hulls, like long grey cigars, but the outer two were angled inward at the front, and the whole thing was covered in a housing of rooms, balconies, and glass enclosures, giving it an overall triangular shape. It was driven by twenty roaring engines, both lifted and fueled by hydrogen, and it would be crewed entirely by Actives.
The Imperium had not developed its airship technology as rapidly as the Americans, and when Madi had heard that their new flagship would be built by UBF, he'd been offended, but those thoughts were forgotten as he saw the gleaming beast coming toward them. Their Cogs would catch up. They'd even improved on UBF's original Kaga design by adding hydrogen-powered Peace Rays. It was only a matter of time until the Imperium was able to produce marvels like this at home but, in the meantime, the Chairman would ride in style.
'Da-nippon teikoku kaigun Tokugawa. It is called the Tokugawa, in honor of the Chairman's family name,' Hiroyasu said reverently.
'I thought you didn't name a ship after somebody until after they died?' the Grimnoir Healer said. 'Maybe we'll get lucky?' Toshiko slapped her to the deck for her insolence.
'He's immortal,' Madi said. 'We didn't feel like waiting around.'
The four-engine amphibious PBY Silverado biplane had flown west until the Presidio, then San Francisco, then finally the blackened coast had been lost. Sullivan watched out the rear window of the cargo plane until the final line of land disappeared, then moved forward to take his seat amongst the cargo headed for Pearl Harbor.
The Silverado would normally have an eight man crew, but none of the guns were mounted, so there were only four-the pilot, co-pilot, navigator, and engineer-and all of them had been specifically instructed by Major Arnold not to talk to the large man in civilian clothes. There were a few other passengers, soldiers being transferred to Hawaii, and they hadn't gotten the message.
'Where you headed?' the private sitting across from him asked, having to shout over the thunder of the props.
There were two soldiers. They had to be fresh out of training. Had he been that young once? He had lied about his age and volunteered for the First when he was seventeen years old, so it was sad to say that he probably had. 'Nowhere you need to know about,' Sullivan answered in a tone that suggested he just wanted to be left alone. He went back to looking out the port window and the soldiers returned to their conversation.
Pershing's memory had directed him to a man at the Presidio. The base had been on alert, and soldiers had been scrambling. The men at the gate had regarded Sullivan-dirty, coated in dried blood, clothing in shreds-with suspicion, glaring at him over the muzzle of a Colt Potato-Digger machine gun that had been thrown down behind a bunch of sandbags. He was glad that he'd detached the barrel from the '29 BAR and stashed it in his bag or they probably would have shot him. When he said that he had a message for a Major Arnold, they had sent a runner.
The major had taken him aside as soon as he said that Black Jack Pershing had sent him. Sullivan had repeated exactly the code words that had been left in his head. 'It's time to see the Pirate.'
'How's the weather?' the major had asked in return.
'Getting hotter,' Sullivan had responded as instructed. 'That's why we need the Weatherman.' The major's expression had turned grim but he had immediately given him a place to clean up and had sent someone to fetch him some food and a change of clothing. Thirty minutes later he'd showered, sucked down some bacon and eggs, along with a pot of coffee, and reported back to Arnold, who was busy coordinating men and supplies to the damaged area around Mar Pacifica.
When they were alone, the major had locked the door of his office and bid Sullivan to take a seat. 'I don't know what this is about, but I promised an old friend that if this day came, I'd help. I've got a Silverado leaving for Hawaii in twenty minutes. You'll be on it.' He reached into his desk and pulled out an envelope that had been sealed with wax. 'I'll instruct the Silverado to follow these orders, but they will not help you in any way other than to take you to your destination as part of a training mission. They will not cross into Imperial territory. They're a good crew, and they'll keep their mouths shut. I assume you know what to do next.'
'Yes, sir,' he answered, taking the envelope.
'Good, because I don't. The General could be a cryptic man at times. I'm assuming this has something to do with the Peace Ray.'
'Yes, sir.' Sullivan had picked up a morning paper on the way here and read the lies. 'Only it wasn't no anarchists like they're saying. It was the Imperium.'
'That's not my area, mister… I don't decide who to bomb, they just tell me where to drop them. But off the record, I'd say you're probably right. The anarchists they're laying this on couldn't find their own ass in the dark. I've been pressing to deal with those Imperials for a long time. But there're too many politicians, making too much money off them for that to happen.'
Sullivan nodded. That's why Pershing had given this man a piece of the puzzle. 'What's gonna happen?'
'Nobody wants another war,' the major said. 'I'm afraid people will believe whatever they want. I think they're fools. War's coming, no matter what we say. All I can do is make sure my little corner of this machine is ready to fight.' There was a knock on the door. 'Now if you'll excuse me, Mister man whose name I probably don't want to know… duty calls.'
Sullivan had returned his salute smartly. Duty calls.
The view out the window of the Silverado was breathtaking but his thoughts were elsewhere. Huge fuel tanks hung pendulous between the wings, pontoons even larger were below that. The ocean was dark blue as far as the eye could see. A dark shape came into slow focus as they drew near. It was an airship, and one of the biggest he'd ever seen. It was so far away that it was hard to make out details.
'What is that thing?' one of the soldiers asked.
'That? I read about that in the paper yesterday. That's the Imperium's new super airship. That Stuyvesant made a pretty penny off that pig I'd bet,' the other answered smartly. 'It's heading from Michigan out to Japan. I read the whole article.'
Sullivan watched the huge craft in the distance. His scalp prickled at the sight of the rising sun painted large on the outer hulls. These were the bastards who'd robbed him of Delilah-not the same bastards, but they worked for the same madman. Not that being angry did him a lick of good. The Silverado was unarmed, and that monster sure as hell wouldn't be. Major Arnold's men weren't about to start an international incident just because he was in a foul mood.
The biplane was parallel to the distant dirigible, but they were easily passing it and he realized that it was stationary. There was a glint of light reflecting off something metallic below it, and it took him a moment to realize that they were hovering over a ship. The Chairman's airship dwarfed the tiny vessel.
Why were they tethered to a cargo ship? Airships had to gas up, same as anything else, but why do it at sea when they'd just passed over land? 'Soldier… that article say if it ran off diesel?'
'No, siree, that thing's engines run off the hydrogen in its bags. UBF says it could fly nonstop all the way around the whole world if the wind was right. The crew has like a dozen Torches to watch for fire and its own Weatherman and-'
What else could they be picking up from a ship off the coast of San Francisco? That was brazen, even for his brother. There might not be anything he could do about it, but maybe somebody else could. Sullivan stood and lurched into the aisle. He caught the engineer midway up the cabin and grabbed the airman on the shoulder. 'I need to use your radio.' San Francisco, California Faye was swept up in the confusion as much as everyone else. Reporters had tried to take their picture when they got to the hospital, but Lance had swept her under his arm and gotten her inside with his wide-brimmed hat pulled down low over his face. 'Last thing we need is for people who think we're dead to know we're not,' he'd muttered. As Francis had gone by, the cameras had mysteriously broken and they'd retreated from the cursing reporters.
The hospital had been packed with injured. Several local churches had been pressed into service for the less serious burns and she heard that medical people were being brought in from all over the country. Heinrich told her that someone named Doctor Rosenstein was flying in from Chicago and that he'd personally see to Mr. Browning if they couldn't find a Healer.
The regular doctors had taken Mr. Browning away as soon as they arrived. Mr. Garrett had been taken to surgery. Lance had yelled at them about something, until they agreed to not sedate him while they tried to tend to his injuries. He also refused to part with his six-gun. 'If the police talk to you, you were a guest at Francis's house. Don't say nothing else.'
'I'll see to her, Mr. Talon,' Isaiah assured him. 'Please, go get yourself tended to. Please, Faye, have a seat
