Clementine

Page 16

“Are…are you sure?”
“Sure enough,” he nodded. “We need to sabotage that bird before she gets off the ground; we need to sort through her cargo, find out what nefarious piece or part is so valuable that it requires such a transport, and destroy it for the sake of the Confederacy—if it’s not too late already!”
“It’s not,” she blurted. “It’s not too late. Whatever they’re doing, it’s not been done yet. Just…” her mind raced, and her companion within the dining area was no doubt already wondering what had become of her. “I must go back inside and make my escape from the Pinkerton man,” she concluded.
“Escape? But you said you were working?”
She nodded vigorously and said, “I am. But the Valkyrie will be ready to lift in under an hour, and I’m working again, for my home. For my country. Stay here,” she told him. “I’ll be back in a moment.”
When she reappeared less than two minutes later, she had retrieved her carpetbag and left Algernon Rice very perplexed in the dining area.
To Randolph Sykes she said, “Quickly, to the service yards. I don’t know the city here. You’ll have to lead me, and we’ll have to hurry.”
7
Back at the service yard docks Lamar was torso-deep in the underside of the Union warship Valkyrie. Grunts that signaled the stiff-armed turns of a wrench echoed around in the hydraulics compartment, where the engineer was swearing and sweating despite the pronounced chill in the air. The wrench slipped from his fingers, fell to the ground, and was retrieved by Simeon—who handed it back with a smile that promised trouble was brewing.
From down at the folding bay doors, a fat white man dropped down onto the ground. Upon seeing Simeon he called out, “Hay Larry, is this guy some friend of yours?”
Lamar ducked his head out from the hydraulics compartment, realized who’d passed him the wrench, and said, “Oh yes. Friend of mine. Nobody to worry about at all.”
To which the first mate said, “That last part might’ve been a little much.”
In two long strides, taken so quickly that the other man barely had time to squeak, Simeon was on top of the other mechanic; and with a hard right hook the mechanic crumpled, hitting his head against the bay doors on his way to the ground.
From his position half inside the Valkyrie, Lamar said, “Hey Sim, I wish you hadn’t done that, though.”
“Why not?” he asked, already dragging the heavy man out of sight, back under the craft and behind the pipework docks.
“Because this thing ain’t ready to fly yet, and his brother’ll be looking for him any minute now. He just stepped out a second ago, to chat with some guy who came up looking for the captain.”
“His brother’s the captain?”
Lamar said, “No, but he went off to talk with him. I’m surprised he ain’t back yet. He walked off with an older fellow, hair going gray. Sounded like he wasn’t local.”
Simeon dumped the unconscious man, dropped his feet, and returned to Lamar’s side. He ducked under the unfastened panel so that he was at least unidentifiable, if not invisible. For all any passersby might know, he could be another mechanic—as he could only be seen from the chest down.
He asked, “How long will it take you get her airworthy?”
“I’m almost done,” Lamar said, fishing around in his tool belt for a screwdriver of the correct size. “I’m fixing the last of it now, but I need a minute. And,” he added, shifting his shoulders to knock against the first mate, “I need more room. This hatch ain’t big enough for the two of us. Where’s the captain?”
“He’s right behind me—rounding up the Rattler and the last of our stuff off the coach.”
The engineer said, “All right, that’s good. Give me maybe…maybe five minutes, all together. That’ll be plenty of time to wrap up and shut the hatch.”
“How many other folks are aboard this craft? Who else do we need to worry about?” he whispered.
“Not sure. It doesn’t have a crew, really—or it does, of course, but those guys hit the red blocks two days ago and they won’t come back until tonight, when the bird is set to take off. There’s the mechanic, his brother, and a third fellow. I think he’s supposed to be an engineer, but he’s a shit excuse for one. He was acting like he couldn’t figure out what was wrong, when the bird’s leaking piston lube and control line fluid all over the place.” Lamar sniffed with disdain and wiped his forehead with the back of his forearm.
“That’s three, plus the man you said came by, wanting a word with the captain.”
“If he comes back with the mech’s brother, yes. That’s right. Now get out of the hatch and let me finish this up on the quick. If the captain’s timing is good, we might just fly off with this thing, easy as can be.”
Simeon bent and squatted to let himself out, but he said, “Except for the service yard security.”
Lamar’s voice was muffled from within. “They won’t be a problem until we’re airborne. And we might be able to outrun ’em. You never know. We might get lucky yet.”
“Here’s hoping,” Simeon said, not because he lacked faith in the captain, but because he lacked faith in luck.
When the first mate emerged, he thought he heard a rustling sound coming from inside the Valkyrie so he grasped his revolver—and he went into a half-crouch as he snuck up the steps that led into the ship’s belly.
It was mostly for show.
He didn’t plan to shoot anybody for a couple of reasons. For one thing, you didn’t open fire inside a metal container if you could possibly help it. Bullets bounced in close quarters. And for another thing, the noise would summon everyone within the yards, security and otherwise. Simeon didn’t need the extra attention and he sure as hell didn’t want to make a stink before the captain was on board.
For a third thing, and possibly most important thing, you didn’t go shooting willy-nilly inside a canister with a giant tank of hydrogen strapped to it—not unless you wanted to see yourself splattered all over Kansas.
Up the folding steps he moved with surprising silence for such a tall man. He kept his gun out of sight against his chest. His head breached the bay, and he swiveled it back and forth—making sure there was no one behind him, and becoming confident that there was no one else present in the cargo bay.
He made a cursory examination of the munitions crates. Next he checked the bridge, where six swiveling seats were affixed into the floor. Three were positioned at the wide, curved glass of the ship’s windshield, and the other three were assigned to spots in front of the craft’s weapon systems.
“This bird’s not kidding around,” he said to himself.
He ran his fingers over the levers that worked the automatic rotary firing guns, and scanned the buttons and handles that managed assault launches of bombs and other assorted things which might be dropped, and might explode on impact. There were even two pivoting guns mounted bottom and side within thick glass shields that extended outside the body of the craft.
On the other side of the bridge was another door that must have led to sleeping quarters or a lavatory, but a poorly smothered curse from Captain Hainey drew Simeon’s attention elsewhere. He went back to the cargo hold and climbed past the crates, then descended the steps to meet the captain, who was carrying everyone’s personal supplies and ammunition like a blue-coated pack mule.
“Here,” Hainey said, upon spotting Simeon. “Take this. Get it on board. I assume everything’s under control?” he said in a casual voice that knew better than to whisper. Everyone listens hard when someone whispers; and people who whisper have something to hide.
Simeon said, “Yes sir, more or less.” Without clarifying, he took half the captain’s load and walked it nonchalantly up the stairs, with the captain coming up behind him.
Once they were up in the cargo bay, Hainey felt the need for clarification. He asked, “What’s ‘more or less’ supposed to mean?”
“Exactly what it sounds like. If we move quick, we can lift this lady up without too much notice. I took care of one mechanic, and the other two are missing at the moment.”
“And the crew?” the captain asked.
“Whoring and drinking down in the blue district. Won’t be returning until tonight.”
Hainey lifted an eyebrow as he lifted the heaviest of his packs onto a crate. “It’s like a sign from heaven. Or else it’s a bad trick someone’s playing on us,” he said. “What does Lamar think?”
“Lamar thinks we’d better hurry up, and we’ll stay in the clear except for the service yard security. And once we get airborne, he trusts you to keep us aloft and in one piece. What about the Rattler?” the first mate asked.
“It’s back in the coach. I can carry it, but I can’t carry much with it. I’ll go back and pick it up,” he plotted, “and you stay here and keep an eye out on Lamar. If those other mechs come back, he might need a hand. How long until he’s got the bird air-ready?”
“Less time than it’ll take you to retrieve the Rattler,” Simeon said. “Are you sure we even…I mean, do you think we’ll need it? Look at this bird, Captain. She’s loaded up like nobody’s business. More guns than I ever saw on a ship.”
Croggon Hainey made a harrumphing noise and asked, “Can we take any of it with us?”
“Well, no. It’s all attached pretty solid, I’d say.”
“Then I’m going back to get the Rattler,” he said, and he retreated back down the steps. “Be ready to take off when I get back.” To Lamar, under the hatch, he added, “Did you hear that?”
“Yes sir, Captain. I heard it.”
“And you’ll be ready?”
“I’ll be ready,” the engineer promised.
“Good,” Hainey said, and he stalked back out to the edge of the service yard, for coaches were not allowed within the repair grounds and the captain wanted to make as little fuss as humanly possible.