The Black Lung Captain - By Chris Wooding Page 0,6
Down on the valley floor the walls pressed in tight. The waters thundered through, swollen by the spring floods, glittering silver-grey in the moonlight.
Frey knew the Ketty Jay was operating well below par, but he could still fly better than any amateur could. It took nerve to race through enclosed spaces in an aircraft at night. Nerve that he was betting his pursuers didn't have.
'They're taking potshots at us, Cap'n,' Pinn said in his ear.
'Follow me down into the valleys. Buzz them when you can. Just keep them occupied.'
Pinn muttered something Frey didn't quite catch and then shut up again.
Frey rubbed at his earcuff absently. The early versions of the daemon-powered communicators had leached energy from their users, tiring them out the more they talked to each other. Crake had refined them since, giving them better range and minimising the draining effect. Now they could gabble on to their heart's content, but that only meant they argued and bitched more. Frey wondered if he hadn't preferred the way it was before.
'How's that cropduster, Malvery?' he called.
'Falling behind,' the doctor replied from the cupola.
Frey smiled. The Ketty Jay had finally built up some speed. Not enough to outstrip the villagers' craft, but enough to make them work to keep up. Still, it was going to be difficult flying through the valleys in her condition. Since the Ketty Jay took so long to accelerate, he couldn't use his air brakes. He'd be forced to take every turn at speed.
Just be extra careful, he told himself, knowing that he wouldn't be.
The Ketty Jay swooped into a valley. Slopes of grass and rock blurred by on either side, punctuated by scrawny trees hanging on at unlikely angles. Frey boosted the aerium engines - at least they worked fine - and pulled back on the flight stick to level out a few dozen metres above the river. The valley floor was wide here, and there were small, isolated farming communities on the banks, their windows dark. The Ketty Jay roared past them, kicking up spray and panicking their sleepy herds. Frey took a small, malicious pleasure in that.
'Malvery? The cropduster?'
'He's gone. Pulled off. Can't see him now. Others are coming in though.'
Well, at least we've scared one of them off. Let's see how long the rest of them last in the valleys.
Frey looked up and saw several of the villagers' rustbucket aircraft angling down towards him. Harkins and Pinn were doing their best to harass them, but the villagers' resolve was unshakable.
Jez was rustling charts at her station. 'Valley branches right up ahead, Cap'n. That one's narrower.'
'We'll take it,' said Frey.
The villagers intercepted them before they got to the fork, descending from above to surround the Ketty Jay. Suddenly Frey found himself in the midst of a swarm of small aircraft that buzzed around him like clumsy bees. He wiped at the inside of the cockpit windglass in a futile attempt to clear the dust that stubbornly clung to the other side. He didn't dare take evasive action. The villagers were flying too close.
He heard the sharp tap of a bullet hitting the Ketty Jay. 'They're shooting at us,' Malvery called, sounding unconcerned.
'Let 'em, if it makes 'em happy,' said Frey. The Ketty Jay's armour plating could take a good deal more than that.
'Turn coming up,' Jez warned him.
Frey flexed his hand on the flight stick. 'Pinn! Harkins! Keep going straight on. Take as many with you as you can. I'm going right.'
'Got it, Cap'n!' said Harkins. Then he screamed.
'What? What?' Frey demanded.
'Something hit me!'
Frey searched for Harkins among the planes that surrounded them, and located the Firecrow. It appeared to be undamaged. Then his eye fell on a nearby villager, who was riding shotgun in an ancient open-top biplane, above and to the left of Harkins. As Frey watched, the man lobbed a small object out of the cockpit. It dropped through the air and bounced off the Firecrow's wing. Harkins screamed again and banked in panic. He almost collided with a one-man flyer that was hard on his tail.
'It happened again!'
'They're throwing stuff at you,' Frey informed him. 'With pretty extraordinary accuracy. I think the last one was a wrench.'
'A wrench?!' Harkins shrieked. 'What . . . how ... I mean, what kind of madmen are these? I don't have to take this! Cap'n, I've got a bad feeling ... I mean to say . . . It's just . . . Allsoul's balls, I'd rather fight the Navy than these lot!'