“And you’re positive this is completely safe? No risks to speak of?” Edward and Charlotte Sinclair, married couple and proud owners of the third largest trading corporation in the seas casually strode down a carpeted hallway, arm in arm.
“Of course, Mr Sinclair,” assured a short, clipboard-wielding man briskly trotting down the hall in front of them. “The procedure has been extensively tested in multiple environments, though I must admit you are the first to experience the operation first-hand!” Madeline Sinclair, their one and only child, hurried to catch up to her parents with a slight huff, tugging along a silky brown stuffed bear by the arm – her parents had promised that they would be flying, though the estate was much further away than expected.
“Daddy,” she sighed, tugging at her father’s sleeve. “Are we there yet? We’ve been doing nothing but walking, and I’m bored.”
“Almost there, Maddy. I promise, it’ll be well worth the effort,” Edward whispered, taking her by the hand. Finally, they stepped out into an expansive circular room, walls splitting off from the hallway with a gentle curve. At the center of it all stood a smooth, gumdrop-shaped metal pod suspended over an angled depression in the floor by eight long spindly legs, crouching there like a large mechanical spider.
“Ah, welcome, esteemed guests!” A sharply dressed man exclaimed in an orotund voice, stepping out from behind the device. Small taps echoed throughout the room as he bounded towards them, walking with the help of an ornate cane. The man tossed aside a pair of work gloves, only for an assistant to scoop them up as soon as they hit the floor. “Your trek wasn’t too much of a bother, I hope?”
“Not at all, Mr Hawthorne,” Charlotte smiled, shaking his hand. “We’re thrilled with the opportunity you’ve presented.” He had an electrifying presence, to say the least, eyes twinkling playfully as he beamed at the family. Hawthorne’s age was starting to show, face wrinkling around the edges as he grinned, with his whitening mustache and beard ending in a sharp point. Briskly clapping his hands together, he gestured to the metal pod, inviting them to take a closer look.
“Well then, without further ado, may I present to you the cloudskipper, first of its kind! Many times swifter than the fastest ships on the market, and quite possibly more affordable, with…” he noisily cleared his throat, tapping his cane on the ground. “Suitable investment.”
“All in good time,” Edward chuckled, peering curiously at the device. “How about you walk us through how it works, first?”
“Of course! Made of high quality aluminum-alloy, the main craft is lightweight and quite sturdy, while these multi-directional appendages direct the…natural source of power to produce thrust,” Hawthorne gushed, positioning himself at a small control panel stationed at the edge of the indentation. With the flip of a switch, a curved panel on the craft swung up with a hiss, revealing a cozy interior. Thick yet crystal clear windows ran across the round, wood-paneled walls, with a ring of plump seats surrounding an embellished table below. Hawthorne invited the family to enter with a flourish, as a set of frail metal steps clicked out from the opening.
“Impressive,” Charlotte remarked, leading Madeline up the stairs. The girl stumbled slightly, and the stuffed bear slipped out of her hand, tumbling beneath the machine. Without a word, Hawthorne sprang down into the depression, slender arm reaching under the mechanical legs. He froze there for a moment, staring at the underside of the vessel, before rising up to hand the bear to Madeline with a soft smile.
“Careful, my dear. Now, up you go.” Ensuring that the family was comfortably seated inside, Hawthorne stood in front of the entrance, eyes creasing with joy. “Now, this is merely a demonstration, so you’ll be traveling from here to Cragrock Port and back. By your estimation, how long would that trip take on a standard merchant vessel?” Edward thought for a moment, straightening his suit.
“I’d say two and a half days, depending on weather, why?”
“If all goes accordingly, your journey will merely take as many hours! Refreshments and entertainment are provided, of course,” he said, pulling down a compartment containing crystal glasses, a bottle of finely-aged wine, playing cards, and various books and newspapers with a click. “I guarantee you’ll have a more than comfortable experience, with our built-in gyroscopes keeping the cabin perfectly steady during your flight.”
“Outstanding sales pitch, though…” Charlotte paused, trying to find the right words. “We’re still unsure if this is a sustainable project, and it’s doubtful that any meaningful impact on the market will be induced unless mass production-”
“You must understand, though, the cloudskipper will revolutionize countless industries! This technology is the future, and you have the chance to-” Hawthorne gripped his cane with a slight cough, collecting himself. “Naturally, you must make that decision for yourself. Do try to hold any doubts until the end of your flight…the experience is quite elating.” The metal hatch smoothly swung down to the main vessel, clamping shut with a reassuring, weighty click as he regained his excited grin. The room started to tremble as the rumbling of heavy gears filled the air, and the family looked up from inside the craft to see the ceiling split in half, a thin sliver of light expanding into a vibrant blue sky. The spider-like legs sprang into life, arching back before leaping from the ground with a gentle phomp. Madeline pressed her nose up to the glass, gaping in awe as the slender appendages skittered around the cloudskipper, making the slightest adjustments to keep them perfectly stable; it was amazing, like nothing she’d ever seen. Mr Hawthorne, still waving them off, faded from view as he became no bigger than an ant, then disappeared altogether. The brilliant blue sea stretched out in front of them, rhythmically bobbing up and down as they skated amongst the clouds in an elaborate dance of twirling legs and sifting currents – the soft motions were soothing, and she held the bear tight as her head began to droop, watching her parents pour a glass of wine while talking quietly amongst themselves.
~
“Maddy,” Edward whispered, gently nudging her awake. “Look outside.” She groggily blinked her eyes open, sitting up as her father’s suit jacket fell to her lap. The sun was slowly sinking over the horizon, blanketing their view with an ocean of shimmering yellow clouds, the skies above painted with sweeping hues of orange and pink. Swirling clumps of cloud puffed out from where each leg skipped across the sky, leaving a pockmarked trail in their wake.
“It’s pretty,” Madeline breathed, astounded. Charlotte scooted over to hold her hand, squeezing it softly.
“I had my doubts, but maybe we should reconsider…it’s almost worth it for the view alone.” She pointed to a cloud outside the window with a light chuckle. “Look, Maddy, that one-” a loud snap suddenly rang out from below their feet, followed by a raw, anguished scream. Edward leapt to his feet, looking concernedly at the floor.
“What was that? What’s going on?”
“A bird, maybe?” The vessel violently lurched to the side as half of the legs went limp, dangling uselessly over the side, before sluggishly rolling upright as an awful scream once more cried out in pain.
“Charlotte!” Edward bellowed, shielding Madeline with his body. “An escape hatch, or emergency parachute, there has to be something!” The young girl was left speechless, breath knocked out of her lungs by the vigorous trembling running through the craft.
“Charlotte, I-” Madeline’s stomach dropped as her father abandoned words, hugging his wife and daughter tight – the cloudskipper had begun to fall.
~
“Smith,” Hawthorne sighed testily, tracing a path with his finger across the mahogany desk opposite from him. “Has the inmate arrived or not?” He wasn’t exactly overjoyed, sitting in a drab office of perhaps the most secure of the commonly-known prisons. The warden had obviously tried to bring life to the rough stone walls, hanging various scenic paintings around the room, though it still emanated an oppressive dullness, as if the walls were gradually closing in. Hawthorne almost wished he could disappear into those bright landscapes, into less stressful places, free of the countless strings he had to pull.
“Well, yes, but…the man only has a few minor charges of property damage and petty theft, from what I can tell! This is a maximum-security prison, a place for terrorists, and…and murderers! I don’t-”
“Must I remind you, Smith, of the embarrassing riot and subsequent escape of three prisoners seven years ago? You’re a young man, with a promising future, but if such a catastrophe were to be leaked to the public…why, there would be an outrage! Your career would be lost without a doubt, and…well, who’s to say you didn’t personally aid in their escape? Maybe they were distant relatives of yours, who-”
“Fine, fine, I…block C, cell thirteen,” the warden sighed, sinking into his chair. “Be quick.” This was the one, the finished design. After months, years of developing bribes and blackmail, calling on connections and favors, Hawthorne was weary, but this…this was finally the one.
“I’ll handle the paperwork,” he said offhandedly, rising from his seat. Perhaps wind-tamers were especially susceptible to respiratory diseases – that sort of irony was believable, in a way. “Expect to see it on your desk by tomorrow. Good day, Mr Smith.” Hawthorne’s mind was occupied with designs and plans on his way to the inmate. He would need dimensions, measurements, blood samples…was there anything he was missing? Waving away a guard, he stopped in front of a dimly lit cell, peering inside as he lightly fingered the grooves on his cane. Lean build, seemingly healthy, steady breathing – this one would do quite well. The key clicked neatly into place, but stubbornly held to its place in the lock, fighting against each turn of the wrist before completely giving way in one last petty reprisal. The man in the cell stirred from his sleep as the bars of the cell stiffly spiraled out to each edge in one smooth motion.
“Wh…who’re-” Hawthorne lunged forwards, sliding a syringe into the man’s neck before he could protest. Jerking away as the narcotics entered his system, he collapsed back to his bed, vision blurring as a sharply dressed man clamped something to his wrists.
~
Penn’s eyes fluttered slightly as he awoke at once, a dull pressure in his head persistently thumping away between his ears. He laid still, quietly taking note of the state of his body – no broken bones, at least. It was always best to stay down after a fight, though…he couldn’t detect much light from outside his eyelids. It wouldn’t hurt to take a quick…peek…Penn thrashed in place, suddenly realizing he couldn’t breathe. His mouth, there was something over his mouth, yet when he tried to raise his hands to his face a powerful shock jolted through his body, and he went limp. A tiny prod crackling with electricity retreated from his view, almost mockingly. He could feel his lungs filling with air, tubes running down his nostrils quivering slightly before deflating, a muffled sigh escaping from the rubber apparatus covering his mouth. He felt lightheaded, fighting against it obviously wasn’t an option. The man’s limbs and torso were bound by thick metal shackles, leaving him hanging face-down above some sort of dark depression in the floor. This was fine, he could get out of this. Everything was going to be just…fi-
“Natural source of power to produce thrust,” a clear voice echoed up from above Penn. There were others here. He tried to cry out for help, only for his pleas to muffle beyond recognition through the damned muzzle, amounting to little over a dampened whisper. Brisk metallic taps rattled out from across the cold surface above him, before pausing as a plump stuffed bear tumbled down the depression, landing below him. The bear looked soft…he never had a bear like that. Its button-black eyes gently surveyed his face, gleaming slightly in th- Penn let out a muffled yelp as the bearded man from before, the one from the prison leaned down in front of him, eyes twinkling dangerously. He could feel the man’s breath wafting sharply across his forehead, as their beady eyes locked onto his. Penn tried to flinch away as the man brought a hand up to his mouth, twisting something as the restraint tightened painfully, pinching at the edges of his face. He retreated, taking the stuffed bear with him, leaving Penn with his lungs burning, heaving for air yet unable to receive any other than what the apparatus would allow. Fractured pieces of conversation drifted in and out of focus as his mind churned, struggling to find purchase on something, anything.
“…We’re still unsure if this is a sustainable project, and it’s doubtful that any meaningful impact on the market will be induced unless mass production-” They were talking business. It…it had to be some sort of mishap. A heavy click rang out from above Penn’s head as the ground trembled beneath him, vibrations leaking into the joints of his outstretched arms. The angled depression began to brighten, slivers of shadow converging across the floor from the appendages idly crouched around the craft, highlighted in daytime light. His throat started to prickle, rapidly advancing into a burning ache, racing through the sensitive flesh of his airway as the cold sphere leaped into the air with an ear-popping phomp. He felt nauseous, head spinning as air was rhythmically pumped through his lungs, inflating them to near-bursting before they violently collapsed in on themselves, like a punch in the gut for every breath. Rubbery tubes tightened around Penn’s fingers, capturing the wind he was unwillingly expelling – his wind, and funneling it through the mechanical clawed legs, skittering around him like a pinned spider. He was a wind-tamer from birth, but between sailor, or soldier, or whatever else, had never really done anything with it…at least, not like this. It was inhumane. Monstrous. The man with the cane waved sardonically as Penn’s vision started to fade, eyes locking onto his with a wolfish grin – no. This was no mistake.
~
The first thing Penn noticed was that his hands were numb. His fingers wouldn’t respond when he attempted to curl them, and his arms and legs ached, skin pressing into sharp-edged shackles. His throat felt tender and raw, though the forced breathing had halted, leaving the task of drawing breath to his own devices. He blinked his eyes open, taking a moment to process the sea of yellow clouds swimming below him. Penn could feel his arms shivering, tugging at the tubes as they instinctively tried to wrap around his malnourished frame. He had never been a fan of heights, but hesitation wouldn’t help him now. Straining his neck, he sucked air through his teeth while eyeing the position of his right arm – he’d managed to pull this off a few times in the past, but that didn’t mean it wasn’t painful. On three, he could do this. Three…two…Penn jerked his arm joint backwards, twisting it around his shoulder blade as it rolled out of the socket with a loud pop. His throat was on fire, an ear-splitting scream exploding out of his mouth as he heaved the dislocated arm out of the now-empty shackle, dangling lifelessly beneath him. Tears welled in his eyes as he smashed his head against the buzzing prod just emerging from the sphere above, breaking off of its rail with a snap and disappearing into the roiling clouds below. He could do this. Four of the eight legs went limp around him as the four disattached tubes swung wildly in the wind. One for each finger, minus his thumbs. The entire craft groaned, lurching to the side as Penn’s arm flopped against the cold hull. The fingers of his bound hand started to tingle, a suction-like pressure tugging at their skin. Gritting his teeth, he managed to clench his dislocated arm into a loose fist as the vessel’s remaining legs clawed their way upright – this was going to hurt. Using the momentum of the craft rolling back to its original position, Penn swung his arm back into place, shoulder joint slamming back in its socket as fireworks of pain erupted through his limb. He screamed out in agony, back arched, tears now flowing freely from his eyes, only to gag on the stale air of the apparatus covering his mouth. Finally managing to tear the bloated tube from his face, he breathed in deeply, half-choking on the sharp, crisp air racing through his lungs. He had to do this. What did that old fart call this thing, the cloudskipper? Penn woozily let his head droop forwards, chuckling quietly to himself. Skipper…more like a spider scrambling through a toilet bowl. His fingers started to ache, thin slivers of blood beading up from beneath their nails. Resting his opposite hand on the tubes, he could feel the dry rubber quiver, thrumming in time to his heartbeat. He was the battery. Penn sobbed quietly, tightening his grip. There was a family up there, wasn’t there? He…he had heard them earlier.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered hoarsely, freeing his hand with a tiny pop as the craft dropped like a stone, plummeting through the blanket of clouds. He just…he couldn’t. Cold air stinging his eyes, roaring past his face, Penn managed a half-hearted smile as the ocean burst into view, filling his vision with foaming blue waves. With his last morsel of strength he pushed out with all that he could, wind pouring from his frame against the water below. If Penn’s final recompense actually helped was beyond him as every bone in his body shattered, crushed between the ocean and cloudskipper – he died instantly, without the chance to feel pain. Despite it all, in his final moments, Penn could almost be described as happy.
