The eastern terrace of Mount Clear Sky had been built as an overflow vehicle lot.
Its three acres of compacted gravel were now occupied by twelve imperial warships. They sat nose-first in one straight row like illegal tractor-trailers outside a shopping mall.
The Sun-Slayer rested at the head of the line. Its carved dragon prow was split, its gold leaf was scraped, and Cerberus Pug’s drool glazed the forecastle. The hull sat neatly between Austin’s white chalk lines.
Austin pushed a handcart down the limestone ramp. Twelve yellow steel wheel clamps weighed down its axle.
Tie Kuang followed with a portable air compressor and an impact wrench. He whistled a mining song as a yellow air hose dragged behind him.
Jiang Taixu came last, carrying a stack of bright orange weatherproof notices. His beard was tucked safely into his harness, and his sleeves were rolled to his elbows.
Tie Kuang examined the flagship’s landing skid. “These runners are three feet of iron-oak bound in bronze. Ordinary clamps won’t hold them.”
“That’s why we brought the Tier 4 units,” Austin said. “Hardened pins. Fifty-ton shear rating. Once the collar locks, they’ll twist their own mounts if they try to take off. Physics doesn’t care about royal warrants.”
Tie Kuang eyed the torn power line. “We could cut the armor up for rail stock.”
“No. We need lifting capacity more than scrap. Each hull has cargo winches and enough crystal lift to place a bridge span. Repair them, strip the weapons, and they become twelve flying cranes. And I’m not breaking up ships with crews still aboard. We brought them down without killing anyone. Let’s keep it that way.”
He stopped beside the forward skid and slid a clamp beneath it.
CLANG-GRIND.
The upper jaw closed around the timber.
THUNK.
“Air up.”
Tie Kuang fitted a socket to the locking bolt and pulled the trigger.
BZZZZT-CLACK-CLACK!
The impact wrench drove the hardened pin home. The padded jaws tightened around the wood.
“Torque reading.”
Tie Kuang checked it with a long click wrench.
CLICK.
“Eight hundred and fifty foot-pounds, Boss! She isn’t moving until the second sun burns out!”
“Good. Paperwork.”
Jiang peeled the backing from an orange notice. Austin centered it over the flagship’s gangway door and pressed it down.
SLAP!
Footsteps scraped on the boarding ramp.
Grand Admiral Meng dragged himself down the stairs, gripping the bronze rail. His ornate armor was dented and crusted with dog drool. His helmet plume was gone, and dark circles hung beneath his bloodshot eyes.
Two hundred marines watched from the gun ports.
Meng stepped onto the gravel and saw the yellow clamp on his ship. Then he saw the orange notice covering the royal crest.
His eye twitched.
“You have bolted an iron fetter to the Emperor’s divine warship?” he cried. “We command the armies of the heavenly throne! By what authority do you attach this vulgar scrap to royal timber?”
Austin held out his clipboard.
“Sign by the X. Print your legal name, rank, and vessel registration number.”
Meng stared at the board. “Sign what? We came to cleanse the southern heavens, and you attack me with office supplies?”
“Impound intake receipt. Standard procedure. We record existing damage so the owner can’t bill us for old dents.”
Austin pointed at the broken prow.
“The dragon figurehead is cracked and has six-inch canine tooth marks. The port levitation line is severed and leaking. The main deck smells like a wet dog. I’ve listed all of it under Pre-Existing Owner Damage.”
Meng grabbed his breastplate. “Pre-existing? That three-headed monster just jumped out of the sky, chewed through our power line, and turned the Emperor’s steering wheel into matchsticks!”
“That falls under our working-animal provisions. Domestic guardians may deter unauthorized aircraft below the five-hundred-foot property line. You entered without a flight plan and shook shingles off my lodge.”
Austin tapped the clipboard.
“Be glad Pug had half a roast spirit boar for breakfast. On an empty stomach, your rudder would be in his intestine by now. Sign.”
“Never! I answer only to Emperor Yan Ming! When he hears of this, three million soldiers will grind your mountain into gravel!”
“Good. He’s listed as the registered owner. That makes him the person who has to pay the fines and sign the release.”
Austin waved to the others.
“Tie Kuang. Jiang. Work the line.”
“You got it, Boss!”
BZZZZT-CLACK! BZZZZT-CLACK!
On the second ship, Void-Cleaver, four yellow clamps locked around the skids. On the third, Iron-Sky, Jiang slapped an orange notice across the bridge window.
Fifty thousand cultivators watched from the surrounding retaining walls in complete silence.
“The Master Builder is applying the ancient talismans of seizure,” an elder whispered.
“Those yellow shackles have no runes or spirit stones,” Patriarch Iron Blood said. “Yet they pin an entire imperial fleet to the earth. What sealing Dao is this?”
“And Section 44-B! Even the Grand Admiral fears the orange decree!”
Austin tore off a yellow copy and put it in Meng’s hand.
“Keep that for accounting. Storage is five hundred copper per vessel per day. Twelve ships come to six thousand a day. Add the airspace fines, recovery fees, and forty copper for my shingles.”
He patted Meng’s dented shoulder.
“Tell your Emperor the office is open eight to five, Monday through Friday. We don’t release impounded property without the proper documents. If he wants his fleet, he comes in person.”
Meng looked down at the total.
TOTAL OUTSTANDING: 630,040 COPPER COINS
IMPOUND LOT 1 — OVERFLOW VEHICLE STAGING
The supreme commander of the Great Yan Armada sank to his knees.
“The Son of Heaven will have to stand in line at a service desk,” he sobbed, “to pay parking tickets.”
Cerberus Pug trotted over, dropped the remains of the royal steering wheel beside Meng, and sniffed his boot. Then he sneezed and wandered back to the porch to sleep in the sun.