Kevin Anderson - Sky Captain and the World of Tomorrow

"I looked at it, Polly. It's a stick."

"Not if you look closely." She ran her index finger along the staff, touching the little notches with her nail. "It's got marks on it. Very precise. Like a ruler." She inspected the T-shaped top of the staff and discovered two faint engraved pictures. "And there's a moon carved here and a picture of a star. The symbols must mean something. Can they guide us to this place he called Rana?"

Sky Captain drew a quick breath and clapped a hand to his forehead. "Rana, of course! I was so focused on maps and destinations that I didn't think of the obvious!" He grinned as he remembered the line from a John Masefield poem: And all I ask is a tall ship and a star to steer her by…

Sky Captain was suddenly all business. "A star! The old man wasn't describing a place. He was describing a star. In their mythology and astronomy, Rana is a star. That's it."

Polly leaned forward, affected by his excitement and hope. After their bickering and the hurtful things they had said to each other, she was glad to feel this shared moment of closeness.

As he casually monitored the cockpit controls, he remained oblivious to her, working out the puzzle in his mind. "Ancient sailors used to navigate by the night sky. They could determine their position by the moon and the stars." He reached over his shoulder to take the staff from Polly. There was barely room for her to hand him the stick in the crowded cockpit.

Guiding the plane with one hand, he studied the staff with newfound interest. "The Vikings were known to create maps for certain stars, latitude tables that required a key to decipher them. They called the key a Jacob's Staff." He lifted the old man's cane, looking over his shoulder to show Polly. "This has to be the key. That's why it was so important to him."

Sky Captain shifted his legs to gain more room in the front of the cockpit so that he could manage to hold the staff up to one eye like a wooden telescope. When he pulled the T-shaped handle toward him, an inner shaft extended from the main stick, moving freely like a trombone slide. "Very sophisticated! Why didn't we notice this before?" He made a scornful noise at himself. "Because I thought those people were just primitives in an uncivilized land — that's why."

As he studied the symbols and graduated markings, Polly also grew excited. "You mean this can really work? We can find Totenkopf — and Dex — with that thing?"

The plane flew along, drifting only slightly in the high air currents. The entire vault of the sky was empty, all theirs to explore. After glancing up to make sure their heading was steady, Sky Captain rummaged through the document pouches beside his left leg. He pulled out his navigation charts and a copy of The Nautical Almanac. "Ah, here's what I need."

Polly was surprised it would be so easy. "You can just look up the position of Rana?"

He held up the book. "We do it a little different now. All we needed to know was where to look."

The Warhawk soared along, guided by the new autopilot system Dex had installed. During the long journey from the Flying Legion base to the Himalayas, Sky Captain had made good use of the system. Now, the autopilot allowed him the time and concentration to figure out his navigation problem.

He unfolded a map and spread it on the cockpit gauges in front of him. He rested a small notebook on his knee, scribbling calculations in pencil." Using the Karakal Plateau as our assumed position" — he paused to consult the Almanac — "Rena is at latitude twenty degrees forty minutes. Right ascension zero three hours, forty-three minutes. Declination ten degrees six seconds." Using his fingers and a straight edge, Sky Captain drew a line across the center of the map. He double-checked his calculations, then smiled as he circled the end point of the line. "There it is."

Polly leaned close to see, but the line did not cross any land. The chart showed only an endless expanse of water. "There's nothing there, Joe. Are you sure you did it right?"

"Yes, I'm sure." He stared at the map. "If the old man was right, then Totenkopf is here. Dead center in the middle of nowhere."

"Sounds appropriate, I guess."

Neither of them wanted to suggest that the disfigured old wretch, poisoned and tormented after years of slavery inside the radiation-contaminated mines, might have been delirious, misguided… or just wrong.

Sky Captain drew a second line parallel to the first, only half the length of the other line. His shoulders slumped. "Remember, you were worried about running out of film for your camera?" He circled the end point of the shorter line. "It seems we've got a worse problem."

"Why?" Polly looked at the chart, curious. "What's that point mean?"

"That's where we run out of fuel." He began to sort through a series of charts. "The point of no return."

"The point of crashing into the ocean, you mean." She couldn't see the fuel gauge behind the scattered charts and maps. "And where are we now?"

"Almost on empty."

Alarmed, Polly sat back. "So what do we do? How do we get all the way to Totenkopf's base?"

Sky Captain's face remained an expressionless mask as he studied his charts, trying to think of a solution. Then a smile blossomed on his face. "Ah! Franky."

"Who?" Polly said.

"Franky Cook, an old buddy of mine." From the pouch at his feet, Sky Captain selected another map and spread it out on top of the first. "Runs a mobile reconnaissance outpost for the Royal Navy. Top secret, but it can't be more than a few hundred miles from here."

Polly tried not to show her relief. She still couldn't see the P-40's fuel gauge, though she thought the droning engines had begun to sound the slightest bit unsteady. "That'll do the trick."

Sky Captain shuffled the charts away from his cockpit controls and flipped open a small metal covering that hid a telegraph key. "If I can get a message to them, I might be able to arrange a rendezvous at those coordinates." Briskly, he tapped the key, sending out the clear and familiar tones of Morse code. When he finished his brief transmission, he flexed his fingers, then began the rapid-fire signaling again.

"What if they don't get the message?" Polly asked. "You're cutting it awfully close."

Briefly, Sky Captain thought about commenting that the extra weight of a certain uninvited female reporter had cut down on the distance the Warhawk could fly, but he kept his words to himself.

"Franky's never let me down. They'll be there." He could feel Polly looking at him with deep skepticism, so he repeated, "They'll be there."

An hour later, Sky Captain consulted the map that filled the small cockpit. He remained calm and brusque, but he couldn't hide his anxiety. Luckily, the paper charts obscured the warning indicator light on his fuel gauge. He checked his bearings, verified the plane's position, and peered into the cloud-studded expanse, searching. He did not see what he was looking for.

So close that he could feel her warm breath on his neck, Polly leaned forward to see the cockpit controls. One of the maps slid askew in the bumpy turbulence, and she spotted the warning indicator light. The gas-level needle had dipped far into the red. "Is that light supposed to be on?"

"Now you're worried about fuel?" he muttered. "Why didn't you think of that in Nanjing before cutting my line?"

She didn't hear him over the sputtering drone of the engine. "What did you say?"

"I said relax, Polly." He bit off his words, sounding anything but confident. "Everything's fine." As if to prove him wrong, the indicator light began to flash insistently, and the annoying buzz of an alarm began to sound. He tapped the gauge, as if that might change the reading. "Damn."