Warbound: Book Three of the Grimnoir Chronicles (8 page)

“Obviously, a student of General Pershing’s would understand this. Not to mention, I have no doubt the Navy will need many new UBF airships . . . Yet, no matter how capable our military becomes, both of those nations have utilized their Actives and developed their magic to heights as yet undreamed of here. You’re no doubt familiar with Second Somme. You know how incredibly dangerous a concentration of magicals can be during a war. We are in an arms race, and America hasn’t even found the starting line yet.”

“So the ARA is just an excuse to catalog us . . . See who’s useful, who’s not. Probably get rid of the dangerous oddballs while you’re at it. That’s what Stalin does. Stick them in camps, out of the way, where they can’t hurt anybody, until you need to use them as weapons against another country.”

“There is no such plan—”

“Granada, Minidoka . . . I’m a Mover, so I guess that’s where I was supposed to go. Gila River, Topaz . . . Ringing any bells, Mr. President?”

“Save me your sanctimony. Those were the plans of Bradford Carr’s cabal. I was as much a victim of his machinations as you were.”

“But you’re continuing his dream! You’re putting the framework in place to accomplish all of his goals. All your talk of safety is just an excuse to take advantage of people’s fears. Actives are citizens. You’re taking powers never meant for your office.”

Career politicians never liked to be called on their bullshit. “How dare you . . .”

“Oh, I dare all right.” Francis was getting rather upset. “Carr had an
extermination
list, and now you want me to trust the same government? Even if I trusted your administration, which I
don’t
, what about the next one, or the one after that? Hogwash.”

“Do not take that tone with me.” Roosevelt was certainly not used to being spoken to like this, maybe in an editorial, but never to his face.

Francis hadn’t realized he’d raised his voice. “Forgive me. Extermination orders get my blood up.”

“We must modernize.”

“What you call modernity, I call slavery.”

“A loaded but misleading term.” Roosevelt sighed and shook his head sadly. “We simply have a difference of philosophy. Whether you like it or not, there will be a compromise reached. The more unreasonable your side is, the more likely you will not like that compromise.”

“I had this same conversation with Bradford Carr, in his dungeons, while I was chained to a wall . . . He thought that the government owned people. I say the people own the government. There is no
compromise
between those two positions
.
”

Obviously angry, the president put both of his hands down flatly on his great desk. “Oh, there will be a compromise. I will get my reforms and you will not stand in my way.”

“Is that a threat?”

And now the knives came out. “I’m the President of the United States. You’re the petulant spoiled brat of a blimp merchant.”

“I’m a very successful blimp merchant,” Francis corrected.

“Though I’m not sure how long you would be able to retain that position if the full weight and attention of the federal government was to be turned against UBF. Many have been clamoring to me about how UBF is a monopoly, and how breaking it up would do wonders for the economy. If that were to happen, you might find yourself in a new line of work rather quickly. That would be unfortunate.”

Not only was that a threat, that was one hell of a threat.

“I called you here so I could appeal to your senses, Francis. I need something from you. You can either cooperate, or you can be obstinate.”

“And what would that be, exactly?”

Roosevelt put away the knives and went back to being the kindly radio grandpa who just wanted everybody to be prosperous and happy. “Simple. You own Dymaxion.”

So that was what this meeting was really about. Francis bit his lip. Buckminster Fuller’s Dymaxion Nullifiers were the only thing in existence which could completely block an Active’s access to the Power and there were only a few remaining in existence. “You want more magical nullifiers.”

“I’ve been informed that you refuse to sell them.”

“If I had a device that made people with good eyesight go blind, or made folks with excellent hearing go deaf, I don’t think I’d sell those either. I’m practically one of your consumer safety activists.”

“I’ve been told these devices are vital to national security. The OCI still has a couple, and it is only a matter of time before some Cog is able to reverse engineer them. So any bullheaded foolishness will ultimately prove pointless. In the meantime I would be greatly appreciative if you would begin selling those to the government again. I understand these are valuable, time-consuming works, each one practically a work of art, so I can see to it that you are
extremely
well compensated for your labor. Surely, if UBF is supporting the government in this endeavor, then there would be no point to my new regulators paying your company any particular mind.”

Because if threats don’t work, you can always try bribery.
Francis smiled. “Because without Dymaxions you can’t round up and enslave a bunch of ticked-off Actives?”

Roosevelt’s eyes narrowed. He hadn’t liked that one bit. “Out of a long-time respect for your family, I tried to be reasonable, but you are being a very unreasonable man. You will turn your remaining stock of Dymaxions over to the government, and you will show us how to make more, or there will be severe repercussions.”

Francis had once boarded the Imperium flagship to slug it out with a platoon of Iron Guards and the world’s greatest wizard. Franklin Roosevelt had seriously underestimated his ability to
not give a shit.
“You said I remind you of my father, but there’s one big difference between him and me. He had flexible principles.
I don’t.
Do you want to go to war with me, Mr. President? Because if you think you can just seize my property without due process, then that’s where we’re headed.”

“Very well, Mr. Stuyvesant. If you want to do this the hard way, then that’s how we will proceed. History does not look kindly upon those who stand in the way of progress.”

Dan Garrett was
so
not going to be happy. “Well, this meeting is over.” Francis stood up. “Good day, Mr. President.”

Roosevelt pushed a button on his desk. The doors opened and a functionary came in to escort Francis out. The president’s icy glare left no doubt that Francis had made himself a formidable new enemy. “I have one last question before you go.”

He was still red-faced and angry, but he was trying to maintain some respect for the office. “I’m happy to help,” Francis lied.

“Only one man has been able to successfully nullify magic, and he works for you. Where is this Buckminster Fuller?”

Oh, there was no way in hell I’m letting these vultures sink their claws into my most valuable Cog . . .
“You know how those Cogs can be, what with their heads in the clouds. If I see him, I’ll tell him you inquired about his health. Last I’d heard he was taking a vacation.”

Chapter 3

It is an odd affliction, this Cog magic. In most ways I am a man of average aptitude. Pertaining to most subjects I can reason as any educated man should, but when my intellect turns toward the topic of airships my mind simply ignites as if on fire. Thoughts pour in unbidden. Reason reaches new heights. The abstract becomes clear. Shortcomings are corrected. Weaknesses are exposed and turned into strengths. Years of scientific reasoning are completed in a matter of fevered days, and when the fire dies down I discover that I have once again revolutionized the whole world. I must wonder if I had not been born with this form of magic, would man be confined to forever using inferior forms of transportation such as aeroplanes?

—Ferdinand von Zeppelin,

personal correspondence,
1915

UBF
Traveler

Buckminster Fuller
was obviously not a happy Cog. “Mr. Sullivan! Mr. Sullivan! A moment of your time?”

Sadly, Sullivan had not been able to escape through the hatch in time to avoid their resident magical supergenius. It was like the Power picked the smartest human beings around to be Cogs. All Cogs were bright, even before the magic came over them, but for some folks the Cog magic arrived later in life, and they were an extra special sort of fun. “Yeah, Fuller?”

“I’ll have you know these working conditions are completely unsafe. I am dealing with potentially dangerous magic combined with lethal chemical mixtures in a laboratory the size of a closet, all of fifteen feet away from a bag filled with explosive hydrogen! My quarters are totally unsuitable for regenerative occupancy! My roommate is a pirate! A
pirate!
But that is not the worst. Oh no. The worst is that this is no scientific expedition. You have turned this vessel into a veritable warship! A device designed in the pursuit of killingry!”

“Killingry?” Jake Sullivan cocked his head to the side. “Is that a real word?”

“Of course it is! Killingry. Meaning such as weapons and implements which are in opposition to livingry, or that which is in support of spaceship Earth life! And do not try to obfuscate the subject, Mr. Sullivan.”

“I’d never dream of . . . obfuscating stuff . . . Ain’t Francis paying you a whole lot of money to come along?”

“I need the funding to maximize my life’s work, but please recall you promised me this trip would provide incredible opportunities to look into new forms of magical research.”

“Yep.”

“This is an engine of destruction, filled with violent, coarse, barbaric men!”

“Yep.”

Fuller was fuming. “I will have no part in any endeavor which intends to deprive life from—”

Sullivan held up one big hand to stop him. “Okay. Look. I’ll keep my word. You’re going to see magic that no westerner has ever seen before, and if we get . . .
lucky,
you’ll probably get to see magic that nobody has seen ever. We need you. We need your big old brain and your ability to see magic, or else maybe all the livingry or whatever the hell you call it on
Spaceship Earth
is gonna get eaten. Got it?”

The Cog nodded thoughtfully. “I can comprehend the necessity to protect a biological continuation of intelligent life, but I must demand to know where we’re—”

“Nope. Secret. You’ll hear it in the briefing, same as everybody else.” Sullivan patted Buckminster Fuller on the shoulder. “Don’t worry. All the famous scientific expeditions had lots of men with guns on board. Lewis and Clark had guns. Magellan had guns. Hell, Charles Darwin carried himself a Walker Colt on the
Beagle.”

“He did?”

Sullivan had no idea. He’d just made that up. “Sure. You’re in good company. I’ve got to go talk to the captain.” And then Sullivan hurried down the ladder before Fuller had a chance to respond. He breathed a sigh of relief when he saw that their resident genius didn’t attempt to follow.

The
Traveler
was the most advanced airship to ever come out of Detroit. Originally designed as a new technology test bed and UBF’s attempt at breaking the world altitude record, its speed and maneuverability were shocking, and it was capable of ridiculously long voyages. The
Traveler
was the smoothest meshing of mechanical engineering and magical know-how in history. Their dirigible was a prototype, and according to United Blimp & Freight CEO Francis Stuyvesant,
the future of air travel.

However, Fuller was right, the
Traveler
had not originally been intended to be a warship. John Browning and a crew of creatively malicious pirates had been given three months to turn the
Traveler
into a fighting vessel. Browning knew more about weapons than any man who had ever lived, so for its relatively small size, the
Traveler
now packed one hell of a punch. Fuller had been adamant against using his Power to create anything offensive, but he was a Cog genius when it came to designing defensive or life-saving magic systems. In theory, the Traveler could now go higher, faster, and farther in worse weather than any other airship in history.

Bob Southunder and his pirate crew had managed to harass the greatest navy in the world using nothing but a Great War-era zeppelin cobbled together out of spare parts and creativity. Given access to the actual UBF plant, Southunder had forced through a lot of changes on the
Traveler
, some of which the engineers had disagreed with. It was a case of craft theory versus real-world experience, but since Pirate Bob was the one who would be in charge should it go down in flames, Francis had backed the captain’s ideas more often than not.

One of Southunder’s demands had been to use hydrogen instead of helium, Imperium style. Helium was safer, but it provided less lift and it was a scarce commodity in most of the places their mission might take them. He’d argued that the crew’s Cracklers could use their magic to power machinery capable of processing water into hydrogen to fill the bags and for fuel. Worst case scenario, in case of a catastrophic failure, that’s what their Torches were for.

It took a while to maneuver through the narrow corridors. The
Traveler
had two separate, lightly armored, compartmentalized bags, each one nearly three hundred feet long, with a superstructure that filled the space between them and an armored command deck at the very front. To Sullivan’s untrained eye the
Traveler
looked like a bigger version of the
Tempest,
which had struck him as a mighty fine dirigible for the few brief moments he had been able to ride on it before it had corkscrewed into the ground in central California. It reminded him of two footballs, side by side, only with wings, and several great big engines on the back.

And the engines . . . They were like something out of the science-fiction magazines; their engines were awe-inspiring and completely terrifying at the same time. Sullivan had never seen, or more importantly,
heard
anything like them before. The roar was incredible. Francis called the new designs
turbo-jets
. They were an invention of one of the Cogs, a Brit by the name of Whittle, from the R&D department at UBF. Sullivan had never known that the British called their Cogs
Boffins
before. It was a pretty innocuous name for a wizard who could come up with an engine that could suck a man in and spit out confetti, an unfortunate event which had happened to one poor UBF engineer during initial testing. Captain Southunder had called the Boffin-designed turbo-jets a tool of the devil, at least until he’d taken the
Traveler
out for its first test flight, and then he’d done nothing but sing their praises ever since. The
Traveler
was just that damn
fast.
During the test run from Michigan to California they had broken the world airship speed record by going just over a hundred miles per hour. The UBF Cogs estimated that the
Traveler
was capable of a hundred and twenty. Since Southunder’s magical power was manipulating the weather, up to and including hurricane-force winds, he was already betting on a hundred and fifty with the right tail wind.