Starclimber (2 page)

“You’re Babelites!” said Hassan in disbelief.

All Paris had heard of these fellows. They hated the Celestial Tower and were dead set against its construction. They took their name from the Tower of Babel in the Bible. That tower was a giant ziggurat meant to reach all the way to heaven. But God was angered by the Babylonians’ arrogance and made all the workers start talking in different languages. They couldn’t understand each other, and the ziggurat was abandoned and fell into ruins.

The Babelites had already made one attempt to sabotage the Celestial Tower. They’d tried to kidnap the chief engineer, but they’d botched it, and some of them were caught and jailed. I looked at Christophe in astonishment; I wouldn’t have suspected him in a million years.

“I can’t believe you’re one of them,” I said.

“It is not for man to build a gateway to the heavens,” he said. “God meant heaven for those good souls on earth who’ve
earned
it. The tower is an abomination and must be struck down.”

“You lunatic!” said Andrew. “You’ll kill thousands of people!”

“If we do not topple it now,” Christophe said, “it will be toppled by God’s own hand. We have planned our explosion to make the tower fall away from Paris. We are trying to minimize the loss of life. You may think us mad. But we will be remembered as heroes.”

I doubted this very much, but I said nothing. Christophe spoke with a zeal I couldn’t comprehend.

“Set it going,” Christophe told Pierre.

The gaunt fellow pushed the clock’s long hand back to ten minutes before twelve. He gave the winding key several complete turns. A dreadful sound emanated from the contraption, more a gasp than a tick.

Hunh-unh-hunh-unh-hunh-unh-hunh-unh…

“And what about us?” Andrew shouted.

“I am, of course, desolate,” said Christophe, “but sometimes these things are necessary.”

“You mean killing us!”

One of the other Babelites tossed Christophe a bulky backpack, which he caught with his free hand and slung over one shoulder.

“Yves,” Christophe said, “go now.”

Yves wasted no time stepping to the open bay doors and jumping out. I was close enough to the edge to see narrow parawings explode from his pack. They were extremely maneuverable, for the man made a sharp turn and went soaring out of the pier through a set of girders. He had enough height to sail a safe distance from the tower before the bomb exploded.

“You cowards!” spat Andrew, and Christophe leveled the gun at his head to discourage any last-minute heroics.

“Pierre, go!” said Christophe.

Before Pierre could take two steps to the doors, the ticking stopped with a wheeze, like a dying man’s final exhalation.

Hunnnnhhhhh….

My eyes flew to the clock. The minute hand was still nine minutes from twelve.

“What is wrong with it?” Christophe demanded.

Pierre gave a shrug and said, “It is a bit temperamental.”

“It’s run out of tick,” snapped Christophe. “Did you wind it properly?”

“Mais oui,”
said Pierre, “but with the mediocre materials you give me to work with, what can you—”

At this Christophe exploded into an angry torrent of French, which his compatriot returned with much gesticulating and shrugging. During all this, the fourth Babelite kept his pistol aimed at Hassan, Andrew, and me, nervously glancing between us and his fellows.

“Mon Dieu!”
Christophe said, throwing up his hands. “Just wind it up some more.
Imbécile!
”

Pierre stepped toward the clock, but before he could touch it, the wheezing tick resumed.

Uh-hunh-uh-hunh-uh-hunh

He turned to Christophe. “
Ça marche.
It’s good.”

Christophe’s face was rigid with contempt. “Perhaps I should make you stay behind, to make sure it is, as you say,
good
.”

Pierre gave a shrug. “It will work. I have tested it many times.”

For a few seconds Christophe stared at the timer as it wheezed on. Then he blew air noisily through his lips. “Pierre, go. You too, Jules.”

Gratefully Pierre jumped out the bay doors and deployed his parawings. Jules followed.

Christophe turned his pistol on the rest of us, shrugging his parawing pack onto both shoulders. “Would you prefer that I shoot you, or would you like to go down with your ship?” he asked me.

“Down with my ship,” I said, though I had no intention of dying today.

“Very well,” he said. “I am sorry.” As he clipped together his chest harness, the pistol fell from his nervous hand.

All three of us sprang at him, Andrew with a savage roar, as Christophe lunged for his pistol. We landed atop him in a heap, kicking and punching. The pistol spun away across the deck toward the open bay doors, and I launched myself at it, snatching it up just before it went over the edge. I leapt to my feet.

“Get up!” I shouted, aiming my pistol at Christophe.

Breathing hard, he stood.

“Shut it off!” I yelled.

He shook his head. “Unfortunately, only Pierre knows how.”

“Bollocks!” shouted Andrew, striding toward me. “Give me the gun, Cruse!”

He snatched it from my hand, fumbling it, and it fell to the deck.

As Andrew scrambled to pick up the gun, Christophe ran for the bay doors. Hassan and I grabbed him from behind, and we all struggled on the very brink. Christophe punched me in the face and jumped toward the opening. Hassan had him firmly by one of his shoulder straps and pulled back with all his weight. Christophe spun around, the parawing pack flying off his body and onto the deck. He staggered off balance, arms windmilling, then fell to his death through the bay doors with a small squeak of dismay.

The three of us stood panting, staring at one another.

The bomb wheezed in its crate.

“How much time do we have?” Hassan asked.

I ran over and looked. “Seven minutes.”

The tick faltered a few seconds, then resumed. I had no idea whether it meant we had more time, or whether the infernal device was still keeping track of the seconds and meant to surprise us.

“What if we just rip out the clock?” Hassan suggested.

“That might set it off,” I said. I knew nothing about explosives, but I didn’t fancy my chances tugging at wires.

“I want off this ship!” bellowed Andrew.

“There’s no point!” I said. “We can’t climb down in time.”

“Who said anything about climbing!”

At the same moment all our eyes fell on Christophe’s parawing pack.

“Sorry lads,” said Andrew, springing on it. “It’s only good for one.” He looked at me, a little shamefaced. “And the captain goes down with the ship anyway, right?”

He still had the pistol, and though he did not point it at us, I didn’t trust him. Hassan and I watched as he buckled on the pack.

“You know how to use that?” I asked. I couldn’t bear him much ill will. Someone might as well get clear in time.

“I’ll take my chances. Good luck.”

He jumped out the open bay doors. I saw his wings deploy, and he careened crazily around the girders before colliding with one, hard. The blow seemed to knock him out, for his head lolled and his wings crumpled, and he fell, bouncing from one girder to the next on his fatal plunge to earth.

I wasted no more time. “Cut the grappling lines,” I told Hassan. “There’s a knife in the emergency locker.”

I ran forward to the helm. Even up front I could hear the bomb’s wheezing. I started the engines, and the propellers quickly accelerated into a satisfying drone.

“We’re cut loose!” Hassan shouted, running up front. “What’s our plan?”

“Dump it in the drink.” On the southern fringe of the Bois de Vincennes was an ornamental lake.

“Will we make it?”

“We’ll make it. Take the elevator wheel.”

“I’ve never flown!”

“There’s nothing to it.”

I pushed the throttle and gripped the rudder wheel. There was no time to try to ease out backward. Our only way out was straight through. Before us was a narrow passage that would bring us out the far side of the pier. I opened the throttle. Girders hurtled past us, the underside of the platform streaking overhead.

“Just hold her steady, Hassan—you’re doing very well.”

He stood, shoulders hunched up around his ears, staring straight ahead with wide eyes.

I saw the opening coming up, a narrow slat of brighter light. We were straying a little too high, and before I could ask Hassan to correct our altitude, there was an awful ripping sound from the ship’s back. Warning lights flashed on the ballast board. We’d torn most of our gas cells, but there was no time to worry about that now.

Suddenly we were through the pier but still underneath the tower’s first platform. I reached over and gave the elevator wheel a swift turn so we dipped sharply, and shot beneath one of the tower’s colossal arches—and then we were out!

“Bring us back up now, Hassan,” I said.

Aerotugs glided all around, seeming to move incredibly slowly. I weaved among them, banking sharply and climbing as I took us out toward the park and lake.

“There it is!” shouted Hassan.

“How much time’s left?”

Hassan ran aft to check. “Two minutes and a bit!” he shouted. “Wait, it’s stopped…no, it’s going again!”

My own heart was beating crazily now. The wind was light, and I lined the
Atlas
up so we’d pass directly over the lake, then tied off the rudder wheel and hurried back to help Hassan.

Together we shoved the crate gently to the edge of the bay doors. I had no idea how sensitive the thing was and held my breath, fearing we might set it off. We peered down at the park-land—the people sitting on benches, the children playing—and waited breathlessly for the water. Where was the lake?

Uh-hunh-uh-hunh-uh-hunh….

Silence.

I looked over at the clock. The minute hand had stopped altogether, just a shade from twelve o’clock. Then, as if making up for lost time, the clock started ticking with crazy speed, gasping like a marathon runner in his final stretch.

Hish-a-hish-a-hish-a-hish-a hish-a-shhhhh…

With horror I watched the clock hands swirl around with surreal speed, as though the insides of the clock were uncoiling.

“There’s the water!” shouted Hassan.

“Heave ho!” I bellowed.

We put our shoulders to the crate and pushed it over the rim. It plunged down and hit the lake with a mighty splash.

“Grab hold!” I yelled.

“Maybe the water’ll put out the—” Hassan began, and then a colossal fountain burst from the lake. The blast tossed us to the deck. Cabin windows shattered. Hot wind shrieked past, creating a hellish symphony in our rigging. Then, finally, silence.

“It’s spent,” gasped Hassan.

“Good work,” I told him, struggling to my feet and back to the helm.

We were losing gas swiftly, and the rudder must have been damaged, for the
Atlas
was sluggish to turn. But we would make it safely back to the air harbor, and with a bit of luck, I might even be on time for Kate.

T
he neighborhood of Montmartre was the highest point in Paris, and by the time I’d jogged up all the stairs to the park at the very top, I was already an hour late, and Kate was nowhere to be seen. Dejected, I sank down on a bench. Probably she’d left long ago in a fury. Which wasn’t entirely fair, since this was the first and only time I’d ever been late for her—and I did happen to have the best excuse imaginable.

After bringing the
Atlas
in, Hassan and I were interrogated by the police for a very long time. I was worried they’d think we were the bombers, but luckily Pierre had already been caught. His parawings had snagged in the girders, and he’d been recognized by the police as a known Babelite. Jules and Yves had gotten away. Christophe was dead, as was Andrew. The gendarmes clapped us on our backs, commended us for our bravery, and told us to keep our mouths shut.

Of course, I had every intention of telling Kate—but she wasn’t even here to listen to my story. I’d been rehearsing it the whole way on the Métro. I shook my head. She could’ve waited a
little
longer. I’d once added up all the time I’d waited for her, and it came out to something like six days.

I was just about to head back down to the Métro when a motorcar pulled up. The driver hopped out and opened the back door.

“I am
so
sorry,” Kate said, stepping out. She was all dressed up, like she was expecting a night at the opera. “You won’t believe the day I’ve had. Have you been waiting long?”

“Just got here, actually.”

“You look a little bedraggled,” she said, concerned. “Are you all right?”

Usually when we met, I dressed up in my Academy uniform, but this time I’d scarcely had time to change out of my ship’s clothes.

I gave a world-weary chuckle. “Did you hear that huge explosion a few hours ago?”

She frowned. “No…well, I might’ve heard something. I thought it was a motorcar backfiring.”

“No. That was me. I’ll probably be quite famous by tomorrow morning.”

“Well, that’s nothing new for you, is it?” she said with a smile. “You’d better tell me all about it.”

As the twilight deepened, we sat down on a bench overlooking Paris and I told her about the Babelites and their bomb plot. As always, she was a very satisfying audience, for she listened, rapt, interrupting only when she wanted more details.

“You’re going to be a hero when the morning papers come out,” she said. “You kept a cool head. You’ve always been very good in a crisis.”

I’d seen Kate in some tight situations and knew how capable she was too. “Anyway,” I said, “heroism has nothing to do with it. It was sheer luck Christophe dropped his pistol.”

“What a complete scoundrel that man was! Still, I hate to say it, but the Babelites do have a point.” She gazed off to the east, where the base of the Celestial Tower was clearly visible, outlined with twinkling construction lights. “I do think it was foolhardy to build it so close to Paris. It’s tempting fate. They could at least have built it off in the countryside. That way, if it falls, it only crushes some cows and chickens.”

“Maybe one or two farmers,” I added.

She took my arm. “I’m so glad you’re safe.”

“And I still managed to get here before you,” I said, nudging her playfully.

She looked a little embarrassed. “Well, my day was nothing compared to yours, of course. But remember the talk I was supposed to give about the aerozoans in two weeks?”

I nodded. Last October, during a high-altitude salvage expedition, Kate and I had encountered a bizarre and deadly airborne creature. It was like a combination squid and jellyfish, with electrocuting tentacles. She’d named the species aerozoans.

“Well,” Kate said, “they moved my talk up. To tomorrow!”

“But why?”

“I suspect Sir Hugh Snuffler’s behind it. He thinks I’m a huge fraud, and he’d love me to make a mess of it in front of the Zoological Society. Anyway, I was in a frenzy all day trying to prepare.”

“Don’t worry. You’ll be brilliant,” I said.

“I don’t want to think about it tonight. Now, tell me about this special treat you’ve got planned.”

“I hope you weren’t expecting a night at the opera,” I said, eyeing her evening gown.

“A night at the opera can be very nice once in a while.”

My spirits flagged. I’d been worried she wouldn’t like my surprise. For a girl like Kate who was used to the finest things, maybe it would seem paltry.

I took a breath. “I thought…you might like to watch the stars with me.”

“Ah.”

She didn’t seem disappointed exactly, but certainly surprised. I watched her carefully. By now Kate’s expressions were well known to me, and I was hugely relieved when I saw that thoughtful look in her eyes. She lifted her face to the sky. “Well, I see why you suggested Montmartre. The stars are much clearer up here, aren’t they, away from all the city lights?”

“It gets better,” I said, taking her hand. “Come on.”

Behind us, rising from the very summit of Montmartre, was the Paris Observatory, an imposing white stone fortress with observation towers and a large central dome for the telescope.

“But surely it’s closed now,” Kate said.

“Not for us,” I said with a wink.

“Really?” Her eyes widened. “Do you know the director?”

“Someone much more useful,” I said. “Night watchman.”

I led her around back to the loading doors and rapped three times. After several long minutes, I heard the bolt being shot back, and the door opened.

“I thought you weren’t coming,” said Richard.

“We both got held up,” I said.

He ushered us inside. “Come in, come in.”

Richard was a fellow student at the Academy, and this was his summer job. He was an American, and the two of us got on very well.

“Thanks so much for this,” I said.

“Your timing couldn’t be better,” he said. “The staff’s all in Zurich at some sort of top-secret meeting. The place is all yours. Promise you won’t break anything.”

“We promise,” said Kate. I could tell she was very excited. I felt really relieved my surprise was working out.

Richard led us down a wide marbled corridor to a grand set of doors and pulled them wide. Total darkness greeted us, for the room was windowless. Richard flicked a switch, and several sconce lights dimly illuminated the vast circular hall rising to its soaring dome. Occupying the chamber’s center was the famous Paris telescope. It was one of the world’s most powerful, the size of a small house. Its central cylinder was tilted toward the dome’s underside.

“Shall we open it up?” I said.

I’d visited the observatory once before at night, and Richard had shown me how the dome retracted, by a simple system of ropes and pulleys. Working together now, we managed to slide the roof open along its oiled tracks. Moonlight and starlight spilled down on us, silvering the room, making everything strange and magical. Overhead we saw the running lights of ornithopters and airships passing over Paris. Everything seemed amazingly bright and sharp, as though the domed portal itself was a lens, magnifying the night sky.

I looked at Kate and saw the utter delight on her face. That look alone was all the reward I needed.

“Are we going to look at the moon?” she asked.

“Much better than that—you’ll see.”

Richard and I walked over to the great wheels that moved the telescope itself. I took a piece of paper from my pocket and showed it to him. Then, under Richard’s direction, we began moving the vast cylinder into the proper position.

“That should do it,” said Richard when the telescope was angled up, deep into the night sky.

The eyepiece of the telescope was quite high off the ground, and a special chair had been built that slid up and down a slanted ladder fixed to a track in the floor. “Please be seated, Miss de Vries,” I said, gesturing to the chair.

“You’re going to join me, I hope,” she said, moving over as far as she could. The seat was just wide enough for the two of us. I sat down beside her. Kate’s fragrance was most distracting; her perfume and the smell of her hair and skin intermingled, and I found it entirely intoxicating. It was all I could do to keep my hands off her. There was a lever to one side of the chair, and I pumped it up and down, jacking us up off the floor toward the eyepiece.

“I think you two can take care of things now,” said Richard from below. “I’ll have to leave you for a bit to do my rounds. You won’t break anything, right?”

“We’re grand, thanks.”

“Thank you very much for your help,” said Kate. “This is awfully nice of him,” she said to me, when Richard had left the hall.

I leaned into the eyepiece and adjusted the focus with the little knobs. I gazed at the view. Good. I was in the right place.

“Have a look,” I said, sitting back.

Eagerly she put her face to the eyepiece, and then went very quiet, staring.

“I’m not sure you’ve ever been silent so long,” I said after a while.

Her voice soft, she asked, “What is this I’m looking at?”

“That’s the Draco constellation.”

“It’s so beautiful!” she exclaimed. “They look so close! And it’s much more crowded up there than I thought! They’re everywhere! And they’re all quite different….” I saw her eye flicking from place to place. “Not just their size, but color too! And some seem to twinkle more than others.”

“They don’t really twinkle, you know,” I said. “It only looks that way to us down here. It’s the atmosphere distorting the light.”

“Is that right?” she said, looking over at me.

I nodded. “It’s called stellar scintillation.”

“What a wonderful phrase,” she said. “You seem to know a lot about stars.”

“It comes from long hours in the crow’s nest,” I replied, pleased I’d impressed her. It felt good to be explaining things to her for a change. I did have a bit of a flare for celestial navigation; I seemed to have a good sense of where to find things in the night sky, given the time of year.

Kate put her eye back to the telescope. “I wonder if there’s life out there.”

“Who knows?” I said.

“There’s a Bulgarian fellow, Dr. Ganev, who just last year published a pamphlet on lunar life.”

The name sounded vaguely familiar. “Hold on—wasn’t he the fellow who spent some time in a lunatic asylum?”

“No more than a year. They say he’s better now.”

I laughed, and Kate looked at me severely. “You know, Matt, people talk about me this way. That poor lunatic Kate de Vries. Cloud cats, aerozoans—what will her diseased little mind think up next? What makes you think Dr. Ganev’s any different from me?”

“Well, for starters, you never tried to eat a banana through your ear.”

She blinked. “Did he really do that?”

“No, but that’s the kind of thing that gets you tossed into a lunatic asylum.”

Her nostrils narrowed, a unique skill of hers when she was deeply annoyed. It tended to have a withering effect on the person at the receiving end. “Considering all you’ve seen, Mr. Cruse, you’re not very open-minded about life beyond Earth.”

“I’m sure you’re right,” I said apologetically. “You’ve never disappointed me yet. Twice I’ve nearly been eaten by new creatures you’ve discovered.”

She looked back into the telescope. “We really don’t know anything at all about outer space. I suppose the French will be the first to find out next year, when they finish the tower. It’s quite something, isn’t it? A stairway to heaven.”

“I think heaven’s just a bit higher up,” I said, “but I’m sure they’re already thinking ahead.”

“Draco, the dragon constellation. So where’s the tail?”

“Look for the big stars, slanting across the sky.”

“Yes, I think I see it now!”

“Now,” I said, “there’s something else I want to show you. Just off the dragon’s tail, on the lower right, there’s one star that has a blue twinkle to it.”

“I see it! Which star is that?”

“That,” I said, “is Kate de Vries.”

She looked over, confused. “What do you mean?”

I pulled the piece of paper from my pocket and showed her. “This is a document from the International Astronomical Union, verifying that this star will hereafter bear the name Kate de Vries.”

“You did this for me?” she said in astonishment.

“Happy birthday,” I said.

Her few seconds of delighted silence were wonderful, I must admit. Then her arms were around me in a tight hug.

“This is the best birthday present I’ve ever had,” she said decisively. “How did you know? How did you know I’d like this better than a visit to the opera, or a silly bit of jewelry?”

“I know you pretty well.”

“Better than anyone, I think.”

I smiled. Her compliment was like a gift in itself, only more precious than anything that could be bought.

She gazed in satisfaction at her star. “Mine’s the twinkliest.”

“Well, I spared no expense.”

She looked at me, concerned. “Was it awfully expensive?”

“Surprisingly affordable. Apparently there’re billions of them.”

She laughed, then frowned, her mind already busy again. “What if tonight had been cloudy? How would you have shown me?”

“I suppose I’d have had to entertain you some other way,” I said, and kissed her.

“What a perfect birthday,” she murmured happily against my lips, and pressed herself closer.

By nature I was restless, but as I kissed her, there was nothing more I wanted, nowhere else I wanted to be. The world evaporated entirely; it was a bit of a surprise afterward to find it was still there, going on without me. I would have traded it all away for another kiss.

“We lead a charmed life, you and I,” Kate said after a few minutes. “We both get to chase down our dreams. Me at the university, you at the Airship Academy. And thanks to Marjorie, we get to see each other all the time.”

She was referring to Miss Marjorie Simpkins, her chaperone. Miss Simpkins didn’t really approve of Kate spending her time with a former cabin boy, but she and Kate had a little agreement. Marjorie had a new beau, and Kate let her see him whenever she wanted—as long as Marjorie let Kate see me whenever
she
wanted. Marjorie would never tell Mr. and Mrs. de Vries about me, and Kate would never tell her parents what a negligent chaperone Marjorie was.