(CIRKUMFLEKS)Magazine

A Worm is a Bird and Other Bad
She feels the ashes falling, takes out her pack of explosives and hurls them at
the troops, scattering some, disabling others. In some rage for survival, she
sprints across the grounds towards the flying machine, waving her hands,
hoping that someone inside will see she’s still human. “Open up! Stop!”
A hatchway opens and a ladder falls out from the base. A man’s voice calls in
broad French, “Are you infected?”
She scrambles towards the ladder and clings on as the ship leaves the
ground. She’s used to being at the helm, not clinging for her life below. “I
don’t think so!” She clambers upwards, and the man’s hand hauls her onto
the deck. The hatch closes. Her eyes adjust to the unnatural light.
The man, dressed in a cleaner’s overalls, smiles and shakes her hand. “A
Zeppelin Captain!” He looks relieved and says in fluent English. “We’ve got a
crazy scientist piloting this ship! We need you at the helm, Ma’am. Unless you
fancy a world full of worms?” He adds, “We’d better get up there. The world’s
a big place to save and we’ve only got one ship!”
It seems she does have purpose, after all. “Looks like the laws of science
have shifted in our favour. Show me to your deck, Monsieur!”
Without introducing himself, the cleaner disappears up a spiral stairway, “This
way, Captain!”
She follows, swaying as the ship ascends, hoping that the rest of the crew is
more qualified. It’s a difficult climb, with the gravity shifting. She’s not used to
such swift takeoffs as Zeppelins were designed for gradual flight, not the
obvious maneuvering this ship is capable of. She feels sick, remembers
herself falling as her own Zeppelin crashed from the sky, as a worm ate
through the gasbag. For the first time since her daughter and husband died,
she feels completely helpless. New York is so far away, but the smell of
burning fuel; mixed with the blossom in spring air, encourage such cruel
memories. A dead woman’s life has no place amongst the living, and certainly
isn’t appropriate onboard a ship capable of such potential. “Not now, Isabel.”
Shaking off the emotion, she reaches the hull, peers up at the new space,
through the floor hatch. It’s empty, save the cleaner, but she can see the crew
through an open doorway, to the control room.
The cleaner holds his hand out to help her to her feet, a rare gentleman, with
misguided chivalry. “Captain?”
Deckard marks him as a hopeless romantic at best, but accepts his gesture
gracefully. “Thank you, Monsieur?”
He looks sick, as the ship enters some turbulence, but replies. “Christophe
Lautrec.” He motions towards the cabin. “Let me introduce you to the others.”
She follows him through to where two more people sit, a man and a woman,
(CIRKUMFLEKS)Magazine 2.2012