Wind Raker - Book IV of The Order of the Air, page 1
WIND RAKER
Book IV of The Order of the Air
By Melissa Scott & Jo Graham
A Mystique Press Production
Mystique Press is an imprint of Crossroad Press
Digital Edition published by Crossroad Press
Digital Edition Copyright 2014 by Melissa Scott & Jo Graham
Cover art by Bob Eggleton – Cover Design by David Dodd
LICENSE NOTES
This eBook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This eBook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with. If you're reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then you should return to the vendor of your choice and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.
Meet the Authors
Melissa Scott is from Little Rock, Arkansas, and studied history at Harvard College and Brandeis University, where she earned her PhD in the Comparative History program. She is the author of more than thirty science fiction and fantasy novels, and has won Lambda Literary Awards for Trouble and Her Friends, Shadow Man, and Point of Dreams, the last written with her late partner, Lisa A. Barnett. She has also won Spectrum Awards for Shadow Man and again in 2010 for the short story “The Rocky Side of the Sky” (Periphery, Lethe Press) as well as the John W. Campbell Award for Best New Writer. She can be found online at mescott.livejournal.com.
Jo Graham worked in politics for fifteen years before leaving to write full time. She is the author of the Locus Award nominated Black Ships and the Spectrum Award nominated Stealing Fire, as well as several other novels, including the Stargate Atlantis Legacy series and The General’s Mistress. She lives in North Carolina with her partner and their daughter. She can be found online at jo_graham.livejournal.com.
OTHER BOOKS
BY MELISSA SCOTT & JO GRAHAM & CROSSROAD PRESS
The Order of the Air:
Lost Things
Steel Blues
Silver Bullet
Wind Raker
Melissa Scott Novels:
Five Twelfths of Heaven
Silence in Solitude
The Kindly Ones
The Armor of Light
SG1-22 Moebius Squared
SGA-16 Homecoming - Book I of the Legacy Series
SGA-18 Allegiance – Book III of the Legacy Series
Unabridged Audiobooks – Melissa Scott
Five-Twelfths of Heaven
Jo Graham Novels:
The Emperor's Agent
SGA-14 Death Game
SGA-16 Homecoming - Book I of the Legacy Series
SGA-17 The Lost - Book II of the Legacy Series
Jo Graham Collections
The Ravens of Falkenau
Unabridged Audiobooks – Jo Graham
The Ravens of Falkenau / The Hand of Isis / Stealing Fire
This novel, the fourth in the Order of the Air, following the novels Lost Things,Steel Blues and Silver Bullet, ties in with the Crossroad Press original series O.C.L.T. – featuring the novels The Parting by David Niall Wilson & Incursion by Aaron Rosenberg, as well as the novellas Brought to Light & The Temple of Camazotz. The Order of the Air occurs in the past, but O.C.L.T. members were there…
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For Amy Griswold, who gives us all Stasi’s best lines.
Prologue
Honolulu
April 1935
Lily sat on the edge of her bed, the shutters closed tight against the gaudy tropical sunset, and reached determinedly for bottle and glass. She poured herself two fingers of neat rum, downed it at a gulp, and poured again. Perhaps it was ill-advised — no, certainly it was a bad idea, but she hadn’t had a better one for years. She closed her eyes, the maudlin tears prickling the corners of her eyes. She’d done her best, done everything she was supposed to, everything she could do, and despite it all, the job was falling apart. She’d hoped to outrun her reputation, the whisper that said she was a jinx, a Jonah, but three thousand miles wasn’t far enough. Nothing ever would be.
She pressed the bridge of her nose between thumb and forefinger, feeling the spots where her pince-nez had pinched. She wasn’t supposed to wear one, and as far as she knew, no one had seen her slipping it on and off again to read the menus, or the small print in the manual: one more thing to lay at his door, if she thought about it.
Because that was exactly what he had promised her, for daring to leave him. You will never have luck again, he had said, his fingers digging sharply into the flesh of her arm just above her elbow. She could feel his touch there still, ten years later, an echo of an ache like a bruise that never healed. You dared to cross me — you who are nothing, less than nothing, except what I made you. I gave you your career, I opened up the doors of power, and I can close them again. She shuddered even in the warm unmoving air, feeling the chill of a San Francisco summer fog closing over her.
Look, he had said, his voice low and clear and steady, freezing her to the bone. Look at me. Hear me and despair. I abjure you, unworthy disciple. You have strayed and failed and you shall be punished. You will have no luck, no good fortune, until the end of your days. That is the curse I lay on you.
She hadn’t laughed it off, she’d never been that brave, but she had thought she could bear it, that his power was finite, and eventually he would turn it to someone else. After six months, she had gone back to her old lodge, the one she’d left for him, and begged for help. They had considered, consulted, agreed to perform a protective ceremony. She had consented, participated with all her heart and soul, and — nothing. No power of theirs could breach the chill that enclosed her. They had quarreled over it, and the lodge had split, the first time she had seen what her true curse was. Not only was she lost, but she destroyed others.
And it wasn’t just the magic. That she could have lived without. But she had survived two crashes when her co-pilots died, and the whispers followed her along the west coast: not reliable, not safe, not competent. She had put her head down and tried to fight through, but disaster after disaster had washed over her, beating her down until there was no resistance left. This had been her last chance, and it was gone.
She took a deep breath, stiffening her spine. He was her master, yes, but surely — she could at least ward herself from him, at least for a night. She took another breath, and then another, seeking the rhythm that had once come as easily as dancing, searching for her center, the power that was her own. Yes, there… she felt it, a spark of warmth, steadied herself as though she stood in a whirlwind. She knew the forms, they were at the tip of her tongue, but she couldn’t seem to find the words. Write them down, she told herself, and reached for the hotel stationary and the neatly sharpened pencil. Write it out, you know how this goes; write it out and then you can find just a little peace.
The pencil snapped in her hand, gouging a hole in the heavy paper. She stared at it, disbelieving, then slowly bowed her head. The tears overflowed at last, burning her cheeks. There was no escape, not ever, and anyone who came too close to her was doomed.
Chapter One
Colorado Springs
May 1935
"Get the end. Careful," Lewis said, trying to maneuver the wooden case through the Terrier's hatch.
"I've got it," Alma said. She crouched just inside the plane, trying to lift the box in without dragging it across the floor. Sweat ran down her forehead for all that Lewis had most of the weight. This thing must weigh two hundred and fifty pounds.
"Al…" Mitch was trying to get around the box, but Lewis was entirely blocking the door.
'"I've got it," she snapped, pulling forward another few inches. The last thing she needed was Mitch trying to lift this thing. He’d taken shrapnel in the groin and belly during the war, a shell exploding under his plane, and the doctors had warned he’d always have to be careful lifting heavy weights.
Lewis frowned, holding the other end. "Ready?"
"Ready."
He pushed, moving it forward and sliding it in, onto the felt pad that protected the Terrier's skin.
"There," Alma said, shoving it onto the centerline ready to tie down. "We've got it."
"Let me balance it," Mitch said, climbing in. "Come on, Al."
She nodded, getting to her feet. He wasn't going to rupture something that way. She shoved damp hair back out of her face.
"We needed Joey for this," Lewis said.
Joey Patterson usually helped load cargo, but he hadn't showed up for work in three days.
"Yes, well," Alma said. "It's time to hire someone else. I'm sick to death of his benders and his excuses. If he can't show up for work even half the time, he's out."
"He's got a lot on his mind." Mitch was bent over the case, securing the straps to the floor. "And he's got three kids. Give him a break, Al."
"I've given him a break," Alma said. "And a break and a break and a break. He hasn't shown up for work in three days. He hasn't called in sick. There's a limit to what we can put up with."
"He's a vet," Mitch said, winching the strap tight.
"So's half the town, and they get to work." Alma leaned out the hatch. Lewis was carefully not offering an opinion. He was very aware that Gilchrist Aviation belonged to Alma and Mitch. He might be the boss's husband, but he wasn't an owner, and whether they let Joey Patterson go or not wasn't his decision.
She looked up as Stasi came clattering across the concrete floor of the hangar on her Cuban heels, Dora on her shoulder wearing a very bizarre paper hat. "Alma, you need to come to the phone," she said. "Floyd Odlum from Consolidated is calling you from LA!"
Lewis straightened up like a hound who's just heard a familiar car coming down the street.
Dora let out a shriek and reached for Alma, but she ducked it. "Floyd Odlum?" He was the owner of Consolidated Aircraft, one of the biggest manufacturers in the country, and a part owner of RKO Pictures, a millionaire a dozen times over, an aircraft magnate to the limit. He'd never called Gilchrist Aviation before.
Stasi nodded, red lipstick unsmeared and hair in finger waves despite Dora's depredations. "I told him you were out in the hangar checking on a plane and that I'd get you immediately."
"What the hell?" Mitch wondered, leaning out the hatch.
"I'll go see." Alma hurried back toward the office, Stasi following with Dora. At not quite two, Dora was much too young for school, and so she came to work every day, to her own little messy corner of the office off the hangar. There was always one of the four adults around to chase her or at least keep her out of things she shouldn't be in, like aviation fuel. Today she seemed to have been making paper hats, which didn't get the billing done, but at least Stasi was answering the phone.
Alma took a deep breath before she picked up the earpiece and the phone. "Mr. Odlum? This is Alma Segura."
His voice was a little high pitched, not what you'd expect. "Out checking on your own planes? I like a hands-on approach."
"So do I," Alma said. She didn't mention that with only three people working on the planes full time, she couldn't exactly sit in a corner office if she wanted to. Unlike Odlum, she didn't have hundreds of employees.
"I'm calling you with a business proposition," Odlum said. "I've been talking with Henry Kershaw over at Republic, and he said he'd hired Gilchrist Aviation to do some work for him in the past and he'd been very, very pleased with the results."
"I'm glad to hear that, Mr. Odlum," Alma said.
"Call me Floyd. Henry had nothing but nice things to say, and I think you're exactly the type of outfit I need for this job."
"What type is that?" Alma asked. "And please — call me Alma."
"Nimble. Independent. Henry said you had top quality pilots, decorated aces who had done some test flights for him. I'd like to contract with you for two or three guys for a couple of months to do some particular tests for me. And of course I'd pay top dollar — eight hundred dollars each per month, or two hundred bucks a week for the part months."
"That's very generous," Alma said. And it was. That was serious money. Mitch and Lewis had done some test flights for Henry for less than that. But a couple of months? "What's the test?"
"I'm sure you've heard about Consolidated's Catalina Flying Boat," Odlum said. "We've got a contract with the Navy to deliver a double-engine seaplane with flexible functions, as a cargo plane, a light bomber, whatever they need — anywhere there's no runway but ocean. The Catalina is in final trials now, and we're very pleased with it." Odlum sounded appropriately smug. "But as you may surmise, the design has commercial applications as well. We've got a nose in from Qantas — you know, those Aussie guys. They're interested in the Catalina as a passenger and cargo airplane for the South Pacific. Since it's a flying boat and doesn't require a runway to land, it would allow for service to islands where there is no runway and no money to build one. That's very interesting to them. And there are a bunch of little guys, small companies and single aviators who provide a lot of the service out there — they want a reliable plane that can land on the water and that isn't fussy about conditions. We think the Catalina could be their plane. We think it's ideal for inter-island service, passenger and cargo both."
"That sounds very promising," Alma said. "As you know, we principally run the Kershaw Terrier, and it's the same kind of flexible utility plane."
"That's why Henry suggested you," Odlum said.
Dora let out a shriek, reaching for Alma's head with both arms, nearly flinging herself off Stasi in the process. Stasi grabbed her around the waist, and Dora screamed.
"Is that a baby?" Odlum said.
"Absolutely not," Alma replied. Nothing looked more unprofessional than Dora in the office.
"Oh," Odlum said, and went on. "The Navy has been conducting field trials appropriate to their anticipated usage, but their data is not only unavailable to the public, but also obviously doesn't apply in many situations."
Stasi did a little dance trying to keep Dora from grabbing the phone's stick in Alma's hand, and Alma picked up a pencil off the desk. She scribbled 'Take her out in the hangar and keep Mitch from spraining something' across the receipt pad.
"Yes, clearly," Alma said. "So I'm guessing, Floyd, that what you're talking about is conducting civilian-use trials that will more closely approximate the kind of flying conditions that your Australian market might anticipate?"
"Got it in one!" Odlum said.
Stasi squinted at the note and nodded, hauling Dora around again in mid-squirm. Dora let out another shriek that was cut off by Stasi closing the hangar door behind them.
"We need some data from an independent contractor, as of course our own internal trials aren't going to generate data that's convincing to the Qantas boys or any of the rest of them. Gilchrist has done good work for Republic in the past, and Henry says your pilots are top-notch. I remember meeting your husband and being very impressed."
"Lewis is a good pilot," Alma said. "And yes, he's done test piloting for Republic as well as winning the DSC in France for his air service."
"I thought I saw something about him being decorated for his search and rescue flying recently," Odlum said. "For the reserves."
"Yes," Alma said. "Lewis and Mitchell Sorley too. They're who I'd suggest for your job." Not that she wouldn't want to do it, Alma thought with a twinge, but her credentials on paper weren't nearly as good, not to mention that she couldn't leave Dora for a couple of months. That was just off the table. "I take it you'd want them in LA?"
"That sounds good," Odlum said, "But not in LA. We want to approximate the kind of inter-island flying that our South Pacific buyers expect to do. Same weather conditions, same water landings, same challenges, same kind of wear and tear on the equipment. We'll be conducting the trials in the Hawaiian Islands. My friend Miss Cochran — I think you met her at Henry's a couple of years ago?"
"Yes," Alma said, "I did." Hawaii. Lewis would go to Hawaii without her. For business, of course.
"Miss Cochran was in the MacRobertson Air Race last fall. London to Melbourne. Had to drop out with damage in Bucharest, sadly. Anyway, she hasn't won one yet."
"I hope she does," Alma said. She only vaguely remembered the pretty young brunette she'd seen on Odlum's arm at Henry's party. There had been so much going on that night.
"Well, I'm saying that there's no reason she shouldn't," Odlum said. "That's what I'm saying. Any chance you might be willing to take some of the test flights yourself? I hear good things about you in the air."
