Wind Dancer: Secret War Steampunk Series - Adventure, Mystery + Mad Science

Cover summary

The Invaders came from the sky,
unleashing their death rays on the Earth. From Mars some said, or beyond.
Cities fell before them, one after the other. A Great Alliance was formed
between countries who had played at war against each other in the time before.
Queen Victoria brought together a convocation of scientists, among them the
Savant, Tesla. The knowledge of city shields and ways to fight against the foe
went out to everyone who would listen, in all corners of the world. Mad science
and mystery worked hand in hand with human courage.

Thirty years later, in the 1890’s,
the world has changed beyond recognition. The Invaders have been driven off,
some say all killed, but is that just a story? Those who
are left covet the power they had before the Reconstruction. Others embrace
this new world and the freedom it brings after the War.

The Airship Wind Dancer is led by
Captain William Hunting Owl, a tribesman from the Americas. Together with his
first officer, a former British Air captain, and a Hindu Sorceress Assassin, he
fights to keep his ship flying. The crew of the privateer comes from every Free
Port still standing. They seek to make a living in a world that has few rules
except for the Articles that guide life on the ship. Their shipmates are their
family; all have lost something they held dear, and few speak of it.

William Hunting Owl and Lawrence
Rogers seek to discover who killed Will’s father. They are willing to do
whatever it takes to find their answers.

THE
WIND DANCER

Secret War Steampunk Series

Adventure, Mystery + Mad
Science

by

Raven Bond

IMPISH PRESS

2014

Dedication

For the amazing
Seattle steampunk community

Chapter One

Airship Wind Dancer, Bengal Province

Free India States 1896

Thirty years after the Great War

The airship turned gracefully
through the valleys of the first mountain peaks of the Darjeeling Hills. Her
silver-gray skin seemed to absorb the sun as it slanted behind her. For all
that the ship appeared huge from the ground, it was as silent as a floating
feather, her bladeless impellers making a faint humming sound like many bees.
Along the sides of the main cigar-shaped body was painted a very realistic
Hindu dancer and beneath her form the words
FAS Wind Dancer
. Under the main
body was a section towards the front,
with windows that looked out over
the ground like huge eyes.

William Hunting Owl, Captain of the Wind Dancer didn’t like
to be surprised, especially by people shooting at his ship. Being shot at came
with the job, but still, he preferred to be the one doing the shooting. They
had just begun dropping altitude to survey the wreck of their quarry, the East
India Company airship Raja Goh, when the ambush came.

They had been hired to investigate the fate of the merchant
ship after she had gotten off a short distress call. The big fear for the East
India Company was that air raiders of some kind had moved into the northern
trade route to Darjeeling. The Company had an exclusive route between Calcutta
and Darjeeling in Free India that was very profitable. The thought that air
raiders might finally be making it this far north had scared someone enough at
the Company to pay the
Wind Dancer
’s not inconsiderable fees just to
take a look-see. Judging from the wreckage scattered about the side of the
hill, Will figured that fear was right.

Will had been looking through the heavy, armored glass
windows that ran deck to ceiling in a half circle around the forward part of
the Dancer’s bridge. The bridge was awash in the bright sunlight of a cloudless
day. The lookouts did a good job of spotting, but he still liked his own eyes
on things when possible. The land below was low rising scrub coming up against
the mountains. He could almost feel the heat rising off the ground beneath him.
In lots of ways the land reminded him of the Montana lands he had hunted in as
a boy. The wreck site to starboard was as still as a lonely grave. In this
harsh hill country any survivors would have made sure to stay close to the
wreck, shooting flares and awaiting rescue, unless someone had already killed
them all. That said raiders to Will.

He had called for action stations as soon as they’d spotted
the wreck of what had to be the
Raja Goh
. When no attack came
immediately, he’d ordered them to slow and make a landing approach on the wreck
site. Although the skies looked clear of traffic, a camouflaged sky raider
could strike with the man-made lightning of a coil cannon from any line of
sight. Rockets really weren’t a concern until close range as a coil cannon
could spread its fire to intercept most projectiles in mid-flight, destroying
them. Will had hoped that he could trick the raiders into revealing themselves
by
Wind Dancer
appearing to come in fat and happy.
Dancer
’s
electronics and engines were battle- hardened better than most ships. They
could take an electrical strike or two, without worry, especially with the side
gun-ports sealed up as Will had ordered.

Modern airship−to−airship fighting was seen as
more of a battle of endurance than a battle of maneuver; the ship that hit
first and hit hardest usually won. Coil cannon made that first punch. While not
as vulnerable as a grounded target would be to its massive electrical bolts, a
coil cannon strike was still deadly to airships. The first coil strike would
usually only cause a ship to be wreathed in a discharge like St. Elmo’s fire.
The bigger danger was that it would destroy the more delicate electronics and
engines of a ship, leaving it to float helplessly by its air cells while an
attacker closed in. Most merchants did not bother to shield their systems.
Extra weight cut into profit.

If the first strike failed, repeated strikes would change a
ship’s hull resistance until there was either an electrical failure of the
ships systems, or a burn through of the hull itself. This was where things got
tricky for a raider. It often only took one burn−through to send the
hellish lightings careening through a ship to destroy it, especially if the
ship was using one of the cheaper lift gas mixes that were flammable. That
meant no cargo and no profit. A raider captain had to be canny and have a light
touch to succeed. Still, no raider would resist the opportunity to make that
first strike in hopes of having an easy target.

Will had used that ‘conventional wisdom’ to his advantage
more than once. They’d made
Dancer
tougher than any light cruiser had a
right to be. He was confident that she could take a hit from even a dreadnought
and spit right back in their eye. His train of thought was cut off as he felt
the vibrations of a gun firing through the deck plates. He turned to his bridge
talker, Naomi, his long hair braids whirling as he whipped his head towards
her. "Who's firing?" He snapped. The ship was supposed to be buttoned
down, side gun ports closed so as to give a coil strike no way to spill into
the ship.

"Port Hotchkiss gun number one reports rocket flare
coming at six points to port. Gunner reports it appears to be telesmatic. They
say it’s coming from the ground, Captain!” Naomi Walters sat the interphone
station which linked all the ships phones and speakers though a switchboard.
Though she would never give an order of her own, it was her voice that sent
crew running and guns firing, as well as relaying to the bridge reports from
the different stations of the ship. She was listening to such a report even as
he spoke. She looked at him as she listened, her normally calm manner
vanishing.

“They are firing to intercept!”

Will cursed himself for a fool. Telesmatics were Aetherwave
guided rockets, difficult to evade or shoot down. He’d been too focused on an
air attack. The ship was positioned all wrong for the coil cannon to intercept
a rocket attack from the ground. Come to that, he thought wildly, there
shouldn’t be
anyone
with that kind of firepower in this bleak
wilderness! And whoever heard of
ground
raiders attacking airships
anyway? All an unarmed airship needed to do was toss a few sticks of explosive
out a cargo hatch at them, and to hell with the Alliance rules against bombing.

His body braced for the blow that he knew had to come, even
as he tried to see where it came from. An explosion flowered mere yards off the
port side, close enough that the ship rocked in its wake.

"They got it by God!" Someone on the bridge
exclaimed. Will knew a moment of amazement himself that they weren’t hit,
shooting a ‘matic rocket out of the sky like that with one projectile gun was
akin to shooting a raindrop with a peashooter. The side guns were mainly useful
for ship−to−ground and ship−to−ship fighting.  Whoever
that gunner was, they’d just earned themselves a bottle in bonus, he vowed to
himself.

"Rocket flare to port!” One of the bridge lookouts
shouted, “And another one!"

"All port guns fire to suppress!" Will ordered.
“Drop ballast, emergency ascent!" It was doubtful that they'd get so lucky
again, but that gunner had had the right idea. The only hope they had now was
to rise out of the range of those rockets
fast
. Usually, portable
rockets only had a few thousand yards before they burned out. The
Dancer
’s
gun ports snapped open and the other five Hotchkiss guns added their fire to
the first, trying to throw a wall of lead between the ship and the approaching
rockets. Pipes opened as the
Wind Dancer’s
water reserves emptied,
dropping an unexpected shower on the dusty ground below. Having shrugged off
her weight, the
Wind Dancer’s
nose pointed upwards as she climbed for
the heavens, streaks of fired chasing her. It was now a race.

Throughout the ship, people scrambled for handholds as the
deck tilted unexpectedly beneath them. Drinking cups and papers slid unto
floors. Will made his way across the slanted deck to grab onto the map table.
His eyes met those of his First Officer, Lawrence Rogers. Rogers was already
bracing himself against the other side of the table. The older man met his gaze
and simply shook his head. Rogers didn’t think they were going to make it this
time. Will swore softly at himself again, and grabbed the table harder, bracing
himself for the impacts to come.

For what seemed like an eternity, the bridge held its breath
waiting for the explosions that would tear into the hull. With merciless
regularity, Sukoto Matori at the elevation station continued counting off the
feet of their ascent in a monotone, her eyes never leaving her gauge. When she
called two thousand feet, Will and Rogers looked at each other over the table.
Slowly Will’s face moved from grim to astonished. He broke out into the wide
boyish grin that looked so incongruous beneath his blade of a nose, his teeth
gleaming white against his mahogany skin.

"I think we beat them," he said to Rogers softly.

"Too bloody close that," Rogers agreed, expelling
his own held breath. "Orders, Captain?"

"Level off, and come about. Cannon to target those
launchers,” Will said grimly. He’d finish what whoever-they-were had started.

Rogers began issuing the orders. Rogers still used the
British Air Navy’s address of ‘Mr.’ for both sexes, a habit that Will found
amusing. He preferred to use people’s first names, which was more common among
the Tribes’ forces, much to Rogers’ private despair. Will had to admit though
that Rogers complemented his own style well, with British spit ‘n polish teamed
up with American Tribal cunning. Together with Saira Brighton they had turned
out the best private fighting ship on either side of the Pacific.

Will watched in silence as the bridge crew replied smartly to
Rogers’ orders, noting their responses with pride. They were a taut ship. Moments
from facing being blown out of the sky, and they were
still
taut.
Leaving Rogers to it, he crossed to the port electric lens. Dancer had three of
them, and they were better than any telescope. Rather than use glass, they
somehow used electricity between the two rims to magnify things. Will didn’t
know more than that about how they worked, nor did he care really. He knew they
were damned expensive, and he was glad for the edge they provided.

Giving the rims a practiced twist, Will focused it on the distant
movement on the ground. The image leaped sharp into a view of the attackers.
They had pulled away camouflage to reveal a depression filled with horses,
three launchers, and a supply wagon. He saw figures desperately racing to move
bulky rockets from the wagon to the wheeled launchers. He looked closer.

Will didn’t see any uniform on them. They looked to him to be
natives who had precious little training from the way they fumbled about. They
seemed to range in age from oldsters to boys barely man high, and there were
enough of them that he figured he was likely looking at every male in the
tribe. Will twisted the lens rims again to bring the focus tighter, and saw a
figure with a beard and a long sword haranguing the others. He looked to be the
local chieftain who Will guessed had probably beggared his tribe for the
launchers to go air-merchant hunting. Idiot. No great loss to his people when
he dies, Will thought remorselessly. Too bad the tribe was about to become much
smaller due to his stupidity. He heard Naomi report that the cannon was
targeting the depression holding the launchers. He nodded to himself in
decision. They had tried to kill his ship, so kill them all.

“Captain to cannon,” Will said, his voice betraying none of
his feelings, “Fire as you bear, full charge.” He paused to set his goggles
over his face, then continued to watch the targets on the ground. One group had
dropped a rocket and were being yelled at by a sword-wielder. He faintly heard
Naomi relay his orders over her phone. The light tubes dimmed as the ships
impellers stopped, the entire energy of the Tesla engines thrown into the
cannon for an instant.

A bolt of man-made lightening, yards across, cracked
massively from the cannon muzzle mounted at the
nose
of the upper hull. Even
with his goggles over his eyes, Will automatically closed them, turning his
face away. The all too familiar smell of ozone washed over him.

The bolt struck at such speed that the tribesmen swarming
over the supply wagons and the three horse-drawn launchers never even had time
to feel death. Burning at three thousand degrees where it touched the earth,
the bolt simply flashed them to carbon. Those remaining at the edges of the
strike, deafened and blinded, were killed when the secondary explosions from the
flash burned missiles rolled over them.

The bridge lookout, darkened goggles over her eyes, reported
the hit. This time a raucous cheer went through the bridge, and Rogers had to
call for quiet. Will smiled to himself as he looked back through the lens. The
bridge reaction was understandable. Not one airship in ten could say that
they’d out−fought a guided rocket ambush without a scratch. They’d be
using the story to buy themselves drinks in airdevil dives for a year.

Will watched the expanding cloud on the surface. He thought
he could just make out a couple of small dots riding away from the explosion,
the sole survivors of their stupidity. His lips skinned back from his teeth in
anger. He hoped the survivors realized what that idiot of a leader had done to
them. His actions meant that the tribes’ old life was over whether they wished
it or no. Even if the Company didn’t send punitive attacks, without enough men
to continue on as they had, horse raising, raiding and such, they would now
have to learn a new life. What a waste. They’d tried to attack the rich air
trade of their neighbors as if it was an old caravan of camel riders. They
probably thought they were
brave,
he thought disgustedly
.
He
remembered his grandfather early on in the Great War against the Invaders.