Besides, the Girl wasn’t ready to fly. The big engines were running hard, but half of the crew was helping overfill the special ballast tanks, including Ticker. Too many hands were as bad as too few, and that’s why the rest of the crew stood beside the open door. Karlan joined those admiring the new day. The morning light was even more staggering than normal, the rain having washed the air clear while the coronas’ realm was less yellow than usual, slightly more transparent.

“See it?” one man asked.

Another man said, “Yes,” and then, “No.”

The prettiest woman smiled at the newcomer, offering him the smoked glass so he could stare down at the sun.

“Wait,” said the first man. “Here it comes again.”

What was coming?

Karlan wasn’t often startled. But then the shadow swept over them. It wasn’t total, and it certainly wasn’t like the stories told from before. Night didn’t come when the giant eclipsed the sun. But the sun’s raw brilliance faltered for a blink, and inside the grayness were odd hints of motion and design, swirling according the titanic motions of what was possibly the largest entity in the Creation.

Karlan never had time to look through the darkened glass.

“Launch,” the captain called out on the loudspeaker.

They broke into running gaits, taking their stations faster than they ever managed during the drills.

Karlan’s oversized seat had extra belts and a piece of fur from a royal jazzing that everyone insisted would bring luck. But even when he was buckled in place, the Girl remained in its berth. Intercom noise was about new orders. Ticker waved at him from inside one of the back turrets, and the two men opened a gunner’s line.

“We’re with the second wave,” the boy said.

More than that was obvious. Karlan could still hear the sirens over the roaring engines, and a lot of planning and more rambling conversations pushed into his thoughts.

“We won’t get our shots,” Ticker said.

“We will,” Karlan said. “Don’t worry.”

But other fletches were already plunging out of the station’s hangers, one and then another diving past their open door. If they left with their first chance, they already would have made it a long ways to the target.

“That other giant,” Ticker said. “She was slow and didn’t fight. Killing her was nothing. So yeah, the first wave is going to have this one dead and trussed up before we even get close.”

“Trust me,” Karlan said. “We’re lucky people, and get your head ready.”

And just like that, the Girl rose off the hanger’s floor, the engines erasing every other sound in the world. That big fletch was ridiculously heavy, and most of its ballast wasn’t even pulling yet. With Karlan at the nose, leading the way, the ship pushed into the scrubbed and blazing air. A thin trickle of rainwater hit the backside of the turret, splattering and then pooling against the flat scale-covered hull. Then the swollen ballast bags were dragged out behind them—six bags made from woven growler hides. Each bag was secured by short strong ropes, and each was filled with the cheapest, most disposable product in the world. Water leaked at the seams, but that wasn’t important. The bags didn’t have to hold together for more than a few recitations. The target was far below, probably flying weakly over the demon floor, and this was what slaying was today: drop hard and fast, making the kill without wasting a breath, and then fight to secure the carcass and bring it home again before the papio decided to attack.

Except today was different.

Karlan knew it.

The ballast bags were dragged across the hanger’s floor, and then they fell, dragging the Girl downward at a staggering, wondrous pace.

Everybody screamed, at least inside themselves.

Karlan yelled heartily for a full recitation, loving the sense of motion and how the ship trembled at its core, and that was before he spotted the round black blotch of a corona that already looked huge from up high with a long way to go.

War loved secrets, and here was one of the big secrets that everybody talked about when they thought nobody was listening: what if someday, with warning or without, another giant corona surfaced?

One of those old beasts surrendered four dangerous children to the world. Another litter of cherubs could be hiding inside the next giant, which made everybody hungry and scared, and in ways that were definitely not normal, it made them smart. That first giant was just one of an ancient generation of coronas. Her peers were old and dying, and each one of them would emerge at the end. If one lady had a belly full of indigestible monsters, then all of them could be bearing gifts. Or curses. Whichever they were.

There was a point to all of this shrewd clarity: whoever won the next prize might win every war to come. That’s why Karlan heard rumors and smart guesses about special plans for days exactly like this. It was even said that the generals who oversaw the war—the silk uniforms that controlled the world—were gathering around tables, playing elaborate kid games. They were testing what they should do when an ancient monster surfaced, and they guessed what their enemies might attempt in response, and they were trying to figure out the very best way to use whatever the carcass surrendered.

The fine long plunge continued.

The first wave was already approaching the target. Binoculars showed Karlan the blackish corona leaking its weak golden light, begging for someone’s help, and then a single fletch dove into the scene, its ballast discarded and the big engines trying to coax it close enough for one clean killing shot. But those maneuvers were abandoned moments later. Suddenly the fletch tried to climb, banking hard to let its high-hands aim at other targets, and then came a bright flash as twin rockets struck it and detonated, the impact and blasts throwing the machine downwards, spinning as it fell.

The airship struck the demon floor, skimming for an instant before punching through and turning to flame.

Ticker cursed, complaining, “The papio never come this fast.”

Why would they? They never had a worthwhile target.

“Do you see that, Karlan? There’s got to be twenty wings below us.”

More than twenty, and that didn’t count aircraft still coming from other bases scattered along the reef. Karlan made one slow circle with his turret and cannon, getting a sense of the mayhem that had only just begun.

The papio were smart.

He had no doubts about that.

Smart meant coming here with at least two ways to win. The weak victory would be killing the corona, sending it back under the demon floor. Let it die with its own kind while keeping any treasures from being captured by the enemy. That wouldn’t be the worst end. But the strong victory—the reason for parades and medals and maybe a few statues in the bargain—involved claiming the carcass for themselves and then against long odds, somehow dragging it home again.

At first glance, that was as impossible as any task could be.

But Karlan had already invested time wrestling with the problem. And seeing what was happening—the numbers of wings coming and their fantastic speed—he had a clear sense of what had to happen next.

To Ticker, he said, “Stow your cannon. Deploy the harpoon, now.”

“But we’re going to be under fire,” the boy complained.

Arguing would waste time. Karlan stowed his cannon instead and pulled up the pneumatic gun, locking it into position.

Ticker noticed, and proving his stupidity, he called the bridge to warn the captain what the lead high-hand was doing.

Karlan’s com-line started buzzing.

The Girl had dropped as far as the pilot dared take them, and with a single wrenching motion, the extra ballast was released. Massive sacks continued falling, bursting against the demon floor, and the water dribbled through, instantly turning to steam. But the ship continued to descend, slower now but willing to spend the last of its altitude. More water and soaked timbers came out of the belly as the machine and the men onboard tried to remember the magic of floating in one place.