Free Dawn's Early Light by Pip Ballantine Page B

“Do you think the thrust calculations are closer this time?” he asked while fiddling around with the invention’s inner workings.
    The other, the possessor of a fairly decent handlebar moustache, after passing him various tools, returned his own attention to various pressure gauges along the contraption’s hull. “They better be. We don’t have enough fuel to try again until next month,” he replied, and then gave a guffaw. “Unless we get a few more repair jobs from the Detweilers.”
    The balding one returned the chuckle. “The Dangerous Detweilers of Dayton. Their mishaps alone could fund
three
launches.”
    True to form of socially inept
schlockworkers
, neither of them were going to notice her anytime soon—a situation Sophia was not accustomed to. There was simply nothing for it, but to state the obvious. “A very interesting-looking contraption,” she said with what she had been told was her most disarming smile.
    The men spun around as if she had already stuck a knife in their backs. She must have made quite an appearance because their mouths literally dropped open. Now, she held their undivided attention. Perhaps they were not used to a woman carrying a rifle, or perhaps they just had very ugly women in this part of the world. She would not have been surprised. The number of American men on the Continent seemed to indicate to her that their women were not worth staying home for.
    â€œOur apologies, ma’am,” the moustached one began, “we didn’t notice you.”
    â€œAnd that’s saying something,” the balding one added, his smile unexpectedly alluring.
    Charming as the bald one was, she opened her pocket watch and was reminded of what little time she had remaining. It had to be now. Sophia waved her hand at the device. “Intriguing as your experiment here is, gentlemen, you must give this area of shore to me. Now.”
    The two men wiped their hands on their pants and straightened, seeming to work together as one machine. Their once separate demeanours—the balding one being a touch flirtatious, the moustached man actually blushing ever so slightly—slipped away before her eyes, replaced with hard, stern looks.
    How precious.
    â€œI’m sorry, ma’am,” the balding one said, “but I believe we were here
first
. If you were looking for some peace and quiet, Kitty Hawk offers plenty of spots to choose from other than this one.”
    â€œBut
this
is the spot I desire,” Sophia replied, her fingers splaying slowly around the shoulder strap of her Lee-Metford-Tesla.
    Sophia could almost hear their outrage warring with their good manners. Then, after standing in this awkward silence, the balding one spoke again. “Look, you’re just going to have to wait. We have a launch to tend to, barring any catastrophic failures.”
    Flicking into sight like a serpent’s tongue, a concealed blade sliced through the tight space between the men. A loud
clang
ran through the air, immediately followed by the angry hiss of half a dozen slashed lines coiled around the device. The men leapt back, yelping in horror as various fluids, many of them either catching fire on contact with one another or creating more of the heavier-than-air mist, spewed in every direction.
    â€œYou mean, like that?” Sophia asked. When she brought up her throwing arm a second time, another blade appeared, catching the sun as she slowly turned it in her hand.
    They looked upon her anew in that moment, as if she had only just appeared. Their eyes bore into her with the same intensity they had devoted to their now-bleeding experiment, and the silence, once feeling awkward, had now turned ominous, marred only by the occasional fizz or crackle from the damaged machine. Sophia used this moment to look for vulnerabilities she could exploit. She’d rather not waste precious time, but you could never tell with men. Sometimes