Wind Dancer: Secret War Steampunk Series - Adventure, Mystery + Mad Science (3 page)

“Understood,” Hunting Owl spoke. “While you are on the line,
please have Naomi inform the Arms-Master that I will be there presently.
Hunting Owl clear.”

“Bridge clear,” came the quick response, followed by a sharp
click. Will nodded to himself, satisfied. That should cure him from listening
in. It wasn’t that McGuire was trouble, he judged, so much as the man simply
needed his knuckles rapped now and then.

Will swiveled in his chair to stare moodily out the porthole.
The barren lands stared back at him. He pulled out the battered, gold pocket
watch automatically from his vest, then clutched it, unopened, in his hands for
a moment as the emotion washed over him.

The watch, along with his old seven-barrel revolver, were the
only things Will had left of his father. He and Rogers had run out of leads to
find his killers. The Mouse’s idea to get them in with the Chinese Spider had
looked like their best hope to discover more clues. Will drew on his pipe,
remembering his dream. As he sat there, Will felt rather than heard the whisper
of Owl wings over his head. The totem came when he would, but it was a clear
sign to him that Owl was saying ‘Hey stupid! Hunt here!’

The scheme to infiltrate the Spider’s organization was still
their best hope, he was sure of it. The Spider’s organization smuggled things
all across the Pacific Rim and farther, from the Kingdom of California to the
doors of London itself. First, though, they’d have to get the package back,
which wouldn’t be easy. Well, he reflected, as the Old Man had always said, ‘if
it was easy someone else would have done it already’.

The land grew closer as he gazed out. Will had always felt at
home in the sky. He took to it the way his father had to riding horses. He knew
from the way she felt that the
Dancer
was coming down to hover over the
wreck, even though he couldn’t see it from this side of the ship. He stirred in
the chair, pulling the pipe from his lips. Holding up the pipe to the sky, he
silently thanked Owl for pointing the way. There was still a lot to do. He
opened the watch one-handed, checking the time, then put it back in his pocket.
Maybe, if they hurried the wreck survey, they could do turnaround before dark.
He turned in the chair, placing the pipe back in its drawer, then stood up,
mind still turning over what the Mouse had said in their conversation.

“Lord Hadley, huh,” he said to himself out loud, hitching up
his gun belt. He cursed again. Damned British aristocrats always made things
worse.

Chapter Two

Wind Dancer, Bengal, Free India

Will moved towards the main loading
bay that laid mid-ships of the lower body after he had put on the prototype
battle vest that the Savant he called the Mouse had given him.
He
was supposed to try out for a favor. If it really did work as the Mouse thought
it would, then the favor would be Will’s. It was supposedly made out of some kind
of cloth that hardened protectively when a bullet or other projectile hit it.
The vest also had many little copper disks embedded in it linked by metallic
stitching. Supposedly these could dissipate the charge of an electric weapon. It
was far more comfortable than the rubber armor that was commonly worn by ground
troops. That armor was a defense against ‘sparkies’ as the hand-held versions
of the electric weapons were called, though it would not stop a coil cannon.

Neither would the vest, which didn’t bother Will that much.
He figured that if he placed himself in front of a cannon he deserved what he
got. He heard the echoes of the men and women of the landing party long before
he entered the big loading bay. The sound was the good natured catcalling and
shouted comments of people about to enter what they knew could be a dangerous
situation. The ship herself would never land, there was no need for it. Her job
would be to hover above, covering the landing party with her side guns and
ready to pull them up and out if it was needed. It wasn’t usual for Will to go
down with the landing group, but he felt restless and in need of something to
do after the ambush. He’d abruptly left Rogers in command on the bridge. He was
sure he’d hear about it from the Briton officer later in private.  However, as
Will was fond of pointing out, they weren’t in one of the spit−and−polish
air navies anymore.

He entered the bay to find his Arms-Master, Saira Brighton,
finishing her quiet instructions to a young man. Both of them wore the skin−tight
rubber armor of a modern fighter. The daughter of a British air merchant and a
queen of the Naga, the Serpent People, famed assassin−sorcerers of the
Indian continent, Saira was as deadly as she was beautiful. Saira had joined
soon after Will had claimed the
Dancer
. Together with Lawrence Rogers,
the three of them had made the
Wind Dancer
the best mercenary airship
this side of the Pacific Rim. If a captain was a fighting ship’s brain, then
the Arms-Master was its muscle.

Using an almost unholy combination of battle-skills and
guile, Saira had earned more than merely the respect of the crew. She had
earned the trust of William Hunting Owl. A man who trusted no one after the
death of his father, except perhaps for a British air sailor, Lawrence Rogers.
Catching Saira’s eye, the dark−skinned woman hurried over to Will’s side.
She looked him up and down.

“Think that magic vest will keep off the lightings?” Saira greeted
him dryly, in a soft voice that only he could hear. Will shrugged.

“I guess that we’ll find out someday.” He gestured at the
gathered fighters in their rubber armor. “Isn’t dropping them in full kit a
little much for this heat?” It was Saira’s turn to shrug.

“I thought maybe that we were only going to be facing poxy
air−pirates when the day started,” she said in her lilting voice. “But
northern nomads with guided rockets? I will be prepared for any others to have
sparkies as well.” Electric guns were absolutely deadly to unprotected targets.
Shooting a beam of invisible light that the deadly current traveled along, if you
could see your enemy, they was dead, no matter where the beam touched. Will had
seen to it that the
Dancer
had a number of the ‘rifle’ variety, with a
longer range and longer charge than the ‘pistol’ type. The War had left a
surplus of electric guns that had found their way into the hands of anyone who
could pay. No one was fast enough to dodge a sparkie though, except perhaps
Saira, Will reflected musingly. No one knew what the assassin−witch was
capable of, like shooting down a ‘matic missile for instance.

“By the way,” Will continued in the same hushed tones, “good
job with shooting down that ‘matic. We would have been done had that hit us.”
Saira waved off his thanks.

“It was a warning from the spirits,” she said easily. “I just
happened to be at the gun station when I was needed.” She looked out over her ‘Tigers’,
as she called them almost fondly, “Besides,” she went on as if Will hadn’t
spoken, “a little sweat will do them all good.” She glanced up at the taller
Captain. “Shall we begin?”

“Just a moment,” Will produced a wide leather bracer with
knobs and a disk festooning it. It was another gift from the Mouse. “I do not
have a vest for you,” Will said, “but I do have this. I’ve had Michael set it
for the same code as both
Dancer’s
and mine.” He held up his left wrist
to show her the contraption. Saira slung her electric rifle and reached for the
bracer.

“And this will work the same as an Aetherwave set?” she said
wonderingly. She strapped it to her forearm, then moved her arm experimentally
up and down. “It is very light,” she peered at the dials and knobs. “How does
it work?”

Will reached over, turning a switch. “That means it’s on
now,” he said. The same hand reached for a stud on his own bracer. “Michael can
you hear me?” He said. The Wave operator’s voice came from both disks at the
same time.

“You are coming in loud and clear Cap’n,” McGuire said. “Does
the Arms-Master have hers on yet?” Will gestured for Saira to push the stud on
hers. She did so, then spoke into the disk.

“I am wearing mine,” she said. Her voice coming from Wills
forearm at the same time made her eyes go wide in wonder.

“I read you five-by-five Arms-Master,” McGuire responded.
“Are you standing close by the Cap’n?” Saira pressed the stud again, “I am,”
she replied.

“That’s likely why I’m getting some voice distortion then,”
the Wave operator said. “In the future try not to both have the send buttons
depressed at the same time.” Will grinned and depressed his to respond.

“Understood, Michael”, he replied. “We’ll talk again when we
are on the ground. Owl out.”

“Wind Dancer out,” came the reply through both disks. Saira
looked from her wrist to his. She raised an eyebrow skeptically.

“This will take some getting used to,” she said. Will grinned
at her wider.

“Yes it will,” he said. “But think of all the uses for it in
a landing. Hell, think of all the uses for it shipside!” Saira shook her head.

“I am not sure I want McGuire, or anyone else, listening in
on my arm,” she replied. Will shrugged at this.

“McGuire tells me that it only works if you push the button,
and that the Wave will only go to either another bracer or the main “
Dancer
Wave set,” he said.

“Very well,” she said resignedly, “I can see where it might
be useful. I will wear it,” She looked up at the taller Cap’n. “Are we ready
then?”

Will nodded. Saira turned to the room. Suddenly her voice cut
through the Tigers’ conversations.

“All right you Tigers, listen up!” Her words echoed off the
bulkheads even though she hadn’t raised her voice. Will wished he could do that
trick with his voice. Even with Saira’s coaching he still hadn’t gotten the
knack of it. Everyone turned to look at her and Will attentively.

“The Captain here, is going down with us,” she continued. “In
deference to him we will be dropping to the landing area by flat rather than by
stirrup and line.” This pronouncement earned some soft chuckles from the
listeners, while Will smiled beatifically at them. They all had seen Will’s
skill at sliding down from the ship during a fight. It was rumored that being a
Ghost Warrior, Will had learned to ‘drop’ using only a rope with a stirrup with
his mother’s milk, which was not all that inaccurate.

“I want us all to keep to the standard formation,” Saira
said. “No need to go off sight-seeing. I want everyone to stay in their
position.” She pointed to the young man she had been talking to when Will had
come in. “Ravin there will be working the picture taker. The young man in
question hefted a black box about the size of his head.

“Tikku,” Saira called. A rubber clad woman nodded at her
name. “I want you to stick close to Ravin if we run into any trouble.” Tikku
smiled at the man who managed to shyly smile back. “Questions?” Saira asked.
One of the Greek sailors raised a hand.

“Loot?” he asked shortly. Saira turned to Will.

“Only what you can quickly carry,” he answered. “I want to
investigate the crash, and get moving again. Look for the ship strong box,
which the Company gets, not us.” He paused. “Survivors to be taken back if we
find any of course.” This earned an even louder round of chuckles from the
hardened landing force. They knew the odds of anyone surviving an attack such
as the
Wind Dancer
had experienced.

“Do not take any unnecessary risks,” Will continued. He
raised his fist, and everyone else raised theirs in response. “And remember,
everyone returns!” The last two words were repeated solemnly by all the Tigers.
It was the Wind Dancer’s unofficial motto. While it might seem arcane to
someone not schooled in the ways of the airdevils, it was as close as a prayer
as they all came. The crew were all veterans of the air, and knew that for some
ships it was a standard answer to fly off and leave them on the ground.
Sometimes even dump the wounded over the side to lighten the load. Not on
Wind
Dancer
.

“Alright,” Saira ordered, gesturing to the flat hanging from
a power winch over the loading hatch. “Everyone to their places, Captain and
Ravin in the center.” The Tigers climbed onto the lift, facing outward, leaving
room for Saira, Will, and Ravin at the center of the lift. Saira signaled the Cargo
Master and the lift began its descent.

The heat hit them like a hammer as they descended. By the
time the lift touched down, even Will was soaked through with sweat. He hated
to think what the Tigers were going through in their rubber suits. Still when
the lift touched the ground they moved off it in sharp order, weapons at the
ready. Two of the Tigers peeled off from the rest, scouting the area.

Will looked at the wreckage of the Raja Goh. Twisted spars
curved overhead, tattered bits of the air ship’s covering hung from them like
burnt skin. Everywhere debris was scattered across the ground. Will pointed to
a section of hull.

“Ravin,” he ordered. “Catch that spot there. We want to show
to the bean-counters that their ship was shot down.” Ravin dutifully raised the
kinescope towards where Will pointed. The picture electronically etched itself
onto the thin metal spool within it. Ravin stood patiently while the scope
vibrated in his hands. When it stopped, he moved the lens slightly to catch a
different angle, then depressed the trigger again. He looked up at the cry of
one of the scouts.

“Over here!” came the scout’s voice. Saira and Will both
turned to follow the voice over the slight rise of the hill the wreck had
settled on. Following the rest, Ravin stopped when he saw the bodies staked out
on the ground. These crew had clearly survived the ambush only to be taken by
the savage tribesmen. Ravin swallowed hard, fighting his stomach at the stench.

“Get them on the reel, Ravin,” Will said quietly. “The
Company will want it.” Saira was looking around sharply, rifle raised, as if
she were hunting the perpetrators of the outrage.

As Ravin’s scope recorded the scene, a single musket shot
rang out across the hills. Will was flung backwards into the dirt, as the rest
dived for cover. Saira stood over him and snarled wordlessly, her rifle coming
up, a violet flash coming from the muzzle. Across the depression, the head of
the attacker burst into flame, his rifle falling to the ground. Saira then
dropped to crouch over her Captain. To her amazement, Will tried to rise to his
elbows.

“What are you doing?” she exclaimed. “I thought you were
dead!” Her head snapped back up, searching for more attackers. Other Tigers had
run crouched over to where the ambusher laid. They straightened up signaling
the all clear.

“It’s not that bad, Saira,” Will replied calmly, “the vest
must have caught it.” He held up a flattened bullet. “The damn thing has gone
all stiff though and I can’t get up.” He held up a hand. The Arms-Master helped
him up.

“Now I know that, I want one of those vests,” Saira quipped.
“I want to dance naked through a landing too!” Will smiled at this.

“I will see to it that you get the next one,” Will promised.
“Any idea who our attacker was?” Saira shrugged.

“He looked to be some cow-herder mudfoot nomad,” she replied.
“Most likely one of the ones who did this.” She gestured towards the bodies of
the tortured crew laid out on the ground. Will nodded grimly.

“Too bad,” he said. “I would have liked to get one of them
alive for the Company.” Saira snorted, caressing her electric rifle.

“Better to simply give the mudfoot a bolt rather than make
them go through all the muck of one of your so-called civilized trials. They
would only hang him anyway.”

“I cannot say I disagree,” Will responded. “Still, it might
have meant a bonus for us if we could present a live one.” Saira raised her
chin.

“Take anyone else alive if you can!” Saira called out. She
turned back to Will with a nod.

“Should we not get you back above?” She asked. “You were
shot, you understand.” Will shook his head.

“Not before we see if that strongbox is in one piece,” he
replied laconically “You do want to get paid don’t you?”