Renegade of Callisto

I could see no reason why some form of lightweight engine could not be added to their structure to drive the jointed and mobile vans. And I had long intended to seek sufficient leisure in which to tinker up such a device, as yet unconceived even by the most advanced Callistan genius.

But, alas, the rulers of cities oft have many weighty burdens to occupy their time, and leisure is a rare commodity for kings. Making just and needed laws, enforcing them with alacrity and even-handedness, establishing tax rates (and collecting them) , dispensing justice, hearing the argument of suits, studying petitions, overseeing the various governmental offices, officiating at ceremonial functions, laying cornerstones, rewarding loyal service and punishing the venal―these and a thousand other bothersome duties add weight to the burden of a crown, and a ruler dares to delegate his authority only so much and no more.

But once the power of the insidious Mind Wizards had been crushed, and we had returned from our long wars on the Far Side of Thanator, my kingdom entered upon one of those golden times kings dream of. Peace reigned, and Shondakor was at enmity with no other nation or people. Trade flourished, since we had newly entered into close and cooperative alliance with our neighboring cities, Soraba and Tharkol, and an abundance of wealth and prosperity flowed through our gates.

Thus it was that I seized the advantage offered by this brief, prosperous, peaceful period in Shondakor’s history and turned my attention to the reinvention of the airplane engine. Since I had long been an aviator on my native world, I didn’t think that the project could be other than simple and easy.

Well, it proved a lot more difficult than I had imagined. It is one thing to be able to order pistons and fuel tanks, propeller blades and spark plugs from the nearest supply house, and quite another to try to describe them to a bunch of bewildered Renaissance craftsmen and artisans!

Take, for example, that plain and lowly device, the simple spark plug. What, exactly, goes inside the damned thing? What is it made of?―how much goes in?―how is it processed?―what are the sizes and weights and proportions of each component?―and the precise sizes, weights, and proportions, if you please!

Reinventing the airplane engine meant I had to reinvent a hundred other gadgets first, and the tools to make them, too. For many months I kept the craftsmen, artisans, and ironsmiths of Shondakor, Tharkol, and Soraba busy, busy, busy, putting together engines that blew up, caught fire, or did nothing but sit there like mere dead lumps of metal.

A thousand times I would readily have given it all up for just one of the primitive little gas-gulpers that drove the Wright brothers’ box kite at Kitty Hawk. But, constantly redesigning for something lighter in weight and less complex, I persevered. And, eventually, success was mine.

The problem went beyond merely building the tools and the parts; the trouble lay in the fact that the lifting gas contained in the double hull was ferociously explosive and flammable, and the hull itself was only heavy paper laminated with coat after coat of baked-on glue. One, spark from the engine and we would have a flying torch! I had to devise a way of keeping the engine out of contact with the hull of the craft, and eventually I came up with the notion of hanging it on the tail, mounted by means of a metal bracket. This way, any sparks that went flying out in the black smoke would be whipped away by the slipstream behind the sky-ship.

It was crude―and it was complicated―but it worked!

The Sky Navy of the Three Cities by this period consisted of some eight of these flying ships. Among these were the Xaxar and the Jalathadar, which had been salvaged from the destruction of Zanadar, and the Zarkoon, the Avenger, the Arkonna, and the Conqueress, which had been constructed in the shipyards of Tharkol. My country had its own shipyards by this time, and our two new vessels, the Shondakor and the Darloona, completed the fleet.

Still more vessels were under construction at Tharkol and in Shondakor, in a variety of new designs. Among these were some purely mercantile transport ships financed by the merchants of Soraba, and a squadron of small, speedy scout-vessels which would be employed to patrol our mutual borders.

Naturally, once my engine was perfected, the older ships were outfitted with the new invention and their old, cumbersome apparatus of hand-turned wheel systems was removed from the mid-deck hold. And all of the ships newly built or currently under construction would automatically be fitted with the “Jandar engine,” as it had been named.

Until a new modern squadron of scouts was ready to be launched, we employed the old four-man gigs for that purpose. These curious vessels resembled outrigger canoes with rigid wings: they were small, light, speedy, and maneuverable. Their supplies of lifting gas were strictly limited, because scouts could carry only a light cargo. Young, relatively lightweight Shondakorian cadets were therefore trained to fly them, usually boys in their teens.

One of the cadets was Taran, the little jungle boy Prince Lankar had rescued from the web of the giant spider in the Grand Kumala, and whom he had brought along with him to Shondakor. The bright, good-natured, likable lad soon made many good friends, and after Prince Lankar returned home to his―and my―native planet, Earth, little Taran stayed in Shondakor and was enlisted as a cadet in the legions of the Golden City. When we began to train a cadre of young officers for the Sky Navy, the lad begged to join their ranks, and thus Taran of the Ku Thad became a sky cadet.