by Phylis Huldarsdottir

Cast of Characters (Partial):

Captain Lydia Cheése (pronounced “Chase”), Airship Commander for Aerosud, a luxury liner airship company based out of São Paulo in the Empire of Brazil, who is searching for her father, Commodore Jack Cheése, an outlaw and antigovernmental rabble rouser.

 

Professor Doctor Jean-Pierre Serre-Pain, proprietor of Madame Ophelia’s Ophidiarium, a traveling snake show, who has abducted Lydia to get her to pilot an illegal unregistered airship to HOAR (the Horn Of Africa Republic) on a mission of mercy in exchange for helping her find her father.

Serpina, a young girl who serves as Serre-Pain’s assistant and snake handler and who is also a psychic Vessel.

 

Vlady, an older bearlike man also in the employ of Madame Ophelia’s Ophidiarium and a traveling circus strongman Lydia recognizes from her past.

Pyare, a young man with dreams of being an airship pilot, and member of LBFDS (the League Bousculier Francaise Du Sud) helping Lydia and Serpina rendezvous with Serre-Pain and Vlady at an illegal airship.

 

Pax Victoriana, a period of peace imposed by the Clockwork Commonwealth and its enforcement arm, The Admiralty, dating from the beginning of Queen Victoria’s reign to the present for a total of 180 years which includes the TSR (Temporal Shift Realignment) of 56 PV (1893 AD) after which Commonwealth calendars where recalibrated to reflect Her Royal Majesty’s peaceful rule (following the devastation of the first Pandem and its resurgence 30 years later as Pandem II).

Chief Inspector Karla Kola, head of the IOTA squad charged with capturing Commodore Jack Cheése and Lydia’s nemesis and pursuer.

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Chapter XXII

Lydia Cheése, Airship Commander, cast an eye across the small fenced courtyard cluttered with an array of rusted hulks and parts to land conveyances. The chaos was reflective of the way she saw her own predicament, also chaotic. She had been abducted into this other world less than two weeks earlier. She had been grasping at straws in finding ways to reach her father. She was desperate, and that straw had floated her up the Loire to Oldest Orleans, from whose ramshackle suburbs she was trying to flee. Now she was looking at sorry excuses for transportation. That wasn’t the only thing that made her heart race. There was no telling how soon the two policemen they had overcome and trussed up would be discovered and raise the alarm.

Serpina stood off to one side as Pyare pushed open the iron door to the large rusted metal shed with broken windows replaced by the thick webs of the gallows spiders and a faded sign that read “Steam Is Clean. There was the stink of lubricant and bio sludge among the innards of bio drives tinged with surviving colonies, some as large as a hand, iridescent, and imploded bio batteries leaking a pale florescent coral ready to burst at a touch like giant puff ball mushrooms.

The door to the shop groaned open. In the dark unlit space, Lydia recognized the shiny bulk of the heavy transport SLOT, the Spring Loaded Overland Transport. The spring turbine took up two thirds of the triple track axles giving the vehicle its wedge shape. They were notoriously slow and she couldn’t imagine outrunning police flitters or even their bio boosted velos in one of them.

Pyare must have read her thoughts, or perhaps Serpina had read them and transmitted them to him. He yanked at a tarp to uncover the double wheeled SLOT V model. It was an updated version of the ones she remembered from the SLOT V races she attended when she was enrolled at the Admiralty Air Academy. Often her fellow cadets would compete on the tarmac in the shadows of the large dirigible pens. That had been long ago, forever, it seemed. This particular SLOT with the magnetic torque rewinder could be quite fast. It still looked like a segmented bug with the seat and wide handlebars in front of its oversized turbine.

“There’s only one problem.” Pyare made a face. “It can only carry two.”

“Yes, Serpina and myself.”

“You won’t be able to traverse the Massif without my help. And there are the Clans.” At Lydia’s frown, he added, “And have you ever driven a SLOT V? It can be pretty tricky.”

Something had caught her eye otherwise she would have made a point of decisively correcting his assumptions with a litany of her accomplishments on spring loaded velos. She had made out the shape of the hoop behind a stack of boxes and shelving. It had been a while since she’d seen one or even thought of them, an item from her youth in São Paulo, competing in the Junior Brazilian Monoroda League tournaments, a monowheel. She strode closer to get a better look. The gilded letters of its manufacturer said it was a Hemming. She glanced over her shoulder at Pyare, “Does the monowheel still run?”

Pyare laughed, “It does if you want a broken arm. Or head.” When Lydia continued to move the large wheel out from behind the clutter, “Only maniacs can ride that thing. And Doyle, the guy who owns this shop, is the only maniac I know who’s been able to stay in the saddle for more than a kilometer!”

“Too bad I can’t show you my first place trophy from the LBJM, Liga Brasileira Júnior de Monoroda. My ability to steer one of these was one of the factors that qualified me for the Air Academy. An Airship is a snap compared to these contraptions.” All of a sudden she felt elated, here was something she could control and it solved their problem. “Serpina can ride with you and I will follow on the mono.”

Lydia rolled the wheel out into the courtyard. The seat had collected dust and some harmless mold, the kickstand resisted at first but finally sprung loose to prop the monowheel up so that she could examine it more closely. The gyro gear was stiff and she had to give it a few turns before it responded. The traction hub looked well lubricated. And the ratchet lever on the spring mount took a few kicks before the key began to wind. She straddled the seat within the hoop of the wheel, gripped the handlebars and released the clutch. The monowheel leapt forward like an eager colt.

Chapter XXIII

There had to be a plan. Lydia insisted. Mere setting out across open country in the belief that they would arrive in Autre Lyons without a map or a guide was folly. What were the expectations of success without proper planning? Her Academy training was showing. First, how many klicks would they have to cover?

Pyare said he had heard of a man who had traveled the distance in two days, dawn to dusk. The man had been shown the secret path by an old clansman, an ancient track traveled by the local inhabitants for hundreds, even thousands, of years.

The Massif had been spared the infestations that had devastated the countryside to the Northwest, a vast area now under the governance of the Clockwork Commonwealth since the very first viral bio infestation, more than a hundred years ago, and administered from Greater London, the seat of the Crown and the Admiralty. Every country that had been afflicted was in some way indebted to the Commonwealth for its quick work in staunching and containing the spread of the toxic bacteria. Large tracts of land around the world, some the size of small countries, bore the scars of these vast deserts. Some blamed the weather patterns and, of course, bio pollution. It was learned only too late that the biologic solution to stopping the spread of the plague on photosynthetic life acted as well as a petro-phage, reducing much of the world’s underground oil wealth to mere brackish water, coal veins collapsing to dust, mountains crumbling, sink holes undermining, entire villages swallowed up by the earth.

The great devastation occurred worldwide leaving large swaths unlivable and even contaminated. The countryside suffered the most and then the urban centers suffered from the influx of refugees. There were food shortages as once arable land had been rendered barren. And riots. It was brutal. Many many people lost their lives to the “human epidemic” as it was sometimes called. What humans did to each other was madness in the service of survival.

The Clockwork Commonwealth under the direction of the Queen and the Admiralty had signed an agreement with most of the world’s countries and independent states, including the Empire of Brazil and its subsidiary clients on the African continent, but particularly those of the Northern Hemisphere affected by the worst loss of territory—the snow dunes of Siberia, the dead lands of subarctic Canada, the wastelands of St. Louis, the Missouri breaks, and the Mississippi trickle—that they would work together to never allow a situation like that to develop again. But all that was ancient history.

“But of course, some areas like the Massif have survived.” It was almost like Serpina was reading her mind. “And because it has survived, it has become a special property, frozen in time by governmental edict, penetrable but impenetrable. People have been known to disappear travelling through the Massif, never to be seen again. Nothing has changed there in over a hundred years, probably even longer, eons perhaps. It is populated with robbers and thieves, poachers, secret blood thirsty cults, and peasants.”

“Don’t believe what you’ve heard about the Massif. Most of the horror stories are put out by those who live there. They don’t want people nosing about, especially refugees.” Pyare shrugged, “And they don’t like strangers—can’t say I blame them.”

“Then how do you propose to cross this so-called hostile terrain. We can’t very well fly over it.” Although at that very moment, Lydia wished that she could. She was a sky pilot, her feet did not belong on the ground.

“There’s something else. I need to find something else to wear. This makeshift skirt will not last long on the monowheel. I need trousers!”

Serpina giggled.

Pyare quipped, “Yes, I was wondering about your Frida the Fearless outfit. Is it some kind of costume?”

“Your trousers!”

Serpina laughed out loud.

Pyare smiled at Serpina and Lydia, and then stopped. “You’re serious.”

Chapter XXIV

Lydia slipped into Pyare’s trousers. The urgency of their plight didn’t leave any room for argument thought that certainly was the young man’s intent, Serpina had laid a hand on his arm at his first objection. The legs were long and required a few upward turns to clear the ankles of her heavy real leather boots. The belt with the large brass clasp depicting Frida the Fearless cinched her waist waspishly. “This is real wool? Not lab manufactured?” She ran her hands over her hips. “Rough but with. . .substance. I will return them when I can find suitable exchange, perhaps when we arrive in Autre Lyons.” She folded the hood of the burnoose back keeping it fastened at the neck and over the shoulders of her snakeskin jacket. She fit the bullet shaped helmet she had found under the seat compartment, along with the gauntleted gloves, on her head.

Pyare had to be satisfied with the saggy stained coveralls that belonged to the mechanic who was shorter and not as slim. He glared at Lydia as he seated himself on the SLOT V with Serpina mounting behind him. “You look formidable.”

Lydia touched two fingers to her temple in salute and bade him to go ahead with a wide but grim smile. “You don’t look so bad yourself.” She was referring to the dark purple tugglemus he’d wrapped around his head. A large shop smock engulfed his makeshift outfit making him seem larger, intimidating. The turbine whined straining against the clutch before the SLOT V shot out onto the road

She eased the monowheel forward to follow them. It was going to be a bumpy challenge considering the road’s patchwork of pavements and pot holes. The monowheel was designed for the smooth surface of the racing tracks in the velodromes. She had rarely taken one out of the stadium, and then only her great skill had averted any spills, the centers of gravity so unpredictable but she finally got the wobbles under control. She raced to catch up with Pyare and Serpina who had disappeared around a curve on the road ahead. Leaning into the turn, she felt it. What it was like to be in full control as a singular force of being and machine returning as a visceral memory. How old had she been then? That ambition and that drive, a certain recklessness. It had been tucked away, a memento of a transition into life as a cadet in the air academy, graduating as a lighter than air pilot with a gold medal in the close combat competition, and her term of service as an ensign with the Admiralty at the embassy in Greater Houllas, the capitol of the United Slave State Republics, during the Bushwacker’s Insurrection. Her installation as a pilot with the Aero Sud fleet upon her release from service. And soon, as had been planned by her mother and aunts, she wed.

In no time, Lydia had sight of Pyare and Serpina as they were emerging out into the countryside, leaving behind the sparsely populated edges of Outer Orleans. Now the roads followed the contours of the terrain. Terraced knolls and fields were covered with bio tents where workers tended the rows in wide straw hats. The original plan had been to join one of these labor gangs as a way out of Oldest Orleans. Until Chief Inspector Karla Kola, her nemesis from their Air Academy days, and whose Russair team she had helped defeat in the close combat competitions, showed up at the checkpoint with a squad of her IOTA agents. At least now they were well away from the city. But by now the police were likely on the alert, and they had become fugitives and refugees. The road sped past tangles of growth reclaiming the ground where houses sat abandoned. The few heavy transports, steamers or the lumbering cargo SLOTS, were easily overtaken and passed without peril. She was feeling comfortable in her monowheel, still alert to any quirks, like the gyro ratio always needed adjustment, especially after navigating curves. But it had the requisite power. At one point in the road, a stretch that ran like a straight line to the horizon, she sped up and passed Pyare with the wave of her gloved hand. He glared back at her grimly, Serpina, a beatific smile on her lips, her head pressed against the young man’s back, arms secured around his waist, and holding on like she was riding on a cloud.

Lydia’s sense of triumph didn’t last. The wheel was losing speed, the rotations slowing like the spring had come unwound. A peculiar odor said the power pack under the seat had overheated. She should have checked the coolant before they set off. But this model usually had an auxiliary. Unless it had been cannibalized. She hated dealing with chemistry. She came from a family of scientists and doctors. A lot of her Academy mates had gone into industrial bioengineering when they couldn’t pass the flight requirements but elected to stay in the Navair sector. She would have just as soon joined the circus, like her mother, than become an airship drive chemists. They all had God complexes.

Pyare screeched to a stop. He wasn’t gloating. “A good thing you stopped.” He pointed further down the road. “Serpina says we’ve gone too far. Something’s there, beyond those trees. Something lurking.”

“Lurking?”

Serpina nodded solemnly. “Yes, I feel it. Anxiety. Elation. Fear. Rage.”

“Possibly police, a checkpoint?”

Pyare nodded. “Possibly. Or a farmer’s market. Either way we don’t want to take any chances.” He pointed behind them, “There’s a road a few klicks back. It leads to an old abandoned chapel. We can hide the slot and the wheel there. Then we walk.”

Lydia nodded in agreement, staring at the open drive compartment. The odor of the power pack spelled trouble. “The pack is baked. I have to change it out. If there is an auxiliary.”

Pyare dismounted, the spring of his velo whining at the restraint. “Doyle always kept one.” He opened a compartment on the inside rim of the wheel behind the seat. He reached in and held up a charged power pack wrapped in a coolant net. He pulled back when Lydia reached for it. “Let me do it.” He yanked the pungent spent pack out with the thongs set in the compartment door. It crackled when it hit the ground. The auxiliary unit fit snuggly and engaged immediately, the wheel chain spinning with new energy.

Reversing course, Lydia followed close behind the slot velo and considered their future prospects. Walking would require energy and unlike the monowheel they didn’t have auxiliary packs for themselves. How were they going to cross the Massif on foot without food or drink? Pyare had liberated a few bio power bars from the mechanic’s pantry that smelled as unappetizing as they looked. Still, the future looked bleak as if they were staring into an abyss of uncertainty. The path she was on had started out of concern for her fugitive antigovernment father, Commodore Jack Cheése, and now she had become a fugitive as well, pursued by agents of IOTA. Soon enough, they arrived at the turn off and the rugged road to the abandoned chapel. There was something else she didn’t care for and there wasn’t anything she could do about it. Dark ominous clouds had rushed across the sky and blocked the light of the already hazy sun. It was going to rain.

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Next Time: The Clans of the Massif