Xanthania, flying through a space beyond mortal comprehension, was joined by a fellow angel. Insofar as angels actually breathe, the newcomer appeared breathless.
"A new window just opened, and closed almost instantaneously," he reported. "No Spectre was created, and the escape of Dust was negligible." For the first time in quite a while, Xanthania was somewhat surprised. "Find out where, and how," she ordered. "We had better investigate this very carefully."
Angels are not omnicognisant, much as they like people to believe they are; only the Boss could see the fall of every sparrow and so on (it is my opinion that He probably doesn't bother to watch all of them hit the ground). Therefore, it required much patient detective work to trace this remarkable new technology. Much clandestine surveillance later, they reported back.
Apparently originating in Will Parry's world, the aircraft was far in advance of the Magisterium's relatively embryonic air force. It was also heavily armed, and the Magisterium's effort to destroy it had backfired precipitously. The angels had been rather amused at this.
Some apparent thought had gone into preventing Dust escaping; the magnetic field generated by the craft kept it completely clear, so it would not even bring a minute quantity within its pressurised interior.
"I will address these travellers myself," Xanthania decided. "They may not be aware of Asriel's rift, and might damage the seal we placed upon it if they are careless." //Besides,// she added mentally, //I have a favour to ask of them.//
It was a four day journey, which I recall only as a haze of cold, damp and bad food. At least I wasn't seasick; used to be in Fleet Air Arm, didn't I?
We made landfall in a small and nameless whaling station, and set up our headquarters. Aurora was winched carefully over the side of the ship, wings folded, and put into flying order.
The landing gear was unconventional; small wheels mounted at the sides of broad snow skids, folding inwards if the terrain warranted it. I was rather proud of this little touch, and a glance at the choppy ice-filled bay made me thankful I'd thought of it. Keeping a short strip of ground flat and level would be a major encumberence, but so would pranging our plane on an ice floe at takeoff speed.
We hastily established the location of the Magisterium's redoubt; not far from the 'Experimental Station'. Whether this was coincidence or black humour I can't say. It would also be a bugger to get to at this time of year, with the sea surrounding the island liquid for a change. Getting our two thousand volunteers there would be a logistical nightmare at the best of times, but Lord Faa had devised a reasonably workable plan involving small, light boats that could be carried to the shore and assembled in minutes. The witches had their own means of transportation, but how the bears proposed to make the crossing I had no idea. That, fortunately, was somebody else's problem.
Once we had sorted out our base camp, a full day's work in itself, Aurora took off on a reconissance mission to gauge the strength of the enemy force. It was about half an hour's flight at cruising speed and twenty thousand feet. Mary and I alternated between flying and coffee-making duty.
"Phew! Radar looks like Heathrow at the start of the summer holiday," Will remarked. "Zepplins, planes, helos and a few things I don't recognise. RWR's all clear." The Radar Warning Reciever functioned much like the radar detectors people bought to defend themselves against traffic cops; speed traps now use a light reflection system instead. Any electromagnetic emission was spotted and traced, and we could avoid or neutralise it before we were detected.
Mary was operating the camera ball in the nose. It sported low-light, thermal image and Dust viewing cameras, which could all be monitored simultaneously. "Lots of vehicles on the ground, and a whole bunch of heated buildings. Lots of witches in the air, too." That explained some of the stranger radar signals. "Whoa! Take a look at this, people!" I looked at my own small LCD monitor, which was usually set to display a repeat of the radar screen; I flew single-seat Harriers for so long I'm not comfortable without being able to see it for myself. The monitor now showed the camera used for targeting fissures, a glowing snowstorm of Dust particles with intermittent, static points of light; microfissures. I could clearly see the outline of a huge... well, I guess you'd call it a MACROfissure. It was obscured by a strip of 'normal' sky, and I was reminded of a patch over the worn out knee of a pair of trousers. This was a pretty fair comparison; we were looking at Asriel's great Rift.
"Better put full safeties on the Drive," Mary remarked. "That seal doesn't look too tough. We try to make a jump anywhere near that and pow!" I shut off power to the Drive, and locked the nosecone in place so that a short in the electrics wouldn't set it off by accident. "I'm going to do a flypast of that rift, and we'll make some scans," I said. "I wonder how they blocked it up, anyway?" Lyra and Elaine brought some of our fancier gadgets to bear as I neared the rift. Asriel's papers, obtained from the Ministry in the raid, had been invaluable in putting together some of our more unorthodox kit. Mary had had a great deal of fun with her new toys, which I as the mere stick-and-rudder man couldn't begin to understand.
We took a parallel course to the rift, and Will shut off the radar so as not to affect our scan. I wasn't all that worried; the Lights, our plane's namesake, made anything in the sky difficult to see from below. I was reminded of our unit badge, which Elaine had created during the crossing. It showed Aurora flying across a sky filled with the Lights, and had each of our initials on; I used my mother's maiden surname, Savage, because they only got married after I was born so I can use both. I frequently do, especially on official forms, because all of Her Majesty's Forces love to annoy the beauracracy.
Xanthania chose this moment to put in an appearance, causing me to nearly stall. She drifted effortlessly off our starboard wing, apparently amused at my reaction.
"What the HELL is THAT?" I yelled, arming Sidewinders.
"What does it look like?" Mary enquired laconically.
"Something I saw the first and only time I tried hard drugs!" Xanthania showed no sign of being offended at this. She drifted around to the front of the cockpit, maintaining relative speed and distance, and smiled.
"Greetings," she said. "You are the travellers from another world." It wasn't a question. Mary raised her helmet's visor, and Will and Lyra followed suit. "I believe we've met?" Mary said with a faint smile.
Xanthania was not entirely surprised; she supposed she ought to have expected this, really. Something showed in her expression, however.
"Oh, come ON," Will laughed; it was clear he was enjoying having the drop on her. "Did you really think we'd just give up and get on with our lives?"
"I knew you would search for another way to travel to this world, my child," she conceeded. "I did not anticipate that you would find it so soon."
"All credit for that should go to Dr Malone. The jump drive, the fissure targeting system, most of the scanning technology onboard this thing; all hers," I pointed out.
"Hey, you designed the plane!" Elaine reminded me.
Xanthania smiled. "It appears that I was wrong, my children. For a time I thought I should have made you forget about each other," Lyr and Will looked at each other in horror, "But I am glad I did not. I wish you well with your travels!" She accelerated away and vanished into a fissure, for all the world like the Starship Enterprise going to warp.
"You know," I said thoughtfully, "not so long ago I would have thought that was really, REALLY weird. We quite definitely saw that, yes?"
"Yes," the others chorused.
"And there is no possibility of Elaine's medication getting into the tea?"
"No!"
"Just making sure."
We returned to base and presented our findings to the council of war that rapidly established itself. "A frontal assault would be suicidal, especially for your forces, Ms Pekkala," I said. "Their aerial strength is formidable, and Aurora would be as much of a hazard to you as the clans supporting the Magisterium; blue-on-blue incidents are going to be inevitable if we go in together." I avoided the term 'friendly fire', a euphemism employed by the media which does not amuse those who have been on the wrong end of it.
"Then you will attack first, inflict as much damage as you can, and withdraw. My sisters and I will follow up your initial strike in force," the witch-queen replied. "I would advise that the ground assault wait until you have completed your attack, too." This made sense; I hadn't really envisioned close air support to be one of the roles Aurora was to be employed in. The embarassing business at the Ministry proved that if Aurora WAS to be employed as a ground attack aircraft, friendly forces should be a safe distance away.
"We'll certainly soften them up a bit," I remarked, "but we can't carry enough ordinance to wipe out EVERYTHING in one attack run. There are more tanks than space for antitank weapons."
"We have ways of dealing with such things," Lord Faa said, smiling like a wolf that's cornered a sheep. "You haven't seen a fire hurler in action, have you David?" Iorek Brynsson made an attempt at a smile; an expression bears are not well equipped for, facially. "I will arrange a demonstration," he said with a satisfied growl.
The fire hurler threw several hundredweight of burning rock at a disused building atop a frozen lake; the building was totally destroyed and the lake melted. Lyra earned my everlasting admiration by calling Iorek a showoff.
Then we noticed a zepplin flying across the bleak, icy landscape towards our target. "A supply run," I suggested. "I wonder if it goes past regularly?"
"Uh oh," Elaine deadpanned. "Here comes another one of his clever ideas..."
* * *
The zepplin skimmed the bleak snowfields at top speed -around thirty miles an hour. It wasn't particularly large, with only two engines and a single gondola, and most of its interior not occupied by the gasbags was dedicated to freight.
Unusually, the control room was situated in the nose, rather than the gondola. The gondola itself was used as accomodation and mess facilities for the half of the six man crew not on watch; London to Svalbard nonstop is quite a long trip at that speed.
Its captain, a gloomy and bad tempered Scotsman, looked at his gauges and winced. No. 2 engine was overheating, OVERHEATING a day's flight from the Pole, for the love of God!
"Whit tha hell're ye playin' at, mon! We're off course again!" The helmsman cursed and twisted the wheel. "Damn crosswind! If the engines weren't on full boost we'd be going sideways, skipper."
"Aye, but No. 2's on her last legs, so ye'd better- bugger!" A bell began ringing; engine fire. Immediately, all hands went to emergency stations.
The heavy crosswind, accentuated by the failure of the starboard engine, sent the zepplin careering around in a circle. The wind fanned the engine fire, sending sparks towards the outer skin, which unlike that of modern combat airships was not fireproof. Rapidly, an uncontrollable structural fire was raging. Hastily, the crew vented the gas before it could ignite. Slowly, painfully, the zepplin hit the ground.
So much for our plan to intercept it, fill it with our troops and infiltrate the enemy stronghold!
"OK, change of plan, folks," I said in a cheerfully homicidal tone, as used frequently by PE teachers. We turned our sleds around and headed for base, swearing mightily. That was a rather useful idea up the spout.
The representitives of the Magisterium met in a comfortably furnished room, over cigars and brandy. Their conversation was decidedly grim
"That infernal aerocraft was seen not far from here," complained one of the cardinals. "It looks like the attack on the Ministry was indeed a blind for an intelligence-gathering raid. What in the name of God are we to do now?"
"Pray," suggested a thin, ascetic-looking member of the Union of Lay Preachers, who was one of the few genuinely devout individuals present.
"Be practical, for crying out loud!" said the High Chief Pardoner.
"Our profession is supposed to regard PRAYING as practical."
The leader of the Guild of Summoners finished his drink, excused himself from the meeting, and gently banged his head on a convenient wall. //What the hell's going to be the end of this business?// he wondered.
"Fools, all of them. Selfish, arrogant fools who've sold their souls to the Devil for the chance to boss people about," complained the Lay Preacher, emerging from the room.
The Summoner nodded. "It was that obscene business with the Oblation Board that did it for me."
"Oh, Samuel, they lost their wits and their humanity long before then. Pre-emptive pennance, anyone? I like to credit the Almighty with a bit of sense, you know, but apparently they don't!" The Lay Preacher faced his friend.
Summoners have recieved something of a bad press from Geoffrey Chaucer, as have pardoners. The latter were frequently outright crooks, but Summoners were a largely honest body of men. There is, after all, very little criminal opportunity in being the illiterate medieval equivalent of the Church notice board. And this particular summoner was a deeply troubled man.
"They'll use that appalling bomb if it comes to that," he said. "They're desperate to hold on to their power, desperate enough to use the atomcraft weapon."
The Lay Preacher crossed himself. "God forbid! Not even Asriel was mad enough to use such a weapon!"
"Most of the others are, however. We have no choice," said the Summoner. "We must take what men remain loyal to us and aid these rebels before this gets out of hand!"
DUN DUN DUH! Sorry it took a while; exams and all that. Well, CW, it's not exactly mini-nukes and particle beam weapons but it's close. Adios!
"A new window just opened, and closed almost instantaneously," he reported. "No Spectre was created, and the escape of Dust was negligible." For the first time in quite a while, Xanthania was somewhat surprised. "Find out where, and how," she ordered. "We had better investigate this very carefully."
Angels are not omnicognisant, much as they like people to believe they are; only the Boss could see the fall of every sparrow and so on (it is my opinion that He probably doesn't bother to watch all of them hit the ground). Therefore, it required much patient detective work to trace this remarkable new technology. Much clandestine surveillance later, they reported back.
Apparently originating in Will Parry's world, the aircraft was far in advance of the Magisterium's relatively embryonic air force. It was also heavily armed, and the Magisterium's effort to destroy it had backfired precipitously. The angels had been rather amused at this.
Some apparent thought had gone into preventing Dust escaping; the magnetic field generated by the craft kept it completely clear, so it would not even bring a minute quantity within its pressurised interior.
"I will address these travellers myself," Xanthania decided. "They may not be aware of Asriel's rift, and might damage the seal we placed upon it if they are careless." //Besides,// she added mentally, //I have a favour to ask of them.//
It was a four day journey, which I recall only as a haze of cold, damp and bad food. At least I wasn't seasick; used to be in Fleet Air Arm, didn't I?
We made landfall in a small and nameless whaling station, and set up our headquarters. Aurora was winched carefully over the side of the ship, wings folded, and put into flying order.
The landing gear was unconventional; small wheels mounted at the sides of broad snow skids, folding inwards if the terrain warranted it. I was rather proud of this little touch, and a glance at the choppy ice-filled bay made me thankful I'd thought of it. Keeping a short strip of ground flat and level would be a major encumberence, but so would pranging our plane on an ice floe at takeoff speed.
We hastily established the location of the Magisterium's redoubt; not far from the 'Experimental Station'. Whether this was coincidence or black humour I can't say. It would also be a bugger to get to at this time of year, with the sea surrounding the island liquid for a change. Getting our two thousand volunteers there would be a logistical nightmare at the best of times, but Lord Faa had devised a reasonably workable plan involving small, light boats that could be carried to the shore and assembled in minutes. The witches had their own means of transportation, but how the bears proposed to make the crossing I had no idea. That, fortunately, was somebody else's problem.
Once we had sorted out our base camp, a full day's work in itself, Aurora took off on a reconissance mission to gauge the strength of the enemy force. It was about half an hour's flight at cruising speed and twenty thousand feet. Mary and I alternated between flying and coffee-making duty.
"Phew! Radar looks like Heathrow at the start of the summer holiday," Will remarked. "Zepplins, planes, helos and a few things I don't recognise. RWR's all clear." The Radar Warning Reciever functioned much like the radar detectors people bought to defend themselves against traffic cops; speed traps now use a light reflection system instead. Any electromagnetic emission was spotted and traced, and we could avoid or neutralise it before we were detected.
Mary was operating the camera ball in the nose. It sported low-light, thermal image and Dust viewing cameras, which could all be monitored simultaneously. "Lots of vehicles on the ground, and a whole bunch of heated buildings. Lots of witches in the air, too." That explained some of the stranger radar signals. "Whoa! Take a look at this, people!" I looked at my own small LCD monitor, which was usually set to display a repeat of the radar screen; I flew single-seat Harriers for so long I'm not comfortable without being able to see it for myself. The monitor now showed the camera used for targeting fissures, a glowing snowstorm of Dust particles with intermittent, static points of light; microfissures. I could clearly see the outline of a huge... well, I guess you'd call it a MACROfissure. It was obscured by a strip of 'normal' sky, and I was reminded of a patch over the worn out knee of a pair of trousers. This was a pretty fair comparison; we were looking at Asriel's great Rift.
"Better put full safeties on the Drive," Mary remarked. "That seal doesn't look too tough. We try to make a jump anywhere near that and pow!" I shut off power to the Drive, and locked the nosecone in place so that a short in the electrics wouldn't set it off by accident. "I'm going to do a flypast of that rift, and we'll make some scans," I said. "I wonder how they blocked it up, anyway?" Lyra and Elaine brought some of our fancier gadgets to bear as I neared the rift. Asriel's papers, obtained from the Ministry in the raid, had been invaluable in putting together some of our more unorthodox kit. Mary had had a great deal of fun with her new toys, which I as the mere stick-and-rudder man couldn't begin to understand.
We took a parallel course to the rift, and Will shut off the radar so as not to affect our scan. I wasn't all that worried; the Lights, our plane's namesake, made anything in the sky difficult to see from below. I was reminded of our unit badge, which Elaine had created during the crossing. It showed Aurora flying across a sky filled with the Lights, and had each of our initials on; I used my mother's maiden surname, Savage, because they only got married after I was born so I can use both. I frequently do, especially on official forms, because all of Her Majesty's Forces love to annoy the beauracracy.
Xanthania chose this moment to put in an appearance, causing me to nearly stall. She drifted effortlessly off our starboard wing, apparently amused at my reaction.
"What the HELL is THAT?" I yelled, arming Sidewinders.
"What does it look like?" Mary enquired laconically.
"Something I saw the first and only time I tried hard drugs!" Xanthania showed no sign of being offended at this. She drifted around to the front of the cockpit, maintaining relative speed and distance, and smiled.
"Greetings," she said. "You are the travellers from another world." It wasn't a question. Mary raised her helmet's visor, and Will and Lyra followed suit. "I believe we've met?" Mary said with a faint smile.
Xanthania was not entirely surprised; she supposed she ought to have expected this, really. Something showed in her expression, however.
"Oh, come ON," Will laughed; it was clear he was enjoying having the drop on her. "Did you really think we'd just give up and get on with our lives?"
"I knew you would search for another way to travel to this world, my child," she conceeded. "I did not anticipate that you would find it so soon."
"All credit for that should go to Dr Malone. The jump drive, the fissure targeting system, most of the scanning technology onboard this thing; all hers," I pointed out.
"Hey, you designed the plane!" Elaine reminded me.
Xanthania smiled. "It appears that I was wrong, my children. For a time I thought I should have made you forget about each other," Lyr and Will looked at each other in horror, "But I am glad I did not. I wish you well with your travels!" She accelerated away and vanished into a fissure, for all the world like the Starship Enterprise going to warp.
"You know," I said thoughtfully, "not so long ago I would have thought that was really, REALLY weird. We quite definitely saw that, yes?"
"Yes," the others chorused.
"And there is no possibility of Elaine's medication getting into the tea?"
"No!"
"Just making sure."
We returned to base and presented our findings to the council of war that rapidly established itself. "A frontal assault would be suicidal, especially for your forces, Ms Pekkala," I said. "Their aerial strength is formidable, and Aurora would be as much of a hazard to you as the clans supporting the Magisterium; blue-on-blue incidents are going to be inevitable if we go in together." I avoided the term 'friendly fire', a euphemism employed by the media which does not amuse those who have been on the wrong end of it.
"Then you will attack first, inflict as much damage as you can, and withdraw. My sisters and I will follow up your initial strike in force," the witch-queen replied. "I would advise that the ground assault wait until you have completed your attack, too." This made sense; I hadn't really envisioned close air support to be one of the roles Aurora was to be employed in. The embarassing business at the Ministry proved that if Aurora WAS to be employed as a ground attack aircraft, friendly forces should be a safe distance away.
"We'll certainly soften them up a bit," I remarked, "but we can't carry enough ordinance to wipe out EVERYTHING in one attack run. There are more tanks than space for antitank weapons."
"We have ways of dealing with such things," Lord Faa said, smiling like a wolf that's cornered a sheep. "You haven't seen a fire hurler in action, have you David?" Iorek Brynsson made an attempt at a smile; an expression bears are not well equipped for, facially. "I will arrange a demonstration," he said with a satisfied growl.
The fire hurler threw several hundredweight of burning rock at a disused building atop a frozen lake; the building was totally destroyed and the lake melted. Lyra earned my everlasting admiration by calling Iorek a showoff.
Then we noticed a zepplin flying across the bleak, icy landscape towards our target. "A supply run," I suggested. "I wonder if it goes past regularly?"
"Uh oh," Elaine deadpanned. "Here comes another one of his clever ideas..."
* * *
The zepplin skimmed the bleak snowfields at top speed -around thirty miles an hour. It wasn't particularly large, with only two engines and a single gondola, and most of its interior not occupied by the gasbags was dedicated to freight.
Unusually, the control room was situated in the nose, rather than the gondola. The gondola itself was used as accomodation and mess facilities for the half of the six man crew not on watch; London to Svalbard nonstop is quite a long trip at that speed.
Its captain, a gloomy and bad tempered Scotsman, looked at his gauges and winced. No. 2 engine was overheating, OVERHEATING a day's flight from the Pole, for the love of God!
"Whit tha hell're ye playin' at, mon! We're off course again!" The helmsman cursed and twisted the wheel. "Damn crosswind! If the engines weren't on full boost we'd be going sideways, skipper."
"Aye, but No. 2's on her last legs, so ye'd better- bugger!" A bell began ringing; engine fire. Immediately, all hands went to emergency stations.
The heavy crosswind, accentuated by the failure of the starboard engine, sent the zepplin careering around in a circle. The wind fanned the engine fire, sending sparks towards the outer skin, which unlike that of modern combat airships was not fireproof. Rapidly, an uncontrollable structural fire was raging. Hastily, the crew vented the gas before it could ignite. Slowly, painfully, the zepplin hit the ground.
So much for our plan to intercept it, fill it with our troops and infiltrate the enemy stronghold!
"OK, change of plan, folks," I said in a cheerfully homicidal tone, as used frequently by PE teachers. We turned our sleds around and headed for base, swearing mightily. That was a rather useful idea up the spout.
The representitives of the Magisterium met in a comfortably furnished room, over cigars and brandy. Their conversation was decidedly grim
"That infernal aerocraft was seen not far from here," complained one of the cardinals. "It looks like the attack on the Ministry was indeed a blind for an intelligence-gathering raid. What in the name of God are we to do now?"
"Pray," suggested a thin, ascetic-looking member of the Union of Lay Preachers, who was one of the few genuinely devout individuals present.
"Be practical, for crying out loud!" said the High Chief Pardoner.
"Our profession is supposed to regard PRAYING as practical."
The leader of the Guild of Summoners finished his drink, excused himself from the meeting, and gently banged his head on a convenient wall. //What the hell's going to be the end of this business?// he wondered.
"Fools, all of them. Selfish, arrogant fools who've sold their souls to the Devil for the chance to boss people about," complained the Lay Preacher, emerging from the room.
The Summoner nodded. "It was that obscene business with the Oblation Board that did it for me."
"Oh, Samuel, they lost their wits and their humanity long before then. Pre-emptive pennance, anyone? I like to credit the Almighty with a bit of sense, you know, but apparently they don't!" The Lay Preacher faced his friend.
Summoners have recieved something of a bad press from Geoffrey Chaucer, as have pardoners. The latter were frequently outright crooks, but Summoners were a largely honest body of men. There is, after all, very little criminal opportunity in being the illiterate medieval equivalent of the Church notice board. And this particular summoner was a deeply troubled man.
"They'll use that appalling bomb if it comes to that," he said. "They're desperate to hold on to their power, desperate enough to use the atomcraft weapon."
The Lay Preacher crossed himself. "God forbid! Not even Asriel was mad enough to use such a weapon!"
"Most of the others are, however. We have no choice," said the Summoner. "We must take what men remain loyal to us and aid these rebels before this gets out of hand!"
DUN DUN DUH! Sorry it took a while; exams and all that. Well, CW, it's not exactly mini-nukes and particle beam weapons but it's close. Adios!
