Dead Air (25 page)

"Now my dear Señorita," Carlos growled while he squeezed, "sing for me that sweet death rattle. While I pull your last breath from you!" Moira struggled, kicking and gasping for air.

"Unhand her!" Dr. Von Patterson shouted as he tossed one of the forgotten pipes like a javelin. The pipe struck Carlos square in the backpack with a metallic echo and clattered to the ground. Carlos abruptly dropped Moira with a heavy rasp, and sighed.

"You useless fly! How many times do I have to beat you and your companions before the Señorita and I may finish playing?" Carlos spat angrily. The zombie turned, then stood rigid. Anything else he would say, wanted to say, caught in his throat. There, pointed directly at him was the modified fire cannon. In the operator's chair was the pale, exhausted form of Thorias Llwellyn, doctor of the
Brass Griffin
. On his shoulder sat the battered clockwork insect, Arcady.

"That will be quite enough out of you, Sirrah." Thorias jerked up, then back on the knife switch. Electricity flew out in a shower of white hot sparks around the doctor. "Quite. Fully. Enough."

"Capacitors fully charged, Doctor." Arcady said with a glance at the battered control panel.

"You are a doctor, are you not, Señor? I heard the others call you such. You cannot kill." Carlos sneered smugly, and extended his arms wide. "Doesn't your oath say that I am merely another creature in need of help and healing?"

"I am a doctor, not a mortician." Thorias growled, then threw the lever.

Water erupted from the cannon like a geyser. White hot tendrils of electricity sparked and popped along the crest as it shot through the air. The burst slammed into Carlos, electricity jerking him like a dog tearing at a favorite rag doll. He screamed, but the sound was lost among the torrential sound of water and crackle of lightning unbound. In moments, his body was flung at the warehouse wall with such force that the wall exploded outwards. The fist of water shoved the zombie through and into the next warehouse over. Carlos bounced hard, crashed to the dock, and into one of the many holes that had been ripped into the station. With a final scream of rage, the undead fiend sailed downward, through the hole and toward the High Fens, three miles below.

Back inside the warehouse, Thorias yanked on the lever to disengage the water, then spun the contraption's main wheel. "Now, Doctor! Quickly!"

"Right!" Dr. Von Patterson grabbed one of the wheels near the base and turned, increasing the water pressure while the entire contraption rotated to aim towards the ship battle outside. Thorias raised the nozzle upwards, took a rough aim and shoved the lever forward.

Once again the geyser erupted, but this time the force of the pressure was so great it shook the building. The electrified water spat out, slid neatly between the two schooners and slammed upwards into the frigate. Electricity struck the wood and metal of the warship, igniting everything it touched, including the fuel for one of the nearby boilers. The frigate shook while a section of her hull buckled, expanded then vomited outward; the explosion peeling back her protective layer of armor.

Aboard the
Griffin
, Captain Hunter jumped in surprise when the blast struck the frigate. Hunter pulled out his spyglass and turned it towards RiBeld's ship. There, where the three lightning cannon had been concealed, only two remained. One was already engulfed in flames. The second was intact, but smoke issued out of countless holes where shrapnel had perforated the weapon and its gunnery crew. Beyond those, the captain could see RiBeld's crew frantically running about in desperation to either make repairs or locate where that new attack came from.

Hunter closed the spyglass and smiled grimly. "Krumer, well done! Gunners! Target that explosion and open fire! I want to see daylight through that ship!"

On the heels of his command, the
Griffin
shook while her artillery roared angrily. Lightning cannon and regular artillery alike fired repeatedly at RiBeld's vulnerable ship. In moments one explosion became two, then more while fires raged out of control aboard the warship. Slowly, the frigate listed to one side and began to descend. Aboard, her crew scurried back and forth in panic to release the longskiffs as a means of escape.

On the station, Thorias took a deep breath to steady himself against the pain in his ribs and yanked back on the lever. Immediately, sparks showered the entire cockpit and threatened to latch onto the doctor with it's killing embrace. At the base of the fire cannon, Dr. Von Patterson raced over to find his makeshift club from moments ago, and hurried back. With a quick swing, he smashed the knife switch near the base, cutting the connection between the fire cannon and the station's own power. Abruptly, the sparks died away.

Exhausted, Dr. Von Patterson dropped the club onto the damp floor. "Doctor? Are you well?"

Thorias staggered down the short ladder, only catching himself at the end before he fell off entirely. His face was pale and his eyes bloodshot and dark-rimmed. A fresh stain of crimson showed through on his shirt where his wound had reopened. "Healthy? No. Alive, yes my good man. By some miracle, I am. Come, there is no time to lose. Help me over to the others."

In the time the pair had managed to stumble away from the fire cannon, Moira had crawled over to where Krumer lay. Ten feet beyond, O'Fallon lay atop a pile of debris, unconscious. Blood covered Krumer's chest, and he lay very still. Thorias released his grip on Dr. Von Patterson and fell heavily to his knees by Krumer's side.

"Heavens, no." The doctor muttered. He coughed, then after a deep breath, said in a shaken voice, "Moira, find me a shirt, some cloth, something. I'll need to bandage his wound once I find it."

Shaken, throat damaged from being choked, Moira could only nod frantically. She climbed to her feet and quickly searched for anything that would serve as a bandage.

Meanwhile, Thorias examined his long time friend. Blood soaked Krumer's shirt, so much that Thorias worried that he was too late to save him. Finally he found it, Thorias sighed softly in some relief. In his haste, Carlos had shot too quickly. Instead of the bullet going through Krumer's chest, it had torn high and right to slam through the muscle of the first mate's shoulder. An ugly wound, but not one quickly kill him.

On his back, Krumer coughed while his mind swam out of the darkness into the damp, pain-filled ocean of consciousness. He looked up at Thorias' worried face and did the first thing that came to mind. He laughed. Instead of his usual deep laugh, it came out a rough, gargling cough.

"I told you," Krumer croaked through a dry throat, "that you'd not be a burden. You're far from useless."

"Oh, do shut up." Thorias said tartly, leaning closer to take a good look at Krumer's shoulder wound. "We'll need some help in getting you and the others back to the ship where my medical supplies are."

Just then, Dr. Von Patterson looked around with a quizzical expression on his face. "Do you hear that?"

"Hear what?" Thorias asked, carefully easing Krumer onto his side to check for an exit wound in the back of the orc's shoulder.

"Precisely. The shooting has stopped." The archeologist replied in surprise. "Does that mean... we won?"

Before anyone could answer him, a shout rose from within the warehouse. Not of terror or pain, but of elation. The words were also in Latin. A moment later Tiberius replied in kind, his voice strained from fatigue.

Krumer laughed again. "I think that's your help. How's your Latin, Doctor?"

"Terrible," Thorias said with a faint smirk at his friend. "That's why I'm a doctor, not a linguist."

B
elow the station, putrid fumes trailed upwards in a column from where RiBeld's frigate lay, smashed and bloodied among the landscape of the High Fens. The column of black, oily smoke rose like an ugly smear across a sky, still thick with the last remnants of the storm. Thunderclouds that had previously hurled rain and lightning now barely rumbled as they slowly separated, growing thinner with each passing moment. While the storm slowly broke, the setting sun emerged. Its warm, amber light caressed the dark clouds, tossing forests and battered station with a soothing blanket that caressed all it touched. At the station's dock, smoke trailed from smoldering piles of rubble, charred craters and the two schooners docked near the wreck of the
La Paloma
. Despite the gentle silence that accompanied the storm's passing, the station's new guests were hard at work along the dock.

Captain Anthony Hunter pulled his coat around him while a burst of wind, still fresh with the afterthought the departing storm, swirled around him playfully. He stood on the dock with a thoughtful, yet worried look; for his ship and for his haggard people that had followed him here. His eyes watched while a group of his crew worked steadily to measure, cut and nail shut the holes blasted into the
Griffin
's hull. Others hurried by him with supplies and materials scavenged from either the station or the wrecked
La Paloma
, who would not need the parts anymore.

"Your pilot, Mr. Wilkerson, said I might find you here." Dr. James Von Patterson's voice said from a few paces behind the captain along the dock. Fresh from a washbasin, the archeologist had cleaned himself up, with only a few cuts along his right cheek and a dark bruise that sought to form near his left eye. He wore a clean shirt, dark trousers and long coat, though the mud-splattered boots were his own.

"Indeed, they were correct." Hunter turned with a small smile and extended a hand to the doctor. "I see you're looking well despite your time of it."

"Yes, the fresh clothes are much appreciated." Dr. Von Patterson said, clasping the Captain's hand in a firm greeting. When he let go, he started to ask something, hesitated, then pushed on with the question. "However, I don't know who to thank for the loan?"

"Moira, O'Fallon and several others thought you might feel better with a fresh change of clothes. They scavenged about the ship and station. We came across some clothes in a foot locker that belonged to one of the station's crew. They were your size and we thought, perhaps given all that's happened, the person wouldn't mind at this point."

For a brief moment, Dr. Von Patterson looked a bit taken back at wearing a dead man's clothes. "Well, still, they are appreciated. We all have had quite a rough time of it."

"So I've learned. Especially there at the end." Hunter explained. "I've spoken with most everyone that's been able to talk. Honestly, Doctor, given all that transpired, I'm relieved worse didn't happen in there." The captain gestured to the station warehouses that loomed, dark and foreboding, past the two men.

"You have the statue, though." Hunter continued, pushing his hands into his coat pockets when the wind blew past again. "Given what it is, what it can do, what will you do with it?"

"Something like that needs to be guarded and secured." The archeologist said with a grin. "I thought the British Museum would service that need quite well."

Hunter looked surprised. "Out on display? What about its more ... exotic ... properties?" He asked. "It would be a target for any number of thieves or lunatics or anyone following after RiBeld's lead. We don't fully know who knew how to repeat the process."

Dr. Von Patterson nodded. "True on all counts. While normally I would bristle at the very thought of keeping a portion of information about a relic such as this jade drake statue quiet, this time I think it would be more prudent for all concerned. In the Museum, it'll be under guard and under close scrutiny most every part of the day. Stealing something locked in a vault or a university laboratory is one thing, but in plain sight of the general populace? While under guard? I think not. I've spoken some with young Tiberius about this. He's nervous about the idea, what with the statue's connection to his home country. However, he is willing to try. He and I are carefully preparing what can be told to the public and what cannot."

Captain Hunter considered the idea, then gently shook his head. "I understand his worry. You know, this may come back to haunt you?"

"Indeed, I do." The archeologist said after a moment's hesitation. "It's a large risk. However, I have to return with something. My previous correspondence exposed the statue's existence. To return with nothing or even something small would arouse suspicions. Then the hunt would be on in earnest for what I might have missed." Dr. Von Patterson sighed slightly with fatigue. "I just know this will work. It has to. For the sake of Tiberius and his people."

A loud crash of wood drew Captain Hunter's attention back to the
Griffin
. On deck Conrad O'Fallon, still adorned in a few obvious bandages and even more obvious bruises, dropped a stack of wood next to a hole in need of mending. He waved down to Captain Hunter and Dr. Von Patterson, then walked toward a toolkit just barely within sight of the dock.

"Astounding." The captain said in amazement. "I will never understand how that man takes such a beating, yet still soldiers on. Almost as if he doesn't have a care in the world." Hunter watched the rebuilding efforts for another few moments. "Doctor, what of the jars? Thorias examined the one he brought back with him. An interesting mixture of gallium and indium metals in a salt bath solution. Alone he said it makes for a rather effective antenna, if crude by being within the jar.
It increases the range of the jade properties tenfold."

Dr. Von Patterson smiled. "I wondered if you would ask. Tiberius is taking the jars. His plan is to dispose of the mixture safely. Failing that, he'll lock them away where they can't be found. Your doctor asked to keep the one he has and a spare. Tiberius isn't certain that is a good idea. I don't see the harm in it, however."

Hunter waved a hand dismissively. "Thorias can be discreet, often to an infuriating level. Those two will be safe with him. If I know my old friend, the research has more to do with helping to repair Arcady than any public display of the technology."

"Ah, the clockwork?"