A Shiv guard stood in the corridor, motioning for Richard to follow. Looking down at the floor, he saw streaks of blood, the type left when a bleeding body is dragged away.
The faint rotten-eggs smell of black powder smoke hung in the air, and as he walked down the corridor he saw a room with a door open. Inside, two humans, emaciated, dressed only in loincloths, were mopping up a pool of blood. At the end of the corridor the Shiv led Richard to another room. Opening it, he was surprised by the comfort within. Tapestries of silk covered the wall, a comfortable bed covered with cushions was in the center of the room, and he detected a feminine scent in the air.
Sean O’Donald lay on the bed, eyes closed, features peaceful.
Richard rushed into the room and shook him awake. Sean looked up dreamily and then with a look of surprise. “Richard. Hazin said you would visit me.”
“Come on, O’Donald. We’ve been freed. We’re getting out now. Tonight.”
Sean smiled, and Richard instantly realized that he was either drunk or drugged. “You go. I’m staying.”
Richard looked back at the door. “Damn it, Sean, we don’t have time for this,” he hissed. “Hazin’s letting us go, at least I think he is. Get dressed and let’s get the hell out of here.”
Sean sat up and stretched, and Richard suddenly realized that concealed beneath the covers was someone else. Wisps of black hair spread out on the pillow. She half rolled over, the cover slipping away from her shoulder, revealing her beauty. Her amber-colored eyes met his, and he felt a cold shiver.
He forced his attention away, focusing back on Sean. “Now, O’Donald. We’re getting out of here.”
“And like I said before, I’m staying.”
“Because of her?”
“In part.”
“How long have you known her, a day? Three days? Damn it, Sean, you can’t give up everything just for a girl you met three days ago.”
Sean’s features darkened. “Give up what, Cromwell? Tell me, what does the Republic have to offer me after what I have found here?”
“Honor,” Richard snapped.
Sean leaned back and laughed, turning to look at the girl, who smiled at his amusement.
“Honor? How many millions died on both sides in the last war, a war created by Keane and my father? Was that honor? And they’ll do it again. No, thank you. I tried their path. A country run by someone like my father can go to hell.”
Sean reached forward and grabbed Richard by the arm. “Stay here. You don’t understand Hazin as I do. What he offers to all of us who join him.”
“And what is that?” Richard asked bitterly.
“Order. He could unify us all, Richard, Horde and human. We would sweep the world without the type of bloodshed my father helped to create. He offers a dream, and I am willing to be part of it.”
Richard pulled his hand away and stood up. “Get on your feet, Lieutenant,” he snarled, trying desperately to somehow break through and reach him. “I’ve got an aerosteamer waiting.”
He looked over defiantly at the woman, who had sat up in the bed. Her smile was almost bemused, as if Richard was just a minor interruption.
Richard reached over to grab Sean and pull him out of bed.
“I wouldn’t try it,” Sean hissed. “You might be able to beat me, but I think the Shiv out there would not go along with it.”
Richard looked back at the open door, where half a dozen Shiv waited.
“They aren’t human,” Richard whispered. “They’re bred like horses, like cattle.”
He said the last word deliberately, for it was the darkest of insults left over from the war.
“She’s of the Shiv,” Sean said, anger darkening his features.
“All the more reason to leave her.”
“Get out.” Her words were soft, but filled with confidence. She slowly stood up, and Richard had difficulty concealing his shocked embarrassment at her nakedness. Yet he was fascinated as well by her beauty, and by her calm, casual ease.
The fact that he and Sean had been talking in English and she had spoken in the same language caught him completely off guard.
How stupid, he realized. If Hazin knew English, he should not have been surprised that a woman sent to O’Donald knew it as well.
He looked back to the Shiv who stood in the doorway. For the first time he detected an emotion on their part. It was amusement.
He slowly turned back to face Sean. “You’ll regret this the rest of your life, Lieutenant O’Donald.”
Sean seemed to stir from his hazy distant world, and for a brief moment, Richard saw an old friend from the academy, the cadet who was always so quiet, studious, even withdrawn, and yet sharply capable in any task he set himself to. He tried to smile, to somehow reach that friend and roommate, to remind him of his duty, of who he was, an officer of the Republic.
“It won’t work, Cromwell. I’m past such appeals,” Sean whispered and turned away.
The airfield was dark, and a light, hazy mist was drifting in from the midnight tropical sea. Richard suddenly realized just how tired he was, and now he faced a flight of unknown distance across an unknown sea.
He slowly walked around the airship. The design was not unlike some of the machines from the last war, bulkier in the fuselage to contain the hydrogen gas bags, a broad, single mono-wing rather than the bi-wings of the Republic’s airships. It was three engined, two on the wings and one forward.
He could see where there had been gun emplacements at the tail, above and under the belly. All had been stripped out, as was the gun forward.
No one spoke to him, and somehow the entire scene seemed like a dream. He looked at the rough chart that had been thrust into his hand. It was precious short on details, including only the coastline of the island they were now on and a sketch of where he assumed the Gettysburg had been lost, which was off to the northwest.
From that point he knew where he was. That was over thirteen hundred miles from the Republic’s main base on the coast at Constantine. The question was, how far was it from where the Gettysburg was lost to here? Four hundred miles, six hundred? He believed they had sailed four days after he was captured. That could make the distance just a few miles away, on the other side of a long island, or more than a thousand miles.
Yet he knew as well that Hazin would not send him out unless he had a reasonably good chance of succeeding.
No one spoke to him, but by the way the ground crew turned to look at him, he knew they were waiting. He scrambled up the outside ladder and into the forward cockpit. One of the Shiv followed and, without saying a word, waited while Richard strapped himself into the oversize chair. Stretching his legs out, he could barely reach the pedals. Pressing down on them, he could tell when he looked aft, worked the rudder.
The controls were basically the same: a stick for banking and climbing. The Shiv simply took hold of three knobs mounted side by side on the forward console, and pulled them back. The engines then began to turn over faster. The Shiv leaned back out of the cockpit and climbed down the ladder.
“Thanks, you son of a bitch,” Richard grumbled.
Straight ahead he could see two distant bonfires, undoubtedly marking the end of the landing strip. Without any hesitation he pulled the throttles full out. The ship lurched forward and clumsily gained speed.
It was far slower on takeoff than the planes he knew, and he sweated out the final seconds, the bonfires racing past before he felt the wings lifting and he edged back on the stick.
The airship seemed to hang in the air, and he nosed it over slightly, hoping that there were no hills ahead. Then ever so gradually he pulled back, trying to master the feel of the machine, wondering if it would give the telltale vibration through the stick just before going into a stall. He flew on for several minutes, heading due south before he finally ventured a turn, carefully banking the machine to port, watching the stars as they wheeled.