over to Charlotte Villiers. He'd wanted to surrender the Infundibulum to save the ship. You quote the Bible , Everett thought, but do you live by it?
Sharkey looked up suddenly. He went to the great curving window of the flight deck. He pulled down a magnifier from in front of one of the ceiling-mounted computer monitors and moved it on its angle-poise arm over the glass until it was focused on the thing out there in the white glare that had distracted him. He pulled down a microphone on a scissor arm.
“Mr. Mchynlyth, the prodigals return.”
Everett felt a vibration run through the airship, through the decking, up through his feet. In his brief time as stowaway, cook, planesrunner, and now as a transuniverse navigator, he had learned the many shivers and shudders and twitches and tremors of Everness. This low hum was the cargo hatch lowering. He would not feel the hedgehoppers landing, they were too light and clever to make a heavy footfall, but he could feel the bridge shake to other feet, two sets, coming fast up the spiral staircase. He didn't look up. He worked on, steadily, surely connecting Dr. Quantum to the jumpgun in its cradle.
“Mr. Sharkey, Mr. Mchynlyth!” Captain Anastasia made every entrance voice first. “Prepare for flight.” She strode onto the bridge, pulling off her sheepskin-lined gauntlets. “I want us up up and away from that thing.” Every time she spoke, Captain Anastasia's tone of command made Everett jump. He had always had problems with authority, whether school teachers who insisted you play football in a Christmas sleet storm or E3 Hackney Great Port Airish airship commanders. Everett turned away so that Captain Sixsmyth would not see his smile of relief—and affection. It felt like pride to see her back where she belonged, standing at the great window, hands clasped behind her back, in command. Sen pulled off her flying helmet and shook ice crystals out of her amazing pure-white afro. The crystals rang from the decking like little bells. She pinched Everett as she slipped behind the piloting console.
“I's back, Everett Singh. Glad to see me or what, omi?”
Everett looked away, embarrassed. She was so direct, so cheeky, so aggressive. She scared Stoke Newington Everett, but she was irresistible to Punjabi Everett. Sen wiggled out of her orange Baltic suit and took the Everness tarot from its place next to her heart. She kissed the deck and set it on the control panel.
“Mr. Singh!” Captain Anastasia loomed over Everett's console. She held the smartphone up for him to see. The screen showed a blurred image of what looked like a hovercraft from hell, armed and armored and adorned with the back-to-back crescents of Alburaq, E2's strangely displaced Britain. “Have you ever seen anything like this before?”
“No, ma’am.”
“Thought so. Me neither. In your professional opinion, can we fight it?”
“Ma’am, not a hope.”
“Thought not. That thing is ten minutes behind us. Thank you, Mr. Singh. Is the Heisenberg jump operational?”
“I think so.”
Everett saw Sharkey glance over.
“Mr. Sharkey,” Captain Anastasia shouted, without ever taking her big, deep eyes from Everett, “cast off double quick. Get you up on that hull with a skinripper and cut us free.”
“Ma’am…”
“Double quick, sir.” Without another word, Sharkey rose from his seat and went to the companionway. Everett saw a quick backward glance, saw the set of his shoulders, the way he pulled the skinripper—the Airish knife designed to cut and repair airship nanocarbon—from his boot top. Captain Anastasia pulled down a microphone and thumbed the talk button of the palari-pipe. “Mr. Mchynlyth, I have two questions for you. Can we fly? Can we make a Heisenberg jump?”
Mchynlyth's Glasgow accent was flat and hard as a spade in the charged atmosphere of the bridge.
“We can fly, we can jump. We cannae do both.”
“I need both, Mr. Mchynlyth.”
“I dinnae have the power, and
Sharkey looked up suddenly. He went to the great curving window of the flight deck. He pulled down a magnifier from in front of one of the ceiling-mounted computer monitors and moved it on its angle-poise arm over the glass until it was focused on the thing out there in the white glare that had distracted him. He pulled down a microphone on a scissor arm.
“Mr. Mchynlyth, the prodigals return.”
Everett felt a vibration run through the airship, through the decking, up through his feet. In his brief time as stowaway, cook, planesrunner, and now as a transuniverse navigator, he had learned the many shivers and shudders and twitches and tremors of Everness. This low hum was the cargo hatch lowering. He would not feel the hedgehoppers landing, they were too light and clever to make a heavy footfall, but he could feel the bridge shake to other feet, two sets, coming fast up the spiral staircase. He didn't look up. He worked on, steadily, surely connecting Dr. Quantum to the jumpgun in its cradle.
“Mr. Sharkey, Mr. Mchynlyth!” Captain Anastasia made every entrance voice first. “Prepare for flight.” She strode onto the bridge, pulling off her sheepskin-lined gauntlets. “I want us up up and away from that thing.” Every time she spoke, Captain Anastasia's tone of command made Everett jump. He had always had problems with authority, whether school teachers who insisted you play football in a Christmas sleet storm or E3 Hackney Great Port Airish airship commanders. Everett turned away so that Captain Sixsmyth would not see his smile of relief—and affection. It felt like pride to see her back where she belonged, standing at the great window, hands clasped behind her back, in command. Sen pulled off her flying helmet and shook ice crystals out of her amazing pure-white afro. The crystals rang from the decking like little bells. She pinched Everett as she slipped behind the piloting console.
“I's back, Everett Singh. Glad to see me or what, omi?”
Everett looked away, embarrassed. She was so direct, so cheeky, so aggressive. She scared Stoke Newington Everett, but she was irresistible to Punjabi Everett. Sen wiggled out of her orange Baltic suit and took the Everness tarot from its place next to her heart. She kissed the deck and set it on the control panel.
“Mr. Singh!” Captain Anastasia loomed over Everett's console. She held the smartphone up for him to see. The screen showed a blurred image of what looked like a hovercraft from hell, armed and armored and adorned with the back-to-back crescents of Alburaq, E2's strangely displaced Britain. “Have you ever seen anything like this before?”
“No, ma’am.”
“Thought so. Me neither. In your professional opinion, can we fight it?”
“Ma’am, not a hope.”
“Thought not. That thing is ten minutes behind us. Thank you, Mr. Singh. Is the Heisenberg jump operational?”
“I think so.”
Everett saw Sharkey glance over.
“Mr. Sharkey,” Captain Anastasia shouted, without ever taking her big, deep eyes from Everett, “cast off double quick. Get you up on that hull with a skinripper and cut us free.”
“Ma’am…”
“Double quick, sir.” Without another word, Sharkey rose from his seat and went to the companionway. Everett saw a quick backward glance, saw the set of his shoulders, the way he pulled the skinripper—the Airish knife designed to cut and repair airship nanocarbon—from his boot top. Captain Anastasia pulled down a microphone and thumbed the talk button of the palari-pipe. “Mr. Mchynlyth, I have two questions for you. Can we fly? Can we make a Heisenberg jump?”
Mchynlyth's Glasgow accent was flat and hard as a spade in the charged atmosphere of the bridge.
“We can fly, we can jump. We cannae do both.”
“I need both, Mr. Mchynlyth.”
“I dinnae have the power, and
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