The Best Science Fiction And Fantasy Of The Year Part 69

The very first s.h.i.+ps were no better than hot-air balloons, and the conductors kept a tiny cabin and had to string themselves outside on cables if something happened. I can't imagine it-useless.

I didn't join up until after they moved conductors inside-it showed they had a lick of sense to put conductors where they could get to things that went wrong, and I'm not fond of looking down from heights.

The engine-shop s.h.i.+fted to airs.h.i.+ps as soon as they caught on, and I made two thousand ribs before I ever set foot inside a balloon. It makes for a certain confidence going in, which carried me through, thank goodness-I had a hard time with it at first.

You have to be careful how deeply you breathe so the oxygen filter doesn't freeze up on you, and you have to make sure your air tube doesn't get tangled on your tether, or your tether in someone else's. You have to learn how to fling yourself along so that the tether ring slides with you along the spine, and how to hook your fingers quickly into the little holes in the ribs when you have to climb down. You have to learn to deal with the cold.

The sign language I picked up at once. We had that at the factory, too, signals for when we were too far apart or when it was too loud. I'm fond of it; you get used to talking through the masks, and they're all good men in the air, but sometimes it's nice just to keep the quiet.

Captain Carter was very kind those first few months; he was the only Captain I've ever had who would make trips into the balloon from the Underneath just to see how we were getting along. Back then we were all in it together, all still learning how to handle these beautiful birds.

Captains now can hardly be bothered to leave their bridges, but not Carter. Carter knew how to tighten a bolt as fast as any airs.h.i.+p man, and he'd float through and shake hands whenever we'd done something well. He had a way of speaking about the Majesty Majesty, like a poem sometimes-a clever man. I've tried to speak as he did, but there's not much use for language when we're just bottled up with one another. Once or twice I've seen something sharply, the way he might have seen it-just once or twice. You won't see his like again. He was of the old kind; he understood what it meant to love the sky like I do.

"A patient in the profession of Zeppelin conducting has, after very few years of work, advanced Heliosis due to excessive and prolonged exposure to helium within the balloon of an airs.h.i.+p. His limbs have grown in length and decreased in musculature, making it difficult for him to comfortably maneuver on the ground for long periods of time. Mild exercise,concurrent with the wearing of an oxygen mask to prevent hyperventilation, alleviates the symptoms in time but has no lasting effect without regular application, which is difficult for conductors to maintain while employed in their vessels.

"Other side effects are phrenological. Skin tightens around the skull. Patient has noticeable growth in those parts of the head dedicated to Concentrativeness, Combativeness, Locality, and Constructiveness. The areas of Amativeness, Form, and Cautiousness are smaller than normal, though it is hard to say if these personality defects are the work of prolonged wearing of conductor's masks or the temperament of the patient. I suspect that in this case time will have to reveal what is yet unknown.

"The Zeppelin is without doubt Man's greatest invention, and the brave men who labor in its depths are indispensable, but it behooves us to remember the story of Icarus and Daedalus; he should proceed wisely, who would proceed well."

-from Doctor Jonathan Grant's address to the Health Council, April 1895

The Captains' Union set up the first Society for us, in London, and a year later in Paris.

They weren't much more comfortable than the hospital rooms where they used to keep us landside, for safety, but of course it was more dignified. Soon we managed to organize ourselves and put together the Zeppelin Conductors' Society, and we t.i.thed our own wages for the dues to fix the buildings up a bit.

Now you can fly to any city with an airdock and know there's a place for you to sleep where no one will look at you sidelong. You can get a private room, even, with a bath in the middle big enough to hold you; it's horrid how long your limbs get when you're in helium nine days in ten, and there's not much dignity in trying to wash with your legs sticking two feet out of the bath.

And it's good sense to have a place you can go straight away; regulars don't like to see you wandering about, sometimes. Most times. I understand.

WHAT TO DO WHEN YOU SEE A CONDUCTOR.

1. Do not panic; he is probably as wary of you as you are of him. He will pose no threat if not provoked.

2. Do not stare; scrutiny is vulgar.

3. Offer a small nod when you pa.s.s, as you would to another gentlemen; it pleases them.

4.Avoid smaller streets between airs.h.i.+p docks and the local Conductors'Society. The conductor is, in general, a docile creature, but one can never be sure what effects the helium has had on his temperament.

-Public Safety Poster, 1886

January 1, 1900 PARIS-Polaris was eclipsed last night: not by any cosmic rival, but by a man-made beauty. The Laconia, a Phoenix-cla.s.s feat of British engineering that has become the envy of the world, never looked more beautiful than on its evening flight to Paris as we began a momentous New Year.

Captain Richard Marks, looking every inch the matinee hero, guided the s.h.i.+p safely through the night as the pa.s.sengers within lit up the sky with conversation and music, accompanied by a champagne buffet.Miss Marie Dawlish, the English Lark, honored the company with a song which it is suspected struck the heart of a certain airs.h.i.+p Captain who stepped away from the bridge in time for the performance.

Though we at the Daily are not prognosticators, we believe that the coming year may be one of high romance for Captain Marks, who touched down back in London with a gentle landing, and no doubt a song in his heart.

The Societies have the Ball each year for New Year's, which is great fun. It's ripping good food, and sometimes someone comes in a full evening suit and we can all have a laugh at them; it's an expensive round of tailoring to wear just once a year. You know just by looking that they who dressed up had wanted to be Captains and fallen short. Poor boys. I wouldn't be a Captain for all the gold in Araby, though perhaps when you're young you don't realize how proud and empty the Captains end up.

You don't meet a lot of ladies in the air, of course, and it's what all the lads miss most. For the London Ball they always manage to find some with the money from the dues-sweet girls who don't mind a chat. They have to be all right with sitting and talking. The Annual Gentlemen's Ball isn't much of a dance. The new conductors, the ones who have only stretched the first few inches, try a dance or two early on to give the musicians something to do. The rest of us have given in to gravity when we're trapped on the ground. We catch up with old mates and wait for a chance to ask a girl upstairs, if we're brave enough.

Sometimes we even get conductors in from other places-Russia, sometimes, or once from China. G.o.d, that was a night! What strange ideas they have about navigation! But he was built like an airs.h.i.+p man, and from the red skin round his eyes we could tell he'd paid his dues in the helium, so we poured him some Scotch and made him welcome. If we aren't kind to each other, who will be kind to us?

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Soar with confidence among the stars-aim always for ORION.

- Orion Airs.h.i.+p Supply Catalog, 1893 We were airside the last night of 1899, the night of the Gentlemen's Ball.

We had been through a bad wind that day,and all of us were spread out tightening rivets on the ribs, signaling quietly back and forth. I don't know what made Anderson agree to sign us on for the evening flight-he must have wanted the Ball as much as the rest of us-and I was in a bit of a sulk, feeling like Cinderella. It was a cold night, cold even in the balloon, and I was wis.h.i.+ng for nothing but a long bath and a long sleep.

Then Captain Marks shoved the woman into the balloon.

She was wearing a worn-out orange dress, and a worn-out shawl that fell away from her at once, and even as the Captain clipped her to the line she hung limp, worn-out all over. He'd been at her for a while.

I still don't know where he found her, what they did to her, what she thought in the first moments as they carried her towards the balloon.

"Got some leftovers for you," the Captain shouted through his mask, "a little Gentlemen's Ball for you brave boys. Enjoy!"

Then he was gone, spinning the lock shut behind him, closing us in with her.

I could feel the others hooking onto a rib or a spine, pus.h.i.+ng off, hurrying over. The men in the aft might not have even seen it happen. I never asked them. Didn't want to know.

I was closest to her, fifty feet, maybe. Through the mask I could see the b.u.t.tons missing on the front of her dress, the little cuts in her fisted hands.

She wore a mask, too. Her hair was tangled in it.

She was terrified-shaking so hard that I worried her mask would come loose-but she didn't scrabble at her belt: too clever for that, I suppose. I was worried for her-if you weren't used to the helium it was painful to breathe for very long, she needed to get back Underneath. G.o.d only knew how long that second-rate mask would hold.

Even as Anderson hooked onto a spine to get to her she was shoving off-not to the locked porthole (there was no hope for her there), but straight out to the ribs, clawing at the stiff silk of the balloon.

We all scrambled for her.

I don't know how she cut the silk-Bristol said it must have been a knife, but I can't imagine they would have let her keep one. I think she must have used the hook of her little earring, which is the worst of it, somehow.

The balloon shuddered as the first rush of helium was sucked into the sky outside; she clenched one fist around the raw edge of the silk as she unhooked herself from the tether. The air caught her,dragging at her feet,and she grasped for purchase against the fabric. She cried out, but the mask swallowed the noise.

I was the closest; I pushed off.

The other conductors were shouting for her not to be foolish; they shouted that it was a misunderstanding, that she would be all right with us.

As I came closer I held out my hands to her so she could take hold, but she shrank back, kicking at me with one foot, the boot half-fastened.

My reflection was distorted in the round eyes of her mask-a spindly monster enveloping her in the half-dark, my endless arms struggling to pull her back in.

What else could she do?

She let go.

My sight lit up from the rush of oxygen, and in my view she was a flaming June in a bottle-green night, falling with her arms outstretched like a bird until she was too small to be seen, until every bright trace of her was gone.

For a moment no one moved; then the rails shuddered under us as the gills fanned out, and we slowed.

Anderson said, "We're coming up on Paris."

"Someone should tell them about the tear," said Bristol.

"Patch it from here," Anderson said. "We'll wait until Vienna."

In Vienna they a.s.sumed all conductors were lunatics, and they would ask no questions about a tear that only human hands could make.

I heard the first clangs of the anchor-hooks latching onto the outer hull of the Underneath before the church bells rang in the New Year. Beneath us, the pa.s.sengers shouted "Hip, hip, hurrah! Hip, hip, hurrah!"

That was a sad year.

Once I was land-bound in Dover. The Conductors' Society there is so small I don't think ten men could fit in it. It wasn't a bad city (I had no trouble with the regulars on my way from the dock), but it was so horribly hot and cramped that I went outside just to have enough room to stretch out my arms, even heavy as they were with the Earth pulling at them.

A Falcon-cla.s.s pa.s.sed overhead, and I looked up just as it crossed the harvest moon; for a moment the balloon was illuminated orange, and I could see the conductors skittering about inside of it like spiders or shadow puppets, like moths in a lamp.

I watched it until it had pa.s.sed the moon and fallen dark again, the lamp extinguished.

It's a glorious life, they say.

THE LADY WHO PLUCKED.

RED FlOWERS BENEATH THE QUEEN'S WINDOW RACHEL SWIRSKY.

Rachel Swirsky holds an MFA in fiction from the Iowa Writers Workshop and is a graduate of the Clarion West Writers Workshop. Her short fiction has appeared in a varietyof venues, including Tor.com Tor.com, Subterranean Magazine Subterranean Magazine, Weird Tales Weird Tales, and Fantasy Magazine Fantasy Magazine. Her story"Eros, Philia,Agape"was nominated for the 2009 Hugo and Sturgeon awards, while "A Memory of Wind" was a 2010 Nebula Award nominee. Her most recent book is Through the Drowsy Dark Through the Drowsy Dark,a short collection of feminist poems and short stories. She lives in Bakersfield, California,with her husband and two cats,and is seriously considering whether or not to become a crazy cat lady by adopting all four stray kittens which were recently born in her yard.

My story should have ended on the day I died. Instead, it began there.

Sun pounded on my back as I rode through the Mountains where the Sun Rests. My horse's hooves beat in syncopation with those of the donkey that trotted in our shadow. The Queen's midget Kyan turned his head toward me,sweat dripping down the red-and-blue protections painted across his malformed brow.

"Shouldn't... we... stop?" he panted.

Sunlight shone red across the craggy limestone cliffs. A bold eastern wind carried the scent of mountain blossoms. I pointed to a place where two large stones leaned across a narrow outcropping.

"There," I said, prodding my horse to go faster before Kyan could answer. He grunted and cursed at his donkey for falling behind.

I hated Kyan, and he hated me. But Queen Rayneh had ordered us to ride reconnaissance together, and we obeyed, out of love for her and for the Land of Flowered Hills.

We dismounted at the place I had indicated. There, between the mountain peaks, we could watch the enemy's forces in the valley below without being observed. The raiders spread out across the meadow below like ants on a rich meal. Their women's camp lay behind the main troops, a small dark blur. Even the smoke rising from their women's fires seemed timid. I scowled.

"Go out between the rocks," I directed Kyan. "Move as close to the edge as you can."

Kyan made a mocking gesture of deference. "As you wish, Great Lady," he sneered, swinging his twisted legs off the donkey. Shamans' bundles of stones and seeds, tied with twine, rattled at his ankles.

I refused to let his pretensions ignite my temper."Watch the valley,"I instructed. "I will take the vision of their camp from your mind and send it to the Queen's scrying pool. Be sure to keep still."

The midget edged toward the rocks, his eyes s.h.i.+fting back and forth as if he expected to encounter raiders up here in the mountains, in the Queen's dominion. I found myself amused and disgusted by how little provocation it took to reveal the midget's true, craven nature. At home in the Queen's castle, he strutted about, pompous and patronizing. He was like many birth-twisted men, arrogant in the limited magic to which his deformities gave him access. Rumors suggested that he imagined himself worthy enough to be in love with the Queen. I wondered what he thought of the men below. Did he daydream about them conquering the Land? Did he think they'd make him powerful, that they'd put weapons in his twisted hands and let him strut among their ranks?

"Is your view clear?" I asked.

"It is."

I closed my eyes and saw, as he saw, the panorama of the valley below. I held his sight in my mind, and turned toward the eastern wind which carries the perfect expression of magic-flight-on its invisible eddies. I envisioned the battlefield unfurling before me like a scroll rolling out across a marble floor. With low, dissonant notes, I showed the image how to transform itself for my purposes. I taught it how to be length and width without depth, and how to be strokes of color and light reflected in water. When it knew these things, I sang the image into the water of the Queen's scrying pool.

Suddenly-too soon-the vision vanished from my inner eye. Something whistled through the air. I turned. Pain struck my chest like thunder.

I cried out. Kyan's bundles of seeds and stones rattled above me. My vision blurred red. Why was the midget near me? He should have been on the outcropping.