Pick-up On Hill 136
Vincent Hardin had just started to drift off when there was a heavy knock at the door. The small room made the sudden noise waking him much more startling. “What is it?” He said, swinging his feet to the floor.
A voice muffled by the thick wooden door answered. “Captain Groves wants you to grab your things and meet him at the dispatch office.”
With protests running through his tired mind, he pulled the door open and looked at the runner. “You know what this is about?”
“Sounded to me like you guys got a mission.” With her message delivered, the young girl took off, disappearing into the misty night.
In his full uniform and travel bag draped on one shoulder, Hardin walked across the stone ground of the Falcons Perch Relay Station. The sky was bright with moonlight illuminating the puffy clouds overhead. Some of the moisture had descended, leaving a thin layer of fog near the ground.
Arriving at the dispatch office and nodding to the attendant at the front desk, Hardin walked back into the operations theater. An old man, wearing the uniform and badge of an airship captain, stood talking with the station’s supervisor. Hardin stopped two steps into the room and waited for his Captain. Across the room, radio operators sat at their stations raised a half level above the main floor. A large map of the continent, containing a wide array of geographical features, other relay stations, the coastal cities and numbered hills, dominated the adjacent wall. The soft, serious hum of activity in the operations theater took on its own life, which knew not the hour. The conversation broke up and Captain Groves walked towards Hardin with a package tucked under one arm and a small envelope in the other hand.
“So, who did we upset to get an extra run thrown at us in the middle of the night?” Hardin asked quietly as they left.
“No mail this time. This is a special run, a pickup.”
“You are their favorite to send on special errands.”
“Ehh… You grab the new kid and I’ll get Franks. We can take off as soon as we are ready,” Groves said.
“Aye, Aye.” The two exited the dispatch office and pealed off in different directions.
Hardin and the new pilot reached the airship dock just as a section of clouds parted, spilling moon beams onto the circular stone perch. The dock held eight airships, all moored around the perimeter. When the two got within one hundred meters of their ship, The Lost Shadow, they found they were the last to arrive. Their night vision was interrupted by the sudden lighting of the airship, reveling its relatively small passenger and cargo carriage that hung forward and beneath the large cigar shape of the lighter-than-air envelope. As the two walked under the stabilizing fins at the tail of the craft, Captain Groves appeared at the top of the loading ramp.
“Move it, Long, you got a ship to fly!”
Five minutes later, after running through pre-flight checks, the pilot announced that the ship was ready to depart. While the Captain radioed in for clearance with dispatch, Hardin checked in with the pilot.
“So, tonight we have no payload, and with us being so much lighter, your controls are going to be much more responsive.”
“Got it, “ Long said. “This is my first real night mission, so when we fly by a pylon, I need to pull down my blue filter?”
“Yes, at least one kilometer out. They react brightly through the blue. Other than that, treat it like any other run,” Hardin said.
“What are we doing anyway? Search and rescue?”
“The Captain will brief us on the way to the pylon.”
Captain Groves flicked on the intercom, which ran back to the hold and down to the engine room.
“You got me down there, Franks?”
“Go ahead Captain.”
“Alright, mission brief.” The old man cleared his throat and pulled a sheet of paper from the envelope he was given earlier. “We are to precede to the south pylon and plot a course 3086 mils taking us to Hill 136. We are to set anchor and wait to pick up one male passenger. We will then precede along 2763 mils to Inleaf City Station and await further assignment,” Groves said concluding his brief.
“And hopefully get a day off for this mess,” Franks piped up from the intercom.
Captain Groves grunted a half-hearted approval. “First officer, supervise course acquisition from the pylon. I’m going down the hole to get a cup of coffee.”
“Aye, Aye Sir.”
The long tan airship slid up through the clouds like a rocket in slow motion. Now, running along the top of the cloud deck, the pilot lowered the blue filter screen on the forward windshield. Sailing over the mounds of clouds and steering clear of the stiletto peaks of rock on which moisture hung, Long waited to glimpse the pylon.
Hardin took a seat behind the pilot and waited. He knew just when the pylon would come in range. He had spent his time in Longs chair and knew all the routes by heart.
“I have it,” Long said as the red lights of the pylon reacted with the blue, leaving a strong purple glow on the horizon.
“Time for a lesson,” Hardin announced. “How do you make up time on a run? What if you don’t have time to go all the way to a marker to plot a course? These were common problems for airships back in the war. One smart captain caught on and used math to come up with something called a ‘combat shortcut.’ Old timers still pull this maneuver off, but it is no longer taught to new pilots, as they rather have you do things the right way every time.”
Long nodded, keeping his eyes on his task.
“Estimate your distance to the pylon.”
“Um… I guess I’d say, about two kilometers?”
“Bad guess,” Hardin said. “You can do better. Don’t guess, just tell me the distance.”
“Ok,” Long said. “One point seven kilometers.”
“Alright. Swing over to the plotting station,” Hardin instructed. “Now, you are going to knock off a tenth for our current speed. Our last known point is the station. We are between the two and one point six from the pylon. Now, get an azimuth to Hill 136.”
“I have 3120 mils,” long said.
“Quickly, match your course.”
Long swung back over to the pilots station and moved the airship along the new course. Hardin clapped the new pilot on the back.
“That is the combat shortcut. How close we arrive to the hill will depend on the accuracy of your estimation. So, if you were off, we could get lost on a heavy clouded day. We wouldn’t want to have to break off and search for the southeast pylon and re-plot. That would make us very late and tarnish our title as the best ship in the fleet. That is why this is not taught in school.”
“Yes Sir.” Long paused. “Thank you for teaching me this, Sir.”
“Well, I wouldn’t want my pilot not up to speed with how we do things,” Hardin said. “Stay on course. I’m going down below, call if anything comes up.”
Muffled chuckles drifted up amid the clicks and whirls of the engine room. “…And the damned thing is, he survived the war!” Hardin heard the Captains’ punch line as he came down the spiral staircase.
Both men looked up as they finished their laugh. Sitting at his ‘work’ table, the old pudgy engineer Franks grabbed a mug, filled it with the strong coffee and slid it over to Hardin.
“I felt us change course a little early,” the Captain said, eying Hardin.
“I taught the kid your shortcut.”
“I’ve got one for you just like that,” Franks said to Captain Groves, as if there was no interruption. “After the war was over, I went home and got into a mechanics school.
“To pay for the school, I got a crummy job at a warehouse moving crates around. After my second day of work, I recognized another guy that worked there. We must have gone to school together when we were youngsters, so we start talking. Soon enough we ate lunch together and were always talking. He eventually understood the types of things I did in the war.
“So, a couple of weeks later, after work, he pulls me aside and asks if I want
to earn a bit of extra money. This guy says he will give me two hundred Gil to go up into the hills and check out this mine camp.
“Mind you, this was back when the slate hills were full of rare gems. There were laws against mining, or being in possession of unpermitted gems. But these hills were so remote and wide that the locals all had illegal mines running. The gems were the main thing that kept their local economy going.
“My friend grew up in the area. He knew most everyone and where everything was. He knew who had producing mines and when the constables came around. Best of all, he had the contacts. He knew guys who could cut and polish, and others who would buy undocumented stones, no questions.
“This guy was a crook. He also wasn’t the lightest balloon in the race. But he knew he needed what he lacked. He needed someone who knew how to use a pistol and could come up with tactics.
“So we worked together. We would stake out different mines at night and our days off. I spent a lot of time setting things up and coming up with plans. With the types of things I was seeing out there, I was expecting a huge haul. I’m talking enough money to take care of all my debts and more to spend on whatever. At most of the spots, a single old guy was left sitting on a huge stash. Others had one hired hill-hick to guard a mine at night when the others were away. We had one other guy on our team and knew we would have to play rough, because that is what it takes.
“We met on and off for months. He was always unsure of the plans. I wanted concrete plans and to set dates for our raids. But things just never came together. With all his talk, I never saw him pull the trigger. We never took a single gem. He was smart enough to know we needed each other, but not smart enough to know when to take action.”
“Yep, you know the old saying,” Groves said, “Greatness is never achieved through hesitation.”
Three long cups of coffee later, the conversation was interrupted by the intercom. Captain Groves and Hardin ascended to the main deck. Groves took his seat in the comfortably worn-in captains chair as Hardin asked Long for a report.
“I put us five kilometers and in visual range of Hill 136. All scopes and switches functioning. Time is zero-one-one-six. Your orders, Sir?” Long rambled off sharply. Captain Groves reached into his coat pocket and drew out the envelope. “We are to reach the hill no later than zero-two hundred and set anchor on a shelf on the southwest side,” Groves read. “Looks like we came right down on top of the hill. Good cut, Long.”
Long beamed to himself as he closed the last five kilometers to the rocky peak protruding above the cloud deck. The airship slowed and circled clockwise around the hill, taking the long way to their anchor point. Ten feet above the shelf, the anchor was dropped so that the nose of the long ship pointed at the mountain.
Franks came up from below out of curiosity and a lack of instruments to monitor. “This doesn’t look right, Boss.”
“I agree,” Hardin said, scanning the windows for signs of anyone. “I would have figured there would have been something up here, a keep or a house. A shack, at least.”
“I had a feeling this would be a strange one,” Groves said. “I heard that this mission came from the Director, himself. I guess our runs had been planed well in advance for us to be at Falcon Perch today and run this tonight. Hell, the letterhead has the old seal on it. They changed those ten years back. This is all odd. If we don’t have a passenger by fifteen after, we are gone.”
The crew sat in silence. The moons bright white light reflected off the smooth stone cliffs and nothing moved. Hardin checked the clock. Five minutes till. He hoped they didn’t come out here for nothing.
In the midst of the silence, a sharp crack leapt out of the night, with a fierce rumbling in tow. The distinct quavering trill of the anchor cable echoed over the hill. The airship remained static as it floated over the shaking hill.
As suddenly as it began, the earthquake ended. Hardin turned to see Groves on his feet. “Mark that in our log,” the Captain said. “Reorient the ship in preparation to leave. I am lowering the rear hatch and waiting the final fifteen minutes back there.”
Groves left the bridge as Long moved the ship. Hardin noted the time as three minutes until two and scribbled in the log. Franks moved behind the pilot’s chair and spotted a figure moving across the shelf.
“Eyes on!” Franks yelled, pointing out the pickup to the other two. “Hold her steady,” he said as the two left Long alone on the bridge.
In the few moments it took Hardin and Franks to join the Captain on the loading ramp, the man had reached the ship. Before a ladder could be lowered, the dark haired man leapt the ten feet from the ground and grabbed the edge of the ramp. He quickly pulled himself up.
“Welcome aboard, I am Captain Jonas Groves,” The Captain said, extending his hand.
“I’m Aros,” the man said, taking his hand. “Thanks for the ride.”
“You didn’t get hurt by that quake, did you?” Franks asked.
Aros turned and looked right at Franks. “There was an earthquake? Interesting.” Aros turned back and was lead up to the bridge by the Captain, with a confused Franks in tow.
“I was told you would have a package for me.”
Groves handed over the long rectangular box, which Aros immediately opened. The whole crew curiously watched to see the stranger take out a small handbook and a belt with two very fancy looking sheathed daggers.
“We have no passenger berths, with this being a postal ship. But feel free to make yourself comfortable back in the hold,” Groves said. “Is there anything else you need?”
“Only to get to Inleaf as fast as we can. I’ve come a long way for an important meeting,” Aros said.
“Pilot! Let's get on our way then!”