Young Writers Society

                                                           PORK EPIC #2

          A sea of upturned faces watched the Pines Titan as it pulled away from port and began a slow and steady path through the sky. It was an impressive sight for a population whose major form of entertainment was illegal boxing and who, on average, tended to see little more than the beige-and-grey buildings of Lod and the other people in it.

          Pines checked the furnaces—operated by a colossal (both in height and weight) man named Harvey whose blue uniform and face were constantly smeared with black. Pines shared a joke with the cheerful giant before heading to the glass-floored observation deck below the gondola.

          He could not find the house of his childhood amongst the indistinguishable maze of buildings. For some reason he found this very irking.

          “It’s an amazing city, isn’t it Mr. Pines?”

          Pines jolted where he sat, whirling towards the voice. Its source was a short, slim woman with long, dark curls. Lola Kibble was her name. She was the cartographer. And not bad looking, Pines mused.

          “It certainly is. A jewel among jewels. You know, I’m impressed that you and the rest of the team were able to keep the secret of our destination to yourselves,” Pines said. He tipped his head in a gesture of congratulations.

          Lola scratched her head. “You never told us, Mr. Pines.”

          Pines looked nonplussed. “Ah,” he said finally.

          “It’s the question on everyone’s tongue,” Lola said, stepping up to the window and pressing chubby hands against it. Endless green-carpeted hills rolled away from the city. Somewhere beyond the horizon, Pines knew, there loomed a monolithic impasse; a mountain range like no other.

          “So it is,” he murmured. “If I did not tell you before there must have been a good reason. I seem to recall it being a matter of my own safety and the integrity of this mission.”

          Lola wore a perplexed frown. “You’re not making this sound very appealing. And you haven’t told us what the mission is either, Mr. Pines.”

          “Aha!” Pines said victoriously, beaming. “I can tell you about the mission.” He stepped up beside the woman and put his arm around her shoulders, apparently ignorant of whether or not she was comfortable. “Our aim is to establish contact. A diplomatic exploration!” He smiled at her, suggesting that this answer was entirely satisfactory and further explanation would be unnecessary.

          Lola was momentarily fazed by his highly persuasive assurance. Taking the opportunity, Pines whisked himself up the ladder to the main gondola, the confused young cartographer staring at his back.

          She looked wonderingly to the east.

          “Establish contact with who?”

Lionel Fortner was not to be outdone.

          He was a tubby fellow, always barely able to contain his enormous pink gut within his shirt. He had an appetite to match. Not just for food, but for competition, for rivalry, and most of all…

          For victory.

          Baxter Pines’ take-off had caught him by surprise. The scheming celebrity inventor had departed a day prior to the advertised date. An elaborate ploy to shake off his competitors, no doubt! Fortner had rushed and fussed to organize himself and his own crew in the hopes of catching and defeating Pines.

           It did not matter to Fortner that he had no idea (like everyone else) where Pines was going and why he was going there.

          What did matter was that Fortner did it better and faster. Once, he had been the premiere designer and manufacturer in the field of air travel. That was until Baxter Pines had risen up from the slums of the engineering world with his revolutionary prototypes to become the most well-known and disputably best airship businessman in the world.

          Fortner’s personal steam mobile idled with a constant hum of splutters and coughs as his dozen-strong team packed the remaining supplies into the cargo area. It was the size of several conventional horse-drawn carriages, supported by eight steel tires. Poles and mechanical parts stuck out at odd and unwieldy angles all over the contraption, yet it was an efficient vehicle, moving at speeds of up to twenty miles an hour. With luck, he could catch Pines and commandeer his Titan.

          Fortner never been very moral-orientated. In his skewed perspective, the ends justified the means.

          “All right, all right,” Fortner barked thickly, heavy jowls wobbling with every syllable. “We need to get a move on! Everything necessary has been loaded, we’ll have to leave the rest. All aboard!”

          Fortner's highly disciplined and fearful crew quickly disappeared into the steam mobile. Having to cleverly manipulate his bulk through the doorway, Fortner embarked behind them and took a seat at the fore of the two-level vehicle. Unlike his rival, Baxter Pines, he found no need to captain his own transport. Mundane chores of that variety were suitable only for his employees. Instead, he decided to enjoy a club sandwich.

          Spewing a thick trail of steam and smoke, the awkward contrivance rumbled out of Lionel Fortner’s tin garage and into the busy street. One of his employees slammed and locked the garage door behind them before clambering into the vehicle. The bustling crowd shrieked and parted for the monstrosity, its engine gurgling an unhealthy din as it accelerated and shuddered across the cobblestones.

          It was a decidedly less awe-inspiring launch than that of the pretentious Baxter Pines, to be sure, but it was enough.

          Fortner yelled obscenities at the crowd as the steam mobile lumbered down the road. The chase was underway.