Behemoth

“Are we giving up the attack?” Alek asked in English.

“Of course not,” Mr. Hirst said. “Just changing course. I reckon we’ll ignore the Breslau for now and go after the big one. Just to make sure that other gyrothopter doesn’t trouble us with those sparklers.”

Alek listened to the thrum of the ship for a moment. The starboard engine was still running high, pushing the Leviathan into a slow turn toward the Goeben. The battle wasn’t over yet. More men would die tonight.

He looked back at the whirling gears of the engine. Klopp could halt them in a dozen subtle ways. One word from Alek would be enough to stop this battle.

But he’d promised Dylan to fight loyally. And after throwing away his hiding place, his Stormwalker, and his father’s gold to make these Darwinists allies, it seemed absurd to betray them now.

He knew Count Volger would agree. As heir to the throne of Austria-Hungary, Alek had a duty to survive. And survival in an enemy camp didn’t start with mutiny.

“What happens next?” he asked Hirst.

The chief engineer took the field glasses from Klopp. “We won’t waste any more time tearing up their signal flags, that’s for certain. We’ll probably go straight in with aerial bombs. A gyrothopter can’t stop those.”

“We’re going to bomb them,” Alek translated for Klopp. “They’re defenseless.”

The man just nodded, adjusting the controls. The signal patch was turning red again. The Leviathan had found her course.

THREE

It took long minutes to close the final distance to the Goeben.

The ship’s big guns boomed once, spilling fire and smoke into the night sky. But Mr. Hirst was right—the shells flew well beneath the Leviathan, erupting into white columns of water kilometers away.

As the Leviathan drew closer, Alek watched the German ship through the field glasses. Men scrambled across the ironclad’s decks, hiding her small guns under what looked like heavy black tarps. The coverings shone dully in the last flickers of sunset, like plastic or leather. Alek wondered if they were made of some new material strong enough to stop flechettes.

But no plastic could stop high explosives.

The men on the ironclad hardly seemed worried, though. No lifeboats were readied, and the second gyrothopter stayed on its catapult, the rotors strapped down against the wind. Soon it too was veiled with a glossy black covering.

“Young master,” Klopp said, “what’s happening on her aft deck?”

Alek swung the field glasses, and saw lights flickering atop the ironclad’s strange metal tower.

He squinted harder. There were men working at the tower’s base, dressed in uniforms made from the same shiny black that covered the deck guns. They moved slowly, as if encased in a fresh layer of tar.

Alek frowned. “Take a look, Master Klopp. Quickly, please.”

As the old man took the field glasses, the flickering lights grew brighter—Alek could see them with his naked eyes now. Shimmers slid along the struts of the tower, like nervous snakes made of lightning.…

“Rubber,” Alek said softly. “They’re protecting everything with rubber. That whole tower must be charged with electriks.”

Klopp swore. “I should have realized. But they only showed us toys and demonstration models, never one that huge!”

“Models of what?”

The old man lowered the glasses. “It’s a Tesla cannon. A real one.”

Alek shook his head. “As in Mr. Tesla, the man who invented wireless? You mean that’s a transmitting tower?”

“The same Mr. Tesla, young master, but it’s not a transmitter.” Klopp’s face was pale. “It’s a weapon, a lightning generator.”

Alek stared in horror at the shimmering tower. As Dylan often said, lightning was an airship’s natural enemy. If raw electriks flowed across the airship’s skin, even the tiniest hydrogen leak could burst into flame.

“Are we in range yet?”

“The ones I’ve seen could hardly shoot across a room,” Klopp said. “They only tickled your fingers or made your hair stand on end. But that one’s huge, and it’s got the boilers of a dreadnought to power it!”

Alek turned to Mr. Hirst, who was watching their conversation with an air of disinterest, and said in English, “We have to come about! That tower on the aft deck is some kind of … lightning cannon.”

Mr. Hirst raised an eyebrow. “A lightning cannon?”

“Yes! Klopp has worked with the German land forces. He’s seen these things before.” Alek sighed. “Well, toy ones, anyway.”

The chief engineer peered down at the Goeben. The electriks were sparkling brighter now, unfolding into spidery forms that danced along the tower’s struts.

“Can’t you see?” Alek cried.

“It is rather odd.” Mr. Hirst smiled. “But lightning? I doubt your Clanker friends have mastered the forces of nature just yet.”

“You have to tell the bridge!”

“I’m sure the bridge can see it well enough.” Hirst pulled a command whistle from his pocket and blew a short tune. “But I shall inform them of your theory.”

“My theory?” Alek shouted. “We don’t have time for a debate! We have to turn around!”

“What we’ll do is wait for orders,” Mr. Hirst said, dropping the whistle into his pocket.

Alek swallowed a groan of frustration, then turned back to Klopp.

“How long do we have?” he said in German.

“Everyone’s cleared the deck, except for those men in protective suits. So it could be any moment.” Klopp lowered the glasses. “Full reverse on this engine will turn us around fastest.”

“Full reverse from full ahead?” Alek shook his head. “You’ll never make that look like an accident.”

“No, but I can make it look like my own idea,” Klopp said, then grabbed Alek by the collar and shoved him hard to the floor. As Alek’s head cracked against the metal deck of the engine pod, the world went starry for a moment.

“Klopp! What in blazes are you—”

The shriek of gears drowned out Alek’s words, the whole pod shuddering in its frame around him. The air suddenly stilled as the propeller sputtered to a halt.

“What’s the meaning of this!” cried Hirst.

Alek’s vision cleared, and he saw Klopp brandishing a wrench at the chief engineer. With his free hand the old man deftly shifted the engine into reverse, then pushed the foot pedal down.

The propeller sputtered back to life, drawing air backward across the pod.

“Klopp, wait!” Alek began. He tried to stand, but his head spun, and he fell back to one knee.

Blazes! The man had actually hurt him!

Hirst was blowing on his whistle again—a high-pitched squeak—and Alek heard a hydrogen sniffer howling in response. Soon a pack of the ugly creatures would be thundering down upon them.

Alek pulled himself up, reaching out for the wrench. “Klopp, what are you