The Void’s Fury
by Doug Langille
Act 1
Chapter 1
#The Void’s Fury
A dystopian steampunk adventure about a sky captain’s obsession with his quest to find mankind’s new home, risking his crew and his own humanity
2015-09-27-into-the-void
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id: 1487
title: Into the Void
date: 2015-09-27T22:46:34+00:00
author:
- Doug Langille
layout: post
guid: http://douglangille.ca/into-the-void/
permalink:
- /into-the-void/
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post_date:
- 2015-09-27 21:00:00
post_excerpt:
-
categories:
- Writings
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***Date: September 27, 1491 SCE
(Second Current Era)***
“Sky Captain,” said Willem. He’d been a stellar First Mate. How long have we been a-flight? Four, no, five years?
“Yes, Number One.” Family. Not crew. We were family. “Report.”
“Sir, the aft-port propellor is running slow. And the rudder-sail is torn again. Khang has climbed out to fix the tack.”
I nodded slowly. If all things went well, we’d only have to make it a few more days. A week, tops.
“Good work, Willem. Our vector is paramount. We don’t have fuel enough for circles.”
“About that, Captain.” The man dropped his gaze. This wasn’t the time for timidity.
“Spit it out, man,” I said.
“Shale. We only have a couple carbuoys left.”
Liquid shale was both a blessing and a curse. Light and clean, it did the job. It just burned too quickly.
“We used fifty-three percent more than normal avoiding that fiery thunderclap of a storm.”
“Fifty-three?”
“It’s an estimate, Sir. Rough math.”
I smirked to myself. Everyone had their talents on this ship. I handpicked them myself. Willem made a fine Engineer and Cartographer. Good thing. We lost many crew this tour. Too many.
“Recommendations?” I asked.
“Captain, a couple. First, we should slow the other turbines to match the sluggish one. And… You’re not going to like this, Sir.”
“And?”
“We need to descend z-minus 450 feet. Save on fuel. Keep the balloons as cool as we dare. Just enough to stay aloft.”
This wasn’t good. “That’ll put us below the ceiling as we hit Saragossa,” I said quietly.
“Yes, Sir. The Bermuda Triangle.” Willem’s voice cracked as he named our foe, but he stood his ground in front of me. Good.
There wasn’t a whole lot to say. All children knew the stories. About before the seas boiled away in the last Great War. Ships disappearing in mighty storms. I’d dream that the wasteland below was a vast ocean and the dunes were waves. I still do.
“I share your trepidation, Willem. But those legends are more than a millennia ago. We always knew we’d have to cross this void to get to Mericka.”
“Do you believe she’s still there?”
“Of course I do. I have to. For all of our sakes.”
Another dream. Water. A vast lake. Deep beneath the western continent of Mericka, abandoned so long ago. They called her Georgia. She would save us. Nurture us. Like a mother.
I rested my hand on Willem’s shoulder. “Lower the ship, Mate. And bring everyone below deck. Those clouds look darksome. Another duststorm approaches.”
Maybe we’d make it. Maybe not.
We have to try.
Photo by Jonathan Kos-Read
The Sky Captain always rose early to greet the dawn. Perhaps this would be the day they’d see the Sun again. He smiled at the irony. Such blaze and fire were cruel crosses to bear in this world, but he’d welcome a single glimpse.
He carefully dried the dampness of his morning wash. A luxury, for certain, but even he had his conceits. Water was eternally scarce in the Atlantic, but this dust storm threatened them all. He shivered.
Stefan handed him a bruised metal cup, steaming with Sailor’s Brew. The young man had been there a while.
Sky Captain took a sip and raised an eyebrow at his ward.
“From the cold reserve, Sir,” said Stefan proudly. “I warmed it on one of the shale burners.”
“Thank you. What is the hour?”
“Zero three-thirty, Sir,” he said. “As best we can tell.”
“That’s early. Has the storm passed?”
“Aye, Sir. An hour ago. It’s just–”
“What is it, Stefan?”
“The stars are gone.”
The Sky Captain strode to the porthole and peered out. Blackness. He handed the mug back to Stefan. “Come,” he said and ascended the ladder to the deck.
Indeed, the sky was calm. And the stars had vanished.