Order of the Air Omnibus: Books 1-3 (128 page)

"Assuming the weather hasn't changed much?" Lewis asked.

"It's got to build up a charge somehow," Mitch said slowly. "Which would mean that right after it discharges it can't do it again immediately. It would have to recharge before it could do it again."

"Exactly, darling!" Stasi said. "Just like when a fellow…."

"That's an interesting thought," Lewis said quickly. "That would mean there's a time when it's safe to get near it."

"And a time when it's not." Mitch nodded. "We can test that. Let's see what happens around twenty till twelve."

Stasi looked up at the Death Ray. It was rather tall and pointy and bulbous.

Lewis's head went up. "We've got company," he said. "A car and a truck." They were coming up the road slowly, careful of the snow.

"Stasi, time to get back in the minehead," Mitch said, bundling up the crackers and helping her to her feet. Lewis had already slung his rifle over his back by the strap and started up the ladder to the catwalks above.

"Now don't do anything foolish," Stasi said. "I mean it."

"I won't," Mitch said. "I'm just going to talk to them."

M
itch walked out toward the entrance, in front of Tesla's device, his hands well away from his sides. Outside, a car door slammed. He was acutely aware of Lewis, sliding silently into a prone firing position on the boards above. If he hadn't known where he was, he wouldn't have spotted him. Even with bright sun outside, the shadows in the building were deep and Lewis could be perfectly still. He could see that there were six of them now, a man with graying hair in a good overcoat in front, and five other guys behind who looked like hired muscle, two of them wearing jackets too thin for the cold. Kirsch's guys from LA, Mitch thought. They'd driven up in the truck but they weren't really prepared for Colorado winter. That was a piece of information to file away behind his eyes.

They saw him, and Mitch raised one hand genially, laying the good ole boy on thick. "Hey! How you boys doing? You looking for something?"

The man in the good overcoat shaded his eyes, then stepped into the shadow of the building. "We've got a salvage permit from the state," he said. "We're here to disassemble the equipment."

Mitch's friendly smile didn't waver. "I don't reckon so," he said. "That device belongs to Dr. Tesla. I work for him, and it don't come down until he says it does. It don't belong to the state."

"It's on state land," the guy replied. That must be Kirsch, the one doing all the talking.

"That may be," Mitch said. "But it belongs to Dr. Tesla. It doesn't go anywhere without his signature." Time to give them an out. "You come back with that, I'll help you boys take it apart." Maybe they'd go back to town, forge a signature and come back. That would stall things half a day, hopefully long enough for either Alma or the Guard to get here.

Kirsch frowned. "You work for Tesla?"

"Yep." Mitch grinned. "Real interesting job."

Two of the boys in the back cast each other wary looks.

Kirsch wasn't going to back off. "We've got a salvage permit from the state," he said. "So we're taking it down."

"I reckon I can't let you do that," Mitch said. Sweat popped out on his back, crawling under his coat. Six on one. That was going to be fun. But if he went to the right he'd give Lewis a clear field of fire….

Kirsch took a step closer. He was shorter, but he had a kind of bulldog tenacity that made you not want to mess with him. "If I were you, I'd get out of the way, pal."

"I can't do that," Mitch said. "I got my job to do."

"If that's how you want to play it." Kirsch reached in his coat and pulled out a .38 Special. "Now step on back and nobody gets hurt."

Beneath his feet, Mitch felt a rumble, the device beginning its power up right on time. "You really don't want me to use it, do you?" he asked. One of the boys took a step back involuntarily. The device was beginning to light, creepers of current rising along the struts. "Cause I will if I need to."

"Mr. Kirsch," one of them began.

Kirsch extended the gun. "Now listen here, pal. You turn that thing off and get out of the way."

"Can't do that," Mitch said. Which was literally true. He didn't have the faintest idea how to turn off Tesla's device.

The throbbing was getting louder, the streamers brighter, shifting from blue to indigo. The bulb at the top was beginning to glow. Mitch could feel the electricity in the air, like standing in the face of a coming storm.

Kirsch glanced up at the machine and Mitch punched him. It was a good, solid roundhouse, knocking him backwards into one of his guys, the gun clenched in his hand. He was going to regret that in about three seconds.

One of the boys yelled, and another started backing away. Lightning jumped along the coils, the noise rising to a roar.

Mitch threw himself flat, grounding himself as much as possible, hoping Lewis had the good sense to put the rifle down and not be touching it. He squeezed his eyes shut.

Lightning crackled, the sound almost simultaneous, a blinding flash that seemed to crawl along his backbone, punctuated by the screams and yells of Kirsch's men. He opened his eyes to see them running for the door, the flash's negative image still dancing in his eyes. Kirsch was holding his right hand to his chest, the pistol left on the floor. The current would have jumped to it, an electrical burn serious enough to knock the man down and out of it.

Sure enough, he was being dragged along by his boys, stumbling between two of them as they ran back out into the sunlight, jumping in the car and truck like the hounds of hell were after them.

Mitch grinned and stood up. Stasi was peeping around the minehead entrance. "Darling, are you all right?"

"I'm fine," Mitch called back. He tilted his head up. "Lewis?"

Lewis stuck his head over the edge of the catwalk. "All good up here. Though I don't want to be that close to that thing again when it goes off."

Stasi glanced at her watch. "Twenty till twelve. So one twenty five for the next one."

"Right on the dot." Mitch couldn't stop grinning.

Lewis was climbing down the ladder. "You think they'll be back?"

"No doubt about it," Stasi said. "There's a lot of money in this. As soon as they get their breath back and have a stiff drink, they'll realize none of them were really hurt. And yes, they'll be back. And it won't work a second time."

"Not to mention that we can't actually make it happen when we want it to," Mitch said. He picked up Kirsch's gun. Yep, a .38 police special. He tucked it in his waistband.

"You don't have a problem with that now?" Stasi said.

"I think I'm a little busy right now," Mitch said. "Now let's go see if we can raise Alma on the radio. She ought to be inbound about now."

"I'll find the Frontiersman's frequency," Lewis said A shadow seemed to lift from his face at the idea of reaching Alma. "Let's see where she is."

T
he South Platte River lay off the starboard wing, a dark and definite line cutting through the patchy snow and scrub. Alma glanced at the compass again, though she knew the heading hadn't changed, looked back at the mountains rising beyond the windshield. They'd just passed Sterling, the town name painted large on the roof of a barn just off the main road; another seventy miles, give or take, and they'd be over Fort Morgan, and she'd have to choose, strike southwest for home, cross-country without a lot of landmarks, relying on dead reckoning and the beacon at their home field, or follow the South Platte on to Greeley, then turn due south to follow ridge and road. The sensible thing would be to follow the river, but the unanswered telegram nagged at her, pushing her to hurry.

There was no point in changing course before Fort Morgan, though, and she made herself relax, shaking out first one hand and then the other.

"Everything ok?" Jerry asked, and she forced a smile.

"Fine. I just wish we'd heard from Lewis."

Jerry nodded. "Yeah."

There were clouds building over the highest mountains, still miles away and high enough that she didn't think there was much weather behind them. Cut south from Fort Morgan, and she'd be home long before they were a problem, anyway.

The radio crackled in her ear, a faint voice patiently repeating. "Gilchrist Frontiersman, this is Gilchrist base. Come in, please. Gilchrist Frontiersman, this is Gilchrist base."

Alma snatched at the microphone, forgetting radio discipline. "Lewis? Is that you?"

"Al!" Lewis's voice was freakishly clear, then lost in a burst of static.

"Say again, Gilchrist base?"

"Sorry, Frontiersman." Lewis had himself under control again, too. "I read you loud and clear."

"You, too," Alma answered. "We're a bit past Sterling, that's about an hour and a half from the field. Did you get my telegram?"

"Telegram?"

Alma could almost see his frown.

"The one I sent from Cedar Rapids this morning?"

"We're not at the office," Lewis answered. "We're up at the mine."

The mine. Alma swallowed the words, and was proud of how steady her voice was when she spoke again. "Lewis, there's a good chance that Pelley's men are heading out there —"

"They've already been. Don't worry, we're fine. Mitch ran them off with Dr. Tesla's device."

"You figured out how to turn it off?"

"Not exactly."

"Lewis —"

"It's still running," Lewis said. "It's on a steady cycle, builds up a charge and then discharges about every hour and forty-five minutes."

Alma glanced at the clock in the Dude's dash. "When did it last go?"

"It'll go again at three-ten," Lewis answered, and Alma gave a sigh of relief. They wouldn't be anywhere near the mine until three-thirty.

"Ok," she said. "What's the snow like up there?"

"Nothing new since day before yesterday. Pretty good cover everywhere."

Alma stared into the clouds, visualizing the land around the mine. "What about the clearing where the Ford crashed? How bad is that chewed up?"

"You can't land there —" Lewis stopped abruptly.

"Can't, or you don't want me to?" Alma asked. "Lewis, I've got Dr. Tesla with me. You need him."

"Yeah, I know." To her surprise, Lewis didn't sound unhappy, just thoughtful. "Hang on a minute."

Alma waited, the static singing in her headphones, and then Lewis's voice returned.

"The Ford went down pretty easy, just dropped in straight, and Mitch says he doesn't think the Reserves messed it up much getting the trucks in. You might be able to put the Dude down in the Ford's track. I've got the truck, and I can come get you."

"I'll radio when I get close," Alma said. "And I'll pass over the mine just to be sure."

"Roger that," Lewis said, with a belated return to procedure. "Just — be careful. We've chased these guys off once, but Stasi thinks they'll be back, and I agree."

"I will be," Alma answered. "I'll radio again when we're in sight of the mine. Frontiersman out."

"Roger," Lewis said again. "Gilchrist out."

Alma replaced the microphone, aware of Jerry's wary stare. "We're going to land at the mine," she said. "Pelley's men are already there."

"Can we?" Jerry asked.

"We're certainly going to try."

T
here was no point in questioning Alma when she got that look about her. The Dude droned on to the west, and after a bit Alma checked her instruments and sent them into a shallow bank. She straightened onto a southwest heading, and Jerry knew they were committed. Not that Al would try to land if it was impossible, but — she'd do everything short of that. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw movement in the cabin, and looked over his shoulder to see Tesla fumbling with his seatbelt. "Do you need a hand with something, Dr. Tesla?"

Tesla smiled. "Oh. Yes, that would be kind, Dr. Ballard."

Jerry glanced at Alma, who nodded. "Go ahead. We're still fifty minutes out."

"Ok." Jerry worked himself out of the co-pilot's seat, balancing awkwardly on his wooden leg, and let himself fall into the seat opposite Tesla. "What can I do for you, Dr. Tesla?"

"My carryall." Tesla waved at the satchel strapped to the rear bulkhead. "At least — do I understand that we should expect trouble at the mine?"

"Yeah," Jerry said. "It sounds like Pelley's men are trying to take your device."

"William Pelley," Tesla said. "So he's behind all this?"

"We think so," Jerry said. "You know him?"

"Only by reputation," Tesla answered. "But what I have heard, I don't like at all. If you'd just bring my carryall forward?"

"Of course," Jerry said. He braced himself against the bulkhead to undo the straps, then pulled the bag forward so that it sat between their seats.

"Thank you," Tesla said, and unlatched the top. "Might I ask, Dr. Ballard, what your specialty was in the war?"

"I was in the artillery." Jerry craned his neck, but could make out only two pairs of pliers sitting atop dark metal shapes that were unpleasantly like grenades.

"Excellent. That should prove useful." Tesla rummaged in the bag, and pulled out an egg-shaped metal canister with a narrow neck and what looked like a screw cap. He used one set of pliers to open the top, then reached into the bag for a metal cylinder the size of a pencil. "These aren't really very damaging — it's just photographic flash powder — but it certainly should surprise anyone on the ground. These are contact fuses, of my own design. They're very stable, it really does take falling out of an airplane to set them off. Which was the problem."