“Jim, Up the J ropes! Get on a turngun! Henry, give the order to drop us to five hundred feet. These guys are bringing a helluva storm. Hanson, where are the twins? I need them -”

Captain Rychist’s voice trailed off as she disappeared up the forecastle stairs.

The crew was scrambling in every direction. Dozens of them hastily ascended J ladders hanging from the balloon. Jim ran for the nearest one. The captain’s earlier words played over in his head, “I just hope you don’t have a fear of heights.”

I didn’t until today, he thought as his heart quickened.

Climbing the ropes, trying to ignore the world thousands of feet below him, his bones shook as a loud thrumming started from somewhere below deck. More alarm bells were ringing, and shouts carried upward from deep within the ship.

Focusing on the task ahead, Jim continued his climb. The balloon’s pull on the J ropes kept them tight, but it didn’t stop Jim’s mind from playing games on his senses. The fear of a rope giving way and tossing him into the abyss was ever present.

Already, the Liberator had begun its descent. The pleasant white cloud sea was now a chilly fog engulfing the ship. For a few seconds, Jim struggled to see through the soup, but the moment soon passed as they dropped through the first layer to clearer skies below.

His climb resumed, and the hull soon disappeared behind the bulk of the balloon. With thousands of meters between him and the ground, he clung to the ropes in white knuckled fear. The terror filling him was the stuff of nightmares.

Suspended kilometers above the ground, hanging from a rope ladder while alarm bells sounded around him was not exactly the day he had in mind.

Passing above the horror of the balloon’s edge, the world below was replaced with a view of endless canvas. The deep thrumming intensified.

Moments later, catapulting out from the sides of the ship - five, eight, ten fighters burst forth. They were heavy Dragonfly variants - the two seater craft came armed with dual 120SPM Turnguns and a small rear 220SPM Turngun - All controlled through an elaborate gearing system and powered by Yellow Ether Cubes.

The larger craft was sure to be hopelessly slower than the smaller Firebug Attack Fighters.

Dragonflies took their name from a nearly identical resemblance to a bug commonly found around the water supplies of most desert settlements. The heavy fighters used a vast assortment of gearing to beat their quad wings in perfect sync, mimicking the insect in everything but size.

Firebugs on the other hand carried only a single 440SPM Turngun in the nose and a single pair of rapidly beating mechanical wings. Also powered by Yellow Ether cubes, they were fairly harmless alone with their low caliber, fast firing nose guns, but in swarms, they could be deadly. Somewhere to the north, one such swarm was coming their way.

The balloon began to level out, and soon he was on his feet. Jim stumbled toward the nearest emplacement, trying to catch his breath as he went along.

Ahead, his turngun sat, surrounded by a two layer high sandbag wall, awaiting an operator. The brass and steel contraption had dual handcranks hooked up to a gearing system that cycled and fired out of one of the eight barrels arranged around a rotating core. Ammo and powder bags dropped downward through two hoppers.

With each turn of the crank, a flint cap was struck, igniting the tiny powder bag and sending the ball shaped projectile toward its target. Of course, fighters and other powered contraptions did this all automatically thanks to the power flowing from their ether cubes. Unfortunately, this turngun would require good ol’ Jim power.

This was going to be tough.

Shuddering and releasing an enormous belch of steam, the ship increased its rapid descent to a dangerous plummet. Jim promptly grabbed a pair of brass rimmed flight goggles hanging from one of the cranks and fixed them tightly to his head. Over the commotion, he could almost make out the shouts of Captain Rychist below among the cacophony of crew members.

Around him, the temperature instantly rose twenty degrees. The engine crew was venting lift steam through exhaust funnels at an alarming speed. Jim gripped the cranks of his turngun to avoid being thrown by the ship’s mechanical seizures. The thickening artificial cloud was acrid with the smell of degraded black-crystal and coal.

Grabbing dual leather harnesses hanging from the gun chair, he strapped himself in. Through the metal bucket seat of his emplacement, he could feel every bump and vibration from the ship below. He suspected it was anchored to one of the steel frames within the balloon. Any battle damage would be amplified through his rattling bones.

Not exactly a good design, captain, he thought. Although, he would never dare to tell her. Somehow, he suspected that her temper was probably the last thing anyone dared to conjure out of her.

The squadron of Dragonflies circled the ship in a death defying spiral downward. Their heated cores left trails of white behind as they corkscrewed around the ship in perfect formation. He imagined that from a distance, they must appear to be falling through a vortex of white superheated steam.

It was then that he saw it. To the north, a wholly artificial, wholly deadly, black cloud raced toward the ship. Peals of thunder announced their coming doom as white lightning snaked throughout the unnatural vapor. Within the darkness, yellow dots darted left and right appearing for seconds before retreating into the veil.

“By the Gods, they have a prime of air among them!” came a cry from the emplacement nearest to him.

“What the hell is a prime!?” Jim shouted back, but the commotion of dragonflies and an approaching maelstrom drowned his voice in the chaos. The storm was nearly upon them, roaring as it approached. The young man shouted something and pointed toward the cloud. He couldn’t make out the words, but the fear in the man’s face told Jim everything he needed to know.

Jim fought against the urge to unstrap, dive down, and hide behind his meager sandbag wall, instead turning his emplaced weapon defiantly toward the storm. From head to toe, his body tightened in preparation for the unknown. He wasn’t sure where his hidden courage was coming from. After all, he hardly knew these people.

Such things he could work out later. For now, it was time to dance with death.

Four seconds.

In one fluid motion, the Dragonflies broke formation and charged the oncoming storm.

Three seconds.

Fearlessly, the fighters plunged into the mist. A veil of lightning burned their shadows across his eyesight.

Two seconds.

For a moment, everything was silent. Jim held his breath.

One second.

Time stalled

Hit.

Jim’s world erupted. Underneath him, the bag rippled and steel shrieked. The storm slammed into their ship like a wall of stone. Instantly, the sky had gone dark. Clouds of black swirled around him.

Again, he could hear the Dragonflies… and dozens more enemy aircraft. The drone of fighters was almost overwhelming. Crashes of thunder, clanging of alarm bells, engines, and turngun fire. The air itself was laden with noise.

An image darted across his vision, but then it was gone. Jim’s eyes shifted left and right. Despite the deafening noise, he could hear his own heavy breathing. His head throbbed with each pounding heartbeat. Suddenly, there it was.

The firebug moved so quickly, he wasn’t sure how its pilot could remain conscious. Flying sideways, the insect shaped craft cut sideways through the air, firing its low caliber nose gun at the emplacement next to him. Though the sound of the tempest was disorienting, he could see the same young man shouting in defiance as he opened up on the small craft.

Coming to his senses, not to be discluded, Jim grabbed the cranks of his own turngun.

POP POP POP POP. The pitiful sound of his hand cranked weapon would have been cause for humor if his life weren’t hanging in the balance.

Four more emplacements followed. Although hand cranked turnguns were notoriously inaccurate, teams of them firing at a single close range target were plenty effective.

Jim’s shots missed wide and to the right. Thankfully, his neighbor fared better, scoring multiple hits on one of the translucent insect shaped wings. Already moving at full speed, the first firebug rolled quickly out of control, bouncing off the balloon once and disappearing into the blackness below.

Again, the young man was shouting toward Jim, this time pointing to a latch on his own gun. It took him a moment to make the connection. Jim probed his turngun and found a similar lever. He grabbed hold of the small bar and pulled it back with a satisfying click. A third, much smaller hopper marked Incendiary dropped its first round into the chamber.

The next firefly came straight at them, cresting over the canvas horizon from somewhere below the nose of the ship. Again, the guns opened up. Lines of red traced the sky from the six turnguns atop the balloon. Each sought out the enemy craft, but this pilot was smarter. He tucked and bounced in every direction, never giving anyone enough time to redirect their fire.

“One way ticket to hell, right here!” Jim shouted against the storm as he poured his strength into the hand cranks of his gun. Balls of white and red fire spit forth. Clouds of warm gunsmoke brushed Jim’s flight goggles, often impeding his vision. The shots missed again as they left trails across his vision but, not by much.

For whatever reason, Jim’s emplacement caught the attention of the fighter. Stopping in its tracks, the firebug turned, hovered a moment, and dipped forward toward his position with lines of emplacement fire following behind as it came.

Turngun rounds ripped through the surface of the balloon toward him. Miniature tornadoes of escaping steam threatened to impede his view, but Jim continued to fire his weapon. Already, his arms were burning from the brief effort.

The buzzing of metal through air grew closer, and the holes quickly approached his position. At the last moment, Jim slipped out of his harness and dove for cover. Although his turngun was no longer manned, the momentum of its rotating barrel afforded two more shots.

Lead met brass and steel. Jim rolled onto his back just in time to see the smouldering craft rip through the air overhead. A small section of its fuselage had been ignited by the last few lucky incendiaries from Jim’s emplacement.

Suddenly, what started as a small fire burst through the craft and out the small glass cockpit as a torrent of burning destruction. The smoking body of the very surprised pilot was ejected out into the void as a vortex of flame engulfed his aircraft.

For a moment, Jim watched in confusion. The shots barely penetrated the fighter, he thought. Then remembered the young man. He turned to see the gunner standing with arms outstretched toward the staggering fighter. Even through the darkness around them, Jim could see the boy’s arms blackening as the explosion of internal power took its toll in his body.

He’s a fire awakened! I wonder how many others are on this ship.

The burning fighter crashed into the tail section of the balloon, bouncing end over end, taking a piece of the top rudder with it before disappearing below. Dropping to his knees, the gunner smiled, instantly exhausted from his supernatural effort. It was a feeling Jim could sympathize with.

He didn’t have time to check on the fallen awakened warrio. Suddenly, a burst of air knocked him down. Above, three dragonflies droned past at lightning speed. Their discipline was commendable as they crossed the sky, smoking tail guns making quick work of the closest pursuing firebugs.

More aircraft fell into the blackness in smouldering ruins. Other gunners were out of their harnesses now, contributing their own awakened fire to the destruction. Victory was starting to feel like a real possibility. Burning wounds in some of the nearest enemy aircraft were quickly transformed into gaping geysers of flame, incinerating the small craft in seconds.

Many things went wrong next.

The clouds ignited in a white glow as bolts of lightning unceremoniously obliterated the three dragonflies. Their fuselages were torn in two as if by an invisible butcher’s blade, sending blood, bone, and machine into the darkened abyss.

More lightning tore emplacements from the balloon, opening up more holes in the already damaged structure. Precious lift steam was leaking through hundreds of small wounds causing their pace of decent to quicken. But these wounds were mortal.

They were practically plummeting now.

Below, fireballs and gunfire reached out desperately in every direction. The fighters had broken through the ship’s dragonfly formation and were moving in for a massed attack. Crewmen were sacrificing themselves, using far more awakened power than they were meant to just to hold back the enemy for a tragic few extra seconds.

Shouts of terror and anguish filled the sky. Overspent awakened were dropping. Still others were taking turngun fire, their lives extinguished in blood and horror. Fire and lightning burned paths of destruction in every direction. The ship’s ten pounders began to fire in a hopeless effort to stem the tide. Roundshot was effective against ships, not tiny agile fighters.

For a moment, hopelessness lay thick in the air. The crew was breaking. The terror was palpable. They were trapped in hell itself, plunging together to their certain deaths.

But…there was something else.

Deep within his mind, a presence, a voice. It was something that an awakened could never truly explain to someone who hadn’t experienced it. Beneath him, the rocks cried out, We are near! But not in words. It was instinct.

Somehow, he could hear… feel the earth around them. The ship was erupting in a steam cloud as the engine room released all reserves into the balloon, struggling to keep the floundering vessel airborne. The ship was dangerously close to the ground now. He couldn’t see it but, he felt it was near.

Not knowing what to do, he lifted his arms skyward just as the young fire awakened had done. He closed his eyes and concentrated. What the hell do I do next? he thought as the feeling of approaching doom quickened his already pounding heart.

Suddenly, a peace came over him. Jim took a breath and exhaled slowly. Time seemed to slow as he did so. As he opened his eyes, he could see himself suspended above the ground.

In his mind’s eye, the air stilled.He and his awakened crewmates were floating above a rocky ridgeline intersected with the great dune sea. Glowing figures scurried about in slow motion beneath him, but he couldn’t see the ship. He suddenly realized the figures were the life forces of each awakened crew member.

Some shone a bright red, others a dull orange. Still others glowed in various shades of yellow and white. Fire and air awakened! he realized. Jim looked down at his own body. Unlike the others, it was black. Yet, it glowed. It both absorbed light and emitted it.

Perplexed by all he was seeing, he cleared the questions from his mind and returned his attention to the crew. Seeing only their life force made it appear as if they were running in midair. To his second sight, the ship, wooden but dead, was completely invisible.

In the sand beneath them, he could see every living thing. Tiny stars of life shone brightly among the same glowing darkness of the earth. Even the enemy pilots had a glow. One of them was particularly bright. Their prime of air, he realized.

His wonder was cut short. The rock and sand were shouting to him now, WE ARE HERE! COMMAND US! Above, four remaining dragonflies danced a suicidal ballet with scores of firebugs. The pilots fought with remarkable courage, but their struggle was ending. Two of them were falling out of formation, trailing greasy black smoke.

The rocks and sand beneath him were screaming for his attention, COMMAND US! YOU MUST! DO IT NOW!

Silence again. Jim closed his eyes and whispered a single word, “them.”

The earth rumbled as it rolled and rippled beneath the ship. They had landed, somehow intact. A testament to a terrific crew. Although he couldn’t see it, he could feel the ship buck and list beneath his feet.

The tumult grew to a crescendo.

Pillars of sand and rock launched skyward. Explosions ripped through the silence as boulders, sand, and stone erased the nearest Firebugs from the sky. All around him, the lights of those below seemed to find new light as their hopes were rekindled.

Fire awakened crew joined the maelstrom above with their own efforts, directing the explosive fire to the remaining ships. Air awakened added to the fight, sending the explosions backward with tremendous gusts of wind.

As each ship was engulfed, the fireball grew, feeding even greater destruction into the next.

With their demise fast approaching, the remaining Firebugs broke pursuit and retreated north. His second sight began to fade, but he clearly spotted the brightest light among them escaping with his remaining few comrades. He willed the earth the engulf them, but it seemed his strength was sapped. Finally, frustrated, he halted his attempts.

Soon, the mechanical buzzing of enemy fighters faded into nothingness.

Jim’s senses slowly returned to him. The air around was warm, dry, familiar. The sound of wind through Manzatrees and shifting sand welcomed him from below. Again, he was standing atop the balloon although at a sharp angle. The Liberator had run aground.

The superstructure, normally hidden within, was poking through a much deflated canvas like the ribs of a starving animal.

Joy, relief, and sorrow overcame him. Joy at their triumph. Relief at his new lease on life. Sorrow for the many lives lost. Jim had only moments among the crew of the Liberator, but somehow he felt a connection to them.

He’d survived with these people. He’d bled with these people. He’d fought alongside these people. Time would tell if they were trustworthy, but for better or worse, this was now where he belonged.

The toll for his explosion of power had come due. Nausea tore through him just before he fell into unwilling unconsciousness for the second time in a week.