Starfinder

HIGHER

THE AVATAR HOVERED at fifteen thousand feet, the last mark on her vacuum-powered altimeter. For nearly an hour she had been at that height, time for her crew to acclimate to the cold and thin air as they prepared for their ascent. Each man had left behind every bit of extra weight possible, shedding every knickknack and memento brought from home. Canisters and barrels had been tossed overboard, weapons were stripped of their heavy safety shields, and even the furniture in Rendor’s quarters had been discarded, all to make the airship light enough for the climb.

Rendor peered through the rectangle of netting sewn into the tarp stretched across the ship’s damaged bridge. His nose burned from the cold, but he did not shiver as he looked at the sheer wall of rock facing them. Snow and mist obscured the mountaintops. His breath froze on his lips. Already a headache from altitude sickness throbbed in his skull. On the other side of the mountain waited Pandera, warm and thick with breathable air. Rendor blew into his gloved hands. Behind him, Lieutenant Stringfellow sat at the engine console, taking deep, rapid breaths the way Rendor had shown him. Rendor counted ten breaths, then twelve as Stringfellow kept going.

“That’s enough,” barked Rendor. “A dozen breaths, no more.” He looked at the others on the bridge. “If your hands and feet start tingling you’ve done too many,” he warned. “Ten to twelve deep breaths every five minutes. Don’t do it unless you have to.”

Donnar nodded as he paced the bridge, seemingly immune to the dwindling air pressure. Bottling, on the other hand, had already vomited twice. He kept a bucket next to him as he watched a bank of gauges, his eyes the only part of his face visible behind a woolen scarf. Four additional crewmen manned the bridge as well, a pair of them assigned to consoles, the other two ready with tools to mend steam pipes or tears in the tarp. The entire crew had dressed in layers and drunk gallons of water to prepare their bodies for the moisture-sucking atmosphere. They were all well-trained and hand-picked, but none of them had ever flown as high as they would today.

Through the netting, the world was a swirl of clouds and jagged rock. Rendor felt the thrumming of the engines under his feet, felt the way the wind rattled the airship like a baby’s toy, and knew the time had come.

“Commander Donnar,” he said, “get ready to climb.”

Donnar strapped himself in his captain’s chair, pulling a stout leather belt across his lap. Bottling turned his covered face toward the Commander, waiting for the order. His right hand, fitted with a fingerless glove, hovered over a silver lever.

“Slow climb, Mister Bottling,” said Donnar. “Stringfellow, listen for the watch.”

Bottling eased the lever forward. The Avatar shuddered as hidrenium swelled her envelope. Rendor peered through his viewport as the airship slowly rose. The wind off the peaks swayed her back and forth. Stringfellow manned the engine deck, listening for Rendor’s orders.

“Steady on the watch,” said Rendor.

He ignored his growing fatigue and the pounding in his forehead, wrapping his arms around himself for warmth as the Avatar floated upward. Unlike the other airships he’d designed, the Avatar’s flatter shape made climbing easier, relying not just on hidrenium but also the force of the atmosphere to push her skyward. But it was the job of the engines to move her laterally, and unless he held a steady watch, one stray wind might send them crashing into the face of the mountain.

Rendor scanned the peaks, trying to spot the zenith. Broken clouds obscured his view. Behind him, Bottling was breathing hard to keep from blacking out. He tapped the glass of his many gauges, worried. Donnar sat with steely calm, scanning his nervous crew. When a sudden gust rocked the Avatar, he barely flinched.

“Report the watch,” he called.

Rendor squinted hard, trying to squeeze back his nausea. Outside he saw the rocks rising still above them. “Higher.”

Minutes passed. Bottling shivered over his bucket. Stringfellow gulped down nervous breaths… four, five, six. Even Donnar had turned blue. Rendor felt his hands and face starting to swell.

“Higher,” he gasped.

He swayed on his feet, fighting for balance. He saw a picture of Fiona in his mind, still alive. Still beautiful, like his daughter. In his frock coat ticked his pocket watch, the only keepsake he hadn’t thrown overboard. He fixed on it, imagining its perfect movement, concentrating on its steadiness.

He tried to speak but couldn’t. He clawed at the net to support his wobbly legs. Behind him he heard someone fall from his chair. Donnar shouted for a report.

Higher, thought Rendor desperately. Just a little higher…

His eyes turned skyward, staring at the sun. The wind blew hard and the clouds slowly parted, and a glimpse of the mountaintop appeared. Rendor stuck his frozen face against the net in disbelief, blinking through its crisscrossed ropes. Past the mist and ice-covered rocks, far below the churning clouds, he saw a flash of green.

“Ahead,” he gasped, clinging to the tarp. “Stringfellow…”

Before he could finish, Rendor fainted.