By: C William Perkins In a matter of seconds the clouds cease to be scenery and become wholly tangible billows of illuminant fog. The chilly vapor streaks over my face and moistens the glass in my brass rimmed goggles. I clench my fists over the hand controls and punch my way through it until I see the bare naked sun shining through the atmosphere. My contrail ignites in flaring oranges and yellows behind me. My lenses polarize the glaring brilliance away but I still have to turn back and forth at angles to keep from blinding myself. (I've seen enough, Buy Now!) A few minutes of this takes me a few miles east already. The rail below becomes a tiny black line cutting across the Midwest. The locomotive’s already out of sight behind me. Just as I start to get thankful for the wool lining inside my jacket, I see the glint of light off Silas’ dirigible.
It floats across one of them nimbus type clouds. Dipping in and out of its cover. I close in on it. The giant white balloon shines like a star with a cruciform tailfin. There’s not a single stitch or seem across the entirety of the bulbous bullet-shaped envelope. A masterpiece of fabrication in its own right. Rubber over some elastic mesh shaped to order. Hanging below about thirty feet from a trio of composite steel high tension cables is the small cobbled together control pod. Its pieces reflect the colors of bronze, brass and aluminum arranged haphazardly to form a small cabin with a pair of stubby wings and rickety Rolls-Royce turbo props off to either side. I swoop in real close-like and grab hold of a hand bar along the rear hatch. Just enough room to fit my feet on the wing. The engines are off. I’m surprised the wind don’t try to tug at my jetpack and tear me off. We’re free floating up here. All moving together nice and peaceful-like. I pound on the glass of the hatch. “Silas!” My voice is vacant at this altitude. Hardly audible to my own ears. “Silas, damn you! Open up!” Some blankets shift inside the glass. A pair of dainty white feet curl under while another pair of feet altogether scramble out of sight. A couple seconds later a lever cranks. The hatch folds up and open. I wrap my leg inside and take hold of a rail. “Pull me in!” Silas grabs the jetpack and pulls while the rest of me follows. My center of gravity weighs me the rest of the way into the pod and onto the floor. Silas pulls the hatch back down. I slip my goggles up to my forehead and blink away the sweat accumulated over my skin. Un-strap my aviator’s cap. A redhead tugs at the blanket I seem to have collapsed on. She’s trying to cover herself. She smiles nervously and wiggles a vague hello with her fingers. “What the hell is this, Silas?” Silas worms one hand through a suspender while his other holds his pants up. He’s jittery like he’s trying to play it off. “Uh, hey what’s up Lorna? Everything alright with the pull?” He checks his watch. “We still got time, right?” I kick at his shins and he bounces away. “No, everything’s not alright with the pull!” I release the circle straps holding me to my jetpack and yank myself up to my feet. It’s hard to be all argumentative and dominant in a fallen over position. My jetpack fills half the cabin. I grab the receiver end of his radio unit on the wall and point it at him. “Radio ain’t working?” He shrugs passively. “You know them things’re always on the fritz.” He tries to keep his chin up, it’s few scraggly hairs curled out tenaciously. “Always—?” I throw the receiver. It bangs against the control panel before springing back on its cord. “There’s someone else robbing the train!” “Really?” He puts his eyes against the glass porthole to try and see but it’s too far. Seems more impressed than bothered. “Didn’t think another rig existed could pull a load that heavy…” “They ain’t robbing the train you idiot, they’re robbing the passengers on it!” I grab a pillow from the floor and chuck it at his face. Wish I had something heavier though. Like a brick or a blow torch. He absorbs it like every other stupid thing in life. “They’re causing a raucous and if they hang around any longer they’re gonna figure out what the fuel’s worth and go for it and if you think a half dozen outlaw hicks mucking around the engine is gonna make stealing it any easier then you’re about as dumb as her being here would suggest!” As an aside to the girl I mutter, “No offense on your part.” “Thanks,” she answers meekly. It’s a small voice what gives the impression she’s younger’n she oughta be. “So what,” Silas sticks his head out. “You want me to hail around and pick her up early—?” “Yes! Yes, I want you to hail around and pick her up early!” Silas just stands there, matching my increasing assertiveness with his ignorant passivity. I can see his brain mulling over the prospect of some remote kind of comprehension and follow through. Like a bunch of giant clockwork gears not turning too quick. “Like now!” I slap him again. He hustles around me to the controls and plays with a few switches before pushing a lever up. The starboard engine flares up and it’s chk-chk-chk’ing accumulates to a smooth restrained roar. He turns a wheel for the tail fins on the balloon. The pod begins to rotate in the sky. The little redhead pulls her blanket in a bit more permanently and holds out her hand. “I’m Ethel.” I shake it discrete-like. “Lorna. Lorna Lockheed.” “I know,” she giggles and withdraws. Her first real embarrassment despite being naked under a blanket. “You’re like, amazing. I’ve heard lots of your stories.” “Thanks,” I watch the clouds shift outside the glass. Nice to have fans. I guess. “He tell you his name is Silas Sidewinder?” I ask her. “Mm-hmm,” she nods eagerly. “It ain’t,” I tell her. “It’s Sankovic.” She’s too young to hide her disconcertion. Silas snaps, “Lorna!” but it’s more pouting than fearsome. Ethel tucks her blanket up a bit more conservative. “Serbian,” I whisper for her. Ethel asks timidly, “Is he really in the Aeronautics Society?” “You’re in his balloon, ain’tcha? Nah, that parts real enough, regrettably.” Silas ignites the port engine and powers it up to match the starboard. Straightens the tail fins. The turn fades into a more constant forward motion. “Follow back down the track,” I tell him. “I know, Lorna, I’m already doing it.” “Well speed it up, guy, we gotta make for lost time.” “It’s speeding up,” he pleads but I don’t feel it. “It ain’t for racing, it’s built for hauling.” We’re heading opposite the train now so we ought to be catching up pretty quick. Time to weasel back into my gear. I practically have to lay backwards on the thing to get back into the straps. Not my most flattering position but it gets the job done. And getting jobs done is by far my most flattering everything. “Where you going now?” Silas whines. He better be careful whining like that or this’ll be his last flight with Ethel. “Well I ain’t sticking around.” I grab hold of the hatch release. “You gotta help with the rigging.” “Relax, Sankovic. I’ll be back in a jiffy. If they get hold of that fuel we’re coopered. Someone’s gotta protect that engine till you get your white hairy butt into position.” Ethel blushes. He must really have a white hairy butt. Gag me. “I’m going, I’m going,” Silas defends as if I’m still yelling at him. Maybe I should be. “When you see the train in the distance, start turning around,” I tell him. “If they pass before you get your right bearing you won’t catch up. Too fast.” “I know how to fly,” he says. “We’re going.” “Nobody says to Lorna Lockheed they know how to fly,” I turn around just enough to brow beat him. “I tell you when you know how to fly. Just don’t screw it up.” “I wasn’t gonna.” “One more thing.” “What?” “Gimme a pistol.” “I don’t—” he starts overturning his junk to prove a point. “I don’t got one.” “Fine.” I tighten up my strap. Goggles down. “I’ll find one myself.” I twist the release. Push. The back hatch lifts up and air immediately rushes around the cabin, tossing that pretty girl’s hair. “Hey Ethel, you watching?” “Yeah!” she calls back. “Next time you get itchy for a joyride, call me insteada Sleazebag Sidewinder, here. I’ll let you keep your dress on and maybe teach you a trick or two. Maybe something like this,” I say and she starts to ask what I mean but I’m already dropping backward out the hatch into the open air at thirty-five hundred feet. I arc my back until I’m diving headlong back to Earth. Give it two seconds and then thumb the ignition. Jetpack flares to life. I feel the heat on the back of my ankles. Stabilizers snap out and catch the wind. I roll left and spiral onto my side.
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