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.

021 -- Dockside

"Careful . . . Carefully now!"

Isaac tried not to watch. The left leg and most of the hip assembly of his mount was packed in a large wooden crate, hanging in the air above the Hermite. He knew that he would only hinder the dockworkers in this part of the operation, and so tried to distract himself. Images of the delicate machinery inside smashing apart on the deck and spinning off into the murky harbor water kept springing to mind.

"Quite an operation, eh, Major? I have to say, they're going about it quick enough, for a bunch of fish, at least."

Reynolds had joined him at the rail.

"Yes, they are, Lieutenant. Although I prefer not to watch."

The younger pilot was right -- Oswald's men had been nothing but the model of efficiency for the past day and a half. Holliday suspected that there was some grumbling over the canceled shore leave (as would be only natural in a ship that had been at sea for more than eight months already), but if there was discontent it didn't show.

Doctor Lukas' excavators had been loaded the day before. She had insisted that the more delicate scientific instruments be stored in her cabin instead of below decks, and Isaac felt sorry for the dozen seamen she had hounded for the entire evening with exhortations for care and delicate handling of the scores of weighty boxes. With the amount of instruments she had sent to her cabin instead of the hold, Isaac wondered if Lukas would have to sleep on deck . . . but, luckily, this was not his problem.

The cavalry mounts, however, were. After careful consultation with both Captain Oswald's first officer and chief engineer, it was determined that all four mounts would have to go in the very bottom of the ship (due to their weight) if proper trim was to be maintained. Piles of shells and cambric rods for the ship's boilers lay stacked on deck, all moved to make way for the loading of the rough wooden crates through the forward hatches. A small army of sailors was sweating belowdecks, moving food, parts, and other stores from the hold into whatever space was available to make room for Holliday's squadron equipment. Salted hams hung amongst sailors' hammocks, sacks of flour were stashed beneath gun carriages, and tins of lime juice for the treatment of scurvy were underfoot everywhere like rats. It was the image of barely restrained chaos.

Aft, the cambric tender was pulled alongside the Hermite, its crane lowering fresh boiler rods aboard and removing spend ones. The fresh ones were of course wrapped carefully in asbestos padding to avoid prematurely activating them. If anything, the crew was treating these with more caution than either Holliday's or Lukas' equipment, as they fully knew the danger of a chain reaction. Stories of molten metal eating through the bottom of a ship's hull abounded in the fleet, although the tellers never could quite seem to remember which ship this had happened to when pressed for details.

The Hermite itself was almost brand-new, only in the fleet for three years. From a blunt, knife-like prow, the steel hull stretched back in sleek lines that were the latest style in naval architecture. A third of the way back from the bow, the main deck stepped down to allow the secondary battery (mounted in recessed swivel ports along both sides of the ship) free space to sweep back and forth. The main armament of the Hermite, however, was mounted in two large turrets, one fore and one aft. They looked like upturned wash-basins, except that from each one two large black cannons protruded (covered with protective jackets when not in use). The superstructure was carried along the centerline of the ship between the two turrets, coming up into two peaks forward and aft. Except for the black cannons, the ship was painted a uniform gray, with a bit of red hull showing at the waterline.

"Its good to be on active assignment again, eh, Major? You know, get out into the sun a little bit? Out into the field?"

Isaac merely grunted in agreement.

After a short pause Reynolds tried again. "So, what do you know about Doctor Lukas? Captain Short says you've worked with her before."

Isaac shrugged wordlessly.

Lieutenant Reynolds took the hint. "Suit yourself, then. I'll be below if you need me, Major."

Isaac smiled to himself. He usually liked the young lieutenant, but this was not a good time with the squadron's mounts hanging in midair over the quay. One of the greatest benefits of command was that he could tell his subordinates to leave him alone when he wanted them to.

It wasn't just the precarious state of his equipment that had Isaac feeling antisocial. This operation had obviously been in the works for quite some time, and yet his orders had come extremely last-minute. This meant one of two things. Most likely there had been a fight in high command over his assignment; something that happened with a regularity most officers in the Cimbrian army didn't like to admit. Usually it was some general trying to get his pet subordinate put on a prestigious assignment, or block another general's pick from getting the same assignment out of spite. He could usually count on Colonel Agincourt to fend off these sorts of assaults on his unit -- the man had a way of soothing irate generals that Isaac didn't think he could ever emulate. It had probably just taken longer than usual this time, and so his assignment had been in question until the very last moment.

The other option was more troubling. The only other reason Holliday could think of was that someone was trying to keep him in the dark about the situation. By abruptly plucking him from his post in Oberon to send him overseas, he had no time to make any arrangements in Cimbria proper before his departure . . . not that he had any idea what those arrangements would have been. Isaac was largely ignorant of the political machinations within Cimbrian high command, but being kept in the dark deliberately never meant anything good.

He shook his head in frustration. Isaac had spent the past two days spinning these two ideas back and forth in his head, but there wasn't enough information to do anything more than worry. Perhaps Captain Oswald or Doctor Lukas would tell him more once they were under way, but until then there was nothing he could do.

Unless . . . Isaac's head came up.

Half an hour later he was back ashore in the naval station administration building, dashing off a memo. It read:

"From: Maj. Holliday

To: Cap. Short

Zeke -- captain of Hermite knew about orders before I did. Were issued at least two, probable three weeks before I got them. Probably just squabbling brass -- can you ask around?"

He sealed the envelope, and handed it to the secretary. Pausing for a second, he grabbed an extra piece of stationary and scribbled another brief message.

"Dearest Helen,

I arrived in Moorehead safely, so don't worry about me. The train ride was a bit rough, but not too bad. This assignment should be a peach -- they tell me it comes from high up but I don't know where.

Give my love to the children, and let them know their favorite uncle will be back soon from Saint Marcos.

As always, your brother,

Isaac"

This envelope he kept with him. A quarter of an hour later he dropped it off at the post office, before walking back to the ship whistling. He was feeling much more sociable now; perhaps he'd make up for his earlier rudeness with Reynolds.

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.

018 -- Isaac Holliday

"Rahm's sake, are they interviewing Reynolds again?"

Zeke slid into the squeaky leather armchair facing Isaac's desk before continuing. "I mean, he's a decent enough pilot, but I didn't know we were hiring a press officer."

"Someone's got to do it, right?" replied Isaac after a short pause, without removing his eyes from the report he was halfway through reading.

"It looks like they brought a sketch artist, too. Are they really going to put his face in paper?"

"Mmm. Probably. What's that new column?"

" 'Faces of Our Heroes' or something like that. What bullshit. Total propagandist bullshit. You'd think we were at war, with the rate they've been putting pretty-boy faces on posters lately." Zeke leaned forward to see through the office window. "Although you should take a look at the artist. She's cute. Maybe I can convince her to come draw me for the paper instead. How's this for a profile?" Zeke turned sideways, straightening up and splashing an outrageous smile on his face.

"That's lovely, Zeke." replied Isaac without looking up. "How will she ever resist you?"

"Spoil sport. You're not even trying."

"I'm not trying to seduce a young artist?"

"What, you don't think she's cute?"

"What I think is that the more time they spend talking to Lieutenant Reynolds, the less of my time gets wasted. And HE actually enjoys the attention -- sounds like a win-win situation."

"Ha. Since when did you become such a grumpy old man?"

Isaac looked up from the report he had been working on to direct a mock glare at his executive officer. "I'm the grumpy old man? Aren't you two weeks older than me?"

"Bah, two weeks is nothing compared to a certain . . . youthfulness of heart. Isn't that right, Corporal?"

A blank-faced young soldier had just entered Isaac's office carrying a large stack of brown envelopes. Unlike the two older officers, he was actually wearing his uniform jacket and was pressed and polished with impeccable precision from head to toe. "I wouldn't know anything about that, sir." he replied, looking carefully at the floor. "Your dispatches, Major Holliday."

"Thank you, Corporal Attley. Dismissed."

The young corporal turned and left quickly, orders safely deposited on Isaac's desk. Zeke watched him leave. "Break another one, eh, Holliday?"

"Actually, no, as a matter of fact." Isaac spoke slowly as he sorted through the day's dispatches. "I haven't done a thing to him. He's been that way ever since he was transferred. His old CO said that the -- "

"Slate? Wasn't Slate his CO?"

"Yeah . . . he asked to be transferred here after receiving a field commendation. Passed up command school to come do clerical work. He hasn't said a word to me in three months. Ah, here's the intelligence brief, let's see who's stirring up trouble this month." Isaac tore open a fat envelope that was marked SECRET in blue ink.

"More trouble in Thyrene . . . some unrest in the occupied territories . . . strife in the Escobar confederation . . . nothing much new here . . ."

Zeke was sorting through the rest of the mail. "Hey now, what's this?" He pulled out a white envelope, sealed with red wax. Printed on the front was CONFIDENTIAL: MAJ. ISAAC HOLLIDAY.

"Huh. I don't know." Isaac accepted the envelope from Zeke. Breaking the seal, he unfolded the envelope and tore open the waxed paper that encased the packet inside. "This is how they usually send official orders, but I don't know what they'd have for us right now . . . I haven't heard of any projects in the works . . ."

"Maybe they found something? Another piece of crap cavalry mount captured in the peninsula campaign for us to test?"

Isaac started reading, his eyes widening after the first couple sentences.

"What? What is it?"

"I'm . . . I've been transferred!"

"What? Where? Why? I don't believe it!"

"Look for yourself!" Isaac handed the thick official paper to Zeke.

". . . are instructed to proceed to the island of St. Marcos -- that's occupied, right? What's in St. Marcos?"

"Keep reading." Isaac stood and walked over to a small cambric hot plate to pour himself another cup of coffee.

". . . rendezvous with someone named Dr. Lukas and his team . . . Reynolds, Smith, and Albans are going with you . . . there's a company of infantry, too -- their CO is Captain Grassland, looks like you'll be running the show . . . Holliday, I don't get it. Who is this Dr. Lukas? And why does he suddenly need a company of infantry and four cavalry jockeys to protect him?"

"Doctor Lukas is a scientist, Zeke -- a very well-known, well-respected scientist. We could be chasing nearly anything. She's an archeologist, a physicist, an expert in cambric metal --"

"Dr. Lukas is a she?"

Isaac took another sip of coffee. "Yep."

Signs of recognition began to spread slowly across Zeke's face. "Waaaaitttt . . . Aderyn Lukas? Didn't you once . . . years ago . . . ?"

"We've worked together before." Isaac sat back down heavily behind his desk. "You were there, remember? The Shropshire assignment . . . I had just made lieutenant."

Zeke's face broke out into a grin. "Now I do. She's beautiful, isn't she?" Isaac didn't reply. "But . . . difficult to work with . . ."

"Yeah, that's one way of putting it. Difficult."

"I wonder if that's how you got transferred . . . do you think she requested you?"

"I very much doubt that. But keep reading, Zeke, there's more." Isaac turned his attention back to his coffee.

Zeke continued scanning the page. "You're leaving today?!?"

Isaac nodded. "I have a train to catch in --" he glanced at the clock hanging from the wall "-- three hours. Reynolds, Smith and Albans leave tomorrow, along with our equipment and maintenance teams. You've been appointed acting CO in my place, so I guess I'm coming back eventually."

Zeke, flabbergasted, finished reading the page and handed it back to Isaac. "They're even sending someone to your place to grab your clothes."

"The squadron should be fine without me for a couple weeks, Zeke. I know you won't have any trouble keeping the 303rd in line."

"I'll go tell the other three right now. Where are you off to?"

"I have a couple things to do before I catch the train. Take care of yourself, Zeke." Isaac had donned his uniform jacket and was buttoning it down the front. "I'm going to go see Colonel Agincourt."

---

"Did you find something unclear in your orders, Major Holliday?"

It had been a short walk from the 303rd's hangar to Defense Headquarters. A quick nod to the sentry and he had passed unmolested under the stone eagles guarding the gate. Luckily Colonel Agincourt had been in, and after only a few minutes he'd been ushered into a spacious, wood-paneled office.

"No, sir, nothing was unclear."

Colonel Agincourt was a fit, active man in his mid fifties. He was clean-shaven, which was odd for a senior military officer, and was mostly bald with neatly trimmed gray hair at his temples. When working at his desk, he usually wore thin wire-frame glasses; they were folded neatly and sitting next to a small vase at the moment.

"Everything has been provided for? You will have no trouble making the train, I trust?"

"Yes, sir."

"Then why are you here, Major?"

"Sir, it's just that . . . these orders are highly irregular. Normally my team and I have a pretty good idea of what is coming down through the system to us. This assignment is totally out of nowhere."

The Colonel returned his gaze steadily without replying. Isaac continued after a short pause.

"And I don't understand why my unit has been given this assignment. We're test pilots in the 303rd, and my men are some of the best, but if this is a combat situation I don't see how one squad of steam cavalry are going to make much of a difference. If this isn't a combat situation, then I'm sure that there are engineering units that have equipment and training better suited to assisting Dr. Lukas."

"Major Holliday, surely you understand the need for operational security. Your orders contain only the information that command has deemed necessary for the completion of your mission."

Isaac pursed his lips before replying. "Yes, sir, I do. But should the situation change, I am not confident that I have enough information to act appropriately. I'm working in the dark here, Colonel, at least give me something."

The colonel took another long look at Holliday before standing up from his desk. Isaac watched him absentmindedly gaze at the bookshelves lining the office; he knew from long association with Colonel Agincourt that they contained mostly translations of classics, discussions of military theory, and the odd book of poetry. Isaac himself, while able to acknowledge that someone might actually enjoy reading, found the desire to actually spend money on books puzzling.

"Dr. Aderyn Lukas. You've worked with her before?" began the Colonel finally, still facing the bookshelves.

"Yes, briefly. It was several years ago."

"How long were you assigned to her project?"

"A few months."

The Colonel nodded to himself, and then turned back to Isaac. "We believe that Dr. Lukas may be a threat to the security of this nation."

"Lukas? Impossible!"

"Why do you say that, Major?"

"She's . . . well, from working with her . . . she has no reason to--"

"Surely you're aware of her background, Major Holliday?"

"Of course . . . but her family has been here for generations, right?"

"It is the actions of her family that have put her under suspicion -- more than that I cannot say. I assigned you to this mission because I need someone I can trust to keep an eye on her."

"But -- the idea of Lukas as a spy is ludicrous! It's silly, there's --"

"Major Holliday," Colonel Agincourt cut in sharply. "Do you have personal feelings that will interfere with your successful completion of this mission?"

"No, of course not. No, sir."

"Good." He paused again. "Holliday, I need you to keep close to the doctor. Above all else, keep her safe. Remember that."

"Yes, sir."

"You have a train to catch, Major. Dismissed."

---

"All aboard!"

Isaac caught the footplate of the carriage right as the train began to move. It had been a near thing -- only with a cross-platform sprint had he managed to make the train. Isaac presented his ticket to the exasperated conductor and was pointed back several cars to the coach seating.

He had just squeezed his way past a mother shepherding two small children down the narrow aisle when Isaac heard a familiar voice. It was coming from a nearby compartment with it's door slightly ajar; Isaac stopped to listen. The woman's voice, low yet crystal-clear, was speaking in quick, carefully measured tones.

". . . while in reality, the scientific basis for racial superiority has very little basis in fact. Almost all of the experiments you just cited are significantly flawed in terms of objectivity. They were all conducted by Cimbrian scientists, and in most cases the attributes measured were acquired, not inherent. Thus, even if the experiments had been scientifically valid, the only point they would have proven would have been the superiority of the Cimbrian educational system in producing pupils knowledgeable in the various fields valued by Cimbrian culture as a whole, which is of course a foregone conclusion."

"Why, you . . . are you calling the whole of the Cimbrian scientific community biased?!?"

"All scientific inquiry undertaken by humans has the potential for bias. Perfect rationality is the only defense we have, and humans are not perfect. The Cimbrian scientific community is especially vulnerable to bias, due to the widespread involvement of governmental and military agencies funding this community. When it is in the state's best interest to acquire a certain result, there will always be scientists willing to produce that result for a reasonable price."

A short, angry bearded man stormed out of the compartment. "I will not sit here and be lectured to by some silly housewife -- out of my way!" he added as he pushed past Isaac. Isaac graciously stepped aside before entering the compartment himself.

Sitting alone was a tall woman with long brown hair. She certainly could be called beautiful, but she could also easily be called harsh or severe with her narrow lips and sharp, thin eyebrows. Large blue eyes blazed against her fair skin, and a scientist's notepad lay open on the seat next to her.

"Ironically, even his last assumption is incorrect, a fact that he could have easily have verified if he had taken the time to check my hands for a wedding band. They were both plainly visible through more than half the conversation. What are you doing here, Major Holliday?"

"It's good to see you too, Dr. Lukas. How did you know about my promotion?"

Lukas gave him a puzzled stare. "You're wearing your uniform. Military uniforms exist to inform others of the wearer's status . . . your insignia is clearly that of a Major. There is the remote possibility that you are wearing the incorrect insignia, but given the severity of the penalties--"

"No, you're right. It's Major Holliday now."

"Oh. My congratulations. You haven't answered my question yet." Lukas leaned over to reach her handbag and began rummaging around inside of it for something.

"I received a transfer order just this morning from headquarters . . . they're sending me to Moorehead to catch a ship. I've been assigned to a certain scientist's project on St. Marcos."

"Assigned to --" Lukas looked up from her handbag, right arm still inside of it up to the elbow. "You're my military liaison?!?"

"Do you have a problem with that?" Isaac sat, sinking into the deeply upholstered cushions.

"No, no . . . no problem, I'm just surprised." Lukas' arm emerged, holding a worn and chipped wooden pipe, along with a small leather bag and a pack of matches.

"I'll take it that means you didn't request me personally."

"I saw no reason to. Should I have? Your file doesn't list any special expertise in the area I'm headed to." Dr. Lukas was packing the pipe quickly and delicately with tobacco from the bag.

"No, I was just curious."

"Is the rest of your squad with you? How many pilots have been assigned?"

"They leave tomorrow -- three more pilots and our support staff. Zeke's staying with the 303rd as acting CO, while I've been sent ahead to work with the ship's captain. Transporting steam cavalry can be tricky business."

"We'll need to secure my equipment first; it is extremely delicate and is vital to the success of my project. I will need to make sure it is in the most protected portion of the ship."

"Of course, doctor." He leaned back into the thick upholstery. "So, how have you been, Lukas?"

The tall woman paused with the pipe in her teeth and a match ready to strike against the matchbook. "Why are you engaging me in small talk, Major Holliday?"

"I worked with you for six months, Lukas. You're my friend, I want to know how you've been. This is what friends do, remember?"

Lukas extinguished her match and took a few experimental puffs before replying to Isaac. "You always found it boring when I talked about my work."

"Consider it professional development, then. Establishing a personal relationship is one of the keys to a frictionless work environment."

Lukas smiled. "Your grasp of psychology is . . . suspect at best. And I remember several instances where you actually told me to shut up."

Isaac adopted a comically wounded expression. "What? Me? No, I couldn't have--"

"Does 'Lukas, a bar is really not the place to discuss thermal transfer coefficients!' ring a bell? Or perhaps 'Lukas, I don't care what the acceleration curves look like!' Or--"

"Alright, alright, let's not talk about work. Have you done any traveling lately?"

"Well, I spent a few years doing field work for the academy -- after awarding my PhD, the anthropology department hired for an expedition. We studied several developing cultures on the East side of the Greyspikes. Two years wasn't enough time to finish the project, so I spent my sabbatical continuing my studies of the Daki, a hunter-gather tribe that lives--"

"One thing's for sure -- you still work too hard, Lukas."

Lukas frowned, caught in mid sentence. "That's an opinion, Holliday, not an observation."

"Lukas, look . . . you spend two years in the jungle, working, and you finally get some time off. How do you spend it? Doing more work!"

"I fail to see your point."

"Most people try to relax when they get some time off. Have you ever tried that? Relaxing?"

"I found the study of living beings quite refreshing after a decade of work in geology and archaeology. Anthropology was a welcome change."

"When I think about relaxing, I think about spending a few weeks on the beach, with a little cabin all to myself. Take a quick dip in the morning, sit out in the sun during the day, maybe head down to the bar in the evening . . . most people would find that more relaxing than spending three years in a grass hut eating roots and berries."

"I am not 'most people,' Isaac. I thought you knew that." Lukas blew a perfect blue smoke ring as if to accentuate her point.

"Mmm." Isaac looked out the window for a moment as the train began to gather speed. "So how did you get hired by the military? I thought you just said that one of the biggest threats to impartiality in science was government funding."

"It is. But . . . I made an exception in this case. Their proposal was particularly compelling."

"Why?"

Lukas hesitated. "Subject matter. We're studying cambric."

"And you couldn't resist?"

"It is a complicated project. We could learn an enormous amount, and I'm the only one qualified to lead it . . . if anyone else tried, they would most likely fail."

"But you won't?"

Lukas looked up, surprised at the question. "Of course not. I'm the best."

Isaac laughed again. "You know, Lukas, if anyone else said that, it would sound egotistical."

"Why not me?"

"Because when you say it, it's a statement of fact." Isaac stood. "I should probably be heading to my seat, Doctor Lukas. I'll see you tomorrow."

"Yes, tomorrow." She had already resumed studying her notes, a haze of blue smoke beginning to fill the compartment. Isaac slipped out, and the door slid shut. He stood for a moment, thinking about the Colonel's warning, before continuing to his seat.