Chapter Thirty-Two. Truelove Kills a God
CHAPTER
THIRTY-TWO
Truelove Kills a God
Although the different members of the crew disagreed about why exactly Ridgebacks were likely to be found near Kraken—with explanations ranging from “because they eat them, obviously” to “it is the will of the Father and not to be questioned”—they all agreed that they were and so the watchers on the array kept expectant eyes out and their expectations were met sooner rather than later.
This was my third launch with the Pequod and came, if I’m remembering right, near the end of the first year of the voyage. I’d never have said the process became routine, but it was getting familiar. The scramble for the boats was feeling less like a panic and more like a drill.
It was kind of a mixed blessing. The thing about familiarity and contempt is a bit of a cliché but it’s also true in a lot of ways. and I have a habit of checking out when I’m used to something.
Besides, even days later my head was full of Krakens.
We were nearing the edge of the brit-cloud now, but it was still busier than the skies had ever been outside it. So much busier that we found two Ridgebacks within a klick of each other and split the boats between them.
I could tell immediately that they were much more voracious than the Death’s Heads I’d gotten used to seeing.
Their lashing feeder limbs worked in endless waves to snatch up brit and grazing Wyrms and anything else they could draw out of the sky.
They swept the cloud less clean, but they moved with more intention and—although this might have been my imagination—something that looked like spite.
They were gray-brown beasts, which meant the captain lost what little interest she’d had almost immediately.
Obsessed as she was, she wasn’t quite so far gone that she’d give up an opportunity for a kill just because the target wasn’t the specific object of her vengeance, but she led the boats with a kind of detached competence.
She was an old sky-hand, after all, and even at her least driven she was more than capable of managing a hunt.
Locke, for their part, handled this hunt exactly as they’d handled the last two.
Deep, deep inside me, the part of my spirit that hadn’t learned to see stability as a cage and reliability as a trap found it almost comforting.
I guided our boat onto the same attack vector we’d followed in our first launch and Locke nodded their approval.
“Darts” came the order and then “Canopy,” and we were bound once again to a listing Leviathan. This time when it rolled I was able to keep our angle relative to it, so the line didn’t snag and we didn’t get slammed against the creature’s underside before we were ready.
A few hundred meters away and fathoms below, Truelove and Flint were closing in on their own quarry. Flint’s overcustomized boat peppered the monster with darts burning white-hot from atmospheric resistance and over comms Truelove began to deliver commands that were half prayer.
“Bring us about,” he said. “Fast and close. And give to me the saw and the bolt.”
Our own Leviathan was straining against the wing-darts, and Q’s harpoon found its mark squarely in the third eye on the right flank, making the creature buck and plunge and writhe.
With the captain moving from the other side, we closed on our prey, and Locke gave the order for us to ready blades and spears.
“My heart and my blood are pure,” Truelove was whispering over comms. “The stars teach that I shall be last consumed.” And, so saying, he jumped onto the back of the second Leviathan.
In our boat, the instruments were warning of tensions reaching critical levels as our hooked sky-fish struggled against its restraints.
We were coming in sideways, which put us at a good angle for avoiding the legs but ran the risk of damaging the wings of our boat.
I steered into the arc, making us turn faster but getting the wingtips out of harm’s way.
Below, Truelove’s saw and bolt bit deep and sprays of ichor began to rise up with the winds as the Leviathan flew down and down and down, its control failing more with each passing moment.
“Blades, spears, bolt,” commanded Locke, although this time the order wasn’t for me. We still had enough control of the boat that a pilot needed to pilot.
With the canopy down and the boat rolling, it was a rough angle to fight from, but that didn’t stop the crew.
Q looked like an illustration from one of the comics I’d sneakily read as a child.
The safe-for-work ones, in this case. She stood fierce and proud, one leg balanced on the capsule rim, long spear steady.
Behind her, Locke waited with the bolt-driver ready as we swung closer, closer, and—
The line gave out, jolting us sideways and nearly pitching us into the skies. Q dropped back into a crouch, Locke threw down the bolt-driver to hold on to the back of my seat, and at least two of my boatmates dropped their swords over the side in their impious haste to preserve themselves.
With one line gone already, the other two went quickly, and the boat flew into a spin. I upped canopy and guided us from a fall into a spiral into a glide.
“Another pass?” I asked.
But Locke shook their head. “No time. She’ll be in free fall now.”
And she was. A truly panicked Leviathan will drop straight down.
Being adapted to the Jovian skies, they could handle accelerations well above those that would pulverize humans, and although it probably wasn’t good for them, it was a whole lot better than getting spikes rammed into their central nervous system.
Trying (although not, if I’m honest, trying very hard) to quash their disappointment at being denied victory, the crew returned to their seats, and I brought us around to assist Truelove and Flint with their beast.
We descended through clouds flecked with Leviathan gore to see the other half of the boat-fleet on full afterburners, hauling the titanic corpse up towards the ship.
Lowering our subsonic grapples, we took up our own place in the formation and joined in the glacial procession bringing the prey back home.