Cherie Priest - Ganymede

Ganymede is dedicated to everyone who didnt make it into the history books

but should have.

Like all my Clockwork Century books, this is a work of fiction. Its facts are contrived and improbable, its finer points are forcibly bent to serve my narrative purposes, and I am led to understand that its zombies are highly unscientific. But if youre okay with zombies shambling around New Orleans in the nineteenth century then Id like to think you can forgive some finessing of politics and geography.

So thanks for reading! And please dont send me letters about how wrong Ive gotten this whole history thing. I assure you, my history is at least as accurate as my portrayal of the living dead.

Acknowledgments

This book would have never come together without the patience, assistance, and all-around awesomeness of the following (in no particular order): Liz Gorinskyeditor, diplomat, and advocate of the highest caliber; my husband, Aric, who keeps the home fires bright; Jennifer Jacksonagent and sounding board, who is worth her weight in diamonds; Bill Schafer, a friend and boss, who invited me on board with love, and saw me off with encouragement; and webmaster Greg Wild-Smith, for preventing personal Internet meltdowns by the score. A thousand grateful kudos to all of you, for putting up with this Tiny Godzilla.

Thanks also to the community of writers who keep me company as I work from home. The Team Seattle crew of Mark Henry, Caitlin Kittredge (still a member in honorary standing, though shes moved), Richelle Mead, and Kat Richardson; my convention peeps Scalzi, Mary Robinette, Tobias, Scott, Justine, and many others, who keep this from being such a lonely gig. See also Wil and Warren, Ariana (the gatekeeper), and everyone else in the secret clubhouse that serves the world: I couldnt do it without you. Likewise, love to the Home Team of Ellen and Suezie, keepers of cats and purveyors of brunches and baked goods.

Mad props also to all the indie bookstores and chains alike across the country. Youve been so extraordinarily helpful and supportive, and I cant thank you enough. Particular gratitude goes to the Seattle-area folks who deal with me the most: Duane Wilkins over at the University Book Store, Steve and Vlad over at Third Place Books, and the crew at the Northgate B&N.

And finally, excessive, effusive thanks must go out to all the readers who have embraced this weird little franchise. Thank you steampunks, dieselpunks, clockpunks, steamgoths, and everyone else in the retro-futurist niche of your choosing. Thank you for reading these books, and for sharing them, and for giving them a place on your shelves and in your hearts.

You have made these books happen.

Nor must Uncle Sams web feet be forgotten. At all the watery margins they have been present. Not only on the deep sea, the broad bay, and the rapid river, but also up the narrow, muddy bayou, and wherever the ground was a little damp, they have been, and made their tracks.

ABRAHAM LINCOLN

(From a letter to John Conkling, August 26, 1863)

Contents

One

Croggon Hainey sends his regards, but he isnt up for hire, Josephine Early declared grimly as she crumpled the telegram in her fist. She flicked the wad of paper into the tiny round wastebin beside her desk and took a deep breath that came out in a hard sigh. So well have to find another pilot, goddammit.

Maam, the airyards full of pilots, her assistant, Marylin Quantrill, replied.

She leaned back in her seat and tapped her fingers on the chairs armrest. Not pilots like him .

Hainey hes a colored fellow, isnt he? One of the Macon Madmen?

Yes, and hes the best flier I know. But I cant blame him for turning us down. Its asking a lot, for him to come so far south while hes still wantedand we dont have the money to pay him what hes worth, much less compensate him for the extra danger.

Marylin nodded, disappointed but understanding. It didnt hurt to ask.

No. And if it were me, I wouldnt take the job either. Josephine ceased her tapping and shifted her weight, further wedging her voluminous blue dress into the narrow confines of the worn mahogany chairs rigid arms. But I sure was hoping hed say yes. Hes perfect for the job, and perfect doesnt come along every day. We wont find anyone half so perfect hanging about the airyard, I can tell you that much. We need a man with excellent flying skills and absolutely no loyalty to the Republic or the Confederacy. And that, my dear, will be the trouble.

Is there anyone else we could ask, anyone farther afield?

No one springs to mind, Josephine murmured.

Marylin pressed on. It might not matter, anyway. It could be Rucker Little is right, and a pilot wont have any better luck than a seaman.

Itd be hard for anyone, anywhere, to fail so spectacularly as that last batch of sailors.

Not all of them drowned.

Four out of five isnt anything to crow about.

I suppose not, maam. Marylin lowered her eyes and fiddled with her gloves. She didnt often wear gloves, given the heat and damp of the delta, but the elbow-length silk pair with tiny pearl buttons had been a gift from a customer, and hed requested specifically that she wear them tonight. Her hair was done up in a twisted set of plaits and set with an ostrich feather. The yellow dress she wore cost only half what the gloves did, but they complemented each other all the same.

Josephine vowed, Ill find someone else, and Ill show Mr. Mumler that Im right. Theyre going about that machine all wrong, I just know it. All I need is a pilot to prove it.

But you have to admit, the younger woman carefully ventured, it sounds strange, wanting an airman for a for whatever it is, there in the lake.

Sometimes a strangely shaped problem requires a strangely shaped solution, dear. So heres what well do for now: Tomorrow afternoon, you take one of the other girlsHazel or Ruthie, maybeand you go down to the airyard and keep your eyes open.

Open for what?

Anyone who isnt Southern or Texian. Look for foreigners who stand out from the usual crowdignore the English and the islanders, we dont want them. We want people who dont care about the war, and who arent taking sides. Tradesmen, merchants, or pirates.

I dont know about pirates, maam. They scare me, I dont mind saying.

Josephine said, Haineys a pirate, and Id trust him enough to employ him. Pirates come in different sorts like everybody else, and Ill settle for one if I have to. But dont worry. I wouldnt ask you to go down to the bay or barter with the Lafittes. If our situation turns out to call for a pirate, Ill go get one myself.

Thank you, maam.

Lets consider Barataria a last resort. We arent up to needing last resorts. Not yet. The craft is barely in working order, and Chester says itll be a few days before its dried out enough to try again. When it works, and when we have someone who can consistently operate it without drowning everyone inside it, then well move it. We have to get it to the Gulf, and well have to do it right the first time. We wont get a second chance.

No, maam, I dont expect we will, Marylin agreed. Then she changed the subject. Begging your pardon, maambut do you have the time?

The time? Oh, yes. Josephine reached into her front left pocket and retrieved a watch. It was an engineers design with a glass cutout in the cover, allowing her to see the hour at a glance. Its ten till eight. Dont worry, your meeting with Mr. Spring has not been compromisedthough, knowing him, hes already waiting downstairs.