Nicodemus Legend; Fistful of Legend
Act One, Balloons and Birds Don't Mix

"I love traveling in the big balloon," Ernest Pratt said, bracing his arms against the bamboo railing and taking in the vista of a sparkling clear day, "The world looks so colorful, so peaceful, so... so harmless."

"Ah, but isn't it all a question of perception, Ernest?" Janos Bartok asked. "Looks can be deceiving."

Pratt tossed a friendly grimace at the scientist. "Do you take pleasure in being such a pessimist? Can't one just enjoy something without analyzing it to death?" he said as he swept his arms broadly, as if trying to embrace the horizon.

"Of course one can," Bartok replied mildly, "but the mind never rests. I am merely attuned to the finer details. And each of those details, taken out of the context of a beautiful day, can in themselves be most alarming."

Pratt frowned at him. "Alarming? What can you see that could possibly be construed as 'alarming'?"

"Well, firstly," Janos began ticking off on his fingers as he spoke, "there is far too much warm, moist air circulating this early in the day, even over the plains. That could be precipitous of an imminent storm. Secondly--"

"Imminent storm! It's as clear as a bell up here!" Pratt protested. "You can see forever!"

"Storms can appear quite quickly, especially during this time of year," Ramos commented helpfully.

"Exactly," Bartok agreed. Pratt grumbled a little as Bartok proceeded with his interrupted dialogue. "Secondly, from what I can see of the terrain over which we are flying, should a landing be required at short notice, we would be very hard put to it to find a suitable landing place."

Pratt leaned slightly over the rail, looking down. "What? We could land on one of those green things..."

"That is a quagmire, Ernest. As the groundwater has eroded the soil into quicksand, I wouldn't recommend landing there."

"Oh." Pratt leaned over again for another look. "Deceptive..."

"Thirdly, our rate of speed and altitude could prove a disadvantage should some unforeseeable occurrence commence--"

"Unforeseeable? I thought you were clairvoyant!" Pratt added sarcastically.

Bartok continued, unperturbed. "Logic and reason play a very large part in predicting possible future events. Awareness of one's surroundings, considerations of the many probabilities that the immediate future offers, and objective deduction can lead one to several scenarios of a possible outcome." Bartok waxed eloquent as he spoke, gesturing as if he were addressing an auditorium full of students. "Consider the flock of birds that we have observed. By applying reason and logic, one could assume that they will persist in their flight at their current velocity, altitude, and direction. To predict a change in their path, one would need to take note of any variations in the atmosphere and--"

"Professor," Ramos said. The young scientist was staring up at the birds in question.

"One moment, Ramos-- variations in the atmosphere and environment--"

"Professor!" Ramos said, more urgently. He touched Bartok's sleeve. "Professor... look!"

Pratt, who had been only half-listening to Bartok, turned lazily to look where Ramos was pointing, and was alarmed to see the flock of birds that his friend had been talking about now wheeling toward them. It looked as if there were thousands of them, and they were flying en mass toward the balloon.

"Um... what's that?" Ernest asked, trying to sound casual but looking very, very concerned.

"I say," Bartok said as he raised his distance-viewing device to his eyes, "A flock of Corvus corone, how strange; that type of crows are scavengers, and as such are common in such numbers only near a settlement or city, where food is plentiful. What could they be doing out here in the badlands, so far from a more suitable habitat? And what could be making them swarm like that? You see, Ernest, this is precisely what I was talking about; unpredictable conditions and variables--"

"Um... they're variating in this direction! Get down!"

Pratt and Ramos pulled Bartok down just before the cloud of maddened birds collided with the balloon platform and silk canopy. All three men fell to the floor of the balloon basket and covered their heads with their arms. Feathers rained down upon them.

High about their heads, they heard a dreaded sound-- the sound of fabric tearing. Bartok, Pratt, and Ramos exchanged alarmed stares.

"Uh oh... that didn't sound good..."

The balloon began to lose altitude immediately. Ramos scrambled over to wrestle with the rudder while Bartok manipulated the controls. Ernest gripped the railing desperately and watched the ground far below swiftly coming closer.

Bartok was twisting knobs and working levers feverishly. "The birdstrike has ruptured the fabric of the balloon at a height that won't allow me to re-inflate!"

"We can still steer toward that butte and make repairs, Professor, but we're too heavy to get enough altitude!" Ramos shouted.

"Throw everything we can spare overboard!" Bartok said. The three men quickly dropped the few crates of supplies and meager luggage they had brought. Still, the ground came closer and the wind began to drive them crazily. Ramos took the rudder again, bringing them out of a slow spin and pointing them toward the butte.

"We're still too heavy, Professor."

"Ernest..." Bartok began.

"No, please... you're kidding, right?" Ernest looked at the Legend Wings that Bartok was hastily preparing.

"There's no time, Ernest. I need Ramos to make repairs... you're the only one who can do this! Take this with you," he added, stuffing something into the knapsack attached to the wing-harness. "Use it to signal us when we return to pick you up."

"Okay... but next time, you jump and I'll stay and fix the balloon!" Pratt quickly strapped into the Wings. He hesitated for only an instant before he jumped; the ground looked far too close. As soon as his feet left the balloon platform, the crippled craft began to gain altitude again.

Pratt braced himself for wrenching snap as the wings opened, catching his freefalling plummet a mere hundred feet from the ground below. He leaned into a turn and drove the nose of the wings into the blasting wind, causing him to sail high. Once he was far enough from the threatening ground, he checked that the balloon was still airborne. He could just see Bartok and Ramos waving before he was forced to turn into the wind to avoid being forced downward too soon.

The ground below was a sea of green quagmire. Gritting his teeth, Pratt strove to catch as much lift from the wings as he could. The wind was strong and it swept him along, the ground flashing below like a spinning ball. He caught sight of as plume of smoke in the distance and tried to steer toward it, hoping to find a homestead and not a prairie-fire.

"Sometimes, it stinks… being me," Pratt grumbled.