Chris Wooding - The Black Lung Captain

'You'll still make your money, and get your split,' said Grist. 'Fifty-five, forty-five. I been dealing with you fair.'

'It's hardly vast bloody wealth, Grist!' Frey cried. He was getting angrier as Grist's fury diminished. He was annoyed that he'd allowed himself to be played for a fool. He turned his wrath on Hodd, who was an easier target than the burly captain. 'What were you thinking?'

Hodd quailed. 'Erm . . . well, I was rather hoping ... I mean, once we came back with all those artefacts, they'd have to listen to reason. They'd have to let me back in!'

Frey, who knew next to nothing about the Explorer's Guild, looked at Crake for confirmation. Crake shook his head. 'They wouldn't,' he said. 'Probably wouldn't even let him in the building. If you're not a paid-up explorer, you're not allowed to make discoveries. Best you can hope for is that someone else who is Guild registered recreates your expedition and steals the credit.'

'Aye,' Grist agreed. 'What a system. Makes me glad to be a smuggler. At least it's honest work.'

'But surely ... I mean . . . it's a crashed Mane dreadnought!' Hodd blustered. 'It's only been a few years I haven't been paying the fees! They'd make an exception!'

Silence. Sceptical stares. A raised eyebrow from Crake, as if to say: Really? Would they?

Hodd turned on Grist, flailing his arms about in a huff. 'Well if you thought that, why did you come at all?'

'That was my next question,' said Frey.

Grist indicated the metal sphere with the nub of his cigar. 'That thing,' he said. 'You could've taken whatever you wanted. But that would've been part of my share. I came here for that.'

'I figured that much out,' said Frey. 'So what is it?'

'It's a power source,' Grist said. 'Like nothin' you've ever seen before.' His eyes drifted to the sphere, and they took on that hungry look again. 'When them Navy boys looked over that dreadnought they shot down, they couldn't find nothin' that looked like a prothane engine, nor any sign of aerium neither. The science fellers reckoned it had to be powered by somethin' else.' He scratched at his bearded cheek. 'Somethin' like this.'

'This is what you came looking for?' Crake asked, peering closer at the sphere.

'Ain't it enough?' Grist asked. 'A power source that don't need aerium or prothane? If you could figure it out, you could power a fleet with these things. You'd never need to refuel. Allsoul's balls, it'd be a revolution! The Fourth Age of Aviation!' He nodded his head towards the sphere. 'You know what this is worth to the right people? There ain't enough numbers in the world.'

'I've got some. Fifty-five, forty-five,' said Frey. 'Like we agreed.'

'Aye,' said Grist, reluctantly. 'Fair's fair. I reckon even fifty-five per cent'll be more money than I can spend in a lifetime.'

'Don't forget my five per cent!' Hodd chimed in hopefully.

'Aye, yes, five per cent for you,' said Grist, waving him away.

Frey lowered his cutlass. 'The deal stands, then.'

'The deal stands,' Grist agreed.

Frey slid the blade back into his belt. The tension in the room eased down a notch.

'Better let me run some tests on that sphere before anyone touches it,' Crake suggested. 'Don't want anyone dead. I'll go get my equipment.'

'I'll come with you,' said Frey.

Frey was at the doorway when Grist spoke. 'One more thing, Cap'n Frey,' he said quietly. 'Draw a blade on me again and it'll be the last thing you do.'

'If I have to draw this blade on you again, Captain Grist, it'll be the last thing you see,' Frey replied.

They retreated to the antechamber, where Crake began gathering up his equipment and moving it down to the room with the sphere.

Frey didn't help. Instead he took his lantern and went and stood in the passageway outside the antechamber. He needed a little air, or as much air as he could get in this place.

Frey leaned against the chill metal wall and listened to his heart slow. Damn, he'd been frightened. Hadn't shown it, but he'd felt it inside. There was something about Grist. He'd caught a glimpse of the man under the grins and the laughter and the backslapping, and it had scared him. Something black and furious and maniacal.

He hadn't forgotten Gimble's fate either, the careless way Grist's bosun abandoned a wounded crewmate to die. A captain's nature was reflected in his crew, Frey reckoned, and that didn't speak well of Grist. Partnering up with him seemed like less and less of a good idea.

But he was committed now. And to be fair, Grist hadn't done anything Frey wouldn't have done himself, if he were in Grist's boots. So what if he'd kept some secrets to himself? A lie by omission was barely a lie at all, really. At least Frey had figured it out in time.

Maybe they could still come out of this rich. But he'd have to keep a close eye on Grist. That was for certain.

You don't know nothin' about me, Grist had said. That, at least, was the truth.

He thought about heading off to search for Silo and Jez, but decided against it in the end. No sense everybody getting lost. If they weren't back by the time Crake was done, they'd all search together. In the meantime, he daydreamed about the kinds of things he could spend all that money on. This time, he promised himself, he wouldn't fritter it away. He'd do something worthwhile. No blowing it on cards and booze and women.

Maybe he'd build an orphanage. After all, he'd have money to burn. Might ease his conscience a little. It'd go some way to making amends for a squandered life, anyway. Besides, a man could do pretty much what he wanted, as long as he could say he'd built an orphanage. You could shoot someone and it'd be okay. What kind of monster would hang a man who'd built an orphanage? A man who'd helped out all those little kiddies?

Presently he heard footsteps, and saw lanterns. Silo and Jez, back from their travels. He had no idea why Jez had wandered off, and he didn't care to ask. Jez looked a little shaken, but they both appeared unharmed.

'Everything alright?' he asked.

'Fine,' said Jez. 'Just went for a look around.'

'Find anything exciting?'

'A few things,' she said. 'Did Crake get through the door?' Frey noted the rapid change of subject, but he was happy to let it pass for now. 'Yeah. It was some daemonism thing. Apparently Manes are daemons. Did you know that?'

Jez went white. 'No . . .' she said. She swallowed. 'No, Cap'n. I didn't.'

'Are you alright? You look like—'

He was cut off by the sharp sound of gunfire.

Frey ran through the antechamber, towards the room where the metal sphere rested on its pedestal. Grist, Crattle and Hodd were coming the other way, faces underlit by their lanterns.

'We heard shots . . .' Crattle began.

'The lookouts,' Frey said. 'Trouble outside.' He pushed past them, into the room where Crake was working. Tuning rods were arranged all around the sphere, linked by cables to the resonator. Crake was squatting in front of it, scribbling down readings in a notebook.

'Tell me that wasn't gunfire,' he murmured.

'Get moving. We need to get back to the others.'

'I'm not leaving my equipment!' Crake protested. 'There's no way I could afford to—'

'Alright! Gather it up! I'll send Silo down to help you.'

On cue, Silo appeared in the doorway. 'Cap'n.'

Frey was wrongfooted by Silo's unusually fine sense of timing. 'Erm . . . Help Crake,' he said.

'Cap'n,' replied Silo, brandishing the packs they'd brought the equipment in. Crake began frantically disconnecting everything. Grist loomed into the already crowded room.