Through the Gate to the Dunes

[Stephan Donnel]

Sun slowly rose in the cloudless sky over the Dunes, illuminating the endless sands, destroying the last little shadows and summoning an annoyed grunt from the old man sleeping behind the dusty window of a Cloudrunner-model airship between two sandy hills. Now, let me tell you, the main difference between this model and pretty much every other, is that unlike most of them – it can’t fly. Originally created by the pirates of the Clouds “Cloudrunner”, fittingly to its name, was designed to glide over the sky-high mounds of the Ocean. During some “incidents” later it was confirmed to work just as good on most other surfaces, including water, plains and, most fittingly to the current situation, sand. Pretty much as long as the “pillow” of the balloon located underneath the rest of the ship is not in danger of a rupture there, which would require more than just some blades, glass or splintered wood, we know how to weave our bloons damn it, it can run on along swiftly, pushed forwards by a couple of propellers located in the back.

[spoiler][/spoiler]

Stephan stirred in the cabin, slowly pulling himself together, which began with affixing the hat back to the proper position on his head. That, in turn called for a
pained groan, since hangover is apparently a thing everywhere, no matter the universe. Taking a couple minutes to get a bag of ice and a glass of pickle, which is the best thing ever to help you with hangover, if you didn’t know. After that extremely necessary act was done Stephan mingled for a bit, just staring at the horizon, taking all that happened in. Well, yes, another world, pulling things out of thin air, alone, again, well, used to it, eh, I was done back home anyway. Putting his mind somewhat at ease with that Donnel got out of the cabin through the small hatch on the side, nearly tripping over the control levers in his still dizzy state. Standing upright on the springy matter of the balloon underneath his feet he looked around, slight elevation getting him high enough to see over the dunes around the vehicle. Sand. Sand. Oh, look! MORE sand!

“Why the hell did I even agree to this…”

He got down, sliding on the slightly sagging side of the balloon, and walked around the “ship”.

“Well, at least he didn’t lie about the ‘stuff out of air’ thing. And I didn’t run into a tree or something. Damn, why is there so much sand here, I don’t even feel a breeze, so it is not a beach, and even if it were, they are never this big.”
Stephan muttered to himself in discontent, his home lacking real deserts, so he never even heard about such places before.

The quick survey confirmed what he already knew. He did a damn good job with summoning, or whatever it was called. The balloon was solid, the tanks were good for a run across the whole Europa, and the boxes with ‘priceless’ cargo, mostly made consisting of “Imperial” brand of whiskey, with some clay bottles called “Royal Knight” snuck in-between, were securely tied down and covered with tarpaulin in the open compartment on top, right behind the cabin.

“Now I just need to know where the Jolly-Screaming-Rodgers I have to head in this blasted wasteland.”

Donnel sighed and got back into the cabin, with enough supplies he could probably just head somewhere until… His gaze fell onto the compass near the control levers, more specifically onto a small note attached to it. It said “Azimuth 129, several hours, do NOT trade for living cargo, wives or any form of weapons.”

“Huh, I gotta thank Rick… that was Rick, right?... Later for this, guy obviously knows how to deal with… the inebriated.”

Coughing out stray sand accumulated in the moving parts overnight and raising a small duststorm with the propulsion the “Cloudrunner” took off, practically swimming through the air from one dune to the other, limited lift the balloon did produce slowing down the fall to a slow glide.





Several hours later a strange vehicle caused a bit of commotion around the gate of Nippur, but it died down, as the guards began searching the “flying boat”, just as they would a suspicious carriage, after a couple dozen minutes and a few scalded hands when the guards refused to listen to warnings of the smirking old man, who told them not to touch the pipes. When the foreman gave an “all clear” sign with his hand the machine carefully twisted around, let out a small cloud of steam from the vents near the propellers in the back and slowly passed the gate. Much to the discomfort of some horsemen in the street the cloudrunner slowly glided towards the marketplace, eluding a nervous neighing from the horses as it went and doing a great job at dusting the road from gates to the market.
Once in place, the foreigner carefully positioned his “mobile trading stand”, as he referred it to the amused guards and set up shop. Apparently the only real alcohol produced in the desert came from spoiled milk of various mammals, and the “Good” stuff was in demand, especially the “Royal Knight”, since Camelot, apparently, was far enough to make it exceedingly rare here, and Primes had their own list stuff to worry about and getting someone drunk wasn’t their highest concern.

Half a day was spent refusing, following the advice of the barman, trades for livestock and, ridiculous as it were, several offers of women. The hottest hours were spent in the relative shadow of the cabin, where he summoned, assembled and tested, as much as he could without causing commotion, his favourite gun, as well as a holster and a pouch of ammunition for it. By the moment guards near the entrance to the palace, across from where Stephan had set up shop, dropped dead all of sudden our entrepreneur had a hefty bag of both golden and silver coins with him, although he couldn’t shake the feeling he was shod off at some point. The following commotion didn’t touch him much, but he still began disassembling and loading the “Steamliner”. He was barely done when the universe once again proved him right to be if not paranoid, then prepared, as after a small fireshow, with sparkles and cracks, two nimble men tumbled into the open, with one throwing another through the fisherman’s shack slowly after.

“Damn, is that a kid?”

Question lingered for a moment in the hot air as Stephan put the last part in place and locked the pressure mechanism.

“Yeah, that is definitely a kid, no respect for property whatsoever.”

He answered his own question, standing up from the box he occupied before.