“You made the right call sending away the rest of the crew, Captain.”
Southunder chuckled. “Well, Mr. Sullivan. We’ll find out if that’s the case should we crash due to lack of sufficient damage-control teams.”
“Still… Good call.” Sullivan unlatched the big metal buckles from the box containing the Gravity-Spiker armor John Browning had designed for him. “Francis’ UBF boys did their part. No need to make any more widows.”
“Is that what you think?” Southunder grinned. “I’ll have you know I sent them on so we’d have a bigger supply of extra oxygen tanks. I didn’t want all of those eggheads sucking up my precious breathable air.”
“Smart.” They would be going pretty damn high, after all. The remaining crew were already donning the same heavy winter clothing the knights had used near the North Pole. It was only going to get colder, and the air was only going to get thinner. Within an hour or so they’d be in the death zone, where, unassisted, a body would just run out of oxygen and croak, and that wasn’t even close to what Fuller needed. “How high do you intend to go?”
“According to UBF, this is the most advanced airship ever made. Theoretically, thanks to the Cog-designed hydrogen-compression systems in the bags, to borrow a phrase, the sky is the limit. The main deck will be pressurized, better than a submarine Francis claims, though you should never trust a salesman. Still, we should be safe… Theoretically… The volunteers remaining in the hold and engine room will be wearing the special pressure suits and breathing apparatus, and—”
“I can pressurize myself.”
“Yes, lucky, that. Mr. Schirmer said the higher, the better for their—to use Mr. Fuller’s term—magicanical oddity. Altitude achievable is entirely dependent upon the expansion of our lifting gases, dynamic volume, and pressure.”
“Finally, some science around here I can actually understand.”
“And this wondrous vessel was designed to break records, so…” The captain went to the side, picked up a phone, and cranked the charge handle a few times. “Bridge… Yes, Mr. Barns. What’s the current world altitude record? Yes… Seventy-two thousand feet? A Soviet airship? Well, then, Mr. Barns. Maintain heading and take us to seventy-five.” Southunder put the phone back in the cradle. “I simply cannot abide a record being set by a Communist… Will that do for your plans, Mr. Sullivan?”
“For what we’re trying to do? Hell if I know. It’ll work, or it won’t, but either way, it should end up memorable. I don’t know if that’ll bug Faye too much, but she should be able to get us both down in one piece… I was happy to hear she’s alive and kicking. That girl is full of surprises.”
“Last I saw, she was in the ready room. She sent word to our American compatriots, and now she is folding little paper animals. Apparently Lady Origami has influenced her.” Southunder smirked. “And I’ve been led to believe that is not the only new friend Ori has made recently.”
Sullivan just grunted and kept lacing up the big ties on the side of the steel boots. “Come out and say it, Captain.”
“You know what I mean, Mr. Sullivan. My crew is my family, so I think of her as a daughter.”
“This the part where you bring out a shotgun and a preacher?”
“I shouldn’t need to. Besides, buckshot might threaten the integrity of my nice new airship, and a man of the cloth would only suck up precious oxygen. You’ll treat her with the respect she’s due.”
“Of course, sir.”
“Excellent, because if you don’t, she’d just burn you to a crisp.” Southunder patted him on the back. “So come back in one piece then and make that poor girl happy. I really don’t want her moping around my ship again. Got it, son?”
They both knew him coming back wasn’t likely. “Yes, Captain.”
“Very well. You’re a good man, Sullivan. I’d be honored to have you on my crew anytime. Good luck down there.”
“Good luck up here.” Sullivan held out his hand, and they shook on it. Southunder’s hand nearly disappeared in Sullivan’s big mitt. “The whole world’s gonna be watching.”
“They’d better. Well, I’ve got a ship to run. I’ll tell Faye you are awake.” The Captain left without any further ceremony.
Sullivan went back to putting on the suit. It wasn’t nearly as fancy as Toru’s nifty gear. If he’d had more time, he would’ve loved to study that thing in depth. The Spiker Armor was conceptually based on the Heavy Suits they’d worn back in the First Volunteer. Heat-treated, interlocking steel plates covered most of the body to protect from bullets and shrapnel, and beneath that was thick, fire-resistant canvas to protect the skin from Torches’ flames or Iceboxes’ cold. The whole thing had been spray painted olive drab and tan, not for any particular reason, but it did fit with the traditional colors of the First. The suit weighed a ton, but it was a whole lot nicer than the rusty heap he’d worn while running across no man’s land back during the war. Not to mention that this thing was enchanted to hell and back with every spell that John Browning could fit onto it.
Sullivan pulled the helmet out of the box. “What the…” He turned it over in his hands. Somebody had sprayed the nearly featureless face mask a stark white, and then painted square black lines for teeth. The eyes were black holes anyway, so now the whole thing looked like a skull. “That’s ominous.” Who’d been screwing with his gear? He flipped it over. The artist had used a paint brush to put a small signature and a note on the base.
Now it has got class. A Lance Talon original, 1933.
“That joker.”
Faye popped into existence a second later. “Mr. Sullivan!” She rushed over and threw her arms around his neck.
Straw-colored hair hit him in the eyes. “Hey, Faye.” Careful not to squish her, he returned the hug. Then he pushed her away and held her carefully at arm’s length. “How in the hell are you alive? And where have you been?”
“Just now? Figuring out how all of magic really works so I can be stronger than the Chairman ever was. It’s all about folding the world into little chunks to make designs that do what you want. Before that, I had to kill somebody called the Black Monk, he acted all high and mighty like I’d know him as something something Rasputin, but he was evil so I killed him and got all his magic. But before that I was in Dead City talking to a zombie Fortune Teller who showed me how I’m probably gonna end the world, and before that I was hanging out with one of the elders so I could learn how to be the Spellbound without ending the world. I pretended to get blown up when I blew up the God of Demons so I could do that and not get murdered by the elders for being all cursed and whatnot. How about you? How’ve you been?”
“Not as good as you, apparently.” As usual, when talking to Faye, you sometimes had to take a minute to let all of the information sort of settle into a groove. “If I’m still alive later, you’ll have to explain all that to me nice and clear, like you have to with the real slow-witted folks.”
“Oh, Mr. Sullivan. Your brain ain’t slow. You just like taking your time before you open your mouth.”
“You heard about Lance?” Faye nodded. The skin around her grey eyes was puffy from crying. Even saying his name made those eyes get a little shiny before Faye blinked it away. “Well, I’m sure he did us all proud. You been told the plan?”
She nodded again. “I think it’s a bad plan, but I see why you’re doing it. They already say we’re the bad guys anyways. Might as well make it true.”