Sky Pirates of the Rio Grande - Chapter 6

Chapter 6

They went up very fast, the lift climbing faster than it was ever supposed to.  It started to swing, and the off-center heaps of plunder spilled over themselves and unbalanced it further.  The whole thing swung dizzyingly side to side and Eden screamed as a rolling barrel knocked her clean over.

She hit the deck only half on it, her legs kicking helplessly at empty space.  The platform pitched again and rolled her over.  Her clawing hands caught one of the wrist-thick ropes that held the corners of the lift and she wrapped her arms around it convulsively and held on with frantic strength.  She didn't even have breath for screaming, looked up and saw the top descending like a hammer.  She clenched her eyes shut and gritted her teeth, every muscle tense for the impact.

They hit the top, the hooks on the ropes slamming hard into the block above.  All the tension went out of the lines and everything on the platform jumped three feet in the air.  Eden was swung violently around, her arms torn loose from their grip, and then she was dumped hard on her backside just as a crate smashed down beside her and spilled dried apricots all over her head.

The platform jumped once, twice, and then swung in slowly diminishing arcs, the ropes creaking as if annoyed at the abuse.  Tins of beef and other foodstuffs rolled off the edges and dropped to the ground a hundred and fifty feet below.

Eden had just about decided she wasn't about to be killed when Zenobia hauled her up from the pile.  "You all right mouse?  I-- eh, sorry about that.  You all in one piece?"

"I... errrrrrr."  Eden shook, would have fallen if Zenobia didn't hold her up.  "Oh God, I almost died!"  She shook the other woman off.  "What were you thinking?  You... you madwoman!"  She remembered who she was talking to and winced, afraid she was about to be simply pitched off the edge.

Instead, Zenobia only laughed.  "You have some nerves under all those skirts, mouse!"  She clapped Eden on the shoulder hard enough to make her stagger.  "Maybe this is not as crazy."  She beckoned.  "Come, we have to go."

"But - but--"  Eden spluttered, searching for something to say that fit the way she felt and coming up empty.

"We have to go," Zenobia said again and pointed.  Eden followed her gesture and saw men, their shapes made small by distance, hurrying across the grounds of the naval yard towards them.  Not many, but there would be more soon.

"A-all right.  Yes."  She turned to face the silent hulk of the Jackson.  It was an old model of ship - one of the first built here, as opposed to the many Confederate ships built in other countries and sold to the desperate rebel states.  She was essentially an ironclad ship of the sea slung underneath a copper-plated gasbag.  The platform hung only six feet from the open middle deck.  Without being told, Zenobia easily jumped the space and startled Eden by manhandling the gangplank into place singlehanded.

The heavy board thumped into place and Eden bent to secure the pins to hold it.  Zenobia crossed over and stopped her.  "No, we will have to leave quickly I think.  I will get supplies on board, you must make the ship run."  She pulled Eden up and propelled her across the plank with a shove.  "Go!"

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Eden knew the layout of the old Beaumont-class ships perfectly, and she was glad to see that the Jackson did not deviate much from the original designs.  Over time, ship classes tended to evolve, so the tenth ship built to the specifications might be quite different.  But Jackson was only the third off the line, and everything matched her internal plans closely as she hurried for the aft companionway.  The main hatches were dogged down and covered with canvas tarps, but she found the door to the companionway unlocked.

Down the hall, left at the captain's cabin and down the tight, coiled stair.  One turn and then through the heavy engine-room door.  She had to work to turn the wheel and wrench the door open, but then she was in.

The great engine that drove the ship sat silent and cold, and she immediately set to waking it up.  It was no modern Aetheric drive, but an old steam-driven turbine system that simultaneously cranked the big propellers that drove the ship and powered the galvanic nodes that electrified the inert gasses in the envelope and created lift.

She worked the cranks that started the pistons moving, waited until there was enough charge to fire the main drive core, and then she ran down the aisle between the steam turbines, snapping down the linkages that engaged the core elements.  It was risky, enabling the heat to build before opening the water valves, but it would give them steam faster than a slow heat.

Eden bit her lower lip as she watched the temperature gauges climb higher.  No pressure without water, but if she let the coils heat too long without water they would crack and melt.  Her brain did furious calculations over the heat stress thresholds of the core elements, unable to factor in the variable of their age - she didn't know if they were the old ones, or if they had been refitted.  She had to make a judgment.  A guess.  So she twisted her fingers together and chewed her lips and watched the needles creep higher as she struggled to decide when to throw the last switch.

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Zenobia worked quickly, not even looking at what the crates contained, she just shoved them down the gangplank as fast as she could, making a big heap of cracked and broken crates, piles of tins, and even a few rolls of canvas cloth on the deck of the ship.  She took everything, because she knew it was impossible to know what they might need.

She heard shouts and looked down, saw a dozen men hurrying through the grass below.  They wore uniforms and had rifles – soldiers.  She kicked the last barrel down the gangplank and drew her pistol.  Two shots left.  She aimed carefully and fired, the bullets clanging noisily into metal wreckage and bouncing off harmlessly, but the sound made the men jump for cover and look around.  That would slow them down.

A vibration thrummed under her feet and she laughed, tasting the salt air.  The crazy little mouse might get them out of this after all.  Then she looked up and saw that the ship was lashed down with a half-dozen stout ropes and she cursed.  She had to get those cut before they were going anywhere at all.

She jumped back aboard the ship and hauled the gangplank up, swung it aside and let it drop.  A quick look around and she saw an axe stowed just below the gunwale next to the gaff hooks and coiled line.  She ripped it free and jogged to the first rope.  Zenobia knew tarred rope was tough, and she swung hard.  Even she was surprised when her stroke carried the axe through the rope and sank it three fingers deep on the rail.  Her new strength was intoxicating, and a wild part of her yearned to climb down and chop the men below into bits.

Shots cracked and she heard bullets hum through the air, one chipped the rail ten feet from her.  She bit back her killing urge and turned to the next rope, cut through it easily.  Then she realized that the last four ropes were really two, looped over the gasbag overhead and pulled down to fix on the gantry itself.  There was no way to reach them from the ship itself.  She had to climb up into the rigging.

More shots and she swore.  She pulled the pistol from the holster on her belt and threw it down, jammed the axe haft-first into the holster and swarmed up into the rigging overhead.  A glance down showed more men coming, crouching for cover, firing up at her.  They could see her now, and the fire was more accurate, bullets humming past her to spang off the copper plating of the envelope.  Close up it was corroded and dented with years of impacts, the rivets green with verdigris bleeding down over the fitted plates.

She swung over to the first line, leaping fearlessly from rope to rope two hundred feet in the air.  When she was almost there an impact drilled into her hip and she swung, snarling angrily.  She felt for the wound and found the shot had struck the holster, split the axe-haft and torn the leather open.

Laughing, she grabbed the axe head and used the edge to slice through the line.  It was thick and tough, but she was strong and the axe edge was sharp.  The line parted and dropped away as more bullets rattled off the ship's armor like rain.  These men were not good shooters, especially for Americans.  She remembered tejanos who could have put her eyes out at this range.

Now she had no way to carry the axe, so she gripped the broken haft in her teeth and swung like a monkey through the ropes toward the last mooring line.  Almost there, just a little farther.  And then steam boiled up from the stacks below and almost broiled her, and the ship lurched forward like a startled bull.

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A voice in Eden's head said now and she grabbed the water valve controls, twisted them open frantically and heard the rush of water as it gushed into the steam chambers.  It struck the white-hot coils and exploded instantaneously into steam.  The needles on the pressure gauges jumped and she felt the ship lurch as the pressure spiked and shocked the entire system.  She winced, squinting as she waited for the telltale spurt of steam that would mean the welds had failed, but they held.

The room shuddered again, and the enormous drive shafts began to turn, cranking the propellers outboard of the hull, a slow sliding noise building up to a steady thumping sound.  The ship began to move.  Eden suddenly jumped and almost slapped herself.  The mooring lines!  They had to get those cut or the ship would never go anywhere.  She clutched her dirty, tattered skirts around her thighs and ran for the gangway as fast as she could.

She burst out onto the deck and immediately ducked as gunfire cracked and bullets buzzed past her like angry wasps.  She threw herself flat and looked up for the mooring lines just in time to see the last one drop free.

A bullet ripped into the aft cabin just a few feet from her and she yelped.  She yelped again when Zenobia dropped to the deck right behind her.  She threw aside a broken-handled axe and chuckled.  "We are moving, yes?  Good."  She turned towards the sound of shots and sneered, baring her long teeth.  "Putas can't shoot worth a tin fuck."

Eden found that even after all this, foul language still made her blush.  "You got the mooring lines," she said.  "That's good."

Zenobia looked up as the Jackson slid from her berth, the copper-plated gasbag scraping along the spars of the gantry.  "Should not someone be steering this?"

"Oh!  Yes, of course."  Eden got to her feet, ducked again as more shots rang out.  Now she could see men on another nearby gantry, firing at her with rifles, rifles for Gods' sake.  Was she that great a threat?  The she looked at the striped, half-naked beast woman beside her and stopped thinking like that.  They were headed into the pirate-plagued frontier and she was in company with a dangerous experimental fugitive.  This would not be the last time they would be shot at.

She ran for the afterdeck, moving bent over while Zenobia jogged after her.  Up two flights of steps and she came to the partially enclosed helm with the big brass-studded wheel and the array of smaller instruments and levers for monitoring and controlling altitude and trim.  It was meant to be enclosed by glass panes to shield the helmsman from wind and rain, but the glass was gone and only the canvas cover still protected them at all.

Zenobia looked over the maze of controls and gauges.  "You have flown one of these?"

"No, never."  Eden checked the readings, saw that all the instrumentation was where it was supposed to be.  She grabbed the turbine levers and threw the ship into full ahead speed, staggered back into Zenobia as the propellers went to high speed and sent the ship forging ahead.  She reeled back and grabbed the wheel, grunted as she tried to handle in, but it bucked and almost threw her off her feet.

Zenobia grabbed it, held it steady easily.  "I'll steer, yes?"

"Yes, yes that's probably for the best."  Eden checked over the other instruments, flipped a switch here and adjusted a dial there.  She worked the complex trim controls almost absently, her lips moving silently.  The ship began to rise away from the mooring gantry, her propellers driving her ahead.  Eden checked the speed and nodded - seventeen knots already.  She hoped to get up to thirty and maintain it.

They both looked to the right - starboard, Eden told herself - as a flare burst upwards from the shipyard below, a very red flare that broke into three parts and fell slowly.

"A signal of some kind," Zenobia said.  "Are there other ships nearby?  I thought this was a shipyard."

"A naval shipyard, yes.  The main airship yards are in New York.  But they might be signaling to a cruiser, or even a warship."

"What kind of guns does this thing have?" Zenobia said.

"None, they were all removed last October.  There's no powder either," Eden said, reciting facts from memory.

"So if we meet a warship we are fucked, yes?"

"Um, yes.  I suppose you could say that."  Eden rubbed at her face to hide her reddening cheeks.  "Steer two points left - I mean port - that way," she pointed.

Zenobia squinted at the clouds.  "There is rain there."

"Yes.  We'll steer into the clouds and disappear.  Later we'll take a sighting and I'll get us on course."  Eden kept looking around for another ship.  It would be a disaster to meet a modern ship in this old hulk.

"You can navigate?"

"So long as I can see stars, I can't get lost," Eden said distractedly as she fussed with the trim controls - they were more sensitive than she'd expected.

"Hmm.  Of course, you have the stars memorized," Zenobia said.

"Yes, I do."

Zenobia laughed, shaking her head as she steered them right into the center of the gray clouds ahead.  "And you know where El Dorado is?"

"No, but I can find out.  We just need to get somewhere we can meet pirates."

"Like where?"  Zenobia pressed her.

"Bagdad," Eden said.  "It's an old pirate port near Matamoros--"

"I know where it is, little mouse," Zenobia said as she felt the first raindrops on her face.  "Bagdad I know very well."

Continued in Chapter 7...

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