Cold. Bright and cold, as always. The winds that blew in from the north always carried this chill upon them, bellowing through their unnatural clouds and scraping all who passed by with its ominous kiss. Maybe it was just my superstitious gut; hay, it probably was my gut. These trade routes were the most protected things in all Equestria, and definitely the most important. Not a day went by wherein there was no patrol vessel or friendly cargo ship. We had in fact met one earlier today, and managed to trade an incoming stock of wheat rations for a crate or two of munitions. And yet, I swore there was something wrong with the breeze.
As I looked over the railing of the ship to the icy depths below, my sight barely overlooked the large, purple sac that spanned the length of my wooden ship. The stitched tarp covering of this bloated thing was firmly squeezing against two huge brass couplers that tied it to the ship. A smile washed over my face; it was good to know I didn't have to worry about our helium ballast leaking.
The wind blew harder, spitting it's icy chill at me and ripping at my black captain's jacket. My green mane, normally well kempt and flattened, rode the gust, washing out of my face in an attempt to free itself from my stark white coat. After enduring about an hour of this, I could hardly feel it anymore. I turned my head with this wind, my mane sweeping around to hug my exposed cheeks. All sails - two on the forward mast, one on the back - were guzzling this wind harshly. The looming masts were actually swaying. I now realized that it was a good idea to strap the rope netting to them, lest they fall and take
us with them.
Down this large netting that bridged the tip of the masts and the iron sides, a dark figure descended from the clouds. She was grey all around, with but a curly black mane and tail to offer any contrast. She skid down the ropes with skill, darting down like a pony at basic military training. I always envied this mare's flexibility and agility; I myself was getting out of shape.
"Sir!" she said to me as she secured herself on her hooves.
"Report," I commanded. I fell from the railing to the thick wooden deck, the wind almost whisking my voice away.
She came close to me, stepping over a few scattered tools. "Ice."
"As always," I said with a chuckle.
"She's movin' in pretty fast too. Looks like we got only a few hours." The grey mare propped herself up on the railing just as I was, and I did so too. Behind us the scuttling of my crew pounded as they rushed the exposed cargo to the underbelly of the ship. I gave a curt nod over my shoulder to the few who were looking, then turned back to the side of the ship. Grey clouds, thick and nasty, sat on the horizon, ready to blotch out the sun on a moment's notice.
"And our bearings?" I asked, examining the frost that was beginning to build on the starboard helium sac.
"Thirty-two knots directly northeast, sir. This wind's playin' hell on our sails," she said. A quick glance over her shoulders to the sail reaffirmed my fears.
"The Glacials always do. I swear, you think they'd move the damn route by now," I said. Distant in the horizon, beneath the oncoming storm clouds, icy mountains and frozen wastes that were the bane of my existence stood silently, mocking me for all it was worth. Our ship rocked back, then readjusted, giving me a clear view of the grey forsaken hell above which we sailed. "Tell me, did you see any other airships?"
The mare shook her head, looking at me with her grey apologetic eyes. "No sir, 'fraid I didn't. Whole place is deserted."
It wasn't surprising. Hardly anypony volunteered to fly to the iced over Ponianapolis anymore, especially not when the trip from Pirth to Ponyville was warmer and more profitable. I sighed, and said, "Well it was worth a shot. But hey, at least we won't be seeing any pirates, eh?"
We both gave a forced chuckle at my statement, not really looking at each other. The scampering of my crew behind me was dying down, as most had decided to head inside. Soon she and I were the only ones left on the freezing deck. Silent. Cold.
"I guess," she said, " but even if we did, we got that cannon o' yours." We both turned our heads left to face the stern. My quarters were here, built onto the top deck like a normal ocean-fairing ship would have it. There was nothing extraordinary about this; it was built of everfree wood, an iron, gear powered door centered on its angled face. Two Equestrian Victorian style windows lay on either side, tantalizing me with the promise of the lit fires that set them aglow.
Atop this structure, however, was a massive brass tube. On its front was a porous nozzle, cogs severing it and the main chute. Beneath it, it's holder was a dome which sat upon a large turntable. All I had to do was press a little red button, pull a lever, and huge rivets would swing it to face any trouble we had. I smiled at the contraption; it had cost me a forearm, hind leg, and a bit of my sanity to get, but it was by far the most reliable thing on the ship.
"I suppose you're right," I said with a good chortle. I threw myself from the shiny railing, landing on the slick deck below me.
She did the same, and trotted to my side. "We ought to get inside," I said, looking back into the wind. It was now yanking at my mane and ripping at my tail. The twin masts let out a long groan in angst. The sound churned my stomach. "That ice storm will be upon us soon."
"Roger captain," she said jokingly with a mock salute. I smiled and returned the gesture. "I'll go an' check up on them." She began walking towards a bolted hatch that was carved into the deck between the billowing sails.
"Try and keep 'em sober, will you? We may need them," I said. She nodded, kicking up the wooden square, and falling into the loud underbelly. The hatch slammed down behind her, gusting a warm burst in my face. The grace of such heat was so inviting.
Curtly, I spun on my hind hooves, facing my quarters once again. There were a few things to be done before I too could enjoy the kiss of warmth. I trod across the exposed deck, making but tiny clacks as I approached one of the two staircases that would lift me to the cannon's deck. Up these stairs I went, tracing their finely carved handles with my eyes. The whole ship had pegasi wings carved about it: on the handles, the railings, the walls, and even the back of my quarters. Fitting, I supposed, as also carved on these rails were the ships name - the Airborne Drifter.
At the top of the creaking stairs, I took a rather sharp right, almost stumbling on the rail that insisted on standing exactly where I had tried to walk. I managed, though, swerving around it and heading directly towards my peculiar looking steering device. There was the wheel of course, bronze and still through the wind. Directly under it an array of four different sized pedals protruded from the deck, two triangular and two square. Beside the wheel was the circumnavigator, a large, golden interwoven orb with a handle in its center. A hole on the side, just enough to poke my hoof into, beckoned to me like money to the greedy.
I took my place, propping myself up on two hooves. My left hoof slid easily between the freezing golden bands that laced my navigation device, and my other gripped the wheel by a spoke. My hind hooves readied themselves atop the proper pedals. As this was but a small course adjustment, as I supposed the winds of the storm would knock us right a bit, I simply gave the little golden handle a jerk left, tossed the wheel slightly, and stomped down on two of the pedals. Immediately I released, locking the wheel once again. Withdrawing from the circumnavigator was especially hard to do - it was just so cold! But I did it, and fell to all four, making my way back down the stairs and into my quarters.
The gears that laced my door came to life with a monotonous hum, swinging my door inward and allowing me to pass. When I was in, the hum began again, and the iron portal eased shut.
My quarters were luxurious for a ship; red Persian carpets, a large Victorian bed, and a mahogany table in its center were only a few of the things that made it quite homey. I trotted to the table, examining its contents. Across its polished surface, three large parchment maps lay unfurled, illuminated by the soft glow of a strong candle. Across them displayed: Ponianapolis, a tiny town rotting in the icy Glacials; Ponyville, the 'industrial center of Equestria'; and Pirth, the city to rule them all. Our course was mapped in thick dotted lines, tracing from the thin pathetic town straight to the mountainous city of Pirth. "Thank the Empress we're going home," I said under my breath.
From my table, I march onward to my bed. I wanted sleep - I needed sleep. For the past day and a half I had been awake, dealing with scouring winds, drunken crew, traders and cargo. I was exhausted. So exhausted, my eyelids could barely lend me a sliver of light. So exhausted that hardly a thought rummaged through my head. My temper thrived off my pain, though; a scene from the early morning flashed though my head, wherein I just about pushed my chef overboard. Even now I gave a sly chuckle.
At the edge of my bed, I sighed in relief. I shook my formal jacket from my body, picking it up with my teeth and unceremoniously tossing it to the opposite corner of the room. Then, I let my body sink into the soft depths, flopping aboard the plump platform with a sloppy grin. Me, a captain, a man of formalities with a reputation in the world, flying onto my bed like a filly at a pool. True, in public I always made it a point to maintain my manners, but I was whatever I wished in private. And if that meant being uncouth due to exhaustion, then so be it.
I wiggled around for a bit, tossing my sheets in every direction. When I was finally satisfied with the little crater I had dug out for myself, I pressed my head forcibly down, squeezing the rugged pillow beneath me. I felt the weight of worlds and more being torn from my skin as the warmth and comfort of my bed engulfed my entirety. Finally, some rest.
...{|G|}...
My fiery eyes snapped open. Deep in my chest a bomb had exploded, and the aftermath was pulsing through my veins. I shot up, looking in every direction for what could have woken me from such darkness. It was in the center of the room, atop my candle lit navigation table that I found my answer.
There was a tiny glowing orb, no larger than the candle next to it. At first, I had believed it to actually be the candle, and that my weary eyes had been playing a trick on my mind. But now it was growing larger and larger. There was no denying that this was something new, something foreign. Something that I'd only read of in books.
By the time I could fully comprehend the situation, the light had grown to be half my size. It was amazing; a light so small had grown in but a few moments, leaving me little time to prepare. But being a learned captain, I fell quickly from my bed, landing on my chest instead of my hooves. My left foreleg spanned the alcove under my bed, patting the freezing flooring until I had found my prize. A large, cold lump of metal had grazed my hoof. I snagged the thing, yanking it free from the darkness and attempting to get it settled.
It was a spiraling skeletal cylinder, roughly the girth of my foreleg. I slid my hoof in, hitting the metal cap at the bottom, and letting it automatically latch with a puff of grey haze. Now with it secure, I pulled it close to my face to examine its condition. A fair sized tube spanned its length, opening up at the bottom. The back of it popped open at my request, allowing me to gaze upon its gizzards. I could clearly see not one nor two, but three shiny brass bullets linearly stacked in the barrel. At the flick of my hoof, the tiny gears that lined the hoof-cap would spin, there'd be a pop, and that was that.
Nodding to it I closed it's back hatch, lifting my arm and aiming it at the light. Just in time, as well, as just as I gained my aim, the large orb burst into an overwhelming display of gentle heat and scalding light. I could not stare at it, so I was clueless as to how it happened. But upon returning my gaze to the scene, I could clearly see what had happened.
A little lavender lump lay limp upon my maps, a flat, purple mane tracing its back, severed with but a thin, pink stripe. Only its chest expanding to show its life, it made no movements, nor sounds, nor anything for that matter. Even still I kept my hoofgun trained carefully at it, not fully understanding but witty enough to know: this was a unicorn.
The ship violently jerked, sending me, my table, and the mare upon it flying back. Each of us - the table included - slammed against the harsh floors. I scowled in pain, anger ripping my foggy mind apart. The shockwave was gone, and I could stand again. With my unarmed hoof, I heaved myself upright, only to nearly collapse into complete darkness. It took all my willpower to not faint on the spot, though the darkness was at the brink of my vision.
It was my maps. My charts. Our only way to actually navigate back safely. The candle had flown from the table, and decided to use them for target practice. The smell of smoldering ink washed through the room, invading my nostrils and burning them. I scowled harder than I think I ever had before. My eyes were more aflame than my maps, and my mind burned more than that annoying flash of purple light. Raising my metal-clad hoof at the crumpled lavender mare in the center of the room, I was so close to twisting the inner gears, blowing the horn clear off her. And her skull, chest, legs, and such as it goes.
Hissing squeals of the elongated pipe arrays that lined my quarters filled the air, halting my progression to violence. Gaze shifted to two long brass pipes on the far wall, I watched, listening with perked ears and a tilted head. Was the sound coming? I didn't know. The fear in my gut did not relent, though, as it audibly churned and grumbled away.
Then it came: the long, droning siren from the many metal speakers that lined the ship from bow to stern. Whining, ear piercing notes scratched away at my core, sending waves and waves of sharp pain through my skull. I stumbled, left, right, hardly keeping balance as the sirens were accompanied by harsh jerks of the ship. Grimacing and growling I tried my hardest to refocus my balance.
At that moment, my iron door groaned as the cogs began to churn. It creaked open, slowly at first, then slinging in about halfway. In the doorway, tiny chunks of crystalline liquid flying in behind her, was that agile grey mare. There was look upon her face that I had rarely seen before. Only in my days of serving the Trottingham route had I seen such fear in a pony's eyes, or such a quiver upon a pony's lips. "Sir!" she cried.
"What is it? The hail?" I asked her, shifting my attention from my prey.
"No sir!" she told me, "Pirates!"
"Pirates? In this kind of weather?" Such a strange thought; pirate's normally sailed in dinky little toy ships made of driftwood. A pirate in this storm was an impossibility. Unless, however unfortunate this was, these 'pirates' had to do with the unicorn. I mulled over it for a split-second, flashing a look at the limp unicorn, asking, "Are you sure? Are these by any chance unicorns?"
"No sir," the mare said, "no flags. Just pirates!"
I wasn't convinced. Quickly, with uncertainty abound in my mind, I left the fire of my room, the purple mare on the verge of being burned. Of course, it wasn't my concern now - I needed to save the ship. "Put that out, would you?" I asked with a sarcastic hiss as I slipped by the mare, out into the nippy air.
It was dark now; either the clouds were successful in destroying the sunlight totally, or it was night. I couldn't tell which, and I didn't care. Looking to my left to see what the entirety of my crew was panicking about, I was stunned. Beyond the chaotic decks of my siren-engulfed ship, through the deadly hailstorm, and amongst the violent winds a vessel loomed like a harbinger to a battle.
This was no ordinary airship. With the aid of the multitude of lights that set this distant ship aglow, I could see its hull of dark iron supporting a metal deck and ordered, armor-laden crew. They stood ready at lined, organized barrels of shimmering, smoking steel that pointed open their maws towards us.
Behind them, two massive funnels pumped out steam at a massive rate. They sat on either side of a large, expansive structure - a tower, I took it as, only longer, as though it had fallen to its side. On the either side of the ship, four sharp engines jutted out, propellers aimed to the sky, sucking the ice and wind beneath them for support. All of them, despite being patched together in different welding patterns, held the same thing: white-paint, block-font letters REA ICARUS.
"By the Empress..." I mutter, my voice lost to the biting wind.
"The fire's gone sir!" I heard from behind me. Spinning around to face the voice's owner, I was greeted with those proud grey eyes. But they soon drooped, falling from an feisty stare to a worried gaze. "S-Sir? What's wrong?"
My lips fumbled after that. I couldn't quite formulate the words. Why would they be firing at us? Was it the unicorn? It must've been. Even worse, how was I supposed to tell my crew - any of them - this news. I bit my lip in contempt. Yet I had to; they all stood silently staring at me, waiting for my answers with nervous stairs and strained faces. "T-That's not pirates," I finally said.
"Sir?"
"That's not pirates!" Blazoning screeches of the sirens did their best to drown me out, but I rose above them. I looked around frantically, not knowing what to do next. So I continued by saying, "That's a royal airship!"
The collection of differently built ponies, all dressed in sweaty workers coveralls, stared at me silently as though I was a madpony. One small colt, a greenhorn at that, stepped forward to say, "Sir, I doubt that the military would fire at us-"
"Where were we hit?" I asked.
No response.
"Where were we hit?" I shouted at them.
"T-The bottom hull sir!" one immediately said. My eyes widened at this news, and quickly I spun around and glanced over the railing. It was true, there was a gaping maw in the underbelly of my ship. But that was not why I began to gag. Our cargo, the cargo we had spent a good week freezing to get, was falling to the ice lands below.
"Fire a flare!" I said to them. Dropping from the railing and spinning to face them, I repeated my order, "Fire a damn flare! And you..." I pointed to the grey mare in my fore, who was desperately trying to avoid an incoming chunk of hail. "...Get things steady, now!" She nodded to me, and began barking orders to the crew.
Without even the thought of hesitation scraping my mind, I dashed up the closest staircase. Using the rail as a grip, I slung myself around, once again tripping on the damned decorative railing that was so insistent to kill me. To the wheel I galloped, skidding on the icy wood and almost missing it.
I gripped with all the strength I could summon. Perhaps had I been in shape, I could've had it sooner, but with a bit of help from my hoofgun, I got to terms with it nonetheless. It was slick with crystal water, burning my hand in a way only the cold could. Face scrunched tight, I ignored it, propping myself upright again and mashing down the pedals. But this time, instead of stomping down on the squares, I hit the triangular pads, jamming them down as far as they would go.
From behind me a loud, awful grinding sound stabbed at my ears. It was the sound of the massive gears grinding, the deathly sound of cold iron against cold iron. A quick look over my shoulder, and I could see the turntable spinning up. The massive cannon that it supported came to life, it's rivets growling as steam pumped thought it's pipe array.
A sudden shot came from my fore. I snapped my head back to normal, finding that its origin was a lone orange orb that was shooting through the dead night air. Hail stormed all around it, but it's path was unstopped; it flew high, reaching its arching point and bursting in a small explosion, giving birth to four smaller orbs that faded in the darkness.
What came next scared me to death, not only after the initial shock but its repercussions as well. A cannon was heard in the distance, the loud bang ringing in my abused ears. Round, dark, and fast, a cement slug hurled through the storm at a speed not even death could outrun. With vigor it slammed into our side, knocking the Airborne right. I could hardly keep the thing steady.
And I was invaded with a new sensation; the sweet smell of juicy, ripe mangos, freshly cut from the tree and spliced in plump slices. It reminded me of the tropics of Equestria, a place I'd only been once. Fruity and abundant, the smell soon rolled over the whole ship, a soft hissing, almost a whining accompanying it. Gazing down to my front left, I let a gasp slip through my lips as the purple helium sac slowly sunk closer and closer to the ship. Succulent gasses rushed forth into the freezing air, their tasty smell stained sour with the bitter realization...
We were doomed.
Looking back at my cannon, then down at my crew, I mulled over the possibilities. The Airborne was showing the first signs of its deadly, inevitable list. Even by simply holding the bronze ship wheel, I could feel the heavier cargo scrape its way out through the bottom decks. In truth, and this I realized, there were only two options left: surrender or revenge. My mind was horribly abuzz with warring thoughts.
To surrender before death is one thing. It is, in some cases, a show of weakness. Ponies who surrender before the match is decided are weak, cowardly, and often shunned. But in other cases, it is a sign of strength. Many a good pony commander had surrendered to save his men, a noble cause that spoke of valor and triumph, even in defeat. This situation, however, was different. We were doomed.
And to surrender when doomed is not only cowardly, but also pointless.
The left sac was deflating quickly, becoming loose and saggy. Soon the ship began to tilt further, tossing my panicking crew about as they scurried to secure the various snapping ropes and downed sails. I gave the wheel my all, switching pedals and tossing it right. The masts hissed, steams pouring out from their bases as they spun with my steer. I could feel the bought time increasing, even if it was slight. Then, I felt our time drop to a new low, like a stopwatch beneath a hammer. Another sonic crack resonated from the far away war vessel, and before even I could comprehend what was happening, the central mast fragmented at its core, bursting into splints and tiny frail shards.
Large, wooden, and unstable from the start, the column split in half, ripping it's rope bindings from the hull and collapsing atop the deck. I watched in slow motion as it hurled down, as deadly as any gun or cannon. The thick wood crashed upon the sturdy grey pony, and she was lost in the splitting wood and tattered white sails. I looked away. I just didn't have it in me to see her go, so I tossed my head into the wind, letting the freezing cold gusts sting my eyes. There was the scream, the crack, then nothing. It was a shame; I actually felt a tear in my eye. Though, perhaps it was the wind. I lied to myself, lied to my mind. This was no time for emotions.
Despite its cause, I flicked the tiny droplet away, barely regaining control of the loose helm. The ship was listing even more now - horrendously so, in fact. Our last mast released an awful groan; the sound sliced through the thick sirens, grabbing my sight. The front jibs were loose, the sails caving, and the pillar itself disfigured like a willow tree. The scuttling ponies, try as they might to hang onto this final grip, were being tossed down to the left rail one by one. The long siding moaned under their weight.
I would only have one shot at this, and I knew it.
I yanked the wheel left, cramming my hooves down the opposite pedals, taking the huge brass tube with me. It groaned as it swooped above me. Taking a good look at it, I realized, scowling furiously, that if I didn't fire now, the slug would do no more than crash into a patch of ice below.
So blindly I jammed down the triangular pedals, steadied the wheel, and reached inside the golden circumnavigator. The handle in it displayed a tiny little red button; so small, one could only push it with precision and force. And that's exactly what I did.
There was a colossal crack that burst through the comparatively quiet air. My eyes shut tight, so tight that I began to see lights. I clenched my teeth, gritting them as an awful ringing pulsed through my ears. Forcing my eyes to open, even if just barely, I saw that my crew - the ones who hadn't been tossed overboard to meet their fate early - all had the same red faced look of pain.
I didn't see what happened next. The wind hastened, and things became light. Our bow dipped down into the airy sea below, the forward jibs and final ropes snapping and flying up behind the ship. In a ferocious loss of control, I was slammed onto the wheel, cracking my head on a spoke. A small whimper was all I could manage as I looked forward. Everything became sickeningly fast, yet death defiantly slow.
We had officially begun our decent of almost thirteen-thousand feet.
