Installment 2-2

   

Og sniffed the wind and glanced up at the sky.  He could see faint moonlight glowing above the rooftops ahead of him.  He scanned the alley.  The way stretched on for some distance in both directions, but he thought he saw an intersection a hundred feet to his right.  He knew where he was.  He could smell it in the air; the strong odor of fish, stale urine, and death.  He was in the Dregs, the seediest quadrant of Oard.  Streets here were crooked and old.  Buildings were ramshackle affairs, built with little attention to aesthetics.  Pubs stood next to dairy stalls.  Sheep milled through the streets.  Garbage piled up, festered, and became residences for alarming and disgusting life forms.  It was the quadrant of boozers, brawlers, and thugs.  Even if someone weren’t out to get him, he would have to be on his guard.

Og wrinkled his nose.  He had no desire to stick around.  It was late.  He was tired and wanted to go home.  He turned right and padded quietly down the alley.  As he proceeded, he studied windows and shadows, wary of threats.  He shied away from piles of boxes and trash.  His hackles raised as a dog jumped up and ran away from him.  

When he came to the first intersection, he turned right and continued on.  Somewhere, a shutter creaked open.  Og just caught the sound of some soupy substance being hurled out a window.  The liquid splattered on the ground.  A metal pot clanged.  The shutter slammed closed again.  Footsteps echoed.  

Og froze.  

His ears twitched.  

Footsteps?  

Sensing the sound had come from behind him, he turned and listened.  At first, he heard nothing.  Then he caught it again—

pat—pat—pat—pat—pat—pat—

Whatever it was, it was small and approaching quickly.  He hastened back to the first alley, crouched down, and peered around the corner.  The way was darker now.  Clouds had drifted in front of the moon.  Despite this, he spied the location where he had first appeared.  Beyond that everything was dark.

Og stepped around the corner then inched his way back down the alley.  He did not stop to reflect on why he was doing it.  He only felt that on a night full of magic, explosions, and violence he could not afford to turn his back on whatever it was.  

He arrived at his starting point, paused for only a moment to listen, and then continued on.  The footsteps—which were now ahead of him—grew louder.  

Thickening clouds moved in and blotted out the moon entirely.  The alley became engulfed in darkness.  Og could barely see his own paw in front of his face.  He moved slowly toward the right hand wall.  When his paw came up against the weathered brick surface, he used it to steady himself then continued on.

There was a crash, like falling wooden boxes, followed immediately by someone’s startled cry.  

Og stopped.  His hackles raised.  His ears twitched.  

The footsteps drew closer—within twenty to thirty feet, he guessed.  He could make them out clearly now.  Someone—or something—was running at break-neck speed.  He pushed away from the wall.  Instinctively he hunched low.

The clouds broke momentarily above the alley, and in that brief instant Og saw a flash of gold, then—

A girl burst out of the darkness just ahead of him.  Her face was alight with terror.  She glanced back over her shoulder then hurtled through the alley like a comet.  It was clear that she did not see Og, for she ran straight at him.  He tried to say something, but it was too late.  The girl crashed into his hulking frame then bounced off him like a child’s ball.  She fell backward then flounced to the ground, her legs askew, her arms splayed out.

Og stared down at her, dumbfounded.  The girl stared back at him, terrified, but she did not stare at him long.  Her eyes darted from side to side like those of a trapped animal.  She pushed backward with her feet then quickly glanced at the gloom behind her.  Seeing nothing but blackness, she turned back to Og.  

Og glanced past her into the darkness.  He realized that the girl was not just running.  She was running away from something.  And now she was faced with a frightful dilemma.  Did she face the monster in front of her or the horrors behind her?

(13) Areas of Oard tended to move in two distinct ways; the macro and the micro.  The macro changes appeared in the form of quadrants or zones shifting and switching places.  Within these zones, streets altered course and buildings moved.  Thus, buildings within the Dregs would stay mostly within the Dregs, though their relation to other quadrants would change along with their location within the Dregs.

Chapter Two: Babita---installment 1

 Chapter Two:  Babita

Og willed his feet to move, to carry him out of the way of the descending cloud, but nothing happened.  It was as if he were rooted to the ground as solidly as an oak tree.  He stood, motionless, and waited.

As the cloud drew nearer, fluttering shapes took form before his eyes.  Og realized he was not looking at a singular object, but a great storm of individual… butterflies?

As the spiraling mass descended, he instinctively raised up his arm to cover his face and shield his eyes.  Butterflies whirled around his head, his body, his toes.  Bright golds, iridescent blues, and dizzying oranges flashed on all sides of him.  He tried to watch, but the fluttering of wings was so intense he could scarcely keep his eyes open.  Hundreds of butterflies landed on him.  They perched on his head, his feet, and clung to his fur.  As they alighted on him, a powerful sense of vertigo gripped his senses.  Og’s head spun.  His legs wobbled.  His stomach churned.  Some terrible force of magic was at work, he knew.  But what could he do?

Og clenched his teeth and clamped his eyes shut.  He waved his arms then growled at the storm.  The butterflies swirled around him, oblivious to his defenses.  Then—

They vanished.

Og opened his eyes.  The world around him spun like a top.  He stumbled backward then crashed to the ground, landing on his backside.  He threw out his paws to steady himself then sat, dazed, in the middle of a dank, dark alley.  He blinked, realizing that the scene around him had shifted completely.  The warehouses and workshops were gone.  He found himself surrounded by four story tall, weathered brick walls with dark windows staring vacantly down at him.  A scrawny cat sitting atop a stack of boxes glanced at him then jumped down and padded away.

Og’s foot tingled.  He reached down and turned it over.  Wrinkling his nose in disgust, he rubbed away the remaining yellow chalk.  He stared at the pads of his bare foot and shook his head slowly.  He didn’t know what had happened.  He didn’t know what force could have picked him up and disoriented him so badly.  Befuddling a slodhi was no mere parlor trick.  Whoever had created the glyph—and likely all the other glyphs around Oard—was no middling prestidigitator.   Og reckoned that only a handful of beings in the city could have managed it.  But who?  And more importantly—why?

In a chaos city, of course, it was true that random acts of mayhem were merely run-of-the-mill occurrences, but this was precisely why Og regarded the glyphs as different—sinister.  Someone had very deliberately drawn them, and to simply cause more chaos in an otherwise chaos-stricken town seemed a bit redundant and lacking in creativity.  Why go to the trouble?

Og picked himself up then brushed off his legs.  He ran his tongue over his arms,  preening for a moment, then straightened his shoulders.  He didn’t suppose he would find answers to his questions any time soon, and he knew, of course, that he would not find them sitting in an alley.  He needed to move.  And he needed to be careful.  

Og scratched the back of his neck as he considered the possibility that he might be in danger.  Had the glyphs been drawn with specific people in mind?  It didn’t seem likely, given that anyone could have stumbled onto one.  The glyphs had appeared all over the city in the last week but, as a slodhi constantly on the go, he was naturally more prone to seeing them than other people.  Just because he had seen more than the average citizen was no indication that there was some plot against him.  No, he concluded, it was unlikely that he was a target.  Still, proceeding with caution seemed to be a reasonable attitude to take.

Installment 9--- End of Chapter One

The number of people in the streets thinned as they proceeded toward where most of the warehouses and machine shops were currently located.  The cafés and bars gave way to ramshackle domiciles and wooden depots with tin roofs and siding.  The smell of beer and open pit cooking fires was replaced by a damp odor carried in by the fog rolling up from the river.  Og’s sensitive nostrils just caught the scent of oil, grease, and rust on the wind as he tramped over rough cobbled ground.

There were few street lamps here, though dim lights emanating from workshops shone vaguely through the fog.  Og and the sisters continued through dark shadowed ways and echoing alleys.  The dingy streets and gloom woke primal misgivings of the dark within them all and stifled their desire to speak to each other.  Only as the fog broke ahead and new lights appeared did Nela pause and whisper to them.

“Look,” she said, grabbing Og by the arm.  “Something’s going on at Number 9.”

She was right.  Dim shapes moved in the wan lights just in front of their warehouse.  Og stopped and lowered Nala to the ground.  “What could it be?” he whispered.

Nala blew smoke in the air.  “Nothing good.”

“No…”

Og took a step or two forward even as he pressed himself into the shadows of the storehouse to his right.  He just caught the glitter of metal as the shapes beyond moved through the light.  “They might be soldiers,” he whispered.  “I think I saw armor.”

“Soldiers?” Nela muttered.  “What are they doing here?”

Nala shook her head.  “Who knows?  But we won’t find out hiding here, and time’s running out.”

“True,” said Og.

“Come on.”  Nala hurried ahead.  Og and Nela followed close behind.

As they drew near to Number 9, several shapes turned and walked toward them.  The fog parted to reveal a woman dressed in a fine ermine cape.  On either side of her were two armed guards.

“Lady Dovina!” Nala exclaimed.  “What are you doing here?”

“Nala!” the woman greeted her.  “Nela!  I’m so glad to see you.”  She glanced at Og and nodded to him.  “We’ve come to help.  It’s been quite an evening.”

“You can say that again,” said Nala.

“Come quickly.  I’m afraid there’s been a bit of a row.”

“The Damselfly?” Nela asked.

“Your vessel is fine, but Horatio…”

The sisters turned to each other and exchanged worried glances.  Horatio was their steam engineer and boiler man.  He was responsible for keeping the shop warm and powered.

“What happened to Horatio?” Nala frowned.

“Come on,” said the lady.  “You’ll see soon enough.”

They crossed the avenue between buildings number 5 and 9.  As they passed through the fog and came to the lights in front of the huge doors of Number 9, they saw a group of scattered soldiers.  A few of the armed men stood on either side of an old man sitting on a stool.  It was Horatio, and he was wounded.  

The sisters noticed the lump on his head and the bruise on his cheek and ran to him.  

“Horatio darling!” cried Nela.

“Ladies!” he looked up.  “I’m glad to see you back in one piece.”

“But what happened to you?” asked Nala.

Before he could speak, Lady Dovina stepped in.  “We found him defending The Damselfly,” she explained.  She pointed at two men just beyond the doorway.  The men were both seated on the ground and hog-tied.  Their faces were bloody.

“But—” Nela shook her head in disbelief.

“Saboteurs,” said Nala.

“Indeed,” Dovina replied.  “We feared as much even early on.  I had planned for this and was ready.  As soon as I was notified of the vote on Prop 83, I sent my men here to guard your work.  They arrived just in time.”

“That’s very kind,” said Nela.

“Yes, I suppose,” said Lady Dovina.  “But it’s not pure altruism.  I didn’t do it for love alone.  I have a considerable stake in the outcome of this project.”

The sisters nodded.  Nela went to Horatio and hugged him.  “Are you well?” she asked.

“I’m well, lady,” he said.  “Don’t worry about me.  I had Agnes here to help.”  He tapped a large wrench in his lap.  “I wasn’t gonna let those thugs harm The Damselfly.”

“He’s quite proficient with that wrench,” remarked Lady Dovina.  “But now, let’s not let his bravery count for nothing.  You ladies—”

“Right,” Nala agreed.  “We’ve got work to do.”

The sisters turned to Og.  “Thank you, Og,” said Nala.

“Yes, thanks, dear,” said Nela.  

Og shrugged.  “I wish I could do more.”

“You’ve done enough,” said Nala.  “Because of you, we might have a chance.  Good night.”

“Good night, Oggie,” said Nela.

And with that the two sisters hurried to their ship.  

Og looked on briefly as the sisters lit lamps and turned the light from dozens of glowing orbs on their craft.  The Damselfly sparkled in black majesty before them.  The hull of the ship shimmered like stars.  Og stood and admired its ebony body, its long sleek tail, and its diaphanous, glimmering wings.  It rested in the center of the workshop on six thin legs, looking as though, at any moment, it might leap off the ground and go whisking through the night.

Og waved to the sisters, but they did not see him.  They were already too busy fine-tuning, stabilizing, and putting the finishing touches on their magnificent creation.  He turned to Horatio.  “Good night, sir.  I hope you heal quickly.”

Horatio nodded.

Og left Lady Dovina and the soldiers behind.  He stepped into the fog and went on his way.  He had made it several blocks when a strange prickling feeling suddenly itched the bottom of his foot then worked its way up his calf.  He paused in the middle of the street.  

“What’s this?” he wondered.  He lifted up his foot and peered at the ground.  There, etched in chalk, was the remains of a yellow glyph.

“Oh, Og,” he muttered.  “You idi—”

He looked up.  A dark, swirling mass appeared in the air above him.  The cloud wavered and undulated chaotically then descended straight for him.

“Oh, dear…”

Installment 8

Og led the sisters across the landing to the stairs leading down the left hand side of City Hall.  As they started down the steps, the mayor began to address the crowds.

“Ladies and gentlemen!” he called.  “Hear me!”

“Oh, lord!” Nala exclaimed.  “The blowhard’s about to speak!”

Og did not look back, but braced himself for the way ahead.  “Watch your step,” he cautioned.  “And stay behind me.”

Og reached the sea of people at the bottom of the stairs, but he gave no pause.  The urgency of his friends spurred him on.  He had never seen the sisters so flustered before.  Nala had always been cantankerous and a bit foul-mouthed, and Nela had always been a little high-strung, but he had never seen them appear frantic.  If getting them back to their workshop would help, then he had no other choice than to get them there as fast as he could.  As he came to the congregation below, he gave no thought to propriety.  He simply yelled “Excuse me!” and barrelled through.  

The crowd fell away from the massive slodhi on both sides.  The sisters followed in his wake.  

“Atta boy, Oggie!” cried Nela.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” the mayor went on.  “I have splendid news!”

Those who generally favored the mayor cheered.  Those who did not hissed and threw rotten vegetables.  The sounds of the tumultuous gathering grew into a veritable storm of disquiet.  By the time Og and the sisters reached the rear-most lines of the crowd, the mayor’s voice had been completely swallowed up by the deafening commotion. 

Og proceeded past the gathering and into the congested streets beyond.  He turned to the right and led them on.  When he had gotten several blocks away from City Hall, and no longer had to push his way through a mob, Og turned to his friends.  “So, I don’t understand,” he said.  “What’s this all about?”

As the way cleared ahead of them, the sisters took positions on either side of him.  Nala shook her head and took out a cigar.  “It’s all about Proposition 83.”

“Proposition 83?”

“You haven’t heard about it?  The whole town’s been in an uproar.”

Og led the sisters down Sulaemo Avenue then turned west.  He marked the Docking Tree from the corner of his eye.  There were only three structures that never moved in Oard.  The Chaos Lord’s citadel, the Apothecary, and the Docking Tree.  Og was always aware of all three, deep in the recesses of his mind.

“I don’t pay much attention to these sorts of things, I guess.”

A deafening roar went up from the square behind them.  It was clear to them all that the mayor had just made his announcement.  Metal clanged.  Bells sounded.  Howls of rage filled the night.

“Whatever it was,” he went on, “I guess you weren’t the only ones affected by it.”

“No,” said Nela.  “But it’s worse for us.”

They dodged a group of alchemists.  The alchemists were dressed in reinforced armor suits and carried strange vials in their gloved hands.  They wore thick goggles over their eyes and mumbled to each other as they headed straight for the square.

Og watched them momentarily then turned back to his friends.  “How so?” he asked.  “How is it worse?”

“Do you remember The Damselfly?” asked Nala, lighting her cigar.

“You mean the ship you’ve been working on?  Of course.”

Nala wheezed raggedly as she blew great clouds of smoke behind her.  “That’s right.  Ugh!  How much farther do we have to go?  I’m too old to keep up this pace.”

Og slowed.  “Well, I’m afraid we still have a ways to go.”

“Damn.”

Suddenly, an explosion rocked the city.  The air pressure surged as a warm wind rushed through the streets and buffeted them all.  

“What in the world?” Og turned back toward the square.

“It’s getting bad,” said Nala.  “I don’t think that will be the end of it, either.”

“We have to hurry!” said Nela.  “Our ship!”

Og hurried forward.  “Can you keep up?” he asked Nala.

“I’ll be fine.”

Og felt for her.  Slodhi were not exactly built for speed either.  He too had begun to tire.  He glanced down at Nela.  “So, what’s wrong with your ship?”

“Nothing!” she responded.  “She’s beautiful.  It’s just—Prop 83 is going to ground her if we don’t get her in the air by midnight tonight!”

“Midnight?  But, why?”

“She’s been classified as experimental because of her size,” answered Nala.  “But that ain’t the reason they’re grounding her.”

“They’ll never ground my baby!” Nela cried.  “We’ll beat them.”

“I don’t follow,” said Og.  He turned right then continued past an outdoor cafe.  Even here, the streets were buzzing with late night patrons and loud discussion.  Panic and unrest wafted from windows and doors.  Talk of the explosion was on everyone’s lips.

“It’s because it’s innovative,” said Nala.  “And it’s going to be the most lucrative invention this city’s ever seen.  The wagoneers are worried.  The rickshaws are fuming.  Everyone with a pack mule and a hand cart has some stake in it, and that’s why they introduced Prop 83.”

“We’re a threat,” said Nela.  “They’re trying to shut us down.”

“But, why?”

“‘Cause she’s small and light and can hover down low to deliver all sorts of stuff; boxes, bags, supplies, you name it.  It’s a wonder no one’s thought of it ‘til now.  Imagine being able to fly over Oard and see everything and deliver more accurately.”

“That’s amazing,” said Og.  “So why are people opposed to it?”

“People are afraid we’ll put them out of business,” Nela explained.

“Exactly,” said Nala.  “And we had a lot of investors whose money was riding on this too.  They’re not happy about the outcome at all.  

“No, sir,” said Nela.  “And they’re the kinda folk who don't’ like being told ‘no’, not to mention they have their own soldiers on the payroll.  This is gonna be a mess.”

“Unless we get her in the air by midnight,” said Nala.  “That’s when the law goes into effect.  Anything built before that is grandfathered in.”

Og nodded.  “I get it.”  He stopped in the middle of the street.  

The sisters stopped and looked up at him with surprise.

“What are you doing?” asked Nala.  “We can’t—”

“Come on,” he said.  

“Huh?”

Without asking, Og put his paws under Nala’s armpits and hoisted her up.  Nala gaped, incredulous.

Nela looked on in shock as Og threw her sister over his shoulder like an old backpack.  

“Hang on tight!” he declared.

Nala didn’t have time to be surprised.  She threw her arms around the slodhi’s neck and hung on for dear life.  

“You good?” he asked, glancing back.

“I’m good,” said Nala.  “But you gotta give a lady a heads up next time, you big lummox!”

“No time,” said Og.  “Hold on.”

Og put his head down and ran.

Nela laughed as she ran beside him.

“What are you laughing at?” Nala snapped.

“Your face!” she replied.  “I thought you were going to swallow your cigar!”

“Hmph!” Nala frowned.  “As if…”

***I included a bit from an older post and included all the changes I made here. Let me know what you think. If you're crazy enough to read all my edits, that is.

The sisters dashed across the brick landing.  As they reached Og, Nela grabbed his left paw and Nala took his right.  “Oh, Oggie!” Nela gasped.  “We’re so glad to see you!”

The sisters stared up at him with dark brown soulful eyes.  Nela was the youngest.  Her hair was a great black puffball in which she stored many of the tools of her trade.  Og noticed a pencil, a ruler, and a ratcheting screwdriver poking impossibly from within her kinky black locks.  Nala was older.  Her hair was as grey as a ball of dandelion spores, save for the thick protective goggles nestled there.  Both the sisters wore leather aprons and weld-spattered pants and boots.  The sisters were master crafters.  They had been fixing, engineering, and designing flying ships since they were old enough to hold screwdrivers, back in their father’s workshop. 

“Og,” Nela exclaimed, tugging his arm.  “We need to get home fast!” 

“Alright,” said Og.  “Is something wrong?”

“Everything!”

Nala winced at this.  “Nela’s worked up, Og, but she’s not exactly wrong.  We’re in a predicament.”

“I’m sorry, Oggie,” said Nela, glancing at her sister.  “I don’t mean to sound like a crazy person, but we really do need to get out of here.  Can you help us?”

Og nodded.  “Of course.  That’s what I’m here for.”

The crowds cheered and booed and waved flags.

Nala turned toward the mayor.  “Look at that fool.  He can’t wait to announce it.  Let’s get out of here.  I can’t stand the sound of his voice.”

“Say no more,” said Og.  “Come on.”

Og glanced around the landing.  There would be no way to go down the way he had come up.  The crowds were too excited there, but he noticed that the stairs fell away on both sides of the landing too.  He chose the nearest—the left hand way—and led the sisters across the landing.  As they started down the steps, the mayor began to address the crowds.

“Ladies and gentlemen!” he called.  “Hear me!”

“Oh, lord!” Nala exclaimed.  “The blowhard’s about to speak!”

Og did not look back, but braced himself for the way ahead.  “Watch your step,” he cautioned.  “And stay behind me.”

Og reached the sea of people at the bottom of the stairs, but he gave no pause.  The urgency of his friends spurred him on.  He had never seen the sisters so flustered before.  Nala had always been cantankerous and a bit foul-mouthed, and Nela had always been a little high-strung, but he had never seen them appear frantic.  If getting them back to their workshop would help, then he had no other choice than to get them there as fast as he could.  As he came to the congregation below, he gave no thought to propriety.  He simply yelled, “Excuse me!” and barrelled through.  

The crowd fell away from the massive slodhi on both sides.  The sisters followed in his wake.  

“Atta boy, Oggie!” cried Nela.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” the mayor went on.  “I have splendid news!”

Those who generally favored the mayor cheered.  Those who did not hissed and threw rotten vegetables.  The sounds of the tumultuous gathering grew into a veritable storm of disquiet.  By the time Og and the sisters had reached the rear-most lines of the crowd, the mayor’s voice had been completely swallowed up by the deafening commotion. 

Og proceeded past the gathering and into the congested streets beyond.  He turned to the right and led them past a bakery and the offices of H. R. Dander, Attorney.  When he had gotten several blocks away from City Hall, and no longer had to push his way through a mob, Og slowed his pace and turned to his friends.  “So, ladies,” he said.  “Do you mind telling me what’s going on?  I’ve never seen you like this.”

As the way cleared ahead of them, the sisters took positions on either side of him.  Nala shook her head and took out a cigar.  “It’s all about Proposition 83.”

“Proposition 83?”

“You haven’t heard of it?  The whole town’s been in an uproar about it.”

Og led the sisters down Sulaymo Avenue then turned west.  He marked the Docking Tree from the corner of his eye.  There were only three structures that never moved in Oard.  The Chaos Lord’s citadel, the Apothecary, and the Docking Tree.  Og was always aware of all three, deep in the recesses of his mind.

“I don’t pay much attention to these sorts of things, I guess.”

A deafening roar went up from the square behind them.  It was clear to them all that the mayor had just made his announcement.  Metal clanged.  Bells sounded.  Howls of rage filled the night.

“Whatever it was,” he went on, “I guess you weren’t the only ones affected by it.”

“No,” said Nela.  “But it’s worse for us.”

They dodged a group of alchemists.  The alchemists were dressed in reinforced armor suits and carried strange vials in their gloved hands.  They wore thick goggles over their eyes and mumbled to each other as they headed straight for the square.

Og watched them momentarily then turned back to his friends.  “How so?” he asked.  “How is it worse?”

“Do you remember The Damselfly?” asked Nala, lighting her cigar.

Og jogged on.  His legs were tired and the pads of his feet were sore.  The sisters kept up the pace, clomping through the streets in their boots, but it was clear they too were beginning to tire.

“You mean the ship you’ve been working on?” he replied.  “Of course.”

Nala wheezed raggedly as she blew great clouds of smoke behind her.  “That’s right. Lord!  How much farther do we have to go?  I’m too old to keep up this pace.”

Og slowed.  “We still have a ways to go.”

“Damn.”

Suddenly, an explosion rocked the city.  The air pressure surged as a warm wind rushed through the streets and buffeted them all.  

“What in the world?” Og turned back toward the square.

“It’s getting bad,” said Nala.  “I don’t think that will be the end of it, either.”

“We have to hurry!” said Nela.  “Our ship!”

Og hurried forward.  “Can you keep up?” he asked Nala.

“I’ll be fine.”

The explosion roused people from their sleep.  Windows opened.  Shutters were thrown back.  A few people in their night robes spilled into the streets.  They squinted and looked about, wondering what was going on.

Og glanced down at Nela.  “You mentioned The Damselfly.  Is something wrong with your ship?”

“No!” she responded.  “She’s beautiful.  It’s everyone else that’s the problem.  They’re all trying to ground her.”

“Well,” said Nala.  “Not everyone.  There’s quite a few who’d like to see her in the air.”

“Right,” said Nela.  “I was exaggerating.”

“I don’t understand why anyone would be against it,” said Og.

“She’s been classified as experimental because of her size,” answered Nala.  “But that’s not the real reason they’re grounding her.”

“They’ll never ground my baby!” Nela cried.

“I don’t follow,” said Og.  He turned right then continued past an outdoor café.  Even here, the streets were buzzing with late night patrons and loud discussion.  Panic and unrest wafted from windows and doors.  Some folks were heading toward city hall to see what all the commotion was about.  Talk of the explosion was on everyone’s lips.

“It’s because our ship’s innovative,” said Nala.  “And it’s going to be the most lucrative invention this city’s ever seen.  The wagoneers are worried.  The rickshaws are fuming.  Everyone with a pack mule and a hand cart has some stake in it.  That’s why they introduced Prop 83 in the first place.”

“We’re a threat,” said Nela.  “They’re trying to shut us down.”

“But, why?”

“‘Cause she’s small and light and can hover down low to deliver all sorts of stuff; boxes, bags, supplies, you name it.  It’s a wonder no one’s thought of it ‘til now.  Imagine being able to fly over Oard and see everything and deliver more accurately.”

“That’s amazing,” said Og.  “So why are people opposed to it?”

“People are afraid we’ll put them out of business,” Nela explained.

“Exactly,” said Nala.  “And we had a lot of investors whose money was riding on this too.  They’re not happy about the outcome at all.  

“No, sir,” said Nela.  “And they’re the kinda folk who don't’ like being told ‘no’, not to mention they have their own soldiers on the payroll.  This is gonna be a mess.”

“Unless we get her in the air by midnight,” said Nala.  “That’s when the law goes into effect.  Anything built before that is grandfathered in.”

Og stopped in the middle of the street.  

The sisters stopped and looked up at him with surprise.

“What are you doing?” asked Nala, coughing through a cloud of smoke.  “We can’t stop now.”

Og studied his friend.  Sweat ran down her cheeks.  Her face was pale.  How long could she keep running?  “Midnight,” he said.  “That’s less than two hours away.”

They nodded.

“Oggie,” said Nela.  “We really do need to keep moving.  You understand, right?”

“Yes,” he replied.  “I understand.  Hold still.” 

“Huh?”

Og knew what he had to do.  Without asking, he put his paws under Nala’s armpits and hoisted her up.  Nala gaped, incredulous.

Nela looked on in shock as Og threw her sister over his shoulder like an old backpack.  

“Hang on tight,” he declared.

Nala didn’t have time to be surprised or disobey.  She threw her arms around Og’s neck and hung on for dear life.  

“You good?” he asked, glancing back.

“I’m good,” said Nala.  “But you gotta give a lady a heads up next time, you crazy beast!”

“There’s no time for that,” he replied.  “Hold on.”

Og put his head down and ran.

Nela took off beside him, laughing.

Nala frowned at her sister.  “What are you laughing at?”

“Your face!” she replied.  “I thought you were going to swallow your cigar!”

“Hmph!” Nala frowned.  “As if…”