Jake's voice spoke from the ear tubes. "Captain, we've sighted a large fire on the horizon off our port bow. I estimate it's where the Pure Blood coal mine is."
"The one by the railroad?"
"Aye. We're seeing big billowing flames over there. It doesn't look normal."
She shook her head to clear it of sleep. "No kidding? I'll come up."
It took a few moments to pull on clothing and splash water in her face from the small vanity unit bowl. Dressed and more or less awake, she headed for the flight deck.
"Captain on the bridge," Jake called.
"As you were. Great gods!" She stared at the yellow glare of light on the horizon. "There's trouble over yonder, all right."
Jake nodded. The light flared bright enough to show his face clearly. "We're on course to pass it by several miles."
Adena rubbed a thumb across her eyebrow. "I'm thinking we should do a fly-by, Jake, at least close enough to make out what's going on. Sound action stations."
He nodded. "Aye aye. Sound action stations." A crewman tripped the alarm switch, and the gondola resounded to the sound of bells. Adena heard feet pounding through the passageway as off-duty crew responded. Jake ordered the already dim red night-lights dimmed further then directed his attention to the helm. "Come about ten-degrees port rudder."
The helmsman acknowledged. Oculus Nightingale swayed beneath their feet as she began a long, leisurely turn. The blaze in the distance swung through a short arc until it hung almost in the center of the view forwards. The relay board aft on the flight deck chimed and small colored disks flipped over to show the battle stations reporting readiness.
Adena crossed to the port window array and put her head into the observation bay. Peering along the length of the gondola she saw the rotary cannon mounted halfway along the length swing slowly back and forth then up and down as the gun crew tested its traverse mechanism. A swift check the other side showed the starboard gun in similar readiness.
Jake checked the bearing. "Midships!" The airship steadied on course. He picked up a sextant and took a reading. "Here we have her, Captain. We should pass about a quarter-mile to the left of the fire and be well clear of the hills."
"Good work, Jake." Adena stepped over to the heavy brass binoculars suspended from a rail that ran around the flight deck roof. She adjusted the height and peered through them. "It looks like somebody torched a flylzem mound over there."
The miles slipped by. The blaze grew brighter. Adena fancied she could feel the heat of it on her face. The contrast between the dark silver-blue of the starlit sands and the bright yellow of the fire made her think of a picture she'd once seen, a copy of one painted by an Earth artist. Van something or other. I think he'd love to see this!
For a moment, Greg despaired. Everything seemed to come crashing down on him. I'm going to die here, on this freezing dark world, far from everyone and everything I've ever known. The bitterness of his fate weighed more than the rock he'd burrowed beneath in the mines. His knees almost buckled.
Then from some hidden depth within his soul, a small hot flame of defiance exploded into life. New strength surged through his limbs and he stood up, clenching his fist. "No!" He roared at the oncoming ogres. "If I'm to die here, I'll damned well go down fighting!"
Lumps of coal and rock had fallen from the carts over time, littering the slope. The ogres seemed lax about the debris, not even bothering to whip the slaves into clearing it up. Greg stooped, picked up a fist-sized rock and hurled it like a baseball at the oncoming host. It disappeared among them, and he thought he heard a yelp of pain. He swept up another rock and sent it after the first. Childhood memories of pitching from the mound at his local ballpark came to mind. I haven't lost the knack.
He found himself surrounded by his fellow escapees. Inspired by his example, they all grabbed and hurled rocks and lumps of coal until the air filled with flying missiles. The ogres stopped in their tracks and cowered under the barrage. Faced with such defiance they began to retreat down the slope.
Greg raised a rock in his fist. "At ‘em!"
The slaves raised a raucous cheer and tumbled down the slope. A few crossbow bolts slashed through the air and found marks. Men fell, but the slaves poured over the ogres, kicking, punching, grappling and biting.
Greg found himself in front of a brute the size of a dumptruck. It raised a vicious-looking halberd, ready to cleave him in two. He ducked, leaped, and slammed the rock into an evil yellow eye, pulping it instantly. The beast roared and clutched him about the waist. Greg felt his bruised ribs creak under the pressure, but his arms were still free and on a level with the beast's head. Desperately he swung the rock again and again at the ogre's temple until bone crunched. The beast collapsed, taking him down with it. Its enfolding arms fell away. Greg rolled clear.
Something sliced his shoulder as he tumbled, sending a sensation like ice through his body. He had fallen upon the ogre's halberd blade. Staggering upright, he picked up the weapon and leaned on it for a moment to recover.
The fight surged around him and spilled down the slope. His fellow slaves fought with every ounce of strength they possessed, but Greg sensed the battle wasn’t yet won. The ogres had been surprised, but they were big, tough, well-armed and well-fed — and the slaves weren't.
At his feet, the ogre groaned and rolled onto its side. Greg swung the halberd up and over his head, letting gravity and the heavy blade
