CHAPTER 16 – TINY FIST & BLOODY NAILS

The little caravan screamed through the night closer and closer to the dark looming form before them. In a brilliant lightening flash, Punky clearly saw just for a moment the enormity of the hanger. A huge wooden construction more that 200 meters high and about 300 meters at the base. It had to be almost a thousand meters long though Punky. Why, she thought, you could put almost the entire Blimp Cartel Fleet in that thing it was so big. Her now soaked Ardabil shook violently as the blast of thunder inevitably followed the illumination. Red breaking lights blinked wildly in the mist before her. She cried out “Stop”, and bashed her tiny fist down hard on the back arrow. The Ardabil skidded dangerously to the left and flying carpet lost what little altitude it had. ‘Thud’ said the carpet as it hit the very wet tarmac.

Out of the dark night a white hot beam of light struck Punky in the face like a hot plate of pancakes with warm syrup and melted butter in a food fight at the Academy of Balloons. She was momentarily blinded just like the food fight at school. A 10,000 candle spotlight illuminated her in an intense cone of inquisition. A second light blasted the dark night. A sucker punch laughed Punky. Shielding her eyes with her hand she could see another dimmer fan of yellow light emerge from a tiny door at the base of the hanger. She saw a familiar figure dressed in a crumpled white Naval Officers uniform, devoid of all insignia. She broke into a wide grin. It was Daggy. Dagmon Zhukovsky. Her closest, dearest friend in all the worlds, RL and Second Life. She raced out of the gloom and into Daggy’s arms. “Smooches, smoochie smooches with chocolate on top,” she cried. They squeezed each other in the Navy way, and Punky stood back to look at her oldest bestest friend.

In the dim light of the cavernous hanger Punky was shocked by what she saw. Daggy had lost weight, which she could hardly afford to do given her slim form, her unkempt hair spilled from below a grimy oil stained cap, and her eyes were bloodstained from lack of sleep. Her left foot was bandaged and bloody as if from an industrial accident.

Daggy forced a faint smile and “Good to see you Punkster, I’m glad they picked you.”

“Come over here,” Daggy said, with a faint smile “I gotta surprise.” Daggy turned and limped to a huge array of grey electrical boxes with yellow and back stripes which screamed ‘!Wahrschau!’ Enormous copper knife blade switches lined the wall and Daggy grabbed and pulled, two, four, six, eight in all. Punky heard an electrical hum as the switches sparked to life and her nostrils filled with ozone. Huge green pickle lights glowed faintly and then zapped into a million colors, all the colors of white. The hanger was flooded with the light of a hundred suns.

Punky looked up and was dumbstruck.

Daggy chuckled, and Tek Cronon another old buddy, whom Punky now saw, said “Wait till you see the boilers!”

It, or She, was huge, gigantic, and humongous. Punky’s mind strained to find the right frame of reference. She was shiny. She was beautiful, She was a first, She was rigid. She was a Zepline, She was the ‘HMS Dead’. Punky instinctively knew this because in 20 foot tall letters emblazoned on the nose she read ‘HMS DREAD’. And best of all She was Punky’s.

Punky’s mouth was still open in astonishment. She could barely take her eyes from the Airship Dread, but she did. She turned to Daggy.

“She’s a dirigible,” Daggy said with pride clearly present in her exhausted voice. 90 meters at the beam and 450 in length. Eight double boilers, each putting out 80 mules. She can lift 30 tons, and she’s fast, really fast.” Ceiling over 40,000 meters.

“How fast asked,” Punky still stunned in amazement. “She’s rated at forty knots, but with Tek’s modifications who knows?

“She’ll do sixty easy” replied Tek. “And the higher she goes the more steam pressure efficiency you get! That’s the beauty of steam.” Tek paused and then under his breath said “Easy as a Vaseline coated hotdog shot from the tailpipe of …” Tek trailed off. Who knew what he was going to say, but an idea had occurred to him, another brilliant idea, the only kind he had. “I can get you five more,” said Tek, maybe 10. He turned and ran to the distant workbench.

Daggy smiled. “Punky you’re the best thing that has happened here in months, but we need to get to work. We have three days to finish, flight test, get you checked out and get you on your way.”

“No way,” Said Punky, but she knew the truth. It was the way.

“I’ve got the design docs, calculations, and some draft flight manuals in the design shed, and the savants could use your help with some of the Calculus, especially Mr.Mr,” said Daggy as she rubbed her eyes and turned to the far end of the hangar where the design shed stood. She limped off toward the shed against the far wall of the hangar.

“Go ahead Daggy,” said Punky. “I wont be long.” The Punky closed her mouth and stood in awe of the Blue Navy’s handiwork. Then her eyes fell on an odd protrusion in the nose. Could that be a high-speed rotating bowling ball ejector? She looked closer. Yes it was. Punky wondered, that’s an offensive combat weapon, devastating, the physics were awesome. Imagine being on the receiving end of 2000 16 pound bowling balls in a single second and ejected at 1600 fps. But why would She need one of those, Punky wondered?

Punky wanted to join Daggy in the design shed, but she just could not take her eyes off the HMS Dread.

From far across the hangar floor by the entrance to the Design Shed Daggy yelled, “Oh, and your passenger has not arrived yet.”

Punky didn’t hear.

Murdstone moaned. His eyelids fluttered. From the depths of deep nothingness, Ruprecht crawled and clawed his way into blackness. He paused for a moment, an hour, a day, a lifetime – who knew, who cared – Ruprecht did. Fighting for every inch of progress in the tunnel of doom, he pulled at the void of blackness, and Eternity stepped in the way and whispered “Not so fast Ruprecht Murdstone!” He heard the voice of his Auntie. Auntie Pasto Murdstone. She was holding Ruprecht in her lap, her breath smelling of cheap cigars and peppermint schnapps. “You’re never going to amount to anything you naughty boy,” Auntie said. “No, you a worthless little stain on the carpet of life. You’re a looser. Looser. Looser. Looser.” The voice trailed off into the void. Ruprecht hated peppermint; it always reminded him of Auntie. Ruprecht got mad, really mad. He thrust out his hands and grabbed a ridged chunk of black and hurled it to his feet. Another chunk of void he grasped and another chunk fell. Anthracite black appeared. Ruprecht pulled faster and faster. Eternity whispered, “You’re a looser Murdstone, an old fart, out of touch, a looser, a looser, a looser.” It was the voice of his eldest daughter Jaloux Murdsone. Jaloux was screaming at him. His tattered will in her hands. “Die old man, die…, GIVE ME THE TIMES,” she screamed and screamed. Ruprecht was motivated by hatred, stubbornness, a deep seated insecurity. He thrashed at the well of darkness. Anthracite black turned to coal black. He reached in that place he always went to when he faced insurmountable obstacles. He pulled out a hundred lindens and gave them to Auntie, Jaloux, and Eternity. Antie faded away. Jaloux laughing like the mad woman she was turned and disappeared. Eternity said “Not so fast Ruprecht.” Murdstone dug deeper gathering strength from whatever soul he had and with the assistance of the souls of all the little people he had crushed, and walked on as he ascended the escalator of corporate success. He found a thousand linden note and gave it to Eternity. Eternity went away. Pains grey appeared. He struggled harder and harder clawing. His psychic nails bleeding he made it to simple grey. “I hate you, I hate you, I hate you, You don’t love me, me, me.” It was the whining voice of his son Vagir. “Your never home, you missed my birthday, you missed my graduation, my wedding, my divorce, my, my, my.” Murdstone reached deep again. Vagir went away. Burnt Umber appeared and he reached out with a mighty heave and the Burnt Umber fell away to his feet revealing the tunnel of dark chocolate brown. “Hs ha ha ha, your fool.” It was the first Mrs. Murdstone, the one with the hump. “He’s not your son. Ha ha ha. He’s the son of the pool boy. Ha ha ha, “ she cackled in that insane way that only the terminally syphilitic can. “Ha ha ha, or was it the bag boy, no, it was the caddy, Ha ha ha.” He dug down again into that special place and he clawed, he clawed. Grasping, gasping, groping. 500,000 lindens and she was gone. Light brown was within his grasp. Ruprecht was exhausted, but he clawed on. He was Ruprecht Murdstone, Media Mongol, President of Lupine News Corp, owner of The Times. “Ass hole, your gonna get us killed,” a voice howled. “Dead, dead, dead. If you blow this I’m gonna kill you with my own hands, again and again,” screamed Sergeant Codnocht.” The voice of his sergeant in the Great War. Down he reached again, down into the bowel of his consciousness an he found what he needed. Grasping it in his clawed hand he put a bullet thought the forehead of sergeant Codnocht. Codnocht went away, in the opposite direction from which Ruprecht had come, back, down, down, down, past burnt umber, past coal, and past black and into nothingness. Deep blue passed, then Prussian Blue, then blue blue. “I want my money, my money, my money. I don’t care if your bankrupt I want my money, my money, my money.” It was the scream of Senator Funstas. “Where is my bribe, my baksheesh, my little bump?” Again he returned to his inner being. He tossed the photos onto the table. Funstas faded away.

This went on all afternoon and well into the night. Sisters Fist and Mayhem, standing guard over Mr. Murdstone body were unaware of the epic battle going on right in front of them.

As the morning broke, Murdstone had clawed his way to white. A blinding white light at the end of a tunnel. Eeeek thought Murdstone, I’ve gone to far. He turned quickly and retreated to pink. He opened his eyes. The sisters were dozing.