“All right, captain,” Toller said, “what is this matter of some importance?”
“I was told that it was your personal decision that no woman would take part in the first twelve ascents to the weightless zone. Is that true?”
“Yes, it’s true. What of it?”
Berise’s eyebrows now formed a continuous line above intent green eyes."With the greatest respect, my lord, I wish to claim the right of protest granted to me under the Terms of Service.”
“There are no Terms in wartime.” Toller blinked down at her. “Leaving that aside, what have you to protest about?”
“I volunteered for flight duty and was rejected—simply because I’m a woman.”
“You’re in error, captain. If you were a woman with experience of piloting a ship to the weightless zone and carrying out the inversion manoeuvre you would have been accepted, or at least considered. If you were a woman with gunnery experience or with the strength to move fortress sections you would have been accepted, or at least considered. The reason that you were rejected is that you are unqualified for the work. And now may I suggest that we both resume our duties?”
Toller turned quickly and was beginning to walk away when the look of frustration he had seen in Berise’s eyes struck a responsive chord within him. How many times in his youth had he too frowned and chafed when thwarted by regulations? He had an instinctive distaste for the idea of sending a woman into the front line of battle, but if he had learned one thing from Gesalla it was that courage was not an exclusively male attribute.
“Before we part, captain,” he said, checking his stride, “why are you so anxious to climb to the midpoint?”
“There will never be another opportunity, my lord—and I have as much right as any man.”
“How long have you been flying airships?”
“Three years, my lord.” Berise was carefully observing the formalities of address, but her stern expression and heightened colour made it clear that she was angry at him, and he liked her for it. He had a natural sense of kinship with people who were unable to disguise their feelings.
“My ruling about the assembly flights is unchanged,” he said, deciding to show her that the years had not robbed him of his humanity, that he could still sympathise with youth’s ambitions. “But when the fortresses are in place there will be frequent supply flights, and the fortress crews themselves will be rotated on a regular basis. If you can curb your impatience, albeit briefly, you will have ample opportunity to prove your worth in the central blue.”
“You are very kind, my lord.” Berise’s bow seemed deeper than was necessary, and her smile could have suggested amusement as much as gratitude.
Did I sound pompous? he thought, watching her walk away. Is that young woman laughing at me?
He considered the questions for a moment, then clicked his tongue in annoyance as it came to him how trivial was the subject which had diverted him from his major responsibilities.
The parade ground at the rear of the palace had been chosen as the launch site, partly because it was fully enclosed, partly because it made it easy for King Chakkell to keep a close eye on every aspect of the sky fortress project.
The fortresses were wooden cylinders—twelve yards in length and circumference and four in diameter—each of which had been built in three sections. Two prototypes had been produced in the initial war effort and the sections comprising them were lying on their sides at the western edge of the ground, looking like giant drums. The huge balloons which were to carry them into the weightless zone had already been attached and were lying on the baked clay, their mouths held open by ground crew, and hand-cranked fans were being used to inflate them with unheated air. It was a technique which had been devised at the time of the Migration to lessen the risk of damage to the linen envelopes when hot gas was fired into them from the burners.
“I still say it’s madness for you to go aloft at this stage,” liven Zavotle said as he crossed the parade ground with Toller. “And even now it isn’t too late for you to appoint a deputy.”
Toller shook his head and placed a hand on Zavotle’s shoulder. “I appreciate your concern, liven, but you know it can’t be done that way. The crews are terrified as it is, and if they thought I was afraid to go up there with them they would be completely useless.”
“Aren’t you afraid?”
“You and I have been in the weightless zone before, and we know how to deal with it.”
“The circumstances were different,” Zavotle said gloomily. “Especially for our second visit.”
Toller gave him a reassuring shake. “Your system will work—I’ll stake my life on that.”
“Spare me the jests.” Zavotle parted from Toller and went to confer with a group of his technicians who were waiting to observe the take-off. He had proved himself so valuable to the sky fortress project that soon after their first meeting Chakkell had appointed him Chief Engineer, thus making Toller redundant to a large degree and freeing him for the first ascent. As a result, Zavotle felt responsible for thrusting his friend into dangers whose extent could hardly be guessed, and he had been increasingly morose over the past few days.
Toller glanced up at the sky, to where the great disk of Land was poised at the zenith, and once again it came to him that he might die up there, midway between the two worlds. On analysing his reaction to the thought, the disturbing thing was that he felt no real fear. There was a determination to avoid being killed and to guide the mission through to a successful conclusion, but there was little of the normal human sense of dread at the possibility of having his life snuffed out. Was that because he could not envisage Toller Maraquine, the man at the centre of creation, meeting the same fate as all ordinary mortals—or had Gesalla been right about him? Was he really a war-lover, as the long-dead Prince Leddravohr had been—and did that explain the malaise which had begun to affect him in recent years?
The thought was a disquieting and depressing one, and he pushed it aside to concentrate on his immediate duties. All day there had been intense activity around the six fortress sections as supplies were loaded and secured, and last-minute adjustments were made to engines and equipment. Now the area was comparatively empty, with only the launch teams and the flight crews standing by their odd-looking ships. Some of the latter exchanged words and glances as they saw Toller approaching and knew that the 2,500-mile ascent was about to begin. The pilots were all mature men, selected because of their flying experience during the Migration; but most of the others were youngsters who had been chosen for their physical fitness, and they tended to be highly apprehensive about what was to follow. Understanding their worries, Toller put on a show of being relaxed and cheerful as he reached the row of slow-stirring balloons.
“The wind conditions are perfect, so I will not detain you,” he told them, raising his voice against the clattering and whirring of the inflation fans. “I have only one thing to say. It is something you have heard many times before, but it is so important that it is worth repeating here. You must remain tethered to your ships at all times, and wear your parachutes at all times. Remember those basic rules and you will be as safe in the sky as you are on the ground.
“And now let us be about the work with which the King has entrusted us.”