Chenda and the Airship Brofman (10 page)

Soon Chenda felt her eyes stop overflowing with tears. She had run dry of all emotion and felt hollow, but in a hopeful way, anticipatory. Now that she was empty, she knew it was only a matter of time before she started to fill again. The void within was uncomfortable, longing to be filled, but the idea of something, anything, replenishing her soul thrilled her. The empty space felt like a promise. The grief had moved aside, or at least it had started to, and the hole waited there, expectantly, excitedly, for whatever would come next.

In possession of hope, Chenda was content to stand there, looking over the bow of the ship as the miles quickly crept past in the coldness. The
Brofman
would occasionally rock as a sudden surge of wind would nudge it – a feeling Chenda rather liked. She could feel a living presence from the ship and it galloped through the open air.

Into the evening she stood there, watching the rolling countryside east of Coal City slowly flatten.  The trees far below became tall and spindly. The horizon ahead faded from bright blue, to silvery gray, to purple as the sun sank behind her.

Chenda heard the captain's voice calling from the wheelhouse. “Dulal! We're passing Musser Point. Go tell Verdu down in the motor room that he's sprung, and then get back here to take over!”

She turned around to see Fenimore walking away from her toward the call of his captain. How long had he been standing behind her, she wondered.  She watched him as he lifted a hatch near the rear of the ship and yelled to someone belowdecks. Dropping the hatch again, he trotted back toward the bow and stepped into the narrow wheelhouse.  He took the captain's place at the wheel.

Captain Endicott, holding Candice by one elbow, helped her toward the stairs that went below decks. She didn't look so good. Her skin had a green cast to it. Chenda rushed to her friend's side.

“Ugh,” Candice said in greeting. “Now I remember why I hate airships.”

“Oh, my, Candice, are you going to be okay?” Chenda asked.

“Oh, Chen, I'll be fine in a few hours, I always get this queasy feeling when I fly. Don't worry, I'll just go put my head down in my cabin and whimper till I feel better. Mostly, at times like these, I just need to be alone with my own wretchedness. You seem to be just fine, so enjoy the view for a while.”

The captain unhooked Candice's bitter-end and muttered, “OK, Professor, down you go. Just don't go barfing in my ship if you can help it. That's a good girl.” He led her down the stairs and toward her cabin.

Chenda turned to the wheelhouse and climbed the few steps to the door. She knocked, and Fenimore pushed the door open. “Do come in,” he said.

The wheelhouse was smaller than a broom cupboard.  Its main feature, of course, was the large wheel used to steer the airship, but the small space also gleamed with dozens of shiny brass dials, levers, neatly labeled switches and knobs. Fenimore gently leaned against the back of the small space and rested his hands on the helm. He looked through the glass in front of him, watching the light fade in the sky ahead.

“You love it, don't you?” he said.

Chenda, surprised and a little confused, stared blankly at the tall man next to her.  She didn't reply.

Fenimore went on, “People have two reactions when they fly on an airship for the first time. Most folks have a variation on the professor's reaction. They hunker down and just get through it as best as they can. Or, as in her case, they puke.”

“Oh, no. Poor Candice!”

“It happens, but I can tell you, the captain really hates it when people barf on his ship.” He snickered a little. He caught Chenda's disapproving gaze and said, “I only get to laugh because I don't have to clean it up. Rank has its privileges.” He smiled again and continued.

“And, rarely, there are people like you who
feel
something.” He made a vague yet meaningful gesture over his chest. “Flight is a powerful experience for some lucky few, a changing experience. Do you mind if I ask what just changed for you?”

“Nearly everything,” she replied. Fenimore looked at her once again, waiting for her to supply more details, but Chenda felt no compulsion to speak about her emptying sensation. The fact that he saw that
something
was happening to her spirit embarrassed her somehow.  She started to feel as if he had intruded into something very personal and private.  It annoyed her.

“How long did you stand there staring at me?” she demanded, her voice taking on an uncharacteristic edge.

“Weeelll,” Fenimore responded, “I stood behind you for about a half hour or so, but to be fair, you
were
standing in my spot.”

Chenda felt suddenly foolish. “I apologize. I never wanted to interfere with anyone's duties. Just tell me to 'shoo' if I am in the way.” She bit her lip.

“Eh, it's not that important. I just need to keep an eye out for certain points for navigation so we can head out over open water in the right place. Speaking of, we're nearly to the coast.”

Chenda looked out of the wheelhouse and across the bow to see the approaching shore. All her annoyance left her. She'd never seen the ocean before, and she was excited. As she watched, she felt the airship begin to slow. With worried eyes, she turned to Fenimore.

“What's wrong?”

“Nothing,” he said, flipping several switches on the instrument panel in front of him and turning several dials. “It's dark, so we're powering down.”

“Oh.” Chenda still looked very confused.

The door to the wheelhouse opened, and a very young and rather spotty face poked in. “Captain said I should relieve you now.”

“Lincoln, meet Chen, Professor Mortimer's assistant. Chen, this is one of our deckhands and sometime engineer's apprentice, Lincoln.”

The thin, boyish creature who appeared to be made entirely of knees and elbows stepped into the wheelhouse. “Nice to meet you,” he said as he extended a hand to Chenda. She unthinkingly reached back. He gripped her hand and shook it vigorously, which made Chenda yelp. Looking horrified, Lincoln dropped her hand and shuddered backwards.

“Oh, I'm so sorry, miss,” Lincoln said.

“It's fine.” Chenda said, recovering. She folded her bandaged hands together over her chest “My fingers got so cold I almost forgot that my hands are burned.” She looked down at her bandages, noticing how dirty they'd become, and how the exposed tips of her fingers were chapped and red.

“Oh, burns,” Lincoln said sympathetically. “You best go see Kingston. He'll work some of his medical magic on them fingers. Get you better right quick.”

Fenimore spoke up, “That's a great idea. I'm getting hungry, too. Kingston is in the galley?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Great, well, she's all yours. Just let her drift till she runs out of force. Then just keep us stationary. See you at four bells.”

“Yes, sir. Let her drift.”

Fenimore motioned for Chenda to step out of the wheelhouse ahead of him, and he followed quickly.

“I don't understand why we aren't flying over the sea tonight.” Chenda said, trying to keep her impatience in check.

“We generally don't fly at night. It's not wise,” he said. “Walk with me around this way and I'll explain.” He changed direction and headed to a raised area of the deck behind the wheelhouse. He reached up and patted one of a dozen or so glass cylinders over his head that were about eight-feet long and a foot wide. Dozens of wires and tubes ran into and out of each cylinder, and a faint yellowish-orange glow seeped from the very center of each tube.

“You've seen these before, right?” he asked.

Chenda nodded. “Aqueous photovoltaic cells.”

“Right,” he said, “And down here is the battery.” He tapped at the raised platform at his feet. “On a nice sunny day we generate about twice as much energy as we need and store the rest of the juice right here to use overnight.” His fingers stroked the cell as if it were a pet. “During the day, in any given hour, it takes about 8% of the energy we generate to keep us up in the air. Not moving – just up. During the night, we don't generate much power, so we can't use more than 10% of our battery reserves per hour. We could fly at quarter speed all night or we could make a few short bursts of speed, but by dawn, we would be almost out of energy, and then if we had a heavily cloudy day, or if we lost a cell, well, that could be disastrous. So, the basic protocol is that we reduce our power consumption at night by hovering or docking. Get it?”

“I understand.” Chenda said. “You are remarkably patient to explain this to me.  Thank you.”

“And you're very polite,” Fenimore replied. “Now, let's see how well Kingston is using some of that nighttime energy in the galley. Hungry?” he said.

“Starved,” Chenda replied.

Fenimore and Chenda walked back to the stairs leading belowdecks and unhooked themselves from the safety lines. The smell of hot food from the galley drifted up as the pair headed down. As Chenda passed Candice's door, she paused and knocked gently. Fenimore continued down the narrow passage.

“Candice, are you all right?”

“Blarrb... go away!” Candice shouted weakly through the door.

“OK. Sorry. I am going to be in the galley getting some dinner. If you need me, just shout or something.”

“Ugh, don't mention food. Go away.”

Chenda sighed, feeling truly sorry for her friend, and continued on to the galley.

The jovial crew filled the small space almost completely.  They laughed and jostled around the narrow table, passing bowls of hot stew and plates of cheese and bread. The atmosphere of fellowship enticed just as much as the heavenly scent of seasoned beef and potatoes.

The captain, sitting at the head of the crowded table, noticed Chenda in the door and waved her in. “One seat left,” he said. “You'd best sit down and start grabbing, or you'll be left hungry. These men won't let much come between them and their grub.”

“Certainly not table manners or a napkin,” said Fenimore, who grabbed a slab of cheese off a plate passing by him.

Chenda took the empty chair in the middle of the table, and gazed into an appetizing bowl of soup. After an awkward minute, she managed to lace a spoon through her stiff fingers and started to eat with gusto. Fenimore allowed her several good bites and then made introductions.

“Chen, this is our engineer, Germer, and his apprentice, Stanley.” Fenimore indicated the two men to Chenda's right. The older man, Germer, sat closest to her and smiled through his bushy brown mustache. Stanley, one seat farther down, looked a lot like an orange-haired version of Lincoln: young, gangly, spotted and eager to please. He made a little wave as he stretched a long arm across the table to stab another piece of bread.

“Over here is Kingston, our chemist and, oh-so-valued cook,” Fenimore gestured to the man sitting to her left, between her and the captain.

“A pleasure to meet you,” Kingston said,.“I'm glad you have a good appetite.”

“It's delicious,” Chenda said as she scooped in more soup. Kingston's round cheeks jiggled as he nodded his approval.

Fenimore's gaze led Chenda's eyes around past the captain to a tiny fellow with mousy hair and pale blue eyes. “This is our other deckhand, Spencer.” The young man made a nervous smile at Chenda, then quickly turned his face toward his plate, where he proceeded to push his small pieces of cheese in a circle. Spencer exuded nervousness.

The last person at the table sat next to Fenimore, his dark eyes examining every detail of Chenda. Upon reflection, Chenda decided that
next to
didn't capture the way the chiseled and darkly featured fellow positioned himself beside Fenimore.
Up against
began to capture the attitude of the swarthy man. The two were congruous and complementary in all ways. As Fenimore moved, the man beside him filled the void. As the first breathed out, the other breathed in. The presence of the two together created a bizarre kind of oneness.

Fenimore's voice distracted Chenda from her observations.  “This, Chen, is the
second
officer, Kotal Verdu.” There was a teasing smirk on Fenimore's lips. The darker man, easily as big as Fenimore, shot a venomous glance at his neighbor.

“As if
second
means much here, Fen. You know that I pilot better than you, and am twice as good in a fight,” he growled, his voice revealing a slight, jagged accent. His tone was betrayed by the sparkle in his eye as he elbowed Fenimore in the ribs.

“True, brother,” he acquiesced with a smile. Fenimore turned his head once more to Chenda. “First or second, it hardly matters, as Verdu is my very best friend, and we are partners in just about everything.”

Chenda felt a blush come to her skin and she was not sure why. She could see a bond between these two men, but she wasn't sure she understood it, and that, strangely, was enough to embarrass her. She bit her lip for a moment, then resorted to a habit she did understand: being polite.

“Nice to meet you, Kotal Verdu.”

“Likewise,” he said, “but most folks just call me Verdu.”

Now curious, she asked, “Kotal, that's an unusual first name, yes? I don't know that I've ever met anyone who shared a first name with the capitol city of the Tugrulian Empire.”

Verdu's lips pressed into a sharp line, and Fenimore answered for him, “That's ‘cause he was born there. He's Tugrulian.”