Disclaimer: this is a work of fiction. It is a draft; there are mistakes, many misspellings and sometimes long periods of no updates. copyright: ion fyr 2025
“Captain!” Shouted Etelka again, getting frustrated with their lack of movement in the increasingly dire situation.
Beatrix, the engineer appeared, hanging and leaning into the crowded cargo hold by her bronze mechanical arm. “Ma’am…” She already had tears in her eyes, before the shock of Nila’s and Pool’s arms sprayed over the hold set in. “The captain’s…been….” Her words didn’t come.
Etelka looked back at Nila and Pool. Luc seemed to know what he was dealing with. She then pushed past the engineer and ran foreward the length of the airship to the cockpit.
There she was met with another catastrophe.
She exhaled an exasperated sigh as she stepped over Attilla’s limp body toward the the gore-soaked pilot’s chair. While Nila (and Pool) had only been hit by shrapnel from the lightning fast ball of molten death from their foe, poor Captain Gordon had been hit squarely amidships.
The cockpit stunk with the reek of bile and blood, even as the wind and ocean spray blew through the gaping shattered windows. She approached, stepping over the torn remains of her loyal pilot.
The control sticks looked intact, but she could hear the whistles followed by the crack sonic booms as more projectiles tore through Baba Yaga’s Hut [rename Baba Yaga’s Revenge] puncturing the gas envelops above. She thought she could even smell the escaping hydrangeum.
No time to fix that now,…or him... she looked at the remains of the Captain. Yet, it seems I have all the time in the world.
Her creation, which had brought her friends together across centuries, was thankfully still intact.
Etelka took the handle and cranked the machine a half dozen times as quickly as she could. It might not be enough, but the internal spools were whirring. She thumbed the date-time dials without looking exactly at what they were set for, and lunged at the lever of the device.
There was a shudder and a flutter of light oscellations from outside. She steadied herself against the dizziness on the blood-drenched headrest on the pilot’s seat. It was still warm, clotted with gobs of Captain Gordon.
The baroness looked down at the mess her hand rested in, recoiled and stifled the rise of her own bile. Things had to be done. The moment’s triage separated the obviously dead Captain Gordon from her still living friends.
She turned and almost ran straight into Beatrix. “Attila is still with us, ma’am,” the woman said, wiping tears away with her birth-hand. “The Captain…” She looked over Etelka’s shoulder and then at the shattered windows and fusilage of the gondola. “Are we…?”
“Safe?” Etelka finished. “Probably for the time being.” The beach outside looked no different than it did before they jumped. “Unless there are other dangers in this time, we have a moment to review our situation.”
Luc had moved Nila to the table in the lounge. An insect-like contraption, shiny and glossy black with articulated “legs” wrapped around what was left of Nila’s shattered arm.
He looked up at her, noted her bloody hand without comment–his own were just as blood-soaked–and answered her unspoken question. “It’s a medical device. Part of an emergency first-aid kit I kept in the car. It will stabilize the wound and prevent infection. It’s not enought to regrow the limb, but it will suffice for a while, at least until we can get to a medical facility.”
Pool, who had seated himself down at the end of the table, at Nila’s head, asked, “Mr Maron, are not the medical facilities in the 23rd century under the same auspicies and authorities as those who have just done us this injustice. It was an unprovoked attack!” Pool held his stump up. “I’m sure Ms Tagore couldn’t have brought this upon herself so soon, on this extremely remote island.”
Ion Fyr 