In a Season of Storms
by Harry Lang
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Table of Contents parts: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7 |
part 4
“And feel as though I not only have known her but loved her as well as you, divine friends. Now, let us honor her in song. Join me as we sing My Heart Will Never Sing Again.”
Another tremor shook the house. This time it was noticed by everyone.
“Turbulence,” noted the priest with the practiced calm of one accustomed to keeping order. “Nature herself mourns with us. Let us sing.”
Captain Halz started for the exit.
“Where are you going?” asked Philip, placing his hand on the captain’s arm.
“That was no little course correction,” answered the captain. Philip could see beads of sweat on his brow. “I have to know what’s going on!”
“Stay here,” said Philip. “I’ll go.”
“But—”
“Captain, you know the protocol,” observed Philip. “If you leave now, they’ll dismiss you from the staff. I’m not in active service to this house. It won’t go as hard for me. I know the wheelhouse almost as well as you. If I need help I’ll call for you.”
“You’ll call me either way,” the captain ordered as the mourners reached the end of the song. “If I don’t hear from you in fifteen minutes, I’ll be down, protocol be damned. Fifteen minutes, Philip, and that’s too generous. No more nonsense after that, savvy?”
“Aye, Captain.”
Philip managed to reach the exit before the mourners sat down at the conclusion of the song. As he sprinted through the corridors leading to the nearest maintenance passageway, he realized he had never seen an empty house before. He was struck by the ease with which a place as vast and complex as the Kwon Estate could be rendered lifeless.
The deck plates were quivering as Philip stepped out of the lift and headed down the passageway to the wheelhouse. It didn’t feel right. The odd vibration felt more like the shimmy running through a steeply banking shuttle than the low, steady rumble of the thrusters. That meant aerodynamic stress.
Philip cracked the airtight hatch sealing off the wheelhouse. What he saw inside made him truly afraid for the first time in a long career of close scrapes and life or death decisions.
The sky was black.
The pilot wasted no time on astonishment or panic, but went immediately to the weather station, where every indicator flashed red. Wind speed was rising fast and would soon exceed the structural limitations of the house. In contrast, the house guidance system erroneously showed the house moving safely along the edge of the storm, headed for clear skies.
Philip made the split-second decision to trust the data from the Yuhwa weather feed instead of the house guidance system and quickly plotted the shortest course out of the high-wind zone. He could only imagine what the people upstairs would think as he disengaged the automatic systems and sheared away from the storm, cutting directly across the path of the spiraling winds, but there was no time for subtlety. Nothing but the brute force of the fusion-powered thrusters could save them now...
The thrusters! Philip looked down through the starboard side of the bubble and was shocked to see a red glow flickering along the seam of an access panel near the reactor. He had seconds to shut it down and pray that the wind would cool it enough to keep it from blowing apart.
As Philip reached for the switches to start the shutdown sequence, the glow vanished. A quick glance at the monitors told him the engine was performing well within tolerance. Another look, the glow was back; another shift in position, the glow was gone. What should he trust? His eyes? The monitors? If he shut down the thruster, they would never make it out of the storm. If the thruster was overheated and he let it run, they would go up in a ball of fire.
Philip chose the barest hope of surviving the storm over the certainty of fiery death but, as he reached for the switch, he had a revelation. There was no glow. What he saw was the reflection of the flashing red lights on the glassy interior surface of the bubble. His viewpoint happened to align the reflection with the reactor and the stress of the moment turned fragments of perception into terrifying reality.
“Captain Halz,” said Philip out loud, his voice not as steady as he wished, “the starboard thruster is okay. No spike in temperature so far. A guidance error has placed us in high winds. I will compensate for the error and put us on course for clear sky. No assistance needed at this time, but I will keep you posted. Please relieve me at the earliest appropriate opportunity.”
The house shuddered violently as it turned to spiral away from the storm. Streams of debris, ripped from the leading side of the buoyancy ring, slammed into the wheelhouse like blasts of artillery. Philip’s ears rang with the reports of countless high-speed projectiles ricocheting from the bubble or disintegrating on impact. He was sure there’d be a breach. He was sure he was a goner. He wondered if he’d see old Jinks where he was going.
The fusillade soon ended with no serious damage done. The house plowed through the storm, making its ponderous way toward safer skies. There was nothing left for the pilot to do but watch and wait.
The solid black had thinned and started to shred by the time Captain Halz arrived. The sky was a frightening sight to the captain, but Philip was finally starting to calm down and believe in their survival. He made his report then gratefully relinquished control.
“The bloody machines damned near killed us,” complained Captain Halz as he reviewed Philip’s computations. “They would’ve done, had you not taken the initiative.”
“Initiative? I nearly finished the job! That’s why the civil codes require a master to be on duty for the duration of any maneuvers,” said Philip, rubbing his temples to chase away stress and fatigue.
The irony was not lost on the captain. His influential employers could obey or flout codes and regulations as they pleased, but the House Captain’s absence from the Lady’s funeral would be an affront they could not excuse for any reason. As it was, there would be hell to pay for the bumpy ride.
“Look, old man,” said the captain once he was satisfied that everything was shipshape, “you’ve done a good day’s work and I’m grateful. But I let you cut it too close—”
“Captain,” interrupted Philip, shutting down the captain’s speech before it began, “the family needs the best house captain in the business. Besides, where would a ninety-eight-year old ex-house driver find work?”
“I’ve got a lot of good years left in me,” replied the captain. “We both have.”
“Years to spend on what?” asked Philip. “It’s not as if we have options. What are we without our work?”
Bright patches of pale blue were showing through dark, scudding clouds. Wind speed was dropping.
“Funny thing,” said Captain Halz thoughtfully, “that’s the last thing I remember old Jinks saying before he started on that inspection. ‘What are we without our work?’ There’ve been rumors about plans to reorganize the staff. Seems the young ’uns are more in fashion than ever these days, and patience with old things is running out.”
The captain laughed off his self-indulgence as the last of the black clouds drifted past. “We have gone morose, haven’t we?” he chided. “A funeral and a brush with death will do that, I suppose. I never did ask how long you’ll be staying.”
“We lift off first thing in the morning,” answered Philip. “Weather permitting.”
More brown petals fluttered as the hatch opened with a hiss and Mr. Gyl entered. “Mr. Zant,” he greeted, extending a hand. “Mr. Gyl, at your service.”
“A pleasure, Mr. Gyl,” returned Philip. “I was just leaving. The wheelhouse is no place for a mere enthusiast like me.”
“You’re too modest, Mr. Zant,” said Gyl. “Captain Halz and I know what we owe you. But if you must go, there’s an excellent luncheon being served, and staff are invited at least for the next thirty minutes or so. Though, I daresay, drama is already afoot. The family wastes no time. Be on the alert.”
“Thank you,” said Philip. “I could do with a bite. Captain Halz?” He held out his hand.
“Godspeed, Philip,” said Captain Halz, giving the hand a hearty shake. Philip raised an inquisitive eyebrow.
“Yes, old friend, He may be there after all. I’ve no better explanation for the last couple of hours. So, Godspeed and don’t be a stranger!”
Philip found a different house waiting as he once again crossed the barrier from “the works” into “the beauty.” It was as if the curtain had gone up on the next scene of a play, when all the characters were onstage following some ominous, spotlighted soliloquy from the previous act. Now it was impossible to imagine the place quiet and lifeless. The ordered ranks of guests from the hall were scattered as far as the eye could see, food and drink in hand, talking or listening in little knots of black robes, black saris or the formal black livery of the staff.
Philip steeled himself for the gauntlet lying between him and the buffet.
“The contrary,” Philip overheard as he made his way through the crowd. “The house captain is to be commended. The estates are placed well above the reach of such storms. This one was a fluke. It was thanks to the captain’s quick action...”
The exchange sank into the rhubarb as Philip moved on and found the end of the line leading to the buffet.
“And Hayley’s out of sorts because she left the little brat back on Earth.”
The line had stalled. Philip turned his back to the discussion taking place between three or four of Ross Hayley’s business associates and tennis partners.
“She should be, what, about fourteen by now?” asked one. Philip recognized each of the voices but tried to stay as remote from the conversation as possible.
“I say it’s a good job she’s not here. That’s all old Hayley needs!”
“At least he’s finally stopped going on about marrying Olivia! Took him long enough to get that message.”
“Look here,” chimed in another. “Hayley has his faults, probably more so than most but he does want to do his bit as a father. She can hardly blame him when she spirited the kid away without so much as a note...”
“Philip!” It was Leo Gray. Philip noticed he did not have a drink in his hand. “There you are! No, don’t stop, old boy! No telling if you’ll ever get lunch if you don’t keep up.”
The line moved briskly for a few paces then stopped again.
“Lovely service, wouldn’t you say?” asked Philip.
Leo made a rude noise. “It was rubbish and you know it,” he answered, much to Philip’s satisfaction. “She wasn’t even an Affirmationist. I’ve never seen her make the bloody sign of the delta. We’ve always been Lutherans, for God’s sake! And the eulogy! The old fraud should’ve called it a... a me-logy!”
The priest, who stood nearby with a heaped plate and a full glass, happened to glance in Leo’s direction. He probably hadn’t overheard but Leo hoped he had.
“Of course,” Leo went on, “such trifles and decorations aren’t the things that matter, are they my friend? We knew her.”
Philip saw the tears well up as Leo took out a handkerchief. “Sorry, old man,” he apologized as he dabbed the corners of his eyes. “Haven’t had a drop all day. Thought it might stiffen the upper lip to go unmedicated. It doesn’t. But it would be wrong to seek artificial comfort for such natural pain. I owe her that much.”
“You’re doing fine, Leo,” Philip assured him. Leo Gray was one of the few people for whom Philip violated his own rule about never breaking character as a servant. It was the only way he could truly be of service to the man.
Copyright © 2018 by Harry Lang
