All the same, The Serpent Rose gained on them. It seemed as though Wind Sabre was frozen in place, despite the bitter air buffeting her face.
Then movement from the Yu’Nyun ship caught her eye, the reflections of purple light sliding across its burnished surface as it changed direction. Once again envious of its closed hull, she watched as it descended in a straight line, down into the flotsam layer. The trash stirred around it, disturbed and displaced, sending shivers of movement in its wake. Good thing she’d already found the ring, or that little dip would have destroyed any accuracy in the coordinates she’d gotten from Jasper. The garbage would skitter and swirl around for days from that disturbance.
The starship’s arching dorsal fin cut through the wrecks and castoffs, the only thing visible as the ship became submerged in the detritus. Whatever business the aliens had with the Imperial ship, it had apparently been satisfied. Talis let out a breath. No doubt in her mind now. The aliens were looking for the ring, too.
Tisker navigated Wind Sabre through clusters of tiny islands that weren’t worthy of being mapped on the sky charts.
He’s hoping the Imperials catch one in the hull, she thought, amused. Or, better, in the lift envelopes.
But The Serpent Rose did not answer the challenge. She kept to her higher elevation, where the islands were big enough to spot, where she didn’t have to restrain her engines. Up where Wind Sabre needed to be if they wanted to take full advantage of their small ship’s handling and speed.
If we take the ship up at the right angle, we might not lose too much momentum, Talis thought. Just as the maneuver occurred to her, she felt the deck shift gently. Tisker was thinking on her level.
She looked back to the wheelhouse. Dug leaned out over the railing, communicating obstacles and the Imperial ship’s position back to Tisker, who remained focused on his controls.
With nothing else to do, Talis went below, to the galley where that mug of coffee sat waiting for her. But one cooled cup wouldn’t satisfy, and the ship’s activity had spilled some of it onto the counter. She put on another pot to boil.
The percolator, clamped to the tri-gimbaled stovetop in case of turbulence or eventful flying, seemed to take longer than usual to make the bitter brew. She paced, wishing the portholes in the galley provided the proper angle to watch their pursuers. Finally, the spurting sounds from the pot subsided, and she cut the flame. She poured, then carefully carried two mugs to the wheelhouse.
“Thanks, Cap.” Tisker didn’t reach for the mug she placed in the holder next to the control panel. Eyes set on the skies ahead of them, his normally easy smile put aside for the moment. Hands made small adjustments to the engines and the power outputs. His usual slouch had been replaced with a relaxed alertness, from the curve of his spine to the flex in his knees. When he was in pilot mode, nothing broke his concentration.
“Where you wanna bring us up?” Keeping out of the way along the railing, she leaned out from under the lift balloons enough to locate the shape of the Imperial ship as it cruised above them. Air rippled around all six of its thrusters, but there was no sign of strain on her lines. They’d caught a wind that filled their forward sail and took the pressure off their engines. The bastards weren’t even sweating.
Tisker turned on his usual careless smile long enough to respond. “I figure we give ’em an obstacle. Get us the chance to gain Horizon without being forced to come up right under them.”
He pointed out a dark blotch in the distance. Talis squinted at it, though by the light it blocked she knew instantly that it was an island big enough to hide them from view of their pursuers. If they angled the approach right, The Serpent Rose would have to navigate around the landmass, which would cost them some speed. Not to mention the proper angle for all but their forward cannons. If Tisker could get them up to Horizon altitude before The Serpent Rose could recover from the course correction, they could unfurl their stunsails, catch the slip winds, and try to rabbit.
She put a hand on Tisker’s shoulder and squeezed. Through the sleeve of his cotton jacket she felt the tension in his muscles. He nodded at her and put more power into the engines. Gave a lever the barest nudge, and Wind Sabre exhaled more steam into the lift balloon. Talis felt it pull against the shift in wind direction as the ship started to come up, and the engine hum increased its output to compensate for the resistance. Hopefully the adjustment would be smooth enough that the airship shadowing them wouldn’t get wise to what they were planning.
Wind Sabre was the first and only ship Tisker had ever piloted, but he came to it like a moth to flame. Stepped onto her deck with zero deference, just walked up the plank and ran his hands along the engine compartment amidship on his way aft to the wheelhouse. Talis caught him there and chased him off five times before he had the good sense to stand his ground and ask for a job. This lanky kid, in clothes that were too short for his adolescent limbs, with no Cutter prayerlocks in his filthy hair, and not one bit of spare fat on his bones.
Against her better judgment, she cleaned him up and fed him. Polished the natural-born pilot underneath.
The morning after he arrived, Talis had worried there’d be a whole street gang of orphans with their hands in her coffers, but she found only Tisker, curled up in a blanket around the wheel’s pedestal. He’d been too frightened to sleep in the
