Monday, October 15, 2007

CHAPTER 25 - NIGHT LANDING

Punky thought about relieving Normal Bellini from the pilot’s seat to bring in the ship to the Aerodrome at Fort Balatro. Night landings were hard, but in these black out conditions it was going to be very difficult. Punky decided that it was time for Normal to “learn by doing” as professor Raphus used to say. In this case Normal may well learn how to crash a blimp, hopefully in the soft manner rather than the flaming inferno way.

Punky sat in the co-pilots seat. There was a decent head of steam in the remaining boiler. Punky shouted for Washrox to assume the engineering seat. She came sliding down the ladder and ran to the engineering station.

“How’s Fraley,” asked Punky.

“Out. But its bad” said Washrox. She started to say more but changed her mind. There was nothing she could add.

Normal was intensely focused sitting in the pilots seat. Tunnel focus Punky realized and it’s normal at this point in a pilots training. The entire balloon section of the ship could disappear and the pilot would not know until he hit the ground. That’s what concentration did to the uninitiated. Punky would have to focus on the big picture and landing a blimp was all about the big picture. A big picture composed of dozens of little pictures, inattention to any one of which will kill you.

“Normal, your the pilot. Poofer is your responsibility,” said Punky, “but I’m here and I’ve done this thousands of times. Stay focused but listen to me.”

Normal nodded but remained focused on the narrow slit of the black gondola windows and the wriggling instruments. Normall’s right hand was on the UP&DOWN wheel and her left on the throttle lever. Her feet were correctly positioned for the ailerons.

“Dead ahead slow,” called out Punky in her best imitation of a steamboat captain. Punky’s voice was way to high in pitch for this ploy to work. She sounded more like a parrot demanding more beetle nuts than a steamboat captain. But the irony was missed on the nervous crew. The crew held Punky in high regard both as a Professor but also as a legendary pilot. Punky knew the truth. She was an acting professor and the legend was entirely the creation of the press eager to sell papers.

Normal throttled back and the ship continued forward for a few moments as momentum carried it into the darkness. It was pitch black outside and the altimeter read 200 meters.

“Descend at 10 meters per minute, ordered Punky. “Call out the altitude Washrox, every 10 meters and loud.”

“190,” yelled Washrox. Punky knew that somehow shouting orders and instrument readings kept the tensions down. She was not sure why, but it helped considerably. Less time for bad thoughts she figured.

Slowly they descended and Punky called for level flight at 90 meters. Normal leveled off. Punky knew the hanger was exactly 55 meters high and there was nothing in the immediate aerodrome facility except the hangar.

“Ok, Washrox listen carefully,” said Punky as she slid open the port window and stuck her head out. She could see nothing below. “Hit the lights now!,” she cried. Punky was squinting before the lights came on. “Kill the lights.” The lights went out leaving an echo outline of the building below etched into Punky’s retina. Punky pulled her head back into the gondola, but did not open her eyes. “Bring her around to 120 degrees and bring us forward 30 meters or so, dead slow.”

Normal nudged the throttle and turned the rudder wheel and the ship moved ever so slowly. Punky stuck her head out again. There! She saw them – landing lights. Small, tiny lights were lit in a line with three lights at one end. The opening of the hangar was at the end of the line where the three tiny lights stood flickering in the darkness below.

“Ok, now 10 MPM descents until you reach 40 meters, Washrox call the altitude.”

Normal’s hands were shaking and as Washrox called out the altitude her voice wavered.

“80 meters,” said Washrox.

“Louder Washrox,” cried Punky.

“70 meters.” The wavering voice disappeared.

At forty meters Normal leveled off.

“Docking Protocol Normal, now.” said Punky softly to Normal.

“Away the grappling hook,” yelled Normal Bellini.

Soon the grappling hook purchased earth and sod and as the docking lines were thrown out they felt the gentle but firm tug of the apron jacks hauling in the ship.

Normal had the procedure on his lap and was reading.

“Down 10” Normal said, and he tweaked the wheel.

“30 meters,” shouted Washrox.

Soon in the gloom below they could see the ground and the gaping maw of the open hangar doors. The interior of the hangar was slightly darker than the moonless overcast night.

“20 meters,” called out Washrox.

The Poofer moved forward into the mouth of the darkened hangar. Punky could feel the ship as it was pulled down by winches and tied down safely. Slowly it grew darker as the hangar door was closed. Then the pickle lights glowed green for a moment and Punky could smell the hint of ozone from the open port window and then the light of a thousand suns illuminated the hangar. They were safe. Safe in a ship that was crippled and probably doomed.

As Punky’s eyes adjusted to the bright light she saw that the Poofer was not alone. At the other end of the hangar stood an oddly shaped blimp with oval engines. There was a large X painted on its side.

Kees, Macboy, and Pysgotwr had walked down the coast about four kilometers to Gwinau inlet as Pysgotwr’s teenaged son Baychan took the dory out into the afternoon setting sun. Baychan had halted the dory in the middle of the bay near the opening to the estuary and threw some crab pots overboard. Any resident of the village would have scratched their heads in wonderment and thought Baychan lazy and stupid, but Green and the thugs were fooled. In about an hour the fog rolled in and the dory disappeared.

Baychan brought the dory to Gwinau inlet at about midnight and Kees, Macboy, and Pysgotwr together with Baychan began to row to the north. Pysgotwr had warned them that there was patrol boat outside Jurang sim, but the area to be covered was simply too large and if they moved quickly and carefully they could avoid detection. The dory had a small sail but they dare not raise the sail until they were well beyond the patrol area. As the sun rose they hoisted the small sail and it caught a four knot wind. Kees and Macboy felt good that they had managed to row with the same energy as Pysgotwr and Baychan. Pysgotwr thought it was a good thing he had gone easy on Kees and Macboy because, while they were strong, they had no skills for rowing. Baychan thought the strangers wimps.

Pysgotwr gave the Fina Islands a wide birth even though it added an hour or so to the journey. The hermit kingdoms of Gor were always to be avoided. Many a sailor who landed upon those shores, by shipwreck, tempest, or foolish curiosity never returned. “'Ksherea, evil ones,” said Baychan as they passed the islands.


About sundown the coastline of Meola came into view. They brought down the sail and rowed hard toward the hopefully empty shoreline. Once ashore Kees and Macboy waved to Pysgotwr and Baychan as they pulled out into the sea.

“Without any rest,” said Kees. Macboy nodded.

They moved quickly inland, in four days of hard hiking, horse riding, and a short argument with the flying carpet vendor at Bluts they made it to Capital City and the Long White Hall. About them they saw confusion with many systems down and occasionally the could see the still smoking ruins of aerodromes.

They entered the Long White Hall via the delivery entrance. Security was heavy and portions of the building were sand bagged. Armed marines were everywhere and intensely alert. Soon they were ushered into the Second Sea Lords office. The Second Sea Lord, Admiral Candy Kraft, looked at their disheveled state as they snapped a crisp salute. Kees and Macboy looked at the Second Sea Lord who had aged a great deal in the week since they had left.

“At ease,” said Kraft. “Your report please.”

Kraft stood as Kees spoke and told her that they had indeed discovered the secret sims and that they had seen at least three and possibly four, but that they were sure that there were more. The sims were active with heavy construction, but only at night. The secret sims were supporting two to three times the number of avatars that any sim server known to Second Life was able to currently support. During the day the sims were quiet but heavily guarded by well armed furries. Six days ago the construction had ceased and the number of guard avatars was significantly diminished.

Kraft nodded. “I want a written report and your photos on my desk in two hours,” said Kraft. “Well done and dismissed.” Kees and Macboy spun around and proceeded to the doorway of the Second Sea Lords office.

“Just a moment,” said Kraft. Kees and Macboy turned and returned to the Second Sea Lord’s desk.

“When your finished with your report, how about a trip back there to deliver some packages?” she asked. “Volunteers only, you probably wont make it back,” she said slowly.

“Yes Mam,” Both Kees and Macboy said at the same moment.

“Good,” said Kraft “be prepared to leave as soon as your report is complete. Go to Zippy’s Blimp Works. Ill have one of our few remaining airships ready to get you back to the mountains quickly.” She reached for a small black box and slid it across here desk toward Kees. “I want you to deliver these Sim Interrupter Scripts to our friends. Its time they learned that two can play this game,” the Second Sea Lord said in an icy voice.

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