028 -- Isaac's Team

Eos 028 – Isaac's Team

“You wanted to meet my team, remember?”

“Where are we going?”

“Down.”

“I can see that, Isaac. Why? There's no way they've been quartered down here.”

“If I know Reynolds, and I do, then I know exactly where to find them. Trust me.”

Isaac Holliday was leading Dr. Lukas through a dimly lit passage deep in the bowels of the Hermite. Somewhere nearby the engines throbbed, but they hadn't seen a single person anywhere on this deck.

Isaac stopped next to a hatch that stood ajar. He listened for a moment before easing it open and stepping over the lip. When Dr. Lukas hesitated, he waved her forward. “Voices, listen.”

She found herself surrounded by crates, in a narrow space lit only by the soft electric glow from behind them. Isaac leaned back to whisper to her. “Follow me and keep quiet.”

They squeezed along the narrow gap between the steel bulkhead and the cargo, walking sideways to fit. The space was clean and smelled of pine from the fresh wooden crates; Lukas recognized some of her equipment.

The voices got louder as they went. Soon another light could be seen coming from a space inside the stored machinery. Isaac eased up to a gap and peered through for a moment. He leaned back smiling and motioned Lukas forward. “Told you so,” he mouthed. Lukas looked through the gap.

There were a ring of men sitting on old bits of packing material, all facing inwards. A work light hung from a hook on the ceiling. Most of them were sailors, but there was one army officer in the bunch. A few others were scattered in the shadows around the group, but they were harder to see. The men in the center were concentrating on something; after a moment, the tension broke and they all sat back with a laugh.

“Ahhh, hahah! That's a bit 'o luck, there, eh?”

“Hah!”

“Serves 'im right, too!”

“Wish I'd stayed in now.”

“Damn, I should've known better!” This was the army officer, leaning back from the center. The only imperfection on his perfect face was a small white scar above his left eye. There were a lieutenant's stripes on his shoulders, but the front of his uniform hung carefully unbuttoned. “There's your week's pay back, Joe!”

“That's Reynolds.” Isaac whispered in Lukas's ear.

“Why are we spying on them?”

“Think of it as reconnaissance.”

Lieutenant Reynolds turned to one of the figures in the dark. “Come on, Angie, you gonna play stakes or not? I'm loosing every hand right now, it's as good a time as any.”

The only woman present sat forward into the light. “Nah, no thanks.”

“Come on, why not?”

“'Cause I'm not as dumb as you are, Reynolds.”

“Oh, the hostility!” Reynolds adopted a comically wounded expression. “What have I done to earn such scorn from someone as lovely as you are, Lieutenant?”

Angie smiled at eased back into a reclining position in the shadows. “What haven't you done, George.”

The sailors guffawed. Reynolds grinned and shrugged, turning back to the makeshift table. “Perhaps the lady . . . has a point.”

“You mean like that time with her sister?” The other shadow in the dark piped up in a high voice.

The sailors broke into wild laughter and clapped their hands. “Eh there! That's enough of that, Albans!” Reynolds was wagging his finger in the third pilot's direction, swollen with mock rage. “I'll have you know that any claims about her honor, and my own involvement thereof, are based totally in fiction!”

“You certainly tried hard enough.” Lieutenant Albans leaned into the light. He had a fresh, beardless face and looked like he was barely out of school.

“Watch it, kid! This unit has a long and storied history of unpleasant initiation rituals. Don't make me dig one up just for you!”

Albans just laughed and sat back again. The sailors were rolling around on the floor in stitches. Reynolds, in a soaring good humor, stood and held his arms outstretched over the group.

“Gentlemen, gentlemen. We can't be getting distracted with silly stories, we've got important business to attend to here. Namely, you need to win another week's pay off of me.”

Lukas turned to Isaac. “This is your team?”

He nodded.

“They seem very . . . relaxed.”

Isaac nodded. “Come on, let's introduce you.”

“Wait – Isaac – but --”

But Isaac had already dragged Lukas around the crates. Albans saw them first.

“Officer on deck!” His voice cracked halfway through. The men and woman jumped up, scattering playing cards everywhere. Someone smacked their head on the lamp.

“At ease, at ease. Calm down, everybody.”

The sailors relaxed a bit, but remained standing. A few glanced at the scattered cards, but no one moved to pick them up.

“Reynolds, Albans, Angie, gentlemen, I'd like you to meet Dr. Lukas.”

The three pilots muttered hello. Silence reigned for a moment over the small group.

“So, Reynolds, are you going to deal me in or not?”

“Sir?”

“You're playing stakes, right? My money's as good as anyone else's.”

Reynolds grinned. “Yes, sir.” He started gathering the cards off the floor. The sailors exchanged a few glances and sat down again at the makeshift table. Was an army major really going to sit down and gamble with them?

“Time to show you all how it's done.” Isaac pulled a few bills out of his pocket and waved the doctor over to the crates. “Have a seat, Lukas. I'll be a minute.”

Lukas looked around. The only spot open was on a low crate between Albans and Angie. She made her way over and perched on the corner of it. Angie ignored her, but she saw the young man's eyes follow her all the way around the table.

He leaned forward as soon as she sat down and extended his hand. “Hi. I'm Joseph. Joseph Albans.”

She shook his outstretched palm. “Dr. Lukas.”

“Do you have a first name? Or is it 'Doctor?'”

“Aderyn.”

Albans raised his eyebrows. “That's an unusual name.”

“I know.”

There was a brief silence before Albans tried again. “So what are you a doctor of?”

“I have several degrees; archeology, anthropology, physics, among others.”

“Oh, that's . . . interesting.”

Another silence.

“So, um . . .”

“Geez, Albans, stop with the twenty questions already. It's pretty obvious that she's the reason we're here.”

“Excuse me?” Lukas turned towards the new voice.

Angie had leaned forward from her reclining position amongst the excavation equipment. “She's been hanging out with the major, and the ship's full of science crap. Put two and two together . . .”

“I am in charge of this mission, yes.”

“See? She's the brains, and we're the muscle. More babysitting the eggheads, just like last time.” Angie disappeared back into the shadows.

Lukas leaned over to speak to Albans. “Is she always like that?”

Albans shrugged. “Not a lot of lady pilots in the army. They get pretty thick skinned.”

Angie's voice came out of the darkness. “We develop an acute sense of hearing, too, Albans. Call me a lady again and you'll be picking dirt out of your teeth for a week.”

“Good luck with that; we're on the ocean.”

“I have my ways.”

A shout went up from the table. Reynolds rose shaking his head, and made his way over to the little group in the shadows.

“Did the major beat you again?” asked Albans.

“It was a gallant struggle, but alas – I am defeated.” Reynolds wore the same wounded expression from earlier. He pushed Albans aside and sat down next to Dr. Lukas. “So, you're the beautiful Dr. Lukas that we've heard so much about.”

“You've been hearing about me?”

“Of course – everyone's talking about you.”

“Why?”

“Because as the Lieutenant so casually mentioned, you're the reason that we're here. You realize, gentlemen, that we --”

“Hey --” interrupted Angie, but Reynolds kept going.

“-- that we have a unique opportunity here. Or rather, Dr. Lukas has a unique opportunity – a chance to dispel the whirlwind of rumor and speculation surrounding our voyage. Tell me, Doctor --” he slipped an arm around Lukas's shoulders before dropping his voice to a stage whisper, “-- what are we after? Buried treasure? The fountain of youth? Sheets of gold, priceless rubies, endless riches as far as the eye can see?”

Lukas removed the Lieutenant's arm. “You know that I'm not allowed to say.”

“She's not denying it, lads! Maybe it is treasure!”

“Don't be an idiot, George. They don't send eggheads to look for treasure.”

“So what do you think we're looking for, Angie?” asked Albans.

“My guess? More decorations for the King's bedchambers. You know he loves that old Torman crap.” A few of the sailors snickered at this. Their focus was shifting away from the game again.

“That's not what I heard.”

“Oh really? Then what did you hear, Albans?”

“I heard that we're looking for,” he lowered his voice, “. . . the throne of Rahm.”

The room got quiet at this, except for Dr. Lukas's snort.

“Ha!”

“What?” Albans looked hurt.

“I can tell you one thing – we're not looking for the throne.”

“Why not?”

“Because it doesn't exist.”

A few of the sailors muttered to themselves. “You disagree?”

“Aye. Old Tom's seen it. Tell 'er, Tom!” A wiry, middle-aged man with several missing teeth was pushed forward.

“You've seen the throne?” Lukas's eyebrows were raised.

“Well, I ain't seen it meself. It was me grand-pappy that seen it.”

A few sailors voiced their encouragement. The card game had ground to a halt; Isaac was the only one who hadn't turned to face the doctor.

“He was six or seven weeks outta Oberon, 'board a clipper headed for Khartoba.”

“Go on.”

“Well, they got caught in a storm. Except it weren't no normal storm, you know? The wind kept shiftin', and the waves coming from every which direction, and so after three days their riggin' was torn to ribbons and they was all hangin' on for dear life. Me pappy still shivers when 'e thinks of it, and he ain't no lubber, if ya know what I mean.”

The sailors nodded.

“On the fourth day they got to hearin' this sort of noise. At first they didn't know what 'twas, but then the sky opens right up and the rain clears right away. And ya know what they saw?”

“What?”

“A hole, a huge hole in the ocean, right ahead. 'Twas a whirlpool, five mile across and a mile deep. 'Twent right down to the bottom of the ocean, see? Six or seven diff'rent rainbows all stretched 'cross it, and smack at the bottom was the throne. A huge stone temple, surrounded by broken ships. The captain, 'e says, 'Now look, lads, 'twas good to know ya; we seen the throne of Rahm and nobody lives after seein' that.'”

“So what happened?”

“Well, you know how whirlpools work. They grab stuff a' the top and pull it down, but they also grab stuff 'et be at the bottom and bring it up. It just so happened that a' this moment a huge octopus got 'imself pulled up from the bottom. 'E was headed up just as me pappy's ship was headed down, and t'wasn't very happy about it neither. So he sees me pappy's ship, and grabs onto it to slow 'imself down, and drags 'em right away from the whirlpool. 'E was so scared that 'e dragged 'em right outta the storm before he stopped. Left 'em there, broken masts, in the middle of the ocean. They rigged up a sail and made the coast a month later.”

Lukas leaned back and folded her arms. “So you're saying that your grandfather saw the temple at the bottom of a whirlpool, and then was saved by a sea monster?”

“Yes ma'am.”

“That's impossible. A creature that big can't exist, and nothing lives that deep in the ocean – the pressure is too great.”

“Lady, you callin' me pappy a liar?” The graying sailor narrowed his brows.

“There's no way his story can be true.”

“Look, I ain't gonna hit a woman, but there's sum things 'at a person just don't --”

Isaac interrupted, finally turning towards the conversation. “We're not looking for the throne. If the throne was underwater, why would we bring excavators?”

The sailors stopped to think about this. Old Tom nodded. “Didn't think of that.”

“But it's late, and I'm sure the Doctor needs to get her rest.” Isaac stood up. “As do I.”

“You're stealing her from us, Major?” Reynolds was surprised. “The most beautiful woman here, and she hasn't even had a chance to get to know me.”

“That's exactly what I'm afraid of, Reynolds. Doctor?” Isaac helped Lukas up. They could hear Reynolds begin the card game again as they squeezed back out of the cargo hold.

“So, what did you think?” asked Isaac, turning to Lukas once they were back in the corridor.

“Lieutenant Smith doesn't like me.”

“Angie? Nah, she's alright.”

“She called me an . . . egghead? I don't know what that means, but it didn't sound good.”

“From her, that's a term of endearment.”

“Why didn't we stay longer?”

“Because you insisted on picking a fight with a sailor.”

“What? No I didn't, I just pointed out that his grandfather's story was impossible.”

“You called him a liar. If you were a man, he'd have slugged you right there. As it was, he was still thinking about it.”

“For stating a fact?”

“When it comes to old sea stories, Lukas, you'll soon discover that facts are unimportant. You're an anthropologist, right? Think of it as part of his family mythology. What happens when an outsider challenges the tribe's mythology?”

“Mmm . . . I can see your point.” Lukas thought for a moment as they reached the ladder. “Why don't you want me getting to know Lieutenant Reynolds? He's quite attractive.”

“You're not the first one to think so. He's got a reputation with the ladies.”

“Hmm.”

Isaac raised an eyebrow.

“Not that I would, of course. He's one of your pilots.”

“Good. You have no idea the amount of paperwork that his court martial would create for me.”

“Ha. They're very informal.”

“Hmm?”

“About rank. Reynolds gambling with the sailors . . . and they were very relaxed around you once you told them to be at ease. Much more so than the other units I've worked with.”

“The 303^rd is a little different than most units that you've worked with. I need them to be creative; we've got to make everything go wrong that you can think of when we're testing the new units. I need them to follow hunches and try the crazy ideas that could never work; otherwise it'll happen in the field to somebody else and get them killed.” Holliday chuckled. “To be fair, sometimes they're a bit too high spirited, but don't worry – they're also the best.”

“I hope so.” They'd reached Lukas' cabin. She turned the steel wheel and pushed the door open – it only opened a bit before striking something inside.

“What's wrong with your – Lukas, how much stuff do you have in there?”

“Just a few things that I couldn't trust with anyone else.”

“Where are you sleeping?”

“Between the magnetometer and the voltaic battery plates.”

“I didn't --” Isaac stopped and smiled. “Have a good evening, doctor.”

“I will.” The door swung shut behind Lukas. Isaac strolled off down the corridor by himself.

027 -- Interrupted Prayer

Hakan Tarif crouched on the thick rug in his quarters, knees together and torso stretched forward until his chest touched the rich red fibers. His lips moved in silent prayer, repeating the words that he had known since childhood. A fat droplet of sweat trembled in the center of his neck; the silk draperies lay still in the midday heat.

CRASH!

A massive gong sounded far away, soon echoed by smaller, closer cymbals through the city.

Crash! Crash! Crash!

Hakan did not move. His lips finished the verse he was on, and he held his posture for one additional moment before relaxing his shoulders with a sigh. His hand swept the errant drop of sweat from his neck as he leaned back on his ankles.

“You Asfar are strange.”

Hakan jumped, stumbling to his feet and spinning around. “Who – oh!”

Alexis Temrin stood in the doorway to his room, munching absently on a wooden stick.

“Alexis, I – I didn't hear you come in. How did you get --”

“Every day, the same thing. Bang goes the gong, and everybody drops like pins. What an odd way to live.”

“You mean the verses?”

She wandered into his room. “Yeah. Mumbling nonsense to an invisible man who has magic powers. Seems like a waste of time to me.”

“A waste of –?”

“I mean, if there was a god looking out for us,” Alexis continued from the other room, ignoring Hakan, “why do so many bad things happen? Surely if he's all powerful, omnipotent, and kind, he could fix some stuff.”

“Jemahl's will is not always clear to us.” Hakan chased her into his bedroom, where she was digging through his closet.

“On my way here I saw a beggar lying in the gutter. When I went over to give him some food, I saw that he was dead. How does someone die of hunger when others with too much food to eat walk past them every day?” She was pulling his clothes out onto the floor.

“Stop – put that back –!” Hakan gathered up his clothes and shoved the bundle back inside, shutting the door.

“I don't think the beggar wanted to die. Either Rahm was powerless to help him, or he didn't care. Why bother praying to such a useless god?”

“You're speaking blasphemy.”

“I know.” Alexis smiled at herself in Hakan's mirror, and then turned to him. “You haven't been to see me lately. Why not?”

“I've been busy.”

“No you haven't.”

“How
do you know?”

“Mastiff's been watching your house.”

“What?!? You're having me watched?”

“Yup. And you haven't been busy.”

“Maybe I went out while he was sleeping.”

“Mastiff doesn't sleep.”

“At all?”

“He
doesn't sleep when I tell him not to.”

Hakan shuddered. Alexis poked him in the chest with her finger. “There it is again. I saw you do that at the Blue Parrot. You're . . . disgusted? Why?”

Hakan shook his head. “No, I'm not.”

Alexis laughed. “Yes, you are. Why?”

“You . . . own him. You own another person.”

“No, I don't. My father does.”

“Either way. You own another human being. That's just . . . wrong.”

“Jemahl owns you.”

“What? No he doesn't.”

Alexis smiled. “Then what were you doing on the floor just now?”

“That's different.”

“Is it? You do what Jemahl tells you to do, right? Mastiff does what father tells him to do.”

“You're
twisting the issue. Rahm's will is not your father's will.”

“Isn't it? Didn't Rahm create everything?”

“Yes.”

“Did he create my father?”

“Yes.”

“Which means he created my father's will, and my father's will is to have slaves.”

“You can't just . . . look, slavery against the teachings of the Pentarch. The book of Rahm outlaws it, and the book is Rahm's will here on earth.”

“And yet still Mastiff is a slave. Either Rahm has willed it to be so, or Rahm is an impotent fraud!”

Hakan's head was spinning. “You're impossible.”

“I know. So where are we going today?”

“What makes you think that I'm going anywhere with you?”

“Because if you don't, I might tell my father how unfriendly the son of Osman Tarif was to me. It would be a shame if that cast doubt on our fathers' friendship.”

Hakan sighed. “You figured that out pretty quickly, eh?”

“Yep!” Alexis smiled and took his hand. “I want to see the temple!”

“Let's go to the temple, then. I'm going to change, go wait outside.”

“What? Are you ashamed of the body Jemahl gave you?”

“Out. Out!”

Five minutes later they were on their way to the temple.

026 -- Cambric

Isaac Holliday was feeling some trepidation as he arrived for his first dinner on board the Hermite. In his experience, navy food was second only to army food in its wretched and inedible nature. Considering that he was prone to occasional bouts of sea-sickness, any meal taken on board ship was a risk.

Etiquette demanded his attendance, however. At exactly 1630 an invitation had been delivered to his cabin, cordially requesting his presence at Captain Oswald's table. Getting into his dress uniform had been difficult in such close quarters, but he had managed. Isaac was lucky to have a cabin at all. Between the pilots from the 303^rd, the extra mechanics, Dr. Lukas, and her excavating team, space was at a premium on board the Hermite.

The appearance of the officers' wardroom surprised him. Usually doubling as a medical storeroom or operating room, it had been transformed for the evening meal. The stores had been move to the perimeter of the room, while a gleaming white tablecloth shone under the electric lights, laid with delicate silverware and china that vibrated with the thrum of the engines. Seven places were laid out, complete with small cardboard name tags. Isaac saw his own on the Captain's left, and Dr. Lukas' on Oswald's right.

Isaac was nearly the last to arrive; still absent was only the captain. Four of the ship's officers in dress whites were making small talk at the other end of the wardroom, while Dr. Lukas was standing alone on the opposite side of the table. Isaac bowed in her direction.

“Evening, Doctor.”

She nodded. “Major.”

He gestured to the table. “This is fancier than I expected on board a ship.”

“Mmm.”

Captain Oswald burst into the room without warning.

“Major Holliday, excellent to see you. And Doctor Lukas --” he kissed her hand before she had an opportunity to resist, “-- a pleasure. Please, everyone, be seated.”

They took their chairs. “We'll not be dining so formally every night, of course, but I wanted to start things off properly. I hope you'll excuse the name cards, but I have a second lieutenant who attended finishing school and has the most wonderful hand for calligraphy.”

The short man was practically bursting with energy. On a hunch, Isaac checked the wall clock – it read precisely 1800 hours. He tried to signal Lukas with his eyes, but she hadn't had time to notice before Captain Oswald began speaking again.

“The Hermite is usually stocked with quite humble fare, even at the officers' table, but the King has seen fit to fund your expedition unusually well, Doctor Lukas. I am sure you'll agree that it would have been a shame to let his generosity go to waste, and so I picked up a few choice items this morning while ashore -- just for tonight, of course. Steward, the wine please?”

Two stewards appeared with bottles of wine and made their way around the table. Dr. Lukas declined her glass, but Isaac accepted a heavy goblet full to help steady his stomach.

“No wine tonight, Doctor?”

“Thank you, Captain, but I find it interferes with my work.”

“A shame, but that's more for us, eh, gentlemen? A toast – to the King!”

“Long live the King!” Seven voices rang out around the table, and six glasses of wine were drained.

“Ah. Excellent.” Oswald smacked his lips. “But let's not waste any time, eh? Steward?”

The first course began to make its way onto the table. Isaac watched with increasing surprise as each additional dish was produced from the galley. Oswald had not been exaggerating when he spoke of the king's generosity.

The short captain dominated the conversation, addressing his comments to each member of the party in turn. He and Isaac had a long conversation about the relative merits of the S84 and S86 cavalry mounts, Oswald finally allowing himself to be won over by Isaac's experiences in the cockpit.

“The added visibility more than makes up for any differences in the control setup. Sure, maybe you're a bit faster on the obstacle course, but as a test pilot I've been through the thing a million times. Now, the field, that's a totally different thing.”

Oswald laughed. “Quite right, Major, quite right. I'll have to forward your opinion along to our marine assault division.”

“Marine assault?”

“Oh yes, it's a new division being developed by the navy.” Oswald seemed pleased that Isaac had taken the bait. “Quite an interesting concept, actually – the idea is to take a hostile beach from the water with amphibious steam cavalry, opening it up to a landing by the army. Still in the testing phases, I expect. They were still looking for a suitable unit last I knew.”

Isaac nodded. “That explains some of the prototypes we've seen lately. Lots of tests in sand and mud. I think both the 84 and the 86 both have been ruled out, they're too heavy to maneuver in the shallows.”

“Ah, that's a shame.” Oswald moved on around the table, giving Isaac a chance to catch up on the food in front of him. The only member of the party who didn't receive any attention from the captain was Dr. Lukas.

Finally, after dessert, (a lemon sorbet that had been kept on ice somewhere below deck; “The only good thing to come out of the East for the last twenty years!”), Oswald turned to Dr. Lukas. “Now, Doctor, I believe that it is your turn. If you could excuse us, gentlemen? Except for you, of course, major.”

The four officers stood, and paying their compliments, left the room. Dr. Lukas turned to the captain. “What do you mean, Captain?”

“Now that we're under way, I'm sure that you have more to tell us about Saint Marcos.”

“I am supposed to brief you both before we arrive, yes.”

“Well? There's no time like the present, doctor.”

Doctor Lukas looked around the room. “We have no maps, no charts--”

“Ah, I thought you might say that.” Oswald snapped his fingers. The doors on either side of the room sprang open, and the stewards reappeared. The silverware and china were swept off of the table, followed by the tablecloth. Underneath was a huge map of Saint Marcos. The stewards disappeared as quickly as they had come.

“You have a taste for the theatrical, Captain.” Dr. Lukas remarked. Isaac could tell that she was annoyed by Oswald's preemptive gesture.

Oswald remained unperturbed. “So I've heard. I like to think of it as a natural affinity for stylish presentation, instead of an actual flaw of character.”

“Indeed.” Lukas sighed. She looked at the map, seeking in vain for some imperfection. “I suppose . . . this will suffice.”

“Saint Marcos actually consists of two islands, the greater in the North and the lesser in the South. Greater Saint Marcos is dominated by a single mountain peak in the center of the island, the cone of an extinct volcano. The rest of the island is tropical in climate, originally covered in jungle. Some of the vegetation has been cleared for sugarcane, the island's primary industry.”

Lukas's slender fingers moved to the South side of the main island. “The town of Saint Marcos is located around the only protected harbor on the island. The bay is more than large enough for the Hermite to anchor. This is also where the island's only river empties into the ocean. The governor's house sits next to this river in the center of town.” She pointed out the spit of land that formed the harbor's Western border. “There was a battery located on the hill at the end of this peninsula before the war, but it was blown up by the Navy during the occupation.”

Oswald nodded. “Rear Admiral Dunland's work. He was a captain back then.”

Lukas continued. “The lesser island is uninhabited. It is entirely covered in jungle, and is at its highest point less than five hundred feet above sea level. A large, extremely deep lagoon lies at the center of the island, reachable through three different channels.”

“We appreciate the geography lesson, Lukas, but what's the point? Why Saint Marcos?”

Lukas looked up at Isaac. “This.” She pointed at the map. Isaac and Oswald peered over the table at a small dot in the forest.

“What's that?”

“A series of Torman ruins. I had planned to show you the survey team's diagrams during the briefing, but since Captain Oswald has--”

“You mean these diagrams?” Oswald pulled a long tube from the supplies stacked behind him. He removed several sheets of paper, smoothing them out over the map of Saint Marcos with both hands.

Lukas stared at the blueprints. “I wasn't aware that the Royal Service had authorized any additional copies.”

“They haven't.”

“Then how--”

“The ruins, doctor?”

Isaac hid a smile in his hand. It wasn't often that he saw someone steal a march on Dr. Lukas . . . although he doubted that Oswald was earning himself any favors. He watched as the doctor strove to control her mounting frustration. After a few moments, she resumed her dialogue.

“The ruins were mapped three months ago by a team from the Cimbrian Royal Service. They had suspected that there was a temple on the island for some time, as Admiral Dunland had reported the capture of several significant artifacts during his occupation of the island. The artifacts were found mostly in the homes of Coalition aristocrats, but of course they refused to cooperate. It wasn't until the loss of a navy airship on the mountain that the ruins were discovered.”

“The navy lost an airship?”

Oswald nodded. “It happens more often than we'd like to admit, Major. The Engels was departing Saint Marcos with dispatches for Oberon when it went down in the jungle. Mechanical failure, they tell me. Bad luck for them, but good luck for us; the ruins were stumbled upon by the rescue team. Please continue, Doctor.”

Lukas smoothed the temple blueprints once again. “The Torman Empire was nominally pagan from its foundation in 1737 FE until its dissolution in 2277 FE, barring a brief experiment with the Saric church in 2159. Worship was coordinated across regional governments, and despite the dominance of Agathian intellectuals at the Imperial level most cities had one or more temples.”

“Is that what we're looking at here?”

“Yes. The complex discovered on Saint Marcos is of typical Torman design. Here we can see a large rectangular building in the center, surrounded by columns.” Lukas outlined a rectangular area of rubble, the missing sections filled in lightly with pencil. “Inside there was an altar, statues, and a crypt for storing the remains of important members of the community. Outside there were several other buildings for ceremonial and domestic use.”

“Why this temple? What makes it important?”

Lukas looked back at Isaac. “Two reasons. One, it's far larger than any other Torman temple we've ever found. And second, the artifacts inside are early Saric, not pagan.”

“So what?”

“We've never found any indication of a major Torman city on Saint Marcos. A few fishing huts, maybe, but nothing large enough to support a temple of this size. And Isaac, the Saric church didn't even exist in this part of the world for another three hundred years. The temple is a cultural and historical anomaly. We will establish a base camp--”

“Aren't you forgetting something, Doctor?” Oswald was looking at her with raised eyebrows.

“No.” Her response was a flat monosyllable.

“Mmm.” Oswald rocked back on his heels once. “Surely you weren't planning on leaving us in the dark regarding what they found beneath the altar, were you?”

Lukas gaped. “Captain, I – how do you – the only reason I came back was that they assured me that there would be the tightest level of security surrounding my project! The tightest level!” She had now turned on the captain and was spitting with rage. “I trusted them; apparently I was mistaken! If this is how Cimbria handles all matters of national security – !”

Even Oswald looked surprised at this outburst. “Doctor, please! If I overstepped my bounds, I apologize, but know that it was all in service to the mission. There is no one more invested in the success of your project than I am.”

Lukas turned back to Isaac, nostrils flaring. “How about you? Should I keep going, or have they told you everything too?”

Isaac held up his hands in a posture of surrender. “I know nothing.”

Doctor Lukas looked skeptical.

“He's telling the truth, Doctor, unless his sources are better than I think. And you should know that despite my people's best efforts, I have no idea what they found beneath the altar.”

Doctor Lukas looked back at the captain. “Fine!” She smoothed the scattered blueprints. “Fine.”

“Beneath the altar --” she glared at Captain Oswald, “-- our survey team found a cave in that led to an older level of the temple. There are a series of tunnels underneath the site that precede Torman settlement by a significant period. That the temple was built over them is no surprise – most cultures erect their religious buildings on the ruins of those they supplant; it carries significant symbolic meaning. No, the surprise is what the survey team found in these tunnels.”

“What did they find?”

Lukas took a deep breath. “Major, how much do you know about the etching process used to create your mounts' control cores?”

“What does that have to do with--”

“Major, please.”

“Well, not much.” Isaac scratched his head. “As I understand it, by treating thin sheets of cambric with special chemicals, logic patterns can be carved into them. Then, when the sheets are laminated together, a series of electrical cables are connected to various points on the core. If it's done right, you can rig a complex series of inputs and outputs in a very small space. A Cimbrian science team came up with it a few years ago, right?”

“You are essentially correct . . . except for the last statement. The technology wasn't invented . . . it was found.”

“What do you mean . . . found?”

“Three years ago, a temple much like this was discovered in the Greyspikes. In the ruins beneath it were kilometers of tunnel walls inscribed with interlacing lines. There was no discernible pattern, except that they came in squares about eleven centimeters to a side. We couldn't--”

“We? I thought you were off studying the Daki.”

“I lied, Isaac, the Institute for the Advancement of the Sciences has been sworn to secrecy by the Royal Service. Although apparently some of us are taking that oath more seriously than others . . .” she glared at Oswald, who returned her gaze until she broke away.

“As I was saying, we couldn't make head or tail of it until the sample was found.”

“The sample?” Oswald lead closer, placing his hands on the table.

“A piece of cambric, approximately eleven by seven by six centimeters, and refined to an impossible purity. Part of it is missing – we looked for months for the additional fragment, but without any luck. There are five hundred and twelve contacts on one surface, and seventy three on one of the damaged sides. After a month of testing we determined that they were for the input of electrical charges. A careful dissection showed that the sample was composed of several hundred individual levels of cambric, each with a different pattern etched in the surface. The patterns were later matched to a segment of wall elsewhere in the complex.”

“Cambric? In the ruins? But how?”

“We don't know. But when I say cambric, understand that this is something totally different from what you or I understand as cambric. The sample was incredibly light, with a density far below that of water.”

“This brick of metal floats?”

“Exactly.”

“Rahm's sake.”

“Also, while we've been able to emulate some of the properties of the sample, our control cores are nothing but crude imitations. To encode the logic patterns of the original sample with our current process would produce a control core larger than this vessel.”

“Where is the sample now?”

“I don't know. Somewhere in a vault below Oberon, I can only assume. It's been split up, remember, and was not very large to begin with.”

“So that's why we're here? The Royal Service thinks there's another sample on Saint Marcos?”

“Exactly. A larger one, in better condition. Not to mention more wall patterns to decode.”

“How important would that be, if we did find it?” Isaac looked to the two of them.

“Were you following the Thyrennian campaign?” asked Doctor Lukas.

“Of course. We were testing and sending new units to the front the entire time.”

“Every single core you tested was designed by engineers in the Royal Service, working from patterns copied from the walls of the Greyspike complex. The steam cavalry that Cimbria sent to Thyrene with electric control cores--”

“--outperformed the Asfarian units even when outnumbered more than four to one. I saw the battle reports. Rahm help those poor bastards, we ran over them.”

“Exactly. And Captain Oswald, I'm sure the Navy has been enjoying their new range finding equipment?”

Oswald smiled. “It seems you are as well-informed as I am, Doctor.”

Lukas snorted. “I should be. I wrote the logic patterns inside myself.”

Oswald's smile drooped. Lukas turned back to Isaac.

“When I left the project, only a small percentage of the data taken from the Greyspikes complex had been processed. As the Royal Society works through more of it, our own logic etching continues to improve, but we need a complete sample to move on to the next phase.”

“The next phase?”

“That should be a secret even from you, Captain Oswald, and will remain that way for the time being.”

There was a brief silence as Isaac and Oswald mulled over this new information.

“Doctor,” said Isaac, “you said that the sample was refined to an impossibly pure level?”

“Yes. Hundreds of times more sophisticated than anything Cimbrian industry has ever produced.”

“So . . . if we didn't make it, and there's no evidence that the Tormans ever used cambric . . . who made it?”

“There are theories,” Lukas frowned and looked away, “that the material was part of a larger vein of ultra-pure cambric, formed in a geological freak accident. People have even gone looking for this vein. Personally, I find this theory . . . unlikely.”

“What do you think, then?”

“I think that just because a satisfactory explanation has not been found does not mean that there isn't one.” She was looking back at him now. “Finding another sample can do nothing but bring us closer to an answer.”

There was another pause. Oswald was looking at the map of Saint Marcos again. Isaac followed his gaze. “Are you seeing some of the difficulties that I am, Captain?”

“If you mean the fact that Saint Marcos is an occupied territory, then yes. The Coalition could make our lives very difficult if they find out what we are up to.”

“What do you mean? I though the island was occupied by Cimbrian troops.” Lukas looked over to the captain.

“It is, but you must understand what that means. We maintain a garrison on the island, and it is ruled by a military governor, but beneath him the Coalition bureaucracy was left intact after Admiral Dunland's departure.”

“What? Why?!?”

“Cimbria doesn't have the manpower to replace every civil servant in the occupied territories. Keeping the local government intact is a comprise we have to make if the occupied territories are going to be governable at all.”

Isaac sighed. “Unfortunately, it means that almost any one of the regional authorities could be a spy.”

“So what do we do?”

“We operate independently as much as possible. The city is the only place with a dock that can handle the heavier equipment, but once it's unloaded we can move it anywhere. I recommend that we establish a fortified base camp outside of the city, near the ruins. Perhaps here--” Isaac indicated a location Northwest of the city, near the coast. “This stream can provide us with water, and we can land lighter supplies using the ship's boats here on the beach. If the worst happens and the Coalition retakes the island, we can move the Hermite near the shore here and cover a retreat with the ship's guns.”

Oswald nodded. “I'll send most of the ship's marines with you. Between them, the steam cavalry, and whatever men the local garrison can spare, you should be secure.”

“We'll cut down these trees to create open firing arcs, and use the timber to set up a palisade. Doctor, we can use your excavating equipment to dig a trench around the fort.”

“Do you think these precautions are really necessary, Major?” said Doctor Lukas.

“If what's in this temple is as important as you say it is, then yes,” said Isaac. “We know for certain that the Eastern Coalition has been anxiously watching the conflict in Thyrene. It is no secret what sort of advantage your work has given us, and once they figure out what we're looking for they will no doubt want it for themselves.”

“I see. In that case, you are welcome to use my excavators . . . but they still need to reach the temple as quickly as possible.”

“Of course.”

“Lukas, how long will it take you to dig everything out?”

She shook her head. “I don't know. It depends on what we find. If there is another sample on Saint Marcos, we'll bring it back and the Royal Service will send a larger team to explore the rest of the temple. If not . . . well, it will take a few weeks to be sure, but if there is no sample then this expedition loses its importance.”

“The less time we're on the island, the better. It gives the coalition less time to respond.” Isaac looked back at the map. “My pilots are good, and I'm sure the Hermite is ready for a fight, but if the Coalition shows up in force we might have to hand over whatever we find.”

The three of them stood for a moment, until Captain Oswald broke the silence. “Thank you, Doctor. We'll work out the details over the days to come, but do you have anything else for us tonight?”

“No.”

“In that case, I'm going to wish you both good night.” He turned for the hatch, but stopped before passing through. “Oh, and Major?”

“Yes?”

“The strange tardiness of your orders has not escaped my notice. It would be troubling if there were dissent in High Command regarding a mission of this importance. I'm looking into it . . . but for now, I would appreciate it if you kept your concerns to yourself. As a personal favor?”

“Certainly, Captain.”

“Excellent. In that case, good night to both of you.”

“Captain.”

“Captain.”

And with this the short man strode from the room. Lukas immediately sank back into her chair. A frustrated sigh escaped her lips.

“I don't believe it. The nerve! The . . . pure egotism!”

“You're upset that Oswald pushed you into this conversation tonight?”

“I'm upset that he has access to information that should be secret! If he already knows about the ruins under the altar, who else might know? My project is endangered already, and we're not even to Saint Marcos yet.”

“He's playing a couple different games here, and I don't know why.”

“Do you think we can trust him?”

“I . . . think so. He knows more than he should, but I believe him when he says that he wants this expedition to succeed. Who knows, maybe his connections will be useful?”

Lukas snorted. “You mean his total disregard for authority? It's more likely to get him a court martial.”

“Perhaps. Either way, he runs a tight ship. You have to give him that.”

“Competence is no indicator of trustworthiness, Major. Now if you'll excuse me, I have work to do.”

“Have a pleasant evening, Doctor.”

Lukas slipped out through the hatchway. Isaac stood for a moment, looking at the map of Saint Marcos. Cambric . . . the sample . . . ancient ruins . . . the Coalition . . . he had a lot to think about. Isaac went upstairs to get some fresh air.

024 -- Aboard the Zeta

The Zeta's galley was directly aft of Andrew's cabin. It was cramped even though there were only three of them eating breakfast. Emma, Thom, and Andrew sat in silence over three bowls of steaming gray porridge.

Thom finished his first. “Well --” he said, stretching, “I've got to head aft . . . take a look at that heat exchanger that broke loose yesterday. It'll probably take most of the morning to fix.” He shot a significant look at Emma.

She pretended not to see it. “Oh, don't worry, Thom, I'm sure Danny and I can keep an eye on things just fine. Right, hon?”

Andrew nodded.

“Alright. Remember, call me on the tube if you see anything.”

“Of course.”

Thom left. Emma turned to Andrew. “You just about done, hon?”

He choked down one last gulp of the piping hot mash. “Yep.” They rinsed their tin utensils before heading forward along the passageway. During the day, the cloth walls glowed slightly with light from the outside.

Emma stepped through the hatchway through which Andrew had eavesdropped the night before. “Have you ever been in the cockpit of an airship before, Danny?”

Andrew shook his head.

“Well, I'll just have to give you the tour then, hon.” He followed her through the hatchway.

“This is the operations room.” There was a wide table in the center of the room, lit with a large electric lamp and covered in detailed maps of topography and air currents. The walls were covered in gauges, tachometers, levers, valves, and large two pronged electrical scissor switches. Most of the instruments were mounted on thin metal brackets to save weight, exposing the twisted mass of cables and wires behind them. It was the greatest concentration of machinery Andrew had ever seen in one place.

“That hatch on the port side goes to the captain's quarters – that's Thom, of course – and the one on the starboard side is the first mate's – me. The table – oh, hold on a minute . . .” Emma was examining one of the pressure gauges, frowning. She leaned over to a large, flared tube that protruded from the deck just forward of the table. “Thom!”

“What?!?” His voice came back after a brief pause, tinny but clearly audible.

“Did you turn off the number three compressor?”

“Yeah – snapped belt. Gimme a minute, damn it!”

“No, no hurry. Just making sure.”

Thom grunted something. Emma turned back to Andrew. “Come on, hon, let's go up to the cockpit.”

Andrew followed her, stepping over another hatchway lip. “And here's where we fly the Zeta.”

He gaped. The cockpit was a round room, but there was no floor. Instead, triangular glass panels stretched down and inward on all sides, leading to a pair of battered leather seats mounted on swivels at the bottom of the inverted pyramid. Below them the view was breathtaking – the blue ocean stretched out on all sides to the horizon, glittering in the sun. There wasn't a cloud in the sky.

Emma stepped out over the glass on a narrow metal gangway without a second thought, descending to the seats. “Come on, Danny, I'll let you sit in the copilot's chair.” There was no handrail – Andrew gulped, and then followed her. Don't look down, don't look down, don't look . . .he grabbed the leather armrest with relief, hauling himself up into the chair. An instrument column stretched down from the ceiling, many of its gauges matching the readings from the operations room, while another brass speaking tube wound through the center of it.

“The Zeta used to be a customs airship, that's why it has such great visibility. That's one of the reasons we picked it.”

Andrew took a deep breath, and then peered over the edge of the seat. He was hanging ten thousand feet above the ocean, with nothing but a few centimeters of glass between him and the sky . . . it was enough to make him feel lightheaded.

“Try moving around.”

“Huh?”

“Like this.” Emma put her feet on a metal bar that circled the pilot's seat. By moving her feet along it, she could spin the chair left or right, affording herself a full range of vision around the Zeta.

Andrew spun all they way around a few times. “Wow!”

“Let me show you something else – but you have to promise not to touch anything.”

“Okay.”

She reached over behind his chair. A moment later, another panel of controls swung out from behind his head. In the center was a worn metal control yoke, surrounded by another series of levers, knobs, and dials. Someone had marked a series of knobs labeled “trim tabs” with grease pencil, while another few levers had bits of colored string hanging from them. One lever had been removed entirely, with a small scribbled note ending in an exclamation point covering the gap.

“The yoke controls pitch and roll, while the levers are mostly throttles. There are pedals, too, for controlling yaw, but I won't pull those out right now.” She swung the control arm back behind his head.

“So where are we going?”

“Well, we're headed North right now.” Emma pointed to a large compass set into the ceiling just forward of the instrument mast. “We're crossing the ocean, but we haven't had a sighting since the storm and so we're not entirely where we'll make landfall. Longitude is a bit more tricky to measure in midair than on the ocean.”

“You mean we don't know where we are?”

“Don't worry, Hon. We've got a pretty good idea. Thom's usually right about these sorts of things.”

They sat for a moment, looking at the sea roll by far below them.

“You know, Danny . . . Thom is usually right about some other things as well.”

Here it comes.

“What do you mean?”

“Danny . . . he thinks you aren't telling us the truth.”

Andrew looked down at his hands.

“He thinks . . . he knows that you weren't a cabin boy.”

Andrew said nothing.

“Danny . . . Thom's not a bad man. Believe me, I should know . . . but he's had a tough go of it. If you lie to him, hon, he'll know, and he doesn't like it when people lie to him on his ship.”

Let's make her work for it. Andrew shook his head back and forth, still staring down. “I can't tell him, I can't tell anybody . . . they told me not to . . .”

“Danny, you can tell me. Tell me, and we can think of some way to explain it to Thom.”

“. . . can't . . .”

“You have to, Danny! Listen, we were working late last night, and he told me that if you didn't come clean by lunch time today he was going to have to force it out of you. He was going to start this morning, but I only just talked him out of it!”

Andrew turned to Emma. He let his voice crack. “R-really?”

“Like I said, hon, he's not a bad man, but he won't stop until you tell the truth. You've got to give me something!”

“They told me I couldn't. That if I told anyone, people would get hurt.” He hugged his knees through the baggy pants.

“No one will get hurt, hon. I promise.”

“Really?”

“I promise. But please, give me something to tell Thom.”

“Well . . .” Andrew hesitated. “. . . we were headed for Cimbria.”

“Who?”

“Me and . . . my mother.”

“Your mother?”

“Yes. She . . .”

“Oh, hon . . . I'm so sorry . . . Oh, hon . . . come here.”

Emma wrapped him in a warm hug from the other chair. It felt genuine. Andrew sniffled a bit for effect.

Eventually she let him go. “Where were you going?”

Andrew rubbed his eyes once before continuing. “I don't know . . . somewhere in Oberon. She couldn't tell me exactly where.”

“Why?”

“We got a letter. My mother read it, and then burned it. She said we had to leave right away. I don't know much else for certain, but I've guessed some.”

“Like what?”

“My father is Cimbrian, but I've never met him. Mother never told me anything, but she used to get letters. She would burn the letters, but one time she forgot to burn the envelope. It had no name on it, but it was from Oberon. I think my father sent her money to put me through school.”

Emma's eyes bored into him, very different than the soft sympathy she had been giving him just a moment ago. Andrew swallowed and then pushed on.

“Also . . . no, I shouldn't.”

“What?”

“I can't . . . I don't want Captain Roving to know about this.”

“Why not?”

“I don't think I could trust him if he knew. I'm not totally naïve . . . it might make things complicated.” Andrew looked at his hands. “I'll tell you, but only if you can keep it secret from him.”

Emma nodded. “Of course, hon, your secret is safe with me.” She reached over and squeezed his hands with her own. Andrew looked up and rewarded her with a smile. She's good.

“The last letter she got before we left came differently than the others. A soldier came to the house on horseback, exhausted. He gave her the letter and a purse full of money. As soon as she read it, he said that the arrangements had all been made and we needed to leave that evening. And he also said something else.”

He looked around once, to see if anyone was eavesdropping, before leaning in towards Emma.

“This is what he said. He said, 'He may not last long, but he wants to see you and the boy before he goes.' I think my father is dying, and he's spent a lot to get my mom and I to him. And now that mom is . . . I'm the only . . .”

Emma leaned back, nodding. “You don't want Thom to know that your father may be rich, do you?”

“I'm afraid of what he might do. You won't tell him, will you?”

“Of course not, hon. I gotta tell him something to get you back to Oberon, though.” Emma twisted her mouth up like she was thinking.

Andrew breathed an internal sigh of relief. I think she bought it.

“Alright, here's what we'll tell Thom. Listen carefully.”

Andrew nodded.

“We'll mention your mom, but not the letters or the rider. Let's just say you were just headed to Cimbria to find work, and you were afraid to talk to Thom when you first woke up. Then, after we drop this cargo, I'll send a wire to your father, and we'll get you sent off his direction. How does that sound?”

“Good. Emma, thank you.”

“Don't worry about it, hon.” She smiled at him. “Now, would you mind grabbing me an apple from the kitchen? I always forget to bring one with me when I come up here. They're in the cabinet on the port side.”

“Sure.” Andrew lowered himself from the chair onto the narrow metal catwalk. He climbed out of the cockpit, but instead of heading straight to the galley he paused in the operations room. Glancing back at the hatch to the cockpit, he moved to the speaking tube and placed his ear to it. He heard nothing for minute – then –

“Thom? Did you catch all that?” It was Emma's voice, coming from the cockpit.

“Yeah. So, I'm a hardened criminal now?”

“Relax. I was helping him open up.”

“Well, I think you laid it on a bit thick.”

“We got what we wanted, right?”

“Yeah, yeah.”

“What do you want to do?”

“Exactly what you said. Drop the cargo, send a telegram to Oberon. We gotta find out who was expecting the Lydia and send them a little note of our own. I think a nice little finder's fee should be in order.”

“What about the kid?”

“Keep on like I don't know. That way he won't try to run. And we lock the cabin at night once we're on the ground.”

“'Kay. Think his dad really is loaded?”

“Only one way to find out. If not, we let him go. 'Till then, lock and key.”

“I'll tell you his story in front of him over lunch, okay?”

“Yeah.”

Andrew left the tube and tip-toed through the hatch towards the galley. That didn't take nearly as long as I thought it would.