Goliath

shock wave after shock wave, as if a giant were staggering past. Alek’s vision blurred with every pulse, and he heard the windows shattering all around him.

He called out Volger’s name, but the trembling air itself seemed to shred the sound apart. The smoke thinned as the smell of salt water rolled in through the broken windows, and Alek staggered toward the nearest one, his lungs crying out for fresh air. His boots skidded, shards of glass cutting him through his burned boot soles. But at least he could breathe.

He stared up at Goliath looming over the compound. The pulsing beat beneath his feet was echoed in the crackles of electricity coursing the tower’s length. The whole machine was bursting with power, and Alek realized what he’d done….

Goliath was like a steam boiler under pressure. It was ready to fire, but he had stopped Tesla from loosing the massive energies building up inside it. The chimneys were still spitting smoke, the generators sending more power to the already brimming capacitors. As Alek watched, he saw more windows shattering across the compound.

In the middle of it all, the German corvette stood over the wreckage of the Pinkerton walker. It had torn two of the smaller machine’s legs off, and seemed to be performing a bizarre victory dance. Its legs were shivering, its body lurching back and forth.

Then Alek saw the webs of lightning on its metal skin—the walker’s control systems had been addled by the wild energy that was setting the air aquiver. He looked into the sky.

The Leviathan itself was glowing, like a cloud catching the setting sun. The airship’s cilia were rippling, slowly pulling it away, but the engines were silent, their electrikals also overwhelmed.

Would the hydrogen catch fire? Alek grasped the edge of the window, hardly feeling the broken glass against his palms.

“Deryn,” he sobbed. Anything but this.

Then another shape loomed in the distance, something huge lurching over the horizon. It was the first walker, four times the size of the corvette, a tattered German naval jack fluttering from its spar deck. The machine was advancing slowly, its two right legs swinging uselessly. But the kraken-fighting arms were flailing at the ground, dragging the walker across the dunes as though it were a dying beast.

Alek wondered for a moment how its electrikals hadn’t shorted yet, but then the walker stumbled onto the tangled metal of the perimeter fence, and a circuit was completed. A single jittering finger leapt from the nearest small tower, striking an upraised kraken-fighting arm of the German machine.

The lightning from the other towers followed, their built-up charges hungry for a way out, and within an eyeblink five streams of electricity were pouring into the huge water-walker. The machine shuddered for a moment, its limbs rattling mindlessly as sparks swept across its metal skin. The air itself tore open in one long peal of thunder. The scrub trees around the walker burst into flame, the white fire consuming even the soil and sand beneath it.

The ammunition magazines must have caught then. The walker began to shake harder, and jets of fire burst from its hatches. Flames spat from the smokestacks as the fuel tanks caught all at once, and black smoke roiled out of the engine vents.

When the thudding of explosions had finally faded, Alek could hardly hear, but he could feel that the trembling beneath his feet was gone. The control room behind him was dark and silent, save for dazed human voices. Goliath had expended itself on the German walker.

Alek looked up again. The Leviathan’s glow was fading, the airship whole and alive with all its crew.

He shook with another sob, sinking to one knee and realizing that the survival of that one ship—one girl, really—had been for a moment more important than the war itself, or a city’s millions. Then the wind shifted, and Alek breathed in the burnt-meat smells that filled the room behind him.

Important enough for him to kill a man, it seemed.

FORTY-ONE

In their infinite wisdom, the Admiralty approved Alek’s medal for bravery in the air on the very same day the United States entered the war.

The timing seemed suspicious to Deryn, and of course the medal wasn’t for anything useful, like shutting down Tesla’s weapon to save the Leviathan. Instead Alek was to be decorated for blundering about on the ship’s topside during a storm, and for his great skill in falling over and knocking himself silly. That was the Admiralty for you.

But at least it meant that the Leviathan was headed back to New York, and she would see Alek one last time.

After fighting the German water-walkers on Long Island, the airship had been invited to Washington, DC. There the captain and his officers had testified before the Congress, whose members were debating how to respond to this outrageous attack on American soil.

It took a bit of droning and dealing, but finally the case was made that the Germans had gone too far, and Darwinist and Clanker politicians voted together to join the war. Already young men were swarming the enlistment offices, clamoring to go and fight the kaiser. As the Leviathan headed north, the streets below were choked with flags and parades and newsboys shouting war.

Deryn was on the bridge when a second message from London arrived, this one marked Top Secret.

She’d healed enough to put her cane aside, but Deryn hadn’t dared the ratlines yet. She spent her time assisting the officers and Dr. Barlow. Being stuck in the gondola was still dead annoying, but bridge duty had taught Deryn more than a bit about how the Leviathan was run.

It would all be quite useful, if she ever got to command an airship herself.

The messenger eagle arrived just as the skyscrapers of New York City came into sight, on the day Alek was to receive his medal. The beastie shot past the bridge windows, then angled to the bird port on the starboard side.

The watch officer called out a moment later, “For Dr. Barlow’s eyes only, sir.”

The captain turned to Deryn and nodded.

She saluted him, then made her way to the lady boffin’s stateroom with the message tube in hand. It rattled a bit.

Her knock was answered by Tazza whining from inside, which Deryn took as permission to go in.

“Afternoon, ma’am. Message from London for you.” She squinted at the writing on the tube. “From a P. C. Mitchell.”

The lady boffin looked up from a book. “Ah, at last. Please open it.”

“Begging your pardon, ma’am, but it says ‘Top Secret.’”

“I’m sure it does. But you have proven yourself adept at keeping secrets, Mr. Sharp. Proceed.”

Her loris chuckled, then said, “Secrets!”

“Aye, ma’am.” Deryn pulled open the message tube. It contained a single piece of translucent avian-mail paper scrolled around a small felt bag with something tiny and hard inside.

She unrolled the paper and read, “‘Dear Nora, it is as you suspected: iron and nickel, with traces of cobalt, phosphorous, and sulfur. All quite natural in formation.’ And it’s signed, ‘Regards, Peter.’”

“Just as I thought,” the lady boffin sighed. “But too late to save him.”

“Save who?” Deryn asked, but then realized the obvious—Nikola Tesla was the only person who’d needed saving lately. No one knew exactly what had happened the night he’d died. But it was fairly certain that the great