throne.
I can understand that, but do you? I did not seek to become a Duke, but
that was the path I had to tread to protect my people. Yet another
duty, as it were. Sometimes I do miss the old days - on my own, to ride
against the foe, to protect my people against their oppressors, with no
master save myself. But duty demands
we give no less than our all. Sacrifice is a part of our duty. So I had
to abandon my personal freedom for the greater good."
"I understand sir," said Vila. "So - how shall we proceed with this
particular mission?"
"We proceed as planned," said Diego. "The Atlanta
has been made to carry your ship's markings. I will dispatch a crew to
place temporary covers over the name and registration numbers of the Nemesis. Then we
part ways. I and the Atlanta
will go to Paris while you and your disguised Nemesis
will fly to meet a refueling ship somewhat south of our present
position. After that, you will await the signals that we hope to
intercept from our foe's hideaway. Once we know where he is, you will
fly to his location and put paid to his plans. The air fleet will be
ready to meet you if possible. But be forewarned, you may wind up
facing this evil man all on your own - just you and your crew.
Reinforcements will be hours away, at best. Perhaps days away, at
worst."
"The position of this refueling tanker?" Vila asked.
"Marked on this chart," said Diego, handing Vila a map. "You have six
hours from the completion of the disguise of your ship to reach the
marked position..."
******
"I protest!
I do not
want a horde of half-trained yard-apes
swarming all over my ship!"
Miss Scott's voice rang in Captain Resthal's ears. Livid would be an
understatement if one tried to describe her present temperament. Fully,
and even gloriously enraged would come closer to the truth.
"Monty," said Vila. "Calm down! These are fully trained
yard-apes, I'll have you know." He smiled, to better take the sting out
of his words. "Some of these men helped build this ship in
the first place. All
of them come from the Service's own assembly yards, and their
supervisor has even more time in engineering than you
do. What's more, they're all picked men, with flawless records- No
accidents, no incidents, no lapses in judgment. This is what they do when they aren't
running their own
work crews building brand new airships. Not one
of them is less than a Senior Outfitter in rank. Besides, there isn't
time to get anyone else here to do the work. We're on a strict
time-table as it is. All they need to do is mount the coverings they
brought with them from the yards... We already have the mounting
hardware installed on the sides of the ship. It's in the specs. You can
inspect the work when they're done, but they have to do the work
now. Do I
make myself clear?"
"Yes, Captain." Miss Scott visibly restrained her temper. "I
understand. But if a single one of them puts a hole in her skin, I'll
personally choke the
life out of them."
"Understood," replied Vila. "I suggest that you spend the rest of the
time that they're working running a full inspection of the emergency
turbine engines and making sure that the ship can stand up to the
strain. I can assure you that we're going to need every ounce of thrust
that monster can put out. And give the heat ray a good seeing to, as
well. We may need
it before this mission is done."
"Yes, sir. Understood, sir. Will there be anything else?" Miss Scott
asked.
"No," Vila replied. "That should be quite enough."
"I'll just get back to my engines then," said Miss Scott as she rose
from her chair in the Briefing Room and stormed out of the door.
"Hmm," said First Officer Carter. "That
went well."
"How many of 'em do you think she'll cripple?" Cyril asked the First
Officer. "Any bets?"
"Cyril," said Vila. "Shush!"
"Captain," said Doctor Smith. "Shall I prepare the Surgery for an
influx of new patients?"
"No Zachary," said Vila. "Though you might prepare a large tranquilizer
dart for use on Miss Scott. Just in case one of those workmen so much
as puts a scuff-mark on the Nemesis.
I think that will be all, Gentlemen. We have our orders. Be ready to
leave this position to go meet the refueling tanker as soon as the
disguise banners are mounted. We have only six hours, assuming nothing
goes wrong."
"Easily done," said Cyril. "Captain, we can make it in less than four
hours." He pointed to the indicated spot on the charts. "It isn't that
far away, and we won't need the emergency turbine to get there."
"Thank the Heavens for small favors," said Doctor Smith as he rose from
his chair.
******
"Captain," said First Officer Carter. "The work crews are back aboard
the Atlanta
and Miss Scott has pronounced that she is satisfied with their
modifications. We're ready to set off."
"Good," said Vila. "Get us under way. You have the Bridge. I'm going
down to the Galley for a quick meal."
******
The Captain enjoyed his dinner in silence. The dining hall was nearly
deserted and the crew members that were there left him in peace to
finish his meal. He lingered over a last cup of coffee as he stared
into space, lost in thought. He was a bit startled, therefore, when
Lady Cita slipped into the seat next to him.
"I hope that you haven't been avoiding me," she said.
"Um- No, not at all." Vila replied. "I've just been thinking about our
next move. After we refuel, I mean. Are your quarters comfortable?"
"Yes, very comfortable," Cita replied. "Though they get a bit lonely
after a while."
"Sorry," said Vila. "I've been busy with ship's business and haven't
taken time to visit you. I'll try to do better in the future."
"I understand," Cita said. "I'm not complaining. If you were aboard the
Sky Queen
I wouldn't have been able to make much time for social amenities,
either. What were you eating? From the remains on your plate I'd guess
you just polished off an entire Pheasant, with all the trimmings."
"Cornish Hen," said Vila. "With potatoes, carrots, a rather nice
cornbread stuffing, and a passable brown gravy. Our cook does the best
he can with what we have in the larder. Not up to the standards that
you're used to, I expect, but we get by. Shall I fetch you a plate?"
"I'm to be waited upon by the Captain, himself? My, my," Cita said,
smiling. "Whatever would your crew think?"
"They'd think," Vila replied. "That their Captain was smitten by a
lovely and sophisticated Lady. And they'd be right. But that isn't the
reason I offered to fetch you some dinner. I feel guilty for slighting
you since I got back from my meeting with Don Diego. But in my defense,
he's given me rather a lot to think about."
"In that case," Cita said as she smiled at him. "I'd be most happy to
share dinner with you. Oh, but you're finished."
"Not to worry," said Vila. He leaned closer to Cita and whispered, "I
happen to know that there is a fresh post of coffee brewing, as well as
a Pecan Pie that has only just now come out of the oven." Vila smiled
and took Cita's hand. "Please? I doubt that you've eaten all day. Let
me get you something."
"Oh, very well," Cita said. "But not as large a plate as what you've
had! I have to watch my figure."
"That would make it unanimous then," Vila replied with a laugh. "I'm
sure that every man on my ship as been watching your figure, every time
you walk by."
"Flatterer," Cita replied. "Off with you then. But don't take too long
or we might just find out who among you crew men has a desire to cut in
on your time."
"In that case," Vila said. "They'll find out that walking the plank
from ten thousand feet is no laughing matter." He grinned, and rose
from his chair. "I shall return."
******
"Captain on the Bridge," an Ensign announced as Vila returned from his
dinner with Lady Cita.
"As you were," Vila said. "Mister Carter, report." He stood next to hs
command chair rather than sit. In truth, he didn't want to nod off
after such a full meal - despite all the coffee, sleep was a demon he
needed to fight right now.
"On course and approaching the marked position, Captain. We caught a
nice tail wind," First Officer Carter
said. "So we're well ahead of schedule. Lookouts report that ship's
lights are visible where the tanker ought to be. Too far off yet for
our telescopes to be sure, but we think that's our target. I've got the
crew on High Alert, just in case."
"Very good, Mister Carter. Cyril, how does she feel? Any play in the
steering? Any problems at all? Now wouldn't be a good time," said Vila,
"to find out that we still need something repaired."
"Everything feels fine, Captain. No problems at all," Cyril replied.
"Once we're sure that ship is our refueling tanker, I should start
losing some altitude."
"Captain," said the communications officer. "We're seeing recognition
signals in searchlight codes. All the call signs match. That's our
tanker all right."
"Good," said Vila. "Cyril, take us down."
"Very good sir," replied Cyril as he began pumping Helium into the
tanks to reduce the ship's buoyancy. "Docking in fifteen minutes..."
******
After an uneventful refueling, the disguised Nemesis
once again rose into the skys. Rather than seek some uninhabited island
refuge in the dark of night, Captain Resthal opted to find a layer of
cloud cover and hide within the vapors. All communications equipment
was manned as they waited upon a signal from their enemy to be
broadcast. Once the source of that signal was determined, the ship
would have a new course to set.
"Captain! Signal intercept," said the communications officer. "On the
special equipment, and coded... Decoding in progress."
"This might be what we're waiting for," said Captain Vila. "Ensign, let
me know the instant we have that code broken."
"Yes sir," replied the ensign.
"Mister Wilson," said Vila. "Message Miss Scott and tell her to get the
engines ready for every bit of speed we can manage. We'll need the
emergency turbine online within the hour."
"Understood sir," Wilson replied as he turned to his console. "Message
sent, sir."
"Message from the code section, sir. They've broken the code and are
translating the signal now," said the communications officer.
"We're making progress," said Vila. "Once we have that signal decoded
and the source traced, we'll be on our way."
"They've sent the tracking information to my board, Captain. I'm
plotting the course now," said Second Officer Wilson. "It is in the
Mediterranean Ocean... Island of Crete, sir. The signal came from
Crete!"
"Cyril," said Captain Vila.
"West by Northwest, Captain," Cyril replied. "Already on it. Waiting
for your orders to advance..."
"Translation of the message being sent to the Bridge now," said Wilson.
"As follows, sir. 'Fools spotted near England - Bait swallowed - Paris
underground to prepare for their arrival - Do not fail me - Kill them
or die trying.' Message ends, sir. No signature."
"Message coming in from the Fleet," said the communications officer.
"In clear, sir. It's directed to the airship City of Roswell.
Message reads 'refuel in Tripoli as needed, deliver cargo on time,'
that's all it says, Captain."
"That's for us then," said Vila. "City
of Roswell
is our cover identity. A refueling depot is located in Tripoli, so if
we drain our tanks getting there, we'll still be able to take on more
fuel and get to Crete before the Atlanta
is due to reach Paris."
"And if this is just another feint, sir?" The doubt in Commander
Wilson's voice was plain. "We'd be alone against a prepared enemy
position."
"This one doesn't feel like a trap," Vila replied. "Crete is close
enough to Europe for Holfschlager to come and go as he pleases, yet
small enough to be able to avoid the worst of the war he wants to
start. Besides, it's the only clue we have. We'll have to risk it. But
at least we won't be going in blind. Mister Wilson, signal the
engineers. All engines, ahead full. And tell them we'll want the
turbine engine as soon as they are ready."
"Yes, Sir!" Wilson turned to the communicator at his station and began
issuing orders through the speaking tube. Within moments, every
propeller was turning at full speed. Every engine was straining to push
the Nemesis
through the
slowly brightening dawn air. "Warnings have been issued to the crew to
prepare for the emergency turbine to come online, Sir. Miss Scott
reports that it is ready to fire off."
"Very good, Mister Wilson," said Vila as he sat in his Captain's chair.
He looked around the bridge at his crew, nodded once in satisfaction,
then gave the order. "Fire the turbine. Full steam ahead!"
******
Nemesis
gave a gentle lurch as
the turbine began thrusting. Her speed slowly increased under Miss
Scott's watchful eye. The engineers gradually raised the amount of fuel
flowing into the turbine's combustion chambers.
"Well," said Captain Vila. "That wasn't the kick in the pants that I
was expecting."
"Airspeed steadily climbing Captain," said Cyril over his shoulder as
he set the final course corrections. "I think the difference is Miss
Scott's doing. She complained about the stress the ship took in that
battle we had over Caracas."
"Signal from Engineering, Captain. Miss Scott wants to shut down the
propellers and retract those engines into their bays to decrease the
drag on the ship," said the communications officer.
"Good idea," said Vila. "It would keep them from being damaged by wind
resistance as well. Tell her to do it, with my compliments."
"Approaching three miles per minute," Cyril said. "Still handling well.
The steering is as tight as a drum. Speed still climbing..."
"What's the best speed we could make?" Vila asked.
"Leveled off at four miles per minute," Cyril said. "We could go
faster, but we'd run out of fuel before Tripoli. 2800 miles to go, and
we're eleven hours away. Any faster and we get there with dry tanks.
How much faster would determine when we start coasting and praying for
a favorable wind."
"Not a wise move," said Vila. "I agree. Well, with this course we can
count on a tail wind part of the way. That ought to save us some fuel.
We might wind up needing it, before we're through. Eleven hours? Mister
Wilson, I want a full weapons check, as well as extra drills. We'll be
fighting again soon enough. I want us ready for anything."
"Yes, sir," Wilson replied. "I was going to suggest that very thing.
I'll work up a revised schedule."
"Good," said Vila. "Cyril? How is she handling?"
"No problems, Captain. We're burning up some sky, but she's flying
straight and true."
"Good," Vila said. "Signal me if there are any problems. I'm going
below to see to our passengers. Mister Wilson, you have the Bridge."
"Very good, sir," Wilson replied as Captain Vila arose from his chair
and walked to the doors. "Mister Carter comes on duty in an hour. I
shall relay your orders to him. Have a good evening playing diplomat,
sir. I know you'd hate it ordinarily, but Lady Cita is an exception."
"Dress uniforms and thirty seven forks at a formal dinner isn't my idea
of a good time," said Vila. "But Cita makes that sort of thing much
more bearable. Besides, I doubt that this will be a formal dinner.
Likely we'll just go to the Mess Hall and relax over a normal meal."
Commander Wilson nodded in reply, then turned to examine the Bridge.
Captain Vila strode out of the Bridge and off down the corridor.
******
"I think," said Vila as he held a chair for Lady Cita to sit down at a
table in the Mess Hall. "That there is at least one town in Georgia
that passed a local law making it illegal to eat fried chicken with a
knife and fork." He grinned as he took his own seat and glanced over
the dinner plate before him. Fried chicken, potato salad, deviled eggs,
slaw, and fresh-baked biscuits covered the china plate. Lady Cita
proceeded to break that Georgia township's law by cutting small slices
of her chicken.
"I've had to forgo eating with tableware so many times in the past,"
she replied with a smile, "that I opt to use them as often as I'm able.
Running a pirate ship seldom leaves time for the niceties of
civilization. This is quite good," she added as she sampled each dish.
"I recognize the German potato salad, but I've never seen it this
yellow color before."
"That would be the addition of a Mustard sauce, I think. Ground Mustard
seeds mixed with vinegar and a vegetable oil. The same thing that is in
the Deviled Eggs," said Vila. "The cooks also make a very nice salad
with Watercress, Mustard greens, Spinach leaves, and various
thin-sliced vegetables. That sort of thing goes very quickly on a long
mission. Greens don't keep very long, even in our cold storage pantry.
We have to eat them up before they can spoil."
"Your cooks do quite well," said Cita. "I have a chef on the Sky Queen
that I think would benefit from a short stay here on your ship. He
tends to stick with French or Italian dishes, for the most part. I had
quite a difficult time getting him to accept the fact that I often
desire Mexican, or even English meals. Variety of diet is very
important to morale aboard a ship away from home for months at a time."
"I agree," said Vila. "A crew doesn't stay happy and productive on a
steady diet of salted pork, boiled beans, and cold, dried biscuits.
That's something I'm glad that the services came to realize ages ago.
Even the Army came to know that their most important soldiers never
leave the Mess Tents. It's cooks, not Captains, that give the troops
the strength to fight. All this is just more of the same sort of
home-cooked meals that the crew grew up eating. From time to time
someone will suggest their mother's favorite specialty, or something
that they remember from a restaurant they went to on leave. I recruit
cooks with as much care as I do officers and crew. There's one Cajun
fellow from New Orleans that I had to court for half a year to get him
to transfer from the Army to the Airship Service. There's another who
used to be a chuck wagon cook for a big cattle rancher in Texas. Our
best breakfast cooks are an elderly black lady and her youngest
grandson. She refuses to accept retirement until the boy has learned
all her secrets and tricks. I have to lose her paperwork almost every
other year to keep her from being transfered ground-side and forcibly
retired from the service. She's also training one of the Chinese lads
from California in everything she knows about desserts..." Vila lowered
his voice conspiratorially and leaned closer to Lady Cita. "Of course,
it helps that my special rank in the Secret Service gives me the
authority to override almost any order issued by any officer, short of
the High Council itself. Emperor Norton and Don Diego came aboard once
on an inspection tour and I made sure that Momma Brown laid on her best
recipes for them. Joshua went back in the kitchen himself and praised
her cooking. Diego sent me one of his own staff a few weeks later to
train under her tutelage. He also transfered a Yaqui lass to our staff
when I said that I missed the Mexican cooking I'd had in the Texas Army
when I was younger."
Cita leaned even closer to Vila and whispered into his ear. "You're a
devious and crafty Redskin, Vila. I'd believe that you'd stop at
nothing to get the best for your crew."
"You are so right, Cita. I even asked my own mother for recipes that I
loved as a child," Vila whispered in return. "She was thrilled when
Momma Brown said that my mother's cornbread was as good as her own
mother made. If you ever want to make a Cherokee woman happy, then you
eat what she cooks until your belly is fit to burst, then complain out
loud that you can't hold any more."
"I'll keep that in mind," said Cita as she smiled. "In case I ever get
to meet your family."
Vila leaned back in his chair. His face adopted a serious expression,
almost sad. "You just might get that wish," he said quietly. "That
business on the island convinced me that I need to seriously consider
retirement. I'm getting too old to keep playing Secret Agent. I'm
slower than I used to be. One of these days I'm going to push my luck
too far. Some thug will eventually be faster on the draw, or punch
harder, or as Diego has always been fond of telling me - Be far better
with a sword. He's old enough to be my father, but I've never been able
to best him. Once you are safe, and the world isn't looking towards a
war of all against all, it may be time for me to go back to my father's
farm. Back to the Cherokee Nation. I'd never make it as a farmer, but
I'd love to be able to just fish and hunt and come home to... A proper
home. To sit on the porch of my own house, smoke my pipe as I watch the
sun go down, and listen to children play as their mother..."
"I would have to choose a successor to the throne," said Cita. "I will
not abandon my people unless I know that they are safe from foreign
conquerers. But you are right in one respect. Neither of us are getting
any younger. But yes, I would give it all up to be your wife. To grow
old and gray at your side," she smiled warmly at him as she reached out
to take his hand in her own. "To be the mother of our children. That
would be far better than being the Queen of any country. If you are
asking me to marry you-"
"I am," he interrupted. "There is no other woman whom I'd rather have.
No other that I'd want. You are all I've ever wanted, or needed." Vila
squeezed Cita's hand tightly. "You are my love, my life, my world, my
every reason for living."
"Let's just concentrate on surviving this mission of yours," Cita said.
"But I love you, too. Everything you just said, I feel it as well. But
the Duty comes first. For both of us."
"I know," said Vila. "But I don't have to like it. Sometimes I wish-"
"Hush," Cita interrupted. "If it weren't for our duty, we would never
have met. We need to be thankful for what blessings that we've been
granted."
"You're right, of course," said Vila. "I would never have found you if
I hadn't followed the path that I did. One stray step, and we might
just as well have been born into different worlds."
"Let's not dwell on might-have-beens," said Cita. "We have the here and
now. We can make the best we can of that."
"Agreed," said Vila. "Are we ready for dessert?"
"I thought you'd never ask," said Cita with a grin.
"I meant
the pecan pie," said Vila.
"That too," said Cita.
******
"Captain on the Bridge," Vila heard as he stepped through the Bridge
doorway early the next morning.
"Report," he said to First Officer Carter. Vila glanced around the
Bridge, noting the view through the forward windows.
"Coming up on Tripoli," said Carter. "We're slightly ahead of schedule.
Once we shift back to our normal engines we'll be roughly one hour away
from the depot. Message traffic from the refueling base gave word that
they'll be ready as soon as we reach their docking cradles. A ground
crew is standing by in case we need them. The fuel is ready for
transfer just as quickly as we can take it on."
"How is the ship holding up to the strain of the turbine? We've never
used it for this long at a time before now," said Vila.
"Cyril reported that the steering got progressively looser as the trip
progressed," said Carter." Miss Scott is already starting an
inspection. She's detailed a repair crew to make any necessary
adjustments while we're in the docking cradle at the depot."
"Good," replied Captain Vila. In a louder voice he continued. "Mister
Harris, message Miss Scott to wind down the turbine and extend
the
normal engines. Bring them on line as soon as they're locked back into
position. Mister Carter, ask Miss Scott to perform any necessary
inspection and repairs of the turbine engine as soon as it cools enough
for the
workmen."
"Message sent, sir," said Harris after a moment. "Reply incoming...
Miss Scott extends her compliments and respectfully requests that -
Um... That you refrain from telling her what her job entails. Sir!"
Vila laughed aloud. "She's a treasure, right enough. Very well. Carter,
make a note. The Captain is to keep his big nose out of Miss Scott's
duty schedule. On pain of - pain, I assume." In a louder voice he
continued, "All right people, look sharp. We're through with the easy
part of our mission. After we refuel, we're heading into danger. Our
enemy will do anything in his power to kill or cripple us. Once we
leave Tripoli, we take our lives in our hands."
"Turbine has ceased firing, Captain," said Cyril. " We're slowing...
The regular engines are extending now... Mains one through four are out
and locked. Started and running. Mains five through eight are
extending... Locked... And running. Secondaries are ready to deploy at
your command."
"Miss Scott already has that turbine inspection, and more, on her list
of repair tasks," said Carter. "She wants it recorded
in the ship's log that she is not in favor of having the turbine engine
used again before she has had time to go over it with a fine-toothed
comb."
"I concur," said Vila. "The technology is still too new for me to trust
it any more than Miss Scott does. Cyril, deploy the Secondaries and
start them at your discretion."
"Aye, aye sir," said Cyril.
"Still," said Carter. "It certainly came through for us this time. Two
days of flight time covered in fourteen hours? Once the flaws are
eliminated, I can see a bright future ahead for the transportation
industries."
"Unless we fail," said Vila. "If we fail there will be no future for
anyone. Unless we put paid to this madman and his schemes for a world
war, the future will be as he
wills it. We must find him and stop him, once and for all. The aliens
were bad enough, but his
plans mean nothing less than slavery for any
survivors - Forever more, all mankind would be his playthings.
Starving, desperate, beaten down to misery..."
"A sobering thought, Captain. Yet I have hope," said Carter. "The crew
will give their all. We'd follow you into Hell itself, fight
the
Devil and all his legions, if you but give the word, Sir."
"I trust that we'll be able to tell some difference between the Devil
and that damned Austrian madman," said Vila with a wry smile. "Though
that difference be slight."
"Speed down to one hundred and sixty miles per hour," said Cyril.
"Steadily falling as the inertia decreases. We'll be down to normal
speed in a few moments. Secondary
engines one through twelve are extended, locked, and running. I make it
three quarters of an hour to Tripoli, Captain. We'll be refueling in an
hour, maybe less if the wind on the ground is gentle enough. Good
thing, too. Our fuel tanks are nearly dry. Speed now down to one
hundred twenty miles per hour. We've got a trace of a tail wind, so our
fuel reserves will be somewhat
less than dry tanks when we get to the refueling station."
******
"Refueling complete, Captain. Ready to cast off from the landing
cradle. All stations report ready for take-off, everything secured, all
hands at duty stations," said Commander Wilson as Vila took his seat on
the bridge. "Ready to move out on your order."
"Very good, Commander. Cast off and set course for Crete," said Captain
Vila. "Once we reach maximum altitude, get us out of sight of the
refueling station before switching to the turbine engine. We'll come to
a full stop half an hour from the island and try to pinpoint Auric von
Holfschlager and his base. Communications blackout until then, please.
Hopefully he believes the Nemesis
is still in Paris. No use disabusing him of that opinion until the last
moment."
"Yes, sir. Steersman! Start the engines. Take us up and out when the
anchor lines are retracted. Normal engines only until we're out of
sight. Further orders to follow."
"Aye, aye," replied Cyril. "All is ready, lines locked, engines
running. Setting for maximum altitude and maximum normal speed."
As he signed and initialed reports on a clipboard that a crew member
handed to him, Vila looked up and out through the forward window at the
nearing clouds. The Nemesis
was rapidly gaining altitude and would soon be above the lowest cloud
layer. Handing the clipboard back to the crewman, Vila nodded in
approval. Finished with the paperwork, he got up and walked to the
chart table. Checking the distance to Crete, he jotted a few
calculations on a notepad, then silently nodded again. As the clouds
began to obscure the view ports, Vila returned to his seat. "Commander
Wilson," he said. "Signal the engine room to begin retracting the props
and start the turbine engine."
"Sir! Yes sir!" Wilson replied, then bent to his task.
Within moments, Vila felt his seat begin to press harder against his
back as the turbine engine gradually built up speed. Soon, the clouds
below them were racing by, blurred from the terrific speed. Commander
Wilson sat at his duty station preparing orders for the ground troops
and picket airships. First, the Nemesis
had to reach Crete. Second, they had to uncover Auric von
Holfschlager's base there- No easy task, with Crete being the fifth
largest island in the Mediterranean Sea, with over 3000 square miles of
territory to search. Third, depending upon where that base was located,
plans for their attack would be finalized and the assault would begin.
Fourth... There was no fourth. Auric von Holfschlager would die, or the
crew of the Nemesis
would die to the last man and woman in the attempt to kill von
Holfschlager, the madman who craved world domination. It had come down
to that least desired of options- Do, or die. The Commander made notes
for several different attack plans, referring time and again to a
detailed map of Crete. The mountainous terrain would be working against
them- Hard to set down ground troops on the side of a mountain.
Commander Carter entered the bridge and went to assist Wilson. After an
hour and a half, Captain Vila ordered that the turbine be shut down. As
the Nemesis
slowed to normal speeds, the propeller engines were extend and locked
into place. Slowly, they began turning their blades.
"Cyril," said Vila. "Go to station keeping here. Stay above the clouds
and keep us out of sight from the surface. Use the heaters in the gas
bags to get us to our absolute maximum altitude."
"Yes sir, Captain," Cyril replied as he worked the controls at his
station. "Station keeping as of... Now. Heaters started... We're
gaining more altitude now. Adjusting propeller speeds to keep us steady
at this position. The wind is shifting a bit as we rise, but not enough
to be a problem. I can keep us here all day, unless a storm front blows
in."
"Good," said Vila. "Thank you, Cyril. Stay on it and keep me informed
is the wind shifts more than you like."
"Bet on it, Captain." Cyril replied.
"Senior Officers, report to the conference room," said Vila. "Send an
escort for Lady Cita so that she can join us." He rose from his seat
and went to the door to the conference room. "Cyril, you'll be in
command while we're in the meeting."
"Yes sir," replied Commander Carter as Commander Wilson passed the
order throughout the airship.
"Yes sir," Cyril echoed.
******
"Captain," said Miss Scott as she sat down at the conference room
table. She rubbed her eyes tiredly, but smiled as she took a sip of
coffee.
"Yes, Monty? Vila asked.
"We're straining our seams keeping this altitude, but we can take it
for several more hours. The turbine is holding up quite well,
considering the stress we've put on it during this past week. The Heat
Ray is in prime condition and I've got two teams going over it again
right now. The ship is ready for anything you ask of it."
"Commander Carter?" Vila said.
"All gun crews are at their stations. All of the 'Specials' are fully
fueled, armed, and ready to launch on two minutes notice. Their crews
are standing by in the Ready Rooms. Both hanger crews are prepared for
immediate launches. Everything is prepared for the attack."
"Commander Wilson?"
"Ground troops are equipped and standing by. They've each been issued
water, food, and enough ammunition to last three days away from the
ship. Unless they run into heavy resistance once they're deployed, each
unit is fully stocked for any contingency I can plan for... My Sargents
and platoon leaders report that morale is excellent."
"Doctor Smith?"
"All my medical staff are ready to work double shifts to take care of
any casualties. My supplies are sufficient to care for any emergency.
Every table in Sick Bay has a full team of surgeons, nurses, and
orderlies assigned. Each ground unit has four of my Medics assigned,
and their supplies have been topped off. Medical is ready. We're not
going to lose anyone if we can get to them in time."
"Good," said Vila. "Now all we have to do is find the bastard's base
and kill him."
"We will," said Cita. "His days are soon to be ended!"
"Sir," said Ensign Briggs as he entered the conference room.
"Mister Harris sent me to report that Mister Smith has intercepted some
messages from Paris and the enemy base! Smith sent a runner up with
these co-ordinates for you. He thinks the base is located off the West
coast of the main island. This is as close as he can trace it, Sir!"
"Excellent!" Vila replied, looking at the message pad that Briggs
handed over. "Where's that bloody map? Oh, thank you Wilson. All
right... These co-ordinates mark a spot right about- Here! Good work,
Briggs. Pass my compliments on to Harris and Smith."
"Will do, sir." Briggs replied as he exited the conference room. Carter
and Wilson rose from their chairs and moved to stand on either
side of Vila as the three of them studied the map and the notepad. Lady
Cita moved aside to allow Commander Wilson more room to look at the map.
"Cita, have you been to Crete before? We could use any information that
you might have," Vila asked.
"Never,"
Lady Cita replied. "Mainland Greece for a vacation and Turkey for a
refueling stop is as close as I've come. I wish I hadn't left Mister
Hudson behind. He knows geography and maps better than anyone I've ever
met. Am I permitted to smoke here? I brought my pipe. Your's too, if
you feel the urge."
"Oh," said Vila. "Feel free. And yes, I'd love a pipe-ful while we work
this out."
"Extreme Northwest coast of Crete," said Wilson. "About seventy five
miles North Northwest from our present position."
"Here you go, dear-" Cita said as she passed Vila his briar pipe. "I
lit it for you, too."
"Thank you," Vila said as he took the pipe and began to puff on it.
"Thank you very much, M'Lady."
"But off shore, not
on the
main island," said Carter. "There's something there on the chart,
roughly two miles Southwest of... How do you pronounce that?"
"That little island there? Pontikonissi," replied Wilson, thumping his
thick index finger on the map as a pointer. "There are only two little
spits of land near Pontikonissi that show up on the charts of that
area. Neither of them are named on my maps. Pontikonissi is roughly
seven miles from the main island, due West of Agnion. These
co-ordinates are damned
close
to the location of that second island out Southwestward from
Pontikonissi. The charts say that it's less than a half a square mile
in area. No real details other than that. But given that Crete seems to
be made
out of mountains, I'm
betting that this little mystery island has a steep profile. Probably a
rim of soft sand beaches all around, sloping up quickly to a central
peak roughly a quarter of a mile or more above the sea. I wish it would
turn out to be flatter. The troops are going to catch hell slogging up
a mountain-"
Ensign Briggs re-entered the conference room at a dead run. "Messages
from the Fleet, Captain!" Briggs said as he ran to Vila's side.
Vila took the message pad and quickly flipped through several pages.
"Well," he said. "This looks hopeful." He read through the messages
again, just to be sure he hadn't missed anything. Then he dropped the
pad onto the table, stood, and began issuing orders- using his still
smoking pipe as a pointer. "Monty, go get us ready for a short burst
from the turbine. Looks like seven minutes will be enough. Then we'll
run the cooling units and the compressors so that we can drop like a
rock down to the wave tops. And double-check the Heat Ray. We're going
to strain it to the limit, unless I miss my guess. Zachary, you'd
better get to Sick Bay and get everything ready for violent maneuvers.
We'll be tossing everything about pretty badly until we get into
position. Carter, see to launching the 'Specials' as we drop. I want
them to form a ring around the island at one mile altitude, then come
down to a quarter mile once we start our run towards any position we
can find where we can deploy the ground troops. Wilson, I want every
ground vehicle we have ready to scoot down the ramp and onto the beach
as quickly as we can off-load them. Deploy the troops down the ramps
and out- at a dead run. If I'm right, we'll have scant seconds before
we start taking fire from von Holfschlager's defenses. Lady Cita and I
will lead one- No, two
companies of ground troops inside his base,
unless we're forced to make an attack from the air, instead. Wilson,
make adjustments to your plans so that Cita and I have Alpha and Bravo
companies at our backs. We'll all have to be flexible until we get a
good idea of the lay of the land. Cita, if we can make a ground assault
you and I will both need body armor- As well as every weapon we can
carry, so we'll need extra time to go to quarters and dress for the
assault. Unless we drop down and find that a ground attack is
useless. If that turns out to be the case, all the 'Specials' and Nemesis
will back out away from the island, gain altitude, and Heat Ray or bomb
his base into molten slag. I want everything ready for attack in one
hour. We need to keep our position here until then. Got it? We keep
hiding for another hour, then we go- If von Holfschlager wants a war,
we're going to bring one right to his armchair! Any questions?"
"No sir, We'll be ready," Carter replied.
"Indeed!" said Wilson.
"My engineers will be ready," added Miss Scott.
"Medical is ready to treat all casualties," said Doctor Smith, sarcasm
writ large in his voice."Although, I must say that I prefer the 'stand
off and Heat Ray the base into slag' option. That would mean less work
for me."
"Zachary," said Vila, shaking his head sadly. "We have to go in and
make sure that we kill von Holfschlager once and for all. Taking out
the base isn't enough. That would just postpone the war he wants to
start. If he escaped he would simply start over. He has to die, today,
or we'll just have to do
this all over again somewhere else sometime in the future. And knowing
von Holfschlager, we won't get a better chance ever again- Not once we
destroy this base. If he were to survive? He'll go hide somewhere we
can't even begin to find him, and direct his forces from afar."
"Agreed," replied Doctor Smith. "He must be stopped at all costs. But
be careful, please. I would dislike having to train a new Captain from
scratch. You-" Doctor Smith shook his head. "You are almost
housebroken. A greenhorn would take me months to train..."
Doctor Smith smiled, as if to take the sting out of his scornful tone.
"I would wish," Lady Cita began. "That we had larger forces. I know
your crew is the best there is, Vila. But larger numbers of troops and
airships would make me feel more confident. I regret having to leave Sky Queen on guard
over Caracas. We may need them, before this day is done. They're
all trained and they'd follow your orders to the letter, Vila. Oh well,
if wishes were fishes then we'd all cast nets...""
"I think we'll have a better chance than you might believe, Cita." Vila
replied. He glanced down at the messages that Ensign Briggs had
delivered earlier, then looked back up. Meeting the eyes of each of his
staff members in turn, then finally the eyes of his beloved, he grinned
confidently. "We have a good chance of pulling this off. But I know my
crew- They'll give their all, no matter the cost! We can do this. We
can do this now.
We can save the world from this madman and put paid to
his schemes, forever. All I ask is that everyone play their part when
the time comes."
"We will," said Cita.
"Then let's get ready," said Vila.
******
"Once we arrive," Commander Carter asked, "how will we know where the
base is?"
"We look for wherever is shooting at us," said Vila. "Then we shoot
back. Simple, really."
"If that works, yes. But suppose," Carter said. "Suppose no one shoots
at us? What if he's out on a boat and we tracked down his location from
yesterday?
He could be miles away from that position we traced."
"True. But John, he's always used some sort of stronghold before. He
can't take enough of his fine furnishings and artwork and his servants
on any yacht for that to be appealing to him. Even a luxury liner
wouldn't be enough unless he was the only passenger. He'd fill the rest
of the ship with his personal treasures, his slaves, and his soldiers-
And even then he'd be miserable without someone to lord it over. He
thinks of himself as some sort of aristocrat. One of 'nature's
noblemen' he's often said. He thinks of himself as some sort of elite,
upper class royalty. He and his kind belong back in the Dark Ages."
"That's more generous than you've been towards him in the past,
Captain."
"Oh? Yes, well John, you're right. I usually say that he belongs in
Hell. By all the Gods that have ever lived, I pray we can send him
there today. And unless my watch has stopped, now is the time. Back to
the bridge. We'll make one fast leap through the air, and then start
the attack."
******
"Commander Wilson, sound the alert for rapid maneuvers. Send my
compliments to Miss Scott and inform her that we need the turbine now.
Seven minutes, then shut it down. As soon as we come to a halt, sound
Battle Stations. Cyril, you have the course laid in?"
"Of course I do, Captain. Had it plotted and set up as soon as the
meeting was over. We go on your command."
"Consider it given, Cyril. Go."
"Normal engines stopped," Cyril said by way of reply. "Props retracted
and locked. Turbine spinning up and beginning to thrust. We're under
way."
Once more the Nemesis
leapt
through the thin, cold air high above the surface of the Earth. Clouds
rushed by beneath her keel looking for all the world like a raging
river rapid bursting into whitened foam. One minute passed, then two...
Finally, the end of the seventh minute arrived. Down in the engine
room, Miss Scott ordered the turbine stopped. As the airship slowed,
the propeller engines were extended out on their support struts and
locked into position. Even before the propellers could start to spin,
the compressors began to remove Helium from the gas bags and the
cooling units reduced the lifting power of the remainder. Nemesis
dropped down from her lofty perch, through the cloud cover that had
shielded her from unfriendly eyes. Inside, the crew made their final
preparations for battle.
"All hands, Battle Stations! Launch the 'Specials'! All gunnery crews,
extend your guns. Make ready the Heat Ray!" The Captain sat in his
command chair, Lady Cita standing by his side. Her hands gripped the
chair arm as the airship continued to drop. Commander Wilson shook
hands with Commander Carter, turned and saluted Captain Vila, then
bowed to Lady Cita. Without a word, he left the bridge to join the
ground troops in the hanger bay.
"All 'Specials' launched, Captain." Commander Carter reported. "Ground
troops are assembled in the lower hanger. Ground vehicles are fueled,
armed, and on the ramp. All ship's guns are ready to fire. The Heat Ray
is charged and ready to fire."
"Captain," said Harris, turning from his communications station.
"Lookouts report six small airships have launched from the island. They
are climbing to meet us."
"Carter," said Vila. "Order the each gun crew to pick one of those and
stay on them. The 'Specials" are to continue to escort our landing
craft down. We're not going to fire until we're fired upon. Harris, I
need the spotters to find that base- Quickly, now!"
"Yes sir," Harris replied, already turning back to his station.
"She's gettin' a little squirrelly, Captain." Cyril called out as he
fought the helm to keep the airship level.
"You can handle it, Cyril. I know you can."
There came a bright flash of light and a crack of thunder. Nemesis shook like
a leaf in a gale wind as the air above her roiled from the force of the
blast.
"That was a bloody Heat Ray!" Cyril shouted. "He's got a Heat Ray! That
bastard!"
"I think we've found that base-" Vila began.
"If we hadn't been dropping so fast, he would have gotten us right
then," said Cita.
"All ships! Evasive action! Lookouts," Vila shouted. "Pinpoint that
Heat Ray projector! Ground troops in the hanger, strap down and hang
on!"
Cyril spun the wheel and poured more steam to the propeller engines. Nemesis
danced to the tune Cyril was playing upon her controls. Another flare
from the Heat Ray on the ground burnt the air above her. Then another,
barely missing her side. Thunder cracked, the force of the scorched air
pushing her, buffeting her like a hurricane.
"One of the 'Specials' spotted their Heat Ray," Harris reported.
"Captain! There's a Martian
down there!"
"No," Vila replied, loud enough to be heard by the whole bridge crew.
"No, there isn't.
If that were a live
Martian down there, we'd be dead by now. He's missed us three times. A
Martian would have gotten us with the first shot. He's got a fighting
machine down there, but you can bet there are men in it- Not
Martians. Keep dodging, Cyril! You're all that's keeping us alive right
now."
"But," said Cita. "We can't shoot back while we dodge! And if we stop
long enough to aim, he'll burn us from the sky.
"Landing craft report that they are down," said Harris. "The 'Specials'
are moving to target the Fighting Machine. Lookouts report cannon fire.
Positions are being marked for when we can return fire."
"Good," said Vila. "Carter, message to Miss Scott. We might need the
turbine for short bursts of speed again. Warm it up."
There came another flare of light from the Heat Ray on the ground. Nemesis
lurched as the thunder rolled, deafening in its power, then she tilted
to her port side. Cyril poured the power to the propeller engines and Nemesis
leapt forward. Then Cyril banked her into a tight turn, still
accelerating. "We've lost part of the rudders," he shouted." That last
shot must have hit the tail fins!"
"Not good," said Vila. "Keep dodging, as best you can. Take us down as
low as we can get without scraping the treetops. And pour on the steam!
We can't be accurate, but we can still be fast!
Keep that machine firing at us and we'll give the others time to take
him out. We're going to act like a decoy, now. That's all we can do.
Carter, ask Miss Scott if the turbine nozzle took any damage from that
hit on our tail fins. No use blowing ourselves up trying to scoot out
of the way."
"I'm on it," Carter replied.
Nemesis
swung out over the sea
as Cyril wrestled her into another turn. "Captain? We're wallowing all
over the sky," he said. "I can aim us right at that thing on another
pass. The forward guns would have a few seconds to shoot, but if they
miss, it'll get us as we pass it."
"The 'Specials' report that they've hit the machine," Harris called
out. "It's damaged!
"Do it Cyril," Vila said. "Sing out before you make your run. Forward
guns, Heat Ray, make ready to fire! Wait for my order."
"Lined up and starting my run, Captain! Engines to maximum speed!"
"Thank you, Cyril." Vila looked calmly out through the forward port,
then took Cita's hand. "At least we're together," he whispered. The
island rushed towards them, jogging about as Nemesis
staggered through the air. The first trees began to rush underneath
them as they reached the shore. Cyril fought the wheel in order to gain
another few feet above the tree tops. Smoke from cannons firing
obscured the view. Then broke through the veil of smoke and the Martian
machine appeared before her. Its body stood well above the trees, like
a giant metal tower. Slowly it turned to bring its Heat Ray to bear
upon the rushing Nemesis galloping
towards the spot where it stood. There were holes in its skin where the
cannons and rockets from the 'Specials" had done their work. Blackened
with soot, dented and bent, but still fighting. Vila watched as its
Heat Ray swung around- closer, and closer still.
"Forward guns," Vila shouted. "Fire! Heat Ray, fire!"
The roar from her guns sounded like the battle cry of a giant. Trees in
her path exploded, turned to splinters as the guns of the Nemesis
bellowed out in a solid wave of death. The Martian machine shook as the
shells reached it. It staggered back a step, then another, then
another... The Heat Ray was torn away from the force to the gunfire.
Then the Nemesis
let loose
with her own Heat Ray. Trees burst into flame along the path of
destruction the airship was sowing. The Martian machine glowed cherry
red, then white hot. The airship passed overhead, missing the fighting
machine by scant feet. Then the tortured machine exploded.
"Cyril," said Vila. "All stop. Find us a place to set down and drop the
ramp for the ground troops. Cita, let's go. We've still got a job to
do. Carter, you're in command until I return. Message to the crew;
Everyone, good job. You make me proud."
"Be careful, Sir." Carter said.
"It's Auric von
Holfschlager who needs to be careful, now." Cita said. She turned to
Vila, kissed his cheek, and pointed downwards. "We go for the black
suit? And then out to battle?"
"No," Vila answered. "The black suit stays here, this time. My troops
need to be led by their Captain, not some stranger in a mask. Come,
Commander Wilson has our battle gear waiting for us in the hanger bay."
******
Reaching the lower hanger of the Nemesis,
Vila and Cita donned the same sort of body armor that the troops were
wearing. As Vila shrugged into his armor and began to fasten his
gunbelt around his waist, Commander Wilson helped Cita put on her own
armored coat. As the ramp from the hanger dropped down to the ground,
Wilson handed Cita the sword and gun belt that she had brought with her
from Sky Queen.
Then the
three of them got inside two of the troop carriers. Commander
Wilson in the lead vehicle, Vila and Cita together in the second. With
their engines puffing, the steam-trucks moved down the ramp, slowly
gathering speed. Troopers ran alongside the vehicles, and followed
along behind. With practiced ease, the ground troops leaped onto the
carriers, rode for a short time, then dismounted to allow others to
leap aboard. Vila moved back and forth through the troops that were
riding, giving encouragement, sharing rude jokes, and occasionally
checking a soldier's battle gear while they got a ration of water from
a barrel inside the vehicle. Cita could see Commander Wilson doing the
same sort of thing over in the other carrier. She nodded in agreement.
A good leader became a part of his troops, shared their dangers and
their victories. She had done much the same on he pirate airship. "Only
it was a mug of rum instead of water, most of the time," she said.
"Beg pardon? Oh," said the turret gunner Cita was standing near.
"Meanin' no disrespect, Ma'am. I didn't realize who you were. I was
watching my target area, up ahead there."
"Stay alert," Cita replied. She could see that the soldier didn't want
to look away from the area he had been assigned to cover. "No offense
taken. Don't let me pull you away from your duties. I was just thinking
out loud. Captain Vila is a good leader- A fine soldier. I was just
thinking of how similar this is to being aboard my own ship- Getting
ready for a battle."
"You're that Pirate lady, ain'tcha, Ma'am? The one the Captain is sweet
on?"
"That's right, I suppose," said Cita. "What's your name, soldier?"
"Private, First Class, Henry Banks, Republic a' Texas, Ma'am," the
trooper replied, sounding a little afraid.
"Relax, Mister Banks," Cita said. "You haven't offended me. I'm not
about to put you on report. Where in Texas are you from?"
"Denton, Ma'am. Outside a' Dallas an' Fort Worth, just a bit north
of 'em."
"Pretty town?"
"In the Spring and Fall it is, Ma'am. That's when we get the most rain.
Summertime it gets dry an' everything turns brown. Wintertime it looks
kinda brown, too."
"That's a big pistol you've got strapped to your hip," said Cita. "I've
never seen one like it. What kind of gun is it?"
"That's a Gabbet-Fairfax fifty caliber magnum," said Vila, walking up
to stand next to Cita. "Henry, what did I tell you about carrying
non-regulation firearms?"
"Best I can recall, Captain," said Banks with a smile. "You said 'good
boy, an' make sure you don't run out of ammo, an' t' always have my
regular pistol on my other hip so that Commander Wilson don't pitch a
fit.'"
"Exactly right, Henry. You tote your issue sidearm and all the ammo
you're assigned for it, and I don't care what personal weapons you tote
to go along with it. Wilson is a good soldier, but if he's in a bad
mood he can go too much by-the-book on you. Best not to let him have a
reason."
"Yes, Sir!" Banks said. "I heard that!"
"How is your intuition, Henry? Got a feel for this battle yet?"
"I don't much like it, Captain. Nobody is shootin' at us yet. That
ain't right. You busted up their big tin man, and they ain't throwin'
everything they got at us? No sir. That just ain't right."
"Feels like a trap to me too, Son. Keep your eyes peeled," said Vila.
"Five'll get you twenty that we're going straight into an ambush."
"Momma didn't raise me to take no sucker bets, Captain. We're headed
for trouble, with a capital T."
"Good man," said Vila. "When the lead starts flying, you keep your head
down and shoot straight. We're all in this together, and I want us all
to go home together, too."
"Yes sir, Captain."
Vila and Cita walked towards the back of the vehicle together.
"You've got quite a way with your crew," Cita said.
"I understand them," said Vila. "I've been in their shoes. I worked my
way up through the ranks and I remember the things my superior officers
did that actually helped morale. I've tried to learn from them."
"I think you've succeeded. I do love you, you know that."
"I love you too, Cita. Always have, always will."
Shots rang out. Cita turned to look at the turret gunner position and
Private Banks. He was crouched down behind the metal shield that his
big gatling gun poked through, turning the crank handle that worked the
gun's firing mechanism. Ricochets whined off the carrier's armored
sides as the soldiers on the ground dropped down to return fire. The
gunners in the vehicles were traversing their guns, raking the area
ahead with deadly fire.
"Watch the sides!" Cita heard Commander Wilson call out.
"Rear ranks!" Vila shouted. "Cover our backs!"
The carrier vehicles slowed, but didn't stop. Within moments, the
ambush was over. The troops carefully got up from the ground and
trotted to catch up with the carriers.
"Any casualties?" Vila asked.
"None back here, Sir," answered one of the Sargents.
"We need a medic in the driver's compartment," came a call from the
front of the vehicle. "One of the Engineers caught a stray bullet.
Looks like his arm is broke."
"How much further?" Cita asked.
"Can't be far," Vila said. "You could drop this whole island into
downtown Caracas and lose it in the Farmer's Market."
"Smoke ahead!" The cry from Commander Wilson's vehicle was easy to
hear. The carriers weren't very far apart.
"Probably," said Vila. "That's from the fighting machine we
killed.We're almost to von
Holfschlager's base. Won't be long, now."
******
Within minutes they rolled by the remains of the Martian fighting
machine. The injured driver was still piloting- the medic that tended
his arm doing double-duty as an extra pair of hands for the driver.
Just past the wrecked fighting machine, the carriers eased to a stop.
They faced the rock walls of a small fort. A smashed gateway barred
their path inside. As the engines of the carriers whined to a halt, a
single rifle began firing from the top of the fort's walls.
Small cannon mounted on the carriers boomed out. The sniper fell silent.
"Company A, inside!" Wilson shouted. "Company B, secure the perimeter!
All vehicle gunners, full alert!"
"We're going in," said Vila. "Watch yourself."
"I will," said Cita. "I'm glad you didn't try to make me stay here."
"I'm no fool," said Vila. "Come on. Let's get this over with. I want
von
Holfschlager's head on a stick, to take home."
"Savage," Cita said, smiling. "And I thought South American
head-hunters were bad."
Sporadic gunfire sounded out from within the fort. The troops from the Nemesiswere
cleaning out this particular nest of vipers with all the precision
of their training. Slowly, carefully, they explored room after room,
taking prisoners who would surrender, and killing those who wouldn't.
Vila and Cita followed close on the heels of the troops. Once the upper
floors were secured, they began to search the underground portions of
the fort. Underground, the place was far larger than the stonework that
served above. It might have started as a natural cave, but it had
clearly been carved out and made larger. Toolmarks on the walls showed
that the hand of man had not been idle here. Finally, they
came to a barricade that had been hastily thrown together by whatever
forces that remained loyal to von
Holfschlager.
"The rest of the place is clean," Commander Wilson reported. "Unless
there's a dungeon or an escape tunnel we haven't found yet, then this
is the last room."
Vila looked at the barrier, then sighed. "Bring up a cannon," he said.
"Blast through that. I'm tired of this farce. That lunatic von
Holfschlager is either behind that barricade, or he's escaped. I want
to know which. And I want to know now."
"Yes sir," Wilson replied. "I'll see to it personally." Commander
Wilson strode back the way they had come, shouting orders. Within
minutes, he returned with a squad who were pushing a small cannon.
Without a word, they set it up, armed it, and blocked the wheels
against the expected recoil. Vila nodded at the gunnery chief who was
in charge of the squad. The cannon fired. The barrier was blasted out
of the way.
"Come on. Cita," said Vila. "Let's get this over with. Commander
Wilson, I want your best riflemen behind me to cover the room. Have the
rest deploy here to prevent any escapes. Shoot to wound unless the
runner is armed. Anyone who tries to shoot their way out, kill them.
You're to take my right hand position. Cita will be on my left. We'll
go in together. If von
Holfschlager is actually in there, we'll kill him. If he isn't, we'll
try to take prisoners so we can find out where he went. How does that
sound?"
"Clear as a bell, Captain." Wilson said. "We've lost fifteen men taking
this crypt. I'm in no mood to offer mercy to the man who caused their
deaths. You point him out, I'll kill him myself."
"No," said Vila. "I'd say something like 'he's mine,' but that's just
stupid. If he's in there, we all empty our guns into him. Reload now,
and pray we come out with empty pistols. This isn't personal any more.
The world is depending on us to stop this madman. No chances. We find
him and we kill him. Nothing more, nothing less."
"Understood, sir," said Wilson. "Pleasure to have served with you,
Captain. You're a man I'd follow into the mouth of Hell."
"Thank you," said Vila. "Cita, are you ready?"
"Yes," Cita replied, cocking her pistol. "Let's end this, once and for
all."
Side by side by side, they walked into the final chamber.
******
The doorway proved to lead to a short, narrow passage. Dimly lit by
electrical torches, the passage led to an inner room. It was a large
room, taking up what must have been half of the underground chamber
below the back of the fort. Not quite a dungeon, but it might
have
been one in the past.
"You could park an airship in here!" Wilson said.
"A small one," said Vila. "I think we've found his personal laboratory.
There's a small steam engine, driving that electrical generator. Look
at the size of the wires leading out. Surely that can't all be for
those lights. Some of this mess looks like Martian equipment. He's laid
hands on a lot more than just a fighting machine, that's for sure."
"Smells like a chicken coop in here," said Cita. "Ammonia, brimstone,
and I don't know what else."
A large glass tank of silvery-gray sludge blocked the way further in.
It was big enough to hold several men- possibly twelve feet
long
and half that in width, with walls at least eight feet high. Its
contents slowly sloshed and heaved halfway up the walls of the tank as
if it were being stirred by some hidden mechanism. The stench was
stronger the closer they moved toward the tank. Fanning out to both
sides of the tank, the troops followed Vila and Cita to the left, and
Commander Wilson to the right. Stepping over electrical
cables
that ran to the base of the tank of sludge, they rejoined to examine
the rest of the chamber. Work tables stood, scattered at random across
the floor. Glass pipelines ran from the sludge tank to one of the
tables in a central position of the remaining open space. That
particular table looked for all the world like one that would be found
in an operating room in a major hospital. Disturbingly, there were
straps on that table that obviously were intended to restrain anyone
unlucky enough to be laid upon it. It also seemed to be the nexus of
several different types of electrical devices.
"Look," said Commander Wilson. "Four doors, two in the far wall and one
in each of the sides. More rooms. Unless one is the escape tunnel."
"And a balcony runs along the far wall, about thirty feet up," Vila
said. "So he can oversee his workmen, no doubt."
"Is that a throne up there?" Cita asked. "So he can be comfortable
while he watches his torturers work on some poor soul. How sick-"
"Welcome to Hell," boomed a cultured voice from above. Melodious and
menacing, the voice held more than a trace of contempt.
"Auric von
Holfschlager," Vila shouted. "Come out and face us! Your crimes have
finally caught up with you!"
"Oh dear me," came the reply. The echoes in the chamber made it
impossible to get a fix on von
Holfschlager's hiding place."They have? How distressing. And I was so
close to succeeding, too. As a matter of fact, I believe that I've
already won this battle. And as for the war- I doubt that there is
anything you can do to stop me. I've won that too. You're too late,
dear enemy. My dearest little Captain Resthal. You and your whore, and
all your little soldiers, are far too late to stop my plans from
becoming reality now. I've won! I shall rule the world- My world- Mine
and mine alone. I shall be Emperor of the Earth! Whatever of you rabble
who manage to survive my world war shall grovel and beg for my smallest
of mercies. I will enjoy hearing your pleas. They shan't fall on deaf
ears- Oh no! No- I shall savor every pitiful whine as you beg for
death. I've awaited this day for years- Decades! Time and again you and
that she-devil bitch-queen have thwarted my little schemes. You've
killed my pawns, my duplicates, and always you've escaped my righteous
vengeance. You've led a charmed life, my dear Resthal. My henchmen
capture you, you escape, you destroy my operations, and then you have
the nerve to come back for more!" Honeyed venom dripped from every word
as the voice continued to issue from some hidden safe-hold. "Even
before we first crossed swords, you managed to survive every pitfall,
every battle, every trap set for you by your own kind- And even against
the alien invaders. Times without number, you should have died.
Instead, the both of you have prospered! You've gained more power, more
glory among your fellow peasants, instead of having the grace to submit
to your betters like a good little animal. You've risen to become
wolves among your fellow sheep. How it sickens me!"
Out of the corner of his eye, Vila saw Commander Wilson signal the
troops with several simple movements of his hands. The soldiers quietly
spread out to cover each wall and door. Two soldiers left the
chamber to run up and outside to summon reinforcements from the other
company left guarding the surface around the fort. Commander Wilson
pointed upwards, then flapped his left hand in a duck's beak motion. Keep him talking while we summon
help from the ship, Vila thought. Good idea, von
Holfschlager can be his own worst enemy if I can keep his monologue
going long enough for more troops to arrive.
"I'm glad to have been such a thorn in your side," Vila called out to
the ranting voice of Auric von
Holfschlager. "That makes my life worthwhile! Come on out and face me,
you pitiful little demi-god. Or are you too cowardly to stand up to an
equal?"
"Equal? You have far too high an opinion of yourself," von
Holfschlager replied. Anger filled his voice as he continued. Demi-God,
you say? You speak truer than you know! I have become far more than a demi-God, now! I
have ascended to the very heights of Godhood, itself! I have become immortal!
Even were I to allow myself to face your guns, you could not kill me.
Thanks to my researches, I have managed to defeat death, itself! I can never die! My
science has laid waste to the last great enemy of humanity. I shall
become Emperor Eternal!
I will rule you pitiful animals for a thousand years,
and thousands of thousands years more beyond! I
will rule, and be worshiped as the God I now am, and you will suffer
for every inconvenience that you have handed me! You and your whore
will
both suffer!"
"You haven't brains enough to pour piss out of a boot," Vila taunted.
"Not even if the instructions were written on the heel! You'll never be
more than a petty criminal, von
Holfschlager. You're a failure at everything. You're inept! You're a
coward! You're just another impotent terrorist- Thinking talk is the
same as action. It's deeds, not words that make a king. No matter how
many assassinations you buy, no matter how many weapons you build, no
matter how many schemes you launch- You're always going to be a
third-rate little tin-pot crime-lord. Immortal? Face me and I'll show
you that you aren't!"
"Oh, but you are so wrong, little heathen savage warrior," Auric von
Holfschlager's voice replied. "You are in the midst of my workshop. You
have before your unthinking eyes the method I used to attain my
Godhood, and yet you comprehend nothing!
"Yet another jumble of Martian machinery," Vila reposted. "More
worthless junk that you've salvaged from the wreckage of their invasion
forces. Not you, nor even a million of your minions could have managed
to make something out of this pile of scrap. That fighting machine you
salvaged- We took it out with a single salvo from our guns! You crazy,
impotent bastard. You're nothing!"
"Worthless? I think not," said Auric von
Holfschlager.
"I can believe that," said Vila. "You think- Not! You wouldn't know a
thought if it were to bite you on the arse!"
"You dare! You pitiful fool! I shall teach you the true meaning of
despair. As the years pass, you'll beg for death. You and your
bitch-queen as well! You see that tank of Martian medical solution
behind you? Can you comprehend what I am about to do to you? You'll
have eternity to learn, if you do not already understand the danger you
face today!"
Reinforcements from the forces of the Nemesis
started pouring into the chamber. Commander Wilson and Vila used hand
signals to tell the troops to divide their forces and start searching
the rooms that lay beyond the four unexplored exits from the
laboratory. Silently, the soldiers formed into groups and filed through
the four black doorways that gaped in the laboratory's walls.
"It is too late, stupid savage," said von
Holfschlager from his hiding place. "I have already won. You cannot
defeat me! You cannot even find me!"
The troops began to file back into the laboratory from the far
chambers. Shaking their heads silently, the platoon leaders indicated
that those rooms were empty, having no discernible exits. Seeing this,
Commander Wilson pointed towards the balcony with his pistol and waved
his other hand in signal to the soldiers to follow his lead. He aimed
carefully at what he could see above the balcony railing, raised his
left hand into the air, then dropped it- Firing as he did so. Shots
thundered in the enclosed space as all the troops began to empty their
rifles and pistols into the area beyond the balcony. As the gunpowder
smoke filled the air, Vila thought he saw movement that was veiled by
the clouds. He raised his pistol to add to the gunfire, then coughed.
He coughed again.
"Poison gas!" Vila yelled. "Everybody out! Wilson, get the men to
safety! Sound a retreat!"
"Evacuate! To the surface," Wilson's thundering voice boomed out in the
thickening smoke. "Fall back to the gate! Fall back, I say!"
Coughing and almost blinded by the ever-thickening smoke, the forces
from the Nemesis
ran from the laboratory. Commander Wilson followed the last trooper out
of the room, bellowing like a bull the whole time in hopes that Vila
and Cita could follow his voice to safety.
"Cita!" Vila shouted.
"Here I am, my love," Cita replied as she rushed to Vila's side.
"We have to get out of here," said Vila. "He's going to escape. But we
can at least destroy this base and try to catch him before he can
leave."
"Outside," said Cita. "Can you see the doorway?"
"Barely," said Vila, then he coughed again, and again-
Bending
double as the spasms wracked his body. Cita began coughing as well-
Even though she had covered her mouth and nose with a kerchief at the
first warning of the gas. They stumbled towards the doorway, blundering
into the tank of sludge as they went. The sludge seemed to react to
their presence, sloshing ever higher inside the tank- As if seeking
escape itself. Finally, the darker region of the doorway loomed before
them as they staggered towards the only exit from the room. A shadow
loomed- Nearly as dark as the doorway itself this last impediment to
their escape menaced them. Cita felt, rather than saw, a
movement
from the looming shadow. She heard a meaty smack as the intruder moved.
Reacting quickly, she emptied both of her pistols into the shadow, then
reached for Vila. She tripped over a motionless body that was sprawled
across the floor at her feet. On hands and knees, she felt the stiff
cloth of Vila's body armor under her hands. She could feel his pistols
in their holsters, clutched at them, and pulled them free in one smooth
motion. The shadow loomed above her. She recoiled, falling onto her
back with both of Vila's pistols raised above her. She fired into the
shadow, again and again, until the pistols in her hands were both
empty. Then she rose to her knees, pulling her sword, and thrust
blindly into the ever-darkening shadow. The sword was torn from her
grasp as she felt a great weight fall across her, pinning her to the
floor across Vila's motionless body. She cursed, as the world went
black and a roar filled her ears. She gasped, coughed, then moved no
more.
******
Cita awoke to find herself strapped to a table in the laboratory, Vila
knocked senseless and strapped down beside her. She turned her head
away from Vila's motionless form and vomited bile onto the sleeve of
her body armor. Retching dryly, her stomach felt tied into knots. She
spat several times, to clear her mouth and throat. Then she jerked at
the straps that bound her hands, waist, and feet. Her eyes burned, but
she should see. Her head ached, but she could think clearly. She
couldn't move herself from the surface of the table. The bonds were too
strong for her to break. She looked over at Vila and saw that blood was
seeping from a wound on the back of his head. Recognizing that he had
been felled with a club that might have shattered his skull, she wept-
Even as she strained once more against the bonds that held her to the
table.
"Ah," she heard a voice- Auric von
Holfschlager's hated voice - speak. "You have awoken. Good. Now you
will be allowed to see the extent of my vengeance. My Chinese servant
served me faithfully one last time. He managed to capture you both
before you killed him. Pity, he had his uses. Still, 'tis an ill wind
that serves nobody good. He was getting old and needed replacing in any
case. I do wish he hadn't hit Captain Resthal so hard. I don't like the
way his head is bleeding..."
"You bastard," Cita gasped. "What the flaming Hell are you gloating
about? Vila is dieing! Turn me loose! You bastard- You BASTARD!"
Mad laughter was her answer. Auric von
Holfschlager tilted his head back and laughed, over and over he laughed
as Cita strained against the straps that bound her to the table, then
turned her head to look at Vila. There was a growing pool of blood
under his head, spreading slowly to soak his shoulders and upper arms.
Cita could see that he was breathing, but not fast enough!
"He will never die, not once I'm through with him," said von
Holfschlager, giggling insanely. "Nor will you. You will both live
forever! Forever to witness my rule of this worthless world. You'll be
my prize slaves as I watch you outlive everyone you've ever loved.
You'll see everything that you value crumble into dust while I rule
this blighted globe and turn every living being into my personal slave.
I shall rule forever-"
"Idiot! Madman," Cita shouted. "You'll be dead as soon as Commander
Wilson can lead the soldiers back in here. They'll fill you so full of
lead that I'll be able to use you for a pencil! You
bastard. Vila is bleeding and you stand there gloating as if you were important! You
trash! You..."
"Temper, temper... Little whore, you cannot conceive of how much I hate
the two of you. Hate is almost like love, you know. All consuming, all
important, nothing less than complete satisfaction will suffice."
Cita began to curse Auric von
Holfschlager in every language that she knew. That took some time, as
Cita had been treated to a very comprehensive education. As she finally
wound down commenting on von
Holfschlager's genealogy in a dialect most recently used by
Malay
slavers he interrupted her flow of invective.
"Let me tell you what I am about to do- Just so that you know the true
meaning of having been cursed. I am about to inject into your bodies a
chemical solution containing several different varieties of Martian
emergency medical technology that I have been able to reproduce. These
are not drugs, but rather tiny,microscopic machines that will join your
body as a parasite joins its host. These machines will serve to repair
any damage to your body, no matter what the cause. Disease, age,
injury- You will heal from everything. You will live forever! But you
only have forever as my personal slaves and playthings to look forward
to in any case."
"Is this what you did to yourself?" Cita asked. "If so, then insanity
is one thing that your tiny machines do not know how to heal!"
"Quiet, bitch-queen. You interrupt your betters. Yes, this is the
treatment that I gave to myself once I became aware of your impending
attack upon my laboratory. Only today did I finally consent to undergo
the treatment myself. As a test of the effectiveness of my medical
machines, I chopped off this hand!"
Cita glared hatred as
Auric von
Holfschlager waved his left hand in front of her eyes. Then, she
blinked in surprise.
"That hand is smaller than your right hand. It looks like the hand of a
child," she said.
"Exactly! The Martian medical treatment enabled me to regrow my entire
left hand- Just the same way that some lizards can regrow a tail when
they lose it." He flexed the fingers of his small left hand, its
baby-pink skin contrasting against the tanned, healthy glow of the rest
of his body. "I can now survive any injury or illness. I can regrow a
lost limb, or heal from any number of bullet wounds, or survive fire or
flood or sickness or freezing cold or blistering heat. I cannot die,
ever! As long as I have anything left of my body at all, I can regrow
whatever is lost or damaged. Chop off my hand and I grow a new one.
Chop off my head and I grow a new one..."
"Too bad," Cita snarled with hatred plain in her voice. "Too bad you
never had any balls to regrow, you impotent bastard! I'd be only too
happy to cut them off again... But wait, you were born without any,
weren't you?" She spat in von
Holfschlager's face. "Do your worst. If Vila and I live, then you have
eternity to live in fear, yourself. We will find a way to kill you,
permanently!"
He wiped her spittle from his cheek, then smiled. "We will see, bitch.
And remember, you will also heal from any torture that I choose to put
you through. Flay the skin from your body? You'll heal. Poke your eyes
out with a hot branding iron? You'll soon regain your sight. Cut your
blasted tongue out? Sad to say that you will grow a new one soon
enough! But for now, it is time to begin the treatment. First your
lover, then yourself!"
"You
don't realize just how badly it is that you are screwing up," said
Cita. "You're about to give yourself two immortal enemies that are
highly trained, merciless killers. Killers that you can never
be rid of
no matter how hard that you try. Killers that will stalk you like an
animal forever and ever, without let or hindrance. Do you really want
that? Vila and I won't be your captives forever. We will escape, and we
will hunt you down like the rabid dog that you are- Forever. We'd
gladly kill you a thousand times a year, every year, from now 'til
Judgment Day. Have you really thought this through?"
"Cease your mindless prattling, whore. Watch as I deliver my vengeance
upon your precious savage," said von
Holfschlager with a snarl upon his lips. "I've planned this
revenge for years, and I shall not be denied!"
Cita turned her head to gaze once more upon her beloved Vila. She noted
his open, unseeing eyes, and the slowly congealing pool of blood that
gathered beneath his head. If it weren't for the slow rise and fall of
his chest as he drew breath, she would swear that he was already dead.
She looked upward again at the laboratory equipment, struggling against
the straps that held her to the operating table. As she watched, one of
the glass pipelines that ran from the tank of sludge disconnected
itself from its coupling above the central table, and blindly quested
for a connection to the pipes that led to the jointed mechanical arms
that hung just above the table she and Vila were strapped upon. The
glass moved as if it were the tentacle of an octopus, rather than a
solid material. More
Martian technology? Cita thought, or have I been drugged?
The pipe found the connecting socket it was searching for, and mated
with it. An organic squelching sound accompanied the movements of the
glass pipeline. Once the connection was made, the mechanical arms began
to flex and move. One arm extruded something that resembled a huge
hypodermic needle, which began to move towards Vila.
"No!" Cita screamed as the needle plunged into Vila's chest. She
struggled even harder against the straps, but could not break free.
Helpless, she watched the arm pump a pint or more of the gray sludge
into her beloved's body, then it withdrew.
"It is done," gloated von
Holfschlager as his pudgy, bearded face came back into Cita's view. "He
will live forever, at my mercy. Only I know how to reverse the process.
Only I know how to give him the death for which he will soon
beg.
As for you- Should I do the same? Or should I allow him the torture of
watching you grow old and die while he lives on? Which would be more
fitting? Which would be the more pleasurable revenge? I think..."
"He will find a way to kill you," said Cita. "No matter what you do to
us now. You have just sealed your fate, you bastard! Vila will find a
way to make you pay for your crimes. Even if it takes forever, he will
find a way!"
"No," said von
Holfschlager. Ignoring Cita's words he stroked his goatee in thought.
"No," he repeated. "I think I like the possibility of the both of you
as my eternal slaves much more. After all, without the Martian machines
in your blood, you can only die once. It is more fitting that I should
be able to kill you over and over again, at my whim. Yes! You shall
also be given the treatment!" He once again stepped out of Cita's sight
to work the controls of the mechanical arm. The arm moved again. It
stopped above her helpless form, produced its hypodermic needle again,
then as swiftly as a striking snake it plunged the needle into her
chest. Cita screamed at the pain. Like a cold fire, the sludge pumped
into her body. She could feel the icy, burning progress of the Martian
sludge spreading through her veins. Numbed by the chemicals, she tried
to scream again, but could not. She was frozen in place as the
mechanical arm finished, and withdrew. She could see it come to rest
once more, above the operating table. The hated face of von
Holfschlager again hovered over her helpless body. A maniacal laugh
broke forth from von
Holfschlager's mouth- suddenly stopping. His face bent towards hers.
She could see his lips move to form words, but her ears seemed to hear
only a low-pitched growling noise. The noise shifted in pitch, sliding
back up the scale until she could understand von
Holfschlager's speech.
"You are my slaves," he said. "Now and forever, you are mine to toy
with as I choose. The treatment should take effect in moments. Once it
does, I shall await Captain Resthal's awakening. Once he is aware
again, I will skin you alive as he watches. Think of it as only the
first of the many games we will play as the centuries pass. I do so
look forward to hearing your screams. Hearing the both of you beg for
mercy. But I shall offer no such mercy. You will be my playthings,
forever. Or at least until I grow bored with you." He threw back his
head and laughed again. Cita could not move, could not feel her arms
pulling against the straps that held her down. She could not even
scream as von
Holfschlager ceased his mad laughter and raised a huge knife on high.
He waited, watching her eyes focus on the razor-sharp blade.
"You- bastard..." Vila gasped. "What have- you done? If you- harm a
hair- on her head- I will- kill you..."
"You have recovered," said von
Holfschlager. Amusement colored his voice, but his hand holding the
knife never wavered. "Good. I have been waiting for you to awaken. I
want you to think of this as merely the first installment of the many
payments that I owe unto you, savage. You shall watch- Watch
helplessly- As I emulate your Aztec cousins and cut your
lover's
heart out before your very eyes. I will offer it as a sacrifice to your
heathen gods."
"You had- better pray- I never- get loose," Vila said. "I will- destroy
you- cretin..."
"Oh," said von
Holfschlager. "But as I said, this is just the first time of many that
you will watch your beloved whore die. And you shall remain helpless.
You will both remain helpless. And forever more, you will remain my
slaves. Now watch, heathen. Watch and learn the true meaning of eternal
despair!"
Auric von
Holfschlager raised his hand higher, laughed again, then the knife
started swiftly down. His head exploded into a splatter of bloody flesh
as the thunder of a dozen rifles, firing as one, crashed from the
doorway of the laboratory. His headless body fell backwards onto the
cold stone floor.
"Cease fire!" Commander Wilson's voice rang out, echoing in the sudden
silence. "Secure the area! Release the Captain and his Lady! And drag
that corpse out to put on a bonfire!"
"Saved," said Vila in a choked voice. "Cita, are you- all right?"
"I take it," Cita managed to gasp as she found her voice once again.
"The cavalry has arrived?" I
am going to kiss each and every one of those soldiers, she
thought as the shock pushed her mind into darkness. The last sound she
heard was Vila's pain-laced chuckle.
******
Cita awoke to the sight of Doctor Smith's craggy face split with a
broad smile. "Careful now," he said as she attempted to sit up. "You've
had a bad time of it, but everything is all right now. The Captain is
safe and sound. Don't worry. I want you to rest and regain your
strength. You're in my Sick Bay, on the Nemesis. You're
safe and- URK!"
Doctor Smith gasped and struggled as Cita rose up to a sitting position
on the hospital bed- Her left hand grasping his throat and holding him
high enough so that his feet could not reach the floor.
"Where- is- Vila!"
Cita shouted. "Oh dear, I am so
sorry, Doctor," she added in a much more calm tone of voice as she
released her grip on Doctor Smith. "I was startled, I didn't mean to
hurt you."
"In- indeed," replied Doctor Smith as he rubbed his throat. "Don't-
Don't let it happen again, young lady. Or I shall be forced to medicate
you," he added. As a sop to his bruised ego, the doctor glared at Cita
accusingly. "You seem to be- Um, fully recovered from your ordeal. We
shall say no more about this little- incident,
if you will. I shan't keep you here any longer. Consider yourself
discharged from my care and fully fit to join the Captain on the
Bridge." Bloody damn
pirate wench! Doctor Smith thought. I'll be glad to see the door
slam behind her!
"Vila is on the Bridge, you say? I shall join him there," said Cita. "I
humbly apologize for mistreating you, Doctor. If there is anything I
can do for you, ever, you have only to name it and I will bend every
power at my disposal to make it happen. I am so sorry. The last thing I
remember is being tied to that operating table in von
Holfschlager's laboratory. I didn't realize that I was not still there
when I awoke. I, I didn't mean you any harm. I was just startled."
"Say no more about it," said Doctor Smith. To anyone, ever! He
thought. Bloody damn
pirate!
"My Lady, I shall summon a crewman to escort you to Captain Vila's
side, forthwith." Suiting action to thought, Doctor Smith stepped away
from Cita's bedside to signal for the promised escort. Within moments
there came a discrete knock upon the Sick Bay door. The door opened,
and Alice Kelly stood there, revealed, a look of concern upon her fine
features. Taking Cita's arm, the two women wordlessly left
Sick
Bay to reunite Cita with her beloved Captain Vila. And don't come back! Doctor
Smith thought as the door closed behind Cita and Alice. Damned pirate wench! She's as
strong as an ox!
******
"No Henry," Cita heard Vila say to Commander Wilson as she and Alice
entered the Bridge. "An ordinary fire won't be hot enough. We need to
burn that entire laboratory, and von
Holfschlager's corpse, until there's nothing left but smoke! Order the
Heat Ray to be charged for extended firing. Place the corpse in the
courtyard of the fort and pull all our forces out- Back to the ship.
That madman and all his equipment has to be burnt to ashes, and then
the ashes burnt to nothing! If even one trace of von
Holfschlager's experiments or equipment remain, the whole world will
stay in peril. I can't explain it to you, but every detail will be in
my report to Emperor Norton. I'll have to take those secrets to my
grave, except for my official reports. Believe me, you don't want to know that
von
Holfschlager was planning."
"Very good, Sir." Commander Wilson replied. Then he turned away to
carry out his orders.
"And Henry," said Vila. "Thank you for saving our lives. I'm
recommending that you receive a commendation for your actions, and the
troops that you led back into the laboratory. You may have just saved
the entire world from that madman." Vila stood from his command chair
as Commander Wilson turned back to face him. Vila saluted Commander
Wilson, who looked startled, hen returned the salute.
"Just doing my duty Sir," Wilson said as he snapped his hand back to
his side. Pride writ large in his every step, Commander Wilson turned
and went to his duty station to carry out Vila's orders.
Vila pivoted on one heel to face the spot where Cita stood. "I'm glad
to see that you're up and about-" he began. Cita ran to him, threw her
arms about him in a bear hug, and planted a fierce, passionate kiss
upon Vila's unresisting mouth. Alice Kelly went to the Steersman's
station and relieved Cyril Jones. Cyril stood looking happily at Vila
and Cita- Looking for all the world like a proud father. After a few
moments, that only seemed like hours, Commander Wilson loudly cleared
his throat to get their attention.
"The Heat Ray is ready Captain," said Wilson. "Miss Kelly has the ship
aimed at the fort from an altitude of five hundred feet. The corpse has
been placed in the target area, and all our forces have been recalled
to the ship. On your order, we will vaporise von
Holfschlager's body, and every trace of his laboratory."
Vila looked deeply into Cita's loving eyes, smiled broadly, then turned
to stand with his right arm around Cita's waist. He looked around the
Bridge of the Nemesis
with
pride, glanced at Cita's smiling face once more, then looked out the
forward windscreen towards the fortress of the madman who had dared to
threaten the entire world with unending war and torment.
"Fire Heat Ray at full power!" Vila said. "Burn it. Burn it to the
bedrock- Then burn it some more! I want nothing left of that
place but a plume of smoke!"
Commander Wilson smiled as the Heat Ray flashed out. Auric von
Holfschlager's corpse instantly flashed into smoke. The stone fort
began to melt. Within seconds, the entirety of von
Holfschlager's base turned into a white-hot pool of molten rock, then
boiled away into vapor. Still, the Nemesis
fired its Heat Ray. For ten long minutes the huge airship lashed out
with its mightiest weapon against the place where one madman had
plotted the death and desolation of the entire world. Finally, the
weapon was shut down. On the ground below, a slowly cooling crater
settled into the bedrock of the island. For centuries to come, this
huge hole in the ground would stand in mute testimony of the fate of
those who would choose to make slaves of free men and women.
"Miss Kelly," said Captain Vila Resthal as he stood with Lady Cita
clasped tightly to his side. "Plot a course for home. Engage all prop
engines as soon as you have the course laid in. Take us to our cruising
altitude at your discretion. Commander Wilson, you have the Bridge. If
anyone needs us, Lady Cita and I will be taking dinner down in the Mess
Hall." Vila and Cita walked arm in arm to the doors of the Bridge, then
passed through them, looking only at each other. Miss Kelly and
Commander Wilson exchanged glances, then turned back to their duty
stations. Cyril Jones looked at the closed doors of the Bridge, grinned
broadly, then heaved a sigh of mixed relief and joy. Thinking of the
future, he left the bridge to go to the Sick Bay, stopping by his cabin
only for a bottle of the rare Brandy that he knew Doctor Smith favored.
"Time to drink a few toasts to our boy's happy future," Cyril said to
himself as he presented Doctor Smith with the bottle.
"Indeed!" Doctor Smith replied, smiling with undisguised pleasure.
"They have earned every minute of joy they can hold."
Without another word, Cyril and Zachary poured themselves several large
glasses of Brandy, clinking the rims together in toast after toast, and
after several hours had drunk themselves into a happy stupor.
******
Epilogue
The wrinkled old man in the wheelchair nodded in private reverie as his
husky, smoke-damaged voice finally grew quiet. The still-regal,
graceful old woman by his side reached to pluck the gnarled brier pipe
from his right hand as his eyes closed in well-earned rest and his head
gradually bent forward to prop his bearded chin upon his chest as he
drifted into sleep.
"You've worn him out," she said. A narrowing of her eyes revealed her
displeasure.
"A thousand pardons, Your Highness. We were sent to clear up a
mystery," said the taller of the two visitors. "We had no wish to
offend. But our orders left us with no other choice than to disturb you
both."
"Are you satisfied? Is your mystery solved?" Lady Cita asked the two
Secret Service agents, looking from one to the other with an angry
expression upon her face.
"I think we have learned the answers to everything that Emperor Norton
ordered us to ask, M'Lady," said the shorter of the pair. "Please
forgive us for any trespass we have made upon your time."
"Hah!" Cita said. "Desmond should have been taught better manners as a
child. I told Joshua Anthony and Arthur Michael both that they was
neglecting the boy's education in practical matters. But would he
listen? No! I should call Desmond and complain. If his Great, Great,
Grandfather were still alive-"
"I think we have everything we need, Ma'am," said the taller agent,
interrupting Cita as politely as he could manage. "We shouldn't be
forced to intrude upon you again. We have enough information for our
report to the Emperor. When Admiral Resthal wakes, please give him our
deepest apologies for having to question him, and yourself, for so
long. And our thanks- It was an honor to be allowed to spend time with
two of the greatest heroes the Confederation has ever produced."
"Hah!" Cita snorted in derision again. "Just because we've managed to
live a good long while after having served our countries half a
lifetime-"
"Your Grace," said the shorter agent, her voice respectful even while
laced with gentle skepticism. "With all due respect, you and the
Admiral are.. remarkably long-lived. You are both nearly a hundred and
fifty years old! If your health fails- a wonderful source of living
history would be lost. Just think of what the school children of today
could learn about how their world came to be- Just from this interview
alone. Official history is worthless compared to the eyewitness
testimony of yourself and the Admiral! You've both given us an insight
into things that we would never have thought possible to know." The
lady Secret Service agent bowed to Cita, then turned to her partner.
"Come on, Fox. it's nearly dawn. We've bothered Lady Cita and the
Admiral long enough. We should go."
"You're right, Dana," said the taller agent. Then he turned and made a
courtly bow to Lady Cita, reaching to take her hand in his. Kissing her
hand, he rose and spoke one last time. "I am so glad that we were given
this chance to meet you and Admiral Resthal. I apologize most
respectfully for any burden that we've placed upon you both. I've read
about your adventures- Oh, all my life, seems like. Thank you so very
much. Not just for allowing us to ask the Admiral and yourself all
those questions last night, but for everything you've both done. Our
world wouldn't be such a happy place if you hadn't been there to fight
for it..."
"You're welcome," Cita said, her harsh expression softening a little.
"We only ever tried to make the world a better place for our children
to grow up in. We did our duty. But we did it for love."
"We understand," said the lady agent. "And we thank you. Come on Fox,
let's go."
Both Secret Service agents bowed respectfully again, then turned and
left the humble log cabin. Within moments, Lady Cita could hear the
whine of their automobile's geomagnetic repulsor engine spinning up to
full power. As the auto lifted into the air, prepared to whisk the
agents back to their home office, Cita nudged Vila as he played possum
in the wheelchair.
"Give it a minute," she said. "They'll be out of sight soon enough."
"Good," Vila replied. "I'm getting a crick in my neck from posing like
a damned cripple." Vila looked up, his green eyes blazing with a still
youthful fire. As the agent's auto crashed a gentle sonic boom speeding
away from the log cabin in the Georgia woods, Vila stood up out of the
wheelchair and stripped off the mask of a wrinkled old man that had
served time and again to hide his greatest secret. "I'll be glad when
we don't need to wear these any more."
Pulling off her own mask and the gray-haired wig she wore as her own
disguise, Cita shook out her long dark hair, and straightened her
posture. Standing her full height, she stretched like a cat, working
out the kinks in her back that wearing her disguise invariably caused.
"You'd better call Jackson and Taylor," Cita said. "And tell then that
we had some company that is going to delay your fishing trip."
"Oh?" Vila asked. "But those silly agents are gone now. Why should I be
late to take the kids fishing? You don't think that they'll come back,
do you?"
"No," said Cita as she opened a jug and poured out two small glasses of
home-brew. "But listening to you spin yarns about the good old days
always makes me feel like-"
"I understand!" Vila said as he accepted one of the glasses of
moonshine from Cita's outstretched hand. He smiled, clinked the rim of
his glass to the one in Cita's hand in a silent toast, and put his free
arm around her waist, pulling her close. Her perfume filled his senses,
as he drained his glass and set it down. Wrapping both hands around
her, he lifted Cita gently into the air.
"Remember that first day we spent together?" Vila asked. Cita nodded,
lost in the memory of youthful passion. "Want to try and break our
record?" Vila playfully asked.
"Take me to bed or lose me forever," Cita replied.
"You are my heart, my soul, my reason for living," said Vila as he
carried Cita off towards their bedroom. "I live for your touch. I long
for your embrace. I never want to be without you. I love you with all
my heart."
"Shut up with the poetry and help me with these bloody buttons," said
Cita.
"Your desire is my wish," replied Vila as Cita's dress fell to the
floor...
THE END?
NOT BLOODY LIKELY!
******
Word count: 39,289 words @ 10 PM on 9-9-10
Word count: 46,176 words @ 07:20 PM on 9-17-09