“Resume your duties,” Caspar told the Engineers and they immediately relaxed and turned their attention to their instruments. Gorman, the Chief Engineer, approached the throne. He was a small man with a bland, unreadable face. As usual his grey uniform, with its black Engineering Guild insignia—a bolt of lightning across a circle—on the left breast, was neatly pressed and a pair of binoculars hung from his neck. “We’re on schedule, sire,” he said.
“Good. Carry on, Chief Engineer,” said Caspar, the lack of interest clear in his tone of voice. Jan knew he found his control room duties boring. She also knew that he was completely ignorant, like all the Aristos, of the actual mechanics involved in running and operating the Lord Pangloth. Without the Engineers, who were well aware of how indispensable they were, they would be helpless.
Gorman gave a bow to Caspar. “Very well, your Highness.” As he straightened his eyes met briefly with Jan. Once again she got the feeling he could see straight through her; knew her every secret. She had noticed him surreptitiously watching her when she had been ‘playing’ with the device that was the object of Milo’s interest even though she thought she’d allayed his suspicions long ago by telling him that she liked the ‘pretty colours’ that appeared on the screen when she pushed the various buttons.
Gorman returned to his customary position immediately behind the two seated helmsmen. The control room was a glass blister protruding from the hull at the bottom of the bow. Only the walkways and equipment partially obscured a 360 degree field of vision.
Jan was able to recognize now just what in the control room dated back to the airship’s original builders and what had been added, or altered, by subsequent generations of Engineers. It was also easy, now, for her to realize that the more recent the modification the more primitive it appeared to be in comparison to the original equipment and fittings.
Milo had been fascinated by her descriptions of the state of the control room after her first visits to it. “It sounds as if,” he told her, “thanks to their meddling over the years, they’ve bypassed more and more of the functions of the central computer in order to feel more in control. But obviously the computer is still exerting its influence over much of the running of the Lord Pangloth. There is no way a human pilot could fly something of this size without the assistance of a computer. Just maintaining the ship’s trim would be beyond ten human pilots working together. The computer must be constantly making adjustments; to the thrusters, to the temperature of the gas in the individual cells, to the stabilizers and elevators…. ”
“We are approaching Bandala,” announced Gorman. “We will be directly overhead in exactly five minutes.”
Jan peered down through the curving transparent wall. The airship was passing over rugged hill country. Parts of the hill slopes were richly forested but even at this high altitude the blight had gotten a secure grip on the land. The blight, she had learned, thrived best at low altitudes and high temperatures.
Bandala was a remnant of a state that had been exclusively black. Like Minerva it had shrunk to a mere fragment of its former size but unlike Minerva it wasn’t a producer of grain and other foodstuffs but metal and timber. There was an iron ore mine within its shrunken borders, as well as smelters, foundries and several small factories. The latter were capable of making a limited range of metal and wooden artifacts.
Jan watched with interest as a wide valley full of buildings came into view. Bandala was much bigger than Minerva had been, both in terms of the area that it covered and the number of buildings it contained. Some of the buildings had long chimneys from which smoke was rising. As with Minerva every available space was covered with vegetable gardens. Jan knew it was part of the traditional contract between Bandala and the Lord Pangloth that the Sky Lord actually provided the Bandalans with supplies of grain, as they had lost their distant farm lands ages ago.
She also knew that the Bandalans had been very dissatisfied with the meagre load of grain that the Sky Lord had deposited on its last trip but the Sky Warriors had told them it was all that was available. And they were telling the truth. Minerva wasn’t the only food-producing community that had been lost to the Lord Pangloth recently. Two others had been overrun completely by the blight within the last year and the Sky Lord’s grain surplus had been drastically reduced as a result.
“With your permission, your Highness, I shall halt the vessel and descend to hailing distance,” said Gorman to the Prince. Caspar nodded and Gorman gave a curt command to the helmsmen who both pulled sharply back on four large levers. Jan felt the floor vibrate slightly and heard the thrusters roar their protest as they went into full reverse power to bring the mile-long airship to a gliding halt above the valley. Some of the thrusters, she knew, would be swivelling to hold it steady in that position no matter how strong a wind was blowing.
More terse commands from Gorman, more manipulation of levers by the helmsmen. Another tremor ran through the floor as the Lord Pangloth began to descend. It dropped about a thousand feet, then Gorman gave the order to stop. “Hail them,” he said. Another Engineer pressed a switch on a console and once again the voice of ‘Lord Pangloth’ boomed out.
Jan knew now that it wasn’t the voice of the last Lord Pangloth. Its owner, long since dead, had been chosen for the task simply because he possessed an impressively deep voice. His words, spoken long ago, had been trapped inside a machine. “Think of the machine as a kind of echo trap,” Milo had said when attempting to explain the principle to her. But however it worked, the machine was showing increasing signs of breaking down. ‘Lord Pangloth’s’ voice was accompanied by much loud hissing and crackling.
The speech ended. Smoke rose from an empty square in the centre of the valley. The signal of acquiescence. The airship began to descend again. Then Jan noticed that Gorman was in conversation with his second-in-command. Gorman was pointing downwards. Jan looked but could see nothing out of the ordinary. Puzzled, she glanced at Caspar, but he was engrossed in polishing his big ruby ring on the fabric of his trouser leg.
“Your Highness …” Gorman had turned to the Prince. “Something is not right. …”
“What do you mean?” asked Caspar, uninterestedly.
“Look, sire,” said Gorman, pointing. “Three large structures that I am sure were not here on our last visit.”
“What, you mean those water tanks? But surely they’ve always been there?” said Caspar.
“There were two before. Now there are five,” said Gorman. “And the three new ones are much bigger than the others. The combined water capacity of these additional tanks is far beyond the needs of Bandala’s population.”
The objects of Gorman’s concern, Jan saw, were large, cylindrical structures made of wood. They were built high up on the slopes of the valley walls.
Caspar studied them with a frown then said, in exasperation, “Oh really, Gorman! So the earthworms have built water towers they don’t need—so what? Why should we be concerned by such a demonstration of their stupidity?”
“I don’t know, sire,” admitted Gorman. “But after the experience with Minerva I believe that in these, er, unusual times extreme caution is called for.” Gorman then gave Jan a pointed look. “I think we should return to a safer altitude until we’re sure.”
Caspar sucked noisily on his ruby rings. He hated making decisions. He also didn’t like to stay in the control room any longer than necessary. But to ignore advice from Gorman was never wise. … “Oh, very well, Gorman,” Caspar said testily. “Do whatever you want. But if this delay proves to be a complete waste of time I’m going to be very displeased.”