020 -- An Early Morning

Isaac Holliday stood at the end of the navy pier in Moorehead, hands shoved deep into the pockets of his dress overcoat. Summer came slowly each year to the Cimbrian coast, and even this late in the year a chilly morning wind was coming out of the West. A grey mist floated over the still waters of the bay, but it would soon dissipate as soon as the sun finished rising.

Isaac suppressed a yawn, instead rolling his shoulders back and forth in an attempt to loosen his stiff muscles. The train had arrived in Moorehead late the night before, and most of the lodging houses had been closed by the time he reached the waterfront. Turned away from civilian establishments, he had tried the Moorehead naval station with only slightly better luck. The sentry had let him in, but the officers' barracks was full and so Isaac ended up spending a few restless hours on a wooden bench in the administrative headquarters' waiting room. It not much better than nothing at all, and at first sign of daylight he had gotten up again and set about making himself presentable.

The officers' locker room was still empty when he found it. Stripping to his underclothes, he filled a basin with cold water from the tap and submerged his face in it with one quick motion. Isaac bared his teeth against the stabbing coldness, and forced himself to count to thirty before emerging from the water gasping. He toweled off and examined himself in the mirror above the sink.

A pair of black eyes stared back at him, dark brown iris nearly indistinguishable from pupil. They were a little red from the long night of travel, but Isaac had seen much worse in nearly twenty years of service. His face was starting to show the signs of age and stress, but Isaac didn't mind the small wrinkles. What concerned him was the bit of gut he had started showing after moving from active duty to command of the 303rd. Isaac frowned. "Maybe a trip will be good. Get me back in shape," he muttered at the image in the mirror.

He dropped to the hard tile floor for his customary morning pushups, and between the cold water and the exertion Isaac began to shake aside his morning drowsiness. Opening his campaign duffel, he removed soap and razor for his morning shave. The razor's ivory handle was worn smooth where he held it, but the blade was sharp and the metal free of any rust. Morning ritual complete, he unrolled his dress uniform from the duffel, pleased to see that it was nearly wrinkle free. Years of service had taught him several things, not the least of which was how to pack a uniform when traveling.

He supressed a shiver as he slid a pale leg into the trousers. An hour later, Isaac was standing on the pier waiting for the captain of the Hermite to come ashore.

Isaac had been the first one there, but he wasn't alone for long. A collection of navy clerks had trickled onto the pier, along with a pair of military police officers and a small band. The Hermite itself was visible only as a dim silhouette offshore, a pair of signal masts protruding from the early-morning fog.

Isaac checked his pocketwatch. The ship's captain was due ashore at 6:00 am. At precisely 5:58 an officer's whistle could be heard from the fog, along with the splash of oars. The soldiers came to attention with a click of bootheels, and after a brief countoff the band eased into the national anthem.

A small boat soon materialized out of the mist, moving smartly under the power of four sets of oars. The gold epaulettes of a captain's uniform could be seen in the stern sitting next to the helmsman. The boat pulled up low to the pier's ladder as the last strains of the anthem faded away, and Isaac saw the captain's foot touch the bottom rung at prescisely the same moment that the Moorehead clocktower (still invisible through the morning haze) began to chime. He checked his watch: 6:00 exactly.

The head and then shoulders of the Hermite's captain appeared over the edge of the pier in short order. He was a short man, bald and round-faced, and he was wearing an impeccably cleaned and pressed blue dress uniform. The golden stripes of a full captain were stitched to either shoulder, and an unobtrustive but impressive series of battle tags lined his lapel.

Isaac watched the man scan the faces in front him, cataloguing all of them before returning the soldiers' salute. Instead of waiting for the clerical staff to come to him, he approached the first one himself and began speaking quickly and forcefully, but without rancor. In short order the midshipmen were sent scampering away, the band was dismissed, and the short man turned to Isaac.

"Major Holliday, I presume?"

"Yes sir." Isaac threw a crisp salute.

The captain of the Hermite returned it before extending his hand. "A pleasure to meet you at last, Major Holliday. I am Captain Oswald. Will you walk with me, Major?"

Captain Oswald had already set off down the pier. Isaac turned and took a few hurried steps to keep up with him. "At last?"

"You've been the subject of much speculation in the wardroom aboard the Hermite for the past week, Major."

"And why is that?"

Captain Oswald looked at him. "You don't know?"

Isaac shook his head.

"Hmm." Oswald turned forward again. Isaac was having trouble keeping up with him, despite the shorter man's smaller stride. "A week ago, we were part of Rear Admiral Dunland's squadron, enforcing the Thyrennian blockade. An order came by special courier that we were to rendezvous with you and Dr. Lukas here in Moorehead."

"I was mentioned by name?"

"Yes."

"Odd. I didn't know about the assignment until yesterday."

Oswald nodded before continuing with his narrative. "Admiral Dunland wasn't happy, of course, as the blockade is stretched thin as it is, but the order came straight from the top. The Hermite has been steaming at nearly maximum speed for the past week to make Moorehead by this morning. I was hoping you could tell us what has suddenly become so important to the King."

"I wish that I could. I assume that Doctor Lukas knows more, but she hasn't told me anything."

"What do you know about Doctor Lukas?"

"She's smart. Physics, cambric, archaeology --"

"That would explain some of the equipment we're due to bring on board later today. Excavators, mostly."

"So we'll be digging then. Do you suppose that there's cambric on Saint Marcos?"

Oswald shook his head. "Not likely, and even if there was, why send a cruiser? And the army?"

"Maybe there's unrest. Saint Marcos is an occupied territory, after all."

"Perhaps." Oswald pursed his lips in thought, and then abruptly turned to Isaac. "Well, I'm sure we'll find out in due time. If you'll excuse me, Major, I have a great many things to attend to if the Hermite is to sail again tomorrow evening. My boat will take you aboard where you can talk to my first officer about the necessary preparations for storing your equipment. I know that cavalry mounts can be quite delicate when dissassembled."

"My thanks, Captain. I'll attend to that right away, if you have no further need of me."

Oswald dismissed him with a salute, which Isaac returned before turning back to the boat.

019 -- Rescue

. . . ugh . . .

. . . where am I? . . .

Andrew awoke slowly. He began to perceive a dim light, but the world was too hazy to make out any details. He tried to move, but his arms and legs were leaden and he gave up after a few moments. As his sight swam into focus, he realized that he was lying on his back in a narrow bunk, wrapped in a thin blanket. More bunks were stacked neatly under the low metal ceiling. A gentle humming seemed to fill the air, coming from the walls and the floor.

Hanging from the bunk above him were several bundles of fresh fruit, swaying slowly back and forth. Across from him hung several sausages in a line, and the next bunk down was home to a large wooden crate. In fact, the whole room was filled with assorted food and other junk.

"Thom! Thom, I think he's awake!" came a woman's voice.

A dark silhoutte bent itself over Andrew. "Hon? Hon, can you hear me?" He tried to respond but all he could manage was a hoarse croak.

"Let me get you something to drink, there, hon. Don't move." The woman disappeared, returning a second later. Andrew tried to sit up, but she pushed him back down, instead raising a tin cup to his mouth.

The water helped. Andrew cleared his throat and tried again, this time managing something intelligible. "What happened? Where am I?"

"You were shipwrecked. There's a fishing village on the lee side of Cape Herrod. The fisherman saw your ship against the rocks -- lucky for you we were tied down nearby to weather out the storm."

"I remember . . . the rocks. I tied myself to the mast." Andrew's temples throbbed. "But it's confusing, I thought I saw someone come from above . . ."

"That was me, hon. You were half dead when I found you, I had to cut the ropes just to get you free."

"But . . . how did you get to the ship? Where are we now?"

"We're on the Zeta."

"Is the Zeta another ship?"

The woman looked at him quizzically. "Not exactly . . ."

She stood up from his bed and strode to a shuttered porthole that Andrew hadn't noticed. Grasping a recessed lever, she threw open the metal shutters with one swift movement.

Andrew gaped. They were thousands of feet in the air, suspended above a roiling sea of gray cotton clouds. Sunlight streamed in through the glass, brighter than he had ever seen it. Here and there massive thunderheads rose into the sky, towering far over them and riddled with bolts of lightning. A hard blue sky stretched out to the horizon, cold and brilliant as polished marble.

"Not a ship, hon. An airship. You've never seen an airship before?"

Andrew was still gaping, but luckily the woman continued on talking, saving him the trouble of putting together a reply.

"I'm Emma, Emma Splice -- first mate, chief mechanic, and bookkeeper for the Zeta. I'm sure you'll meet the captain before too long -- he's been busy getting us out of your storm. Speaking of which --" she raised her voice "-- Thom! THOM! HE'S AWAKE!"

A unmistakeably hostile reply came back through the forward hatchway, partially muffled but clear in meaning.

"I guess he's a bit busy still, hon. Speaking of which, what's your name?"

Andrew hesitated. As his vision cleared, he was getting a clearer image of the Zeta's first mate. She was middle aged, with a short, compact stature like a boxer. Her face was wide and friendly, and she had saved his life, but . . . Andrew made his decision.

"My name is Danny. I'm -- I was the cabin boy on the Lydia, three days out of Kumar. We were headed towards Cimbria when we sprung a leak. The storm caught us before we could repair it, and, well . . ."

Emma nodded.

"Did you find anyone else?"

The short woman looked away, shaking her head. "We didn't find the other half of the ship. It was a freak accident that saved your life, the odds of it happening twice are . . . well, I'm sorry, hon. Were you close to anyone on the Lydia?"

Andrew shook his head. "Not really."

The silence was interrupted by the abrupt opening of the forward hatchway. "He's awake, huh?" came a brusque voice.

"His name's Danny, Thom. Danny, this is the captain of the Zeta, Thom Roving."

"Mmm." Andrew and the captain sized each other up. Thom was a nondescript man, of perfectly average height and build. His shaggy brown hair protruded at awkward angles from his head, and a thin layer of stubble coated his chin. His high black boots were scuffed, pitted, and spattered with mud. A pistol hung at a rakish angle from his worn leather belt.

"So this is the kid we went to so much trouble for? Didn't know he was a Tel."

"Be nice Thom, he nearly got killed today."

"So did we! A bit of bad luck and we'd be down on those rocks with him. We were one downdraft away from becoming permanent residents."

When Andrew didn't respond, Thom came closer. He took a seat on an upturned crate, creating a small triangle of faces between Andrew, Emma, and himself. "So. Who are you, kid?"

"My name is Dan--"

"No, I know that already. Where you from?"

"I'm from the village of Kashi, up the river from Kumar."

"Have any family?"

"My mother and sister live alone."

"Do they work for the Cimbrians?"

"No."

"They own a plantation?"

"No. Why do you care?"

"They have any money?"

"Not really. Why is this important?"

Thom leaned back on the crate with a snort. "Real fine one we got here, Emma. What were you doing in that storm, kid?"

"I was the cabin boy on the Lydia. We were caught in the storm and sank."

"Been a cabin boy long?"

Andrew hesitated. "A year or two. Captain Toggart took me on in Kumar."

"What was your run?"

Andrew thought back quickly to Uncle Hamid's business. "From Cimbria to the coast of Tel. We sold iron and other heavy goods along the coast."

"Mmm. A hold full of iron off of Cape Herrod, no wonder the ship sank. Where in Cimbria did you port?"

Andrew named the first Cimbrian city he could think of, the capital and home of the academy. "Oberon."

Thom raised his eyebrows. "Oberon, eh? Your captain Toggart must've been quite the businessman, even if he wasn't much of a sailor." He pushed his crate back and returned to his feet. "Emma, can you find him some clothes?"

Andrew realized for the first time that he was naked under the sheets. The stocky woman shurgged apologetically. "There wasn't a whole lot left when we picked you up . . . the storm tore everything you were wearing to shreds. I'm sure I'll find something that'll fit," she said, turning back to Thom, "although he's pretty skinny."

Thom nodded and turned to leave. "Capain Roving? Can I ask you a question?"

"Hmm?"

"What is the Zeta, exactly?"

Thom paused, already halfway to the hatchway, and turned back. "The Zeta and I get things where they need to go. That's all you need to know."

"We're on an airship?"

This time there was a short pause before Thom replied.

"Yeah, kid, an airship. We've got eighteen cells of lifiting gas above us right now. I've got to get forward." And the hatchway shut with a bang.

Emma stood as well. "Sorry about that, hon. He's still a bit grumpy over what your storm did to his ship. I'll leave the water here while I find some clothes for you -- try and sleep a little more."

Andrew was asleep again before she returned.

---

When he awoke again, it was almost dark outside. The gentle hum of what was probably some sort of engine still permeated the cabin. A slight tinge of purple was all that remained of what must've been a spectacular sunset.

A pair of trousers and rough shirt lay at the end of his bunk, along with a note. "Sorry, these were all I could find. -- Emma" was written in neat Cimbrian, and again in blocky Tel as an afterthought. The trousers were much too big, but by tying the belt snug and rolling up the legs he was able to make them work.

The metal floor was cold on his bare feet and flexed slightly underfoot. In fact, everything in the cabin seemed to be made as thin and light as possible, including the mattress Andrew had been sleeping on for most of the past day. He stumbled to the porthole, stretching as he did to try and loosen the knots in his back.

Looking outside, he got a better view of the sky. There was just enough light still to see the roiling mass of clouds still beneath them. The thunderheads had been left behind, but were still visible in the distance. Chains of lightning still rippled through them with silent fury, illuminating clouds that were no longer touched by the sun.

The hatchway forward had been left adjar, and after thinking for a moment Andrew let himself through. Climbing a ladder, Andrew found a narrow metal gangway that stretched forward through a tunnel of cloth and was lit with a string of yellow electric lamps. At the end was another ladder that led in both directions. Andrew hesitated, unsure which way to go, but he thought he could hear faint voices coming from below and so he went down.

Here was another hatchway slightly adjar. Andrew took hold of the handle to open it when the sounds of conversation made him freeze. Thom and Emma were talking about him.

"Emma, he's not worth anything to us until we know what's really going on."

"You're sure he's lying?"

"There's no way that he's ever been to Oberon and doesn't know what an airship is. And his hands? Working on a ship for a year means calluses, not fresh cuts. He was a passenger, and that means he might have money, but until we know he's nothing but trouble."

"And how are you going to find out?"

"The usual way." There was a pause. "You know . . . I'll convince him."

"Thom!"

"Not much! I'll just shake him up a bit."

"Thom, he's only a kid."

"We don't know what he is. He could work for the Cimbrians, for all we know. He's already almost wrecked my ship once, so as far as I'm concerned he's bad luck."

"Just because you think he's bad luck doesn't mean I'm going to let you frighten the child."

Andrew heard Thom sigh. "Look, if he's worth something, we'll ransom him. You know we need the money. And if he isn't worth anything, we drop him somewhere. Simple as that."

"And if he's connected to the Cimbrians?"

"Not very likely that a Tel is working for Cimbria."

"But if he is?"

There was a pause before Thom replied. "You know what we do in that case."

This time Emma sighed. "Yes, you're right. But Thom, let me try first. I think I can get him to talk to me. If not, he's all yours."

"Sooner rather than later. If the kid is dangerous, I want to know about it."

"Alright. I'll check on him in a minute, he might be awake."

Andrew's heart was pounding as he stepped back from the hatchway. What do I do? Who are these people? He raced up the ladder and back down the gangway as quietly as he could. They're pirates! No, not pirates, but smugglers at least, and kidnappers! What do I do?

I need time to think. Sliding back into his bunk, Andrew closed his eyes and feigned sleep. He had just gotten his breathing back under control when he heard the hatch swing open again. Someone's booted feet came to his bedside, and Andrew could sense a body leaning over him. After a few moments they walked away again, a gentle clank as the hatch swung closed. Then there was a soft click.

She locked the door. I'm a prisoner.