Jake Morrison's Arc

Chapter 51 of 54

The airship hovered above the shipyard the morning after its first flight. Jake stood on the flight deck and watched the crew wheel forty flying machines into place. Each one weighed thousands of pounds. The carrier had risen empty. It had never lifted with a full load. Below, the water stretched black and cold. If the lift propellers failed over the sea, the whole ship would drop, and every soul aboard would drown. Marcus climbed up from the engine bays, wiping grease from his hands. He'd rebuilt half these rotors himself. "The lift motors are rated for the weight," he said. "On paper. But paper doesn't know rust." He nodded at the seams along the hull. "We push off over water, and one motor stalls, we don't get a second try." Marisol arrived at the rail, tablet in hand, black hair pushed back. She'd designed the airship, and she trusted her numbers more than anyone. "Then we test it here," she said. "Over land. We load all forty machines, lift full, hold the hover. If she holds over the shipyard, she holds over the sea." Darrell came up the ramp last. Tall, calm, a clipboard under his arm. He'd led the enclave that built this ship. He looked at the loaded deck, then at the empty sky north of them. "We're going to have to take this chance," he said. "The tyrant builds his second fleet while we stand here. We test today or we never test at all." Jake gave the order. The crews chained the machines down tight. Marcus opened the lift motors to full throttle. The deck shuddered under Jake's boots. Steel screamed. The wheels lifted off the shipyard floor, and the whole carrier climbed with all forty machines aboard. At thirty feet the ship lurched. One rear motor coughed and dropped in pitch. The deck tilted. A flying machine strained against its chains. Marcus was already sliding down the ladder. "Fuel line!" he shouted. He cracked a valve, bled the air, and slammed it shut. The motor caught and roared back. The deck leveled. Jake held the hover for ten minutes. The ship groaned but did not fall. Then Marcus brought her down soft onto the shipyard. The wheels touched. Thirteen hundred people cheered from the yard below. The airship could carry the full load. It could fly to the fortress. Jake climbed down and faced his people. Two hundred men and women waited at the ramp with rifles and gear, ready to crew the machines and man the guns. Marisol stood beside him. "She's ready," she said. Jake looked north. Emery Heights lay two hundred fifty miles away. "Then we go now," he said. They boarded. The rotors spun up. The Skyborne Carrier lifted off the shipyard and turned north, two hundred fighters aboard, forty machines chained to her deck, bound for the tyrant's walls.