---

'Today is just getting more and more difficult...' was the prevailing thought of one Corporal Urses Mallory as he ducked behind the burnt out wreck of a motorcar, just in time to avoid the attention of a squad of red-banded Insurrectionists dressed in a mix of military garb and civilian clothes but all bearing weapons and the obvious intent to use them as they ran past. When he was first given the posting in Inbur, it was supposed to be relatively smooth sailing; Work along aside the rest of his small unit as part of joint training with the various Inburian Militaries' associated Medical Corps, bolster a co-operative between the two nations, maybe cozy up with some of the local women and at the end, collect a nice pay bump when he got back to base in Favis...

Instead, the Calarians and their Communualist allies within the Empire had struck the city fast and hard while Urses was supposed to be enjoying a day's leave. He'd returned to his post as soon as he could, but the revolutionaries had been both brutal and effective; They must've attacked the outpost before the soldiers inside had been able to mount an effective defense and had ultimately overwhelmed them. By the time Urses had arrived most of his unit were dead and any survivors must have been scattered to the wind, but based on the number of bodies he'd stepped over, they'd made those damn Communalists bleed for every inch. Without a command structure or any clear goal, he'd gathered whatever supplies he could, including enough to build a rather comprehensive if rough-shod medical kit, and set out to make his escape.

He'd spied the silhouette of Zeppelin #27 through the smoke, but he had decided to try more conventional means of escape first; Better to have the 'hail-mary' option until all others failed, he'd thought. Undoubtedly, others had noticed the airship but there was a decent chance that also included the insurrectionists and/or their Calarian allies, and the rebels certainly wouldn't want to leave an asset like that unsecured for long... Lady Luck, however, seemed to have other ideas. With Calarians surrounding one side of the city and the panicked rush of fleeing civilians cloying all escape routes on the other, Urses found the decision being made for him as he bit back every curse on his tongue to avoid being spotted.

As the roaming squad moved on, so did Urses as he scrambled out from behind the wreck and made his way toward the Military Zeppelin Base. As he drew closer, he could see mooring lines beginning to fall away and bit back even more curses in lieu of running faster. Even as his legs started to hurt and his throat burned, he didn't allow himself to slow until he saw what he could only hope were more escapees; He clocked the weapons that some of them carried, but between the lack of red armbands and the fact they were obviously prepping the airship to leave he dared let himself hope they weren't going to gun him down on sight. Slowing his pace as he neared, he raised his hands to show he wasn't holding either of the weapons he was carrying as he called out to whoever would answer him. His obviously Favisian accent was hopefully enough to disuade them from shooting him outright at the very least..

"HEY, Hold up a minute! Corporal Urses Mallory, Royal Army Medical Corps. Is anyone hurt?"

---

Nikos

Zeppelin #27, Gondola

---

Nikos had retreated to the back of the gondola. There were officers, men and women of high class, all boarding the zeppelin he was supposed to be guarding! He'd been warned that the zeppelin was being prepped for evacuation, but nobody told him to expect all of this! And they needed a proper crew! Especially without a proper mooring mast, just lines and sandbags to hold her to the ground.

The zeppelin gave a low moan and shuttered as the zeppelin rose slightly.

"Tell them to loose the forward line and get them aboard quick!" he gibbered, climbing up the ladder. "I need someone to help me release the sandbags!"

At least all he had to do was to flip a release lever for each of the sandbags, but there was the forward mooring line to bring aboard.

Volodar Naesandoral & Mitunbaal Vasiliou

---

Anyone watching the approach that Iktani Roadster had torn through the fence would be greeted by the sight of a rider on horseback charging through it at full gallop. The horseman, though clearly focused on controlling his stead, appeared to be having quite the time of it. His smile must have been visible from the Gondola as he sped into a full-gallop towards the airship while riding as low to the horse as he could get in the saddle. He gave a laugh that that clearly caught the attention of his passenger, dressed in the traditional Shariq garb, who had been frantically looking to the sides before snapping to look towards the Elga.

"You are enjoying this far too much, sir," the yelled at him, and silently counting the seconds until they reached the Gondola's rope ladder to safety. With every hoof beat, they covered the ground to safety.

"There's nothing like war to quicken the heart, child," the horseman replied. He reached to his head and raised his hat, hoping to deter communicate that he was no threat to the assembling group that he was approaching. "This continent has known peace for far too long. It has grown lethargic.

"Then why aren't you with the army then, elf?" his passenger replied.

"The army did not stand before the City," he answered, "I have fought and bled for this empire before. I will not die because my lungs have burned from gas or put against the wall because some peacetime colonels couldn't organize a bar-fight."

They quickly came to the rope ladder, and came to a surprisingly graceful stop in spite of the rapidness of it all.

"Now dismount, grab your things, and climb, child," he sternly answered. "I will follow shortly."

The Shariq glared at the Elga for a moment, before relenting with a sigh. With a surprising amount of athleticism, she set about climbing the rope ladder with her belongings, entering into a congregation of civilians and military personnel who had beaten the wild horseman here.

The Elga, meanwhile, smiled at the assorted action around him. This group may be novices at handling an airship, but they certainly did have spirit. The mooring lines may have been all covered by various individuals trying to undo them, but some of those volunteers would need assistance returning to the rope ladder once the lines were loose. His saber would also undeniably come in handy if they had to cut the lines on a short notice. With a whistle, he set of to the nearest ad-hoc linesman at a trot.

---

Frantically pedaling on one of the Vieri, Nencio & Tomme Press house’s delivery bicycles. Its trailer normally used for moving the day’s prints is loaded with three pieces of luggage and a bag, with a coat wrapped around one of the pieces of luggage. It was a long tiring ride for Marietta, evading even moderately intense skirmishes and roaming mobs of imburian communalists. Watching a motor car stop at one of the mooring lines, and a horseman ride towards another; She picks up the pace in her final stretch. With Leg muscles tiring out and riddled with burning pain she rides up to the ladder. Stopping the bike near the ladder she scales it three times, during the last stumbling upwards focusing on keeping the coat on the luggage. After her final trip, she sits on the floor in the gondola, utterly tuckered out.

Post Captain Le Marinier

Hopes small flame.
Escape or Die.

He saw a Favain soldier, one of the… he could not tell the unit, it did not matter but his medic markings did matter, as well as a useful man to have about.

To this man he was probably someone he had only seen at a distance, he had Met officers from the cooperation efforts, joint training, soldiers sharing skills and building up good will with the local forces. But he was a Favian. Bereft of a job he started helping people off the ladder and getting them clear so they could get more people on board without delay. The sounds of battle grew and the time was getting shorter. The one eyed man in Favaian post Captain's uniform of the Navy encouraged them to keep moving and to make room for the next refugee.

“Medic, not sure, but I'm glad we have your services, get on up, we need you. Post Captain Hamerlin, Embassy.“ He called out louder and then his voice took on more concern hoping it was not what it seemed.

“Any other Favians you have seen, Navy, Army, Embassy, anyone made it?” The city had erupted Into chaos before anyone could organise, they had evacuated some Weeks ago due to the tensions but many believed it was safe and stayed in equal numbers. It should have taken them weeks or months to get this far, enough to mount a sailing to evacuate everyone non essential.

“Time to make a move on, get up that ladder. The Reds are too damn close. Hands to the ropes, feet to the rungs. Hands to the side. Feet on the flats people.” He was an older man, He had one bad hand and he had been wounded hard in service but he pushed through all of that, reaching down to help the people up and instructed the way he was trained to climb ladders in such chaos so you did not crush someone's hands and cause a delay on the ladders.

“Captain” he gave a very quick salute to the air ship's Captain spotting him as he decided to try and make some good in the shitshow. Before turning to the next person In need of help.

@Shadow Daedalus@Bingelly@Imaria

As another line fell slack and a couple of minutes later, Arkadios came scrambling back up the ladder, "Who can pilot this?" he bellowed, his voice cutting across the din in the gondola, "And if anyone has experience in the military, and isn't a pilot, follow me!"

A few moments later Zoe climbed up onto into the gondola as well. He didn't know the names of most of the people onboard, which was annoying, though he had shared a proper introduction with her, "Miss Spyrou - make sure someone takes command. I need to get people on the guns. It's only a matter of time before the enemy find this ship."

It did rather stand out.

Zoe looked alarmed, then nodded, stepping over the ship's wheel, casually leaning against it, "So, who is going to take the wheel?" she asked, "Or should I take it and make it up as we go along?" Arkadios was sure she was joking though she sounded serious. He hoped she was joking at any rate.

James E. Carter

James wiped the sweat from his brow with a quick swipe of his gloved hand, his muscles aching from the constant cranking and maneuvering alongside Christina. The lift cells were filled, and the ship was finally ready to rise, but the urgency in the air hadn’t diminished. He heard the distant shout from the gondola, Andreaou’s voice cutting through the din.

Arkadios Andreaou

As another line fell slack and a couple of minutes later, Arkadios came scrambling back up the ladder, "Who can pilot this?"

James exhaled sharply, tossing the heavy gloves aside. "Christina, engines!" he barked, his voice firm and clear. "Get them running now, we’re outta time!" Without waiting for a reply, he turned and began descending from the airship’s interior back out into the gondola, his boots clanging against the ladder rungs.

As he entered the gondola, James saw Andreaou rallying a few others while Zoe leaned against the ship’s wheel, looking far too casual for comfort.

Zoe Spyrou

Zoe looked alarmed, then nodded, stepping over the ship's wheel, casually leaning against it, "So, who is going to take the wheel?" she asked, "Or should I take it and make it up as we go along?" Arkadios was sure she was joking though she sounded serious. He hoped she was joking at any rate.

"Won’t be necessary," James said as he strode past her, his voice carrying a mix of determination and exhaustion. He gestured toward the controls. "I’ll take it from here." He stepped up to the ship’s wheel, giving it a quick once-over. The setup was unfamiliar, larger and more intricate than the airships he was used to, but the principles were the same or at least he hoped they were.

"Alright," James muttered to himself, gripping the wheel. He scanned the gauges and levers, quickly piecing together their purpose. "Let’s get this bird moving." He pulled back on one lever to engage the lift and adjusted another to stabilize the buoyancy. The ship groaned in protest as it began to rise, the hiss of pneumatics and the roar of gas filling the gondola.

The ground below began to fall further away now and James felt a pang of relief, though he kept his focus sharp. "Zoe," he called over his shoulder, "you and anyone who’s not a fighter, make yourselves useful. Spot for obstacles, check for leaks, anything that looks like it could go wrong. If you’re not sure, just yell. It’s better than sitting around."

He adjusted the wheel slightly, feeling the weight of the massive vessel resist before slowly responding. The ship began to move forward, gaining momentum as its engines hummed to life. James couldn’t help but let out a breath of relief, though he knew this was just the beginning.

"Keep it steady," he muttered under his breath, more to himself than anyone else, "We’re not outta this yet."

Away

Throwing herself aboard as the airship started to move, dodged and weaved through the other escapees as she made her way forward.

"Zoe, you and anyone who’s not a fighter, make yourselves useful. Spot for obstacles, check for leaks, anything that looks like it could go wrong. If you’re not sure, just yell. It’s better than sitting around."

At least someone is trying to run this show. She thought as she ducked a bit to look out windows as she reached the bridge. The layout was both foreign, this being a military Zeppelin, and familiar, her having years aboard various styles of airships. ”WINDMILL. TEN DEGREES OFF PORT.” She called out, scanning the area. ”WIND SOUTHEAST THREE KNOTS.” She added, looking at a flag near the aforementioned windmill.

Others rushed about, tending to various aspects as she approached the man on the helm. ”Itzi.” She said by way of greeting, scanning the various instruments to get a feel for how things were going. ”You got this? I’m a certified helmsman if you want to spell off.” Though the fellow seemed understandably nervous, all things considered, he appeared to have everything well in hand. Instead of trying to butt in, she simply stood by to assist if needed.

The zeppelin was beginning to move and rise, but not in a uniform manner, the aft - already cut free was rising steadily. Despite the increasing offset to the deck, in the bridge gondola of the zeppelin James Carter felt a flicker of relief as the woman introduced herself. "Itzi," she said confidently. Her calm demeanor and mention of being a certified helmsman were a rare comfort in the chaos.

"James... James Carter.. Good to have someone who knows their way around an airship," he said, his grip easing slightly on the wheel. "This thing’s not exactly a trade vessel, so—"

The sharp crack of gunfire interrupted him. He froze for a split second before snapping his head toward the sound, his instincts kicking in. "Damn it," he muttered under his breath, glancing toward the side window. The ground below was teeming with movement. Dozens of figures had entered the base, barely visible through the smoke, but the flashes of muzzle fire were unmistakable. Bullets ricocheted off the gondola’s metal plating, and the sound of chaos outside was growing louder.

"Take the controls, Itzi!" James barked, his tone urgent as he stepped back from the wheel. "Keep her steady—we’ve still got people trying to get aboard."

Without waiting for a response, James moved quickly to the side entrance of the gondola. The long ladder below was swaying, the last few rungs threatening to lift off the ground as the ship continued its uneven ascent. Shouts and cries came from the people still scrambling to climb aboard, some reaching desperately for the ladder as it rose higher.

James grabbed the side of the doorway, unholstering his Harlan pistol. "Get them up now!" he yelled to everyone nearby. "This is their last chance!"

He leaned out slightly, firing off a few rounds toward the advancing figures below.

"Frak" exclaimed the Favian officer, just outside the gondola, as the first real combat he had seen in over decade kicked off, his hands shook and he had to remember what he was taught in the officers academy all those years ago in the halls under the harsh drill masters. An icey calm began to fill the post captains mind, checking his knife and revolver without thought, his old training kicking in now battle was joined.

"Frak this, get on, I'll cover you. Give em hell," He shouted making a dash for what he hoped was a working machine gun in the aft gondola, the effort was tough for a man not in combat shape after the past hours, but he pushed on, the old officer he was dropping into place after years of desk work. "Damn fraking technology." He shouted to self as he tried to load the heavy belt into breach so he could pull back what he hoped was a charging handle, it was a heavy water cooled machine gun, it was like the tech fair at the palace of industry, just now he had lives on the line. least his heavy Favian pistols hammer like overbuilt constriction let him smash the lock off the ammo lock box below the gun.

He was a gunner, not a machine gunner, long as he could get it working he could least walk the fire if nothing else worked, crude but it would have to do.

Not far off, Aden Robertson found himself on the gondola as the more air oriented members of the ad-hoc crew made ready to leave.

The wind was already noticeable and Aden felt its bite even under the layers of his uniform. The height was at least familiar due to his times in the mountains.

So the figures shooting up at him was also a familiar sight.

Beside him an older looking man fumbled with a machine gun while the previous pilot had joined them to blaze away, ineffectively, with their pistol.

The marksman didn’t bother trying to correct either of them; instead he sunk into his heels and nestled his rifle into his shoulder.

The range was greater than he would have preferred; especially given the slight shifting of the gondola and the wind that he could see was moving the smokey residue of the burning cities.

The crosshairs settled over the center of a figure below.

Bang

The round was low left. Aden grumbled as he threw the bolt up and racked the next round. Sighting back in.

Bang

The figure below fell back. Condition unknown even through his telescopic optic; Aden however was already moving over. Sight settling over another man resting their rifle against an abandoned truck.

Just a little further along the track-way, Lieutenant Kasrikos was manning the ladder, pulling people aboard. He squinted out towards the distant figures entering the Aerodrome, thinking for a moment that they may be more desperate civilians. The first cracks of gunfire dismissed this notion, and return fire from the bridge caused his hand to twitch.

First combat was not something he expected this day, and the first hesitancy broke. He gripped at the handle of his revolver, then shook his head at his own stupidity. He would turn to the Favian, his eyes conveying his suspicion at the unexpected uniform, but now was not the time for questions.

He would reach down into the box, drawing up the cloth and brass with surprising ease for his unimpressive frame. feeding it in to the gun with the older man "Rack it a couple more times." says quickly, nodding over and holding the belt slack.

The Favian officer saw a smaller man rush over to help, thank the god, gods or whatever fates where helping him this day. He nodded and racked the guns heavy handle with a loud clunk, the second clunk was more confident and the 3rd came with an sound that was better. a 4th rack and the belt seemed to lock into place. "Thanks, guns hot, this things got no saf.." He asked, before the burst from the machine gun toward the enemy. "No safety." He said as he adjusted the gun round on the basic sites to send an experimental burst towards the enemy closest in cover behind a wrecked tool cart.

"Got it." He said with a cool tone.

---

Volodar carefully released his own line as the first shots cracked over the areodrone. He hurriedly remounted his horse. With a quick jab from his spurs, he hoped to reach a full-gallop as quickly as he could as the horse started to run. Meter by meter, he hurriedly covered ground between him and the rope ladder to climb aboard. At about 200 meters from the ladder, he felt his horse give out from under him, and heard the crack of a rifle. He felt himself falling half a second later and did what he could to brace for the impact and managed to roll just in enough to avoid being pinned by the animal.

Groaning in pain, the elf picked himself up off the ground, and turned his attention to the agonized cries of his mount. With an almost practiced routine, he somberly drew one of the pistols off the brace of his coat and cocked the hammer back as he stepped towards. While quickly uttering a prayer in Elgan, he neatly shot the poor animal twice in the head. Breaking all decorum, he immediately broke into a full sprint for the ladder and grabbed for it as soon as he could.

The second last line now released the aft of the zeppelin began to rise freely now as a group of communalists, armed with rifles crossed the broken fenceline onto the grounds, taking positions on one of the earthen berms just inside the perimeter of the aerodrome, where they had fields of fire across the centerline of the zeppelin as it began it's forward motion.

Not far from Volodar, Chumer struggled towards the rope ladder as the fire from the communalists increased both in volume and accuracy. He called out to both Volodar and Miquiztli from where he was, the remaining ladder rungs ascending even more, the last rungs quickly approaching. Volodar was now sprinting away from the horse he'd just put down.

Miquiztli on the other hand was near the far bow of the airship, climbing back into the roadster having cut the starboard bow line. The port line, however, still remained attached as the roadster kicked into motion, spewing black smoke behind it.

Up above them, the port bowline, the sole remaining tether line groaned against the forward motion and rising of the airship, the tether causing the nose of the zeppelin to pitch forward sharply, its bow dipping low and to port while the stern continued to rise and the zeppelin's enormous rear-end began swinging in a wide arc about the tether like a giant tether-ball playing out in slow motion. The rope ladder began to get dragged along the ground as it moved, towards Volodar, away from Miquiztili.

And towards the communalist position.

---

The sharp motion sent a burst of rounds flying into a sign that read the name of the airship unit casting it down to the ground with a slam, it's damaged form from bring exposed to the winds, and rains gave up under a line of bullet holes smashing the aged cast iron that kept it aloft.

Dragging the heavy gun back, the Officer looked out and with alarm saw they where getting closer and not gaining ground on the attacking red marked soldiers, infiltrators and 5th column allies.

Checking he still had a fair amount still on the canvas belt, enough to not need to swap it yet he braced the gun as the world tipped about keeping his hands off the triggers this time having yet to work out the safety if it even had one. "I'll use this one before i swap, i got at least half left. Damn Reds, i wanted a quiet desk job. Drink wine, charm a widow and maybe get some good rum. But Reds." He cut off by sending a burst into the one with largest red sash, largest hat or aiming at anyone who wore more back, red who might be important. Finally seeing a particular man in a black long coat with a red sash, a hat and a sword belt, he aimed and tried to stitch a line of shots at whoever the commulalist was less equal.

He was pretty sure if they where closer... not a thing he wanted that he would of had a large busy moustache, beedy dark untrustworthy eyes and a stolen watch, likely far more.

Zoe gave a yelp, stumbling and falling against the gondola window before twisting around until she was facing into the cabin, "Someone with a pistol... you! Mainer!" presumably that was Carter, "Get up the ladder into the nose where we are connected and shoot at mooring stuff until we can break away! I am not getting killed here! That would be annoyingly droll ."

Meanwhile another gun from further back in the ship opened up, presumably that was Arkadios. The gunner was firing in short, sharp, controlled burst. Not that he was hitting much with the motion of the craft.

James slammed a fresh magazine into his Harlan, he reached out to help another desperate figure scramble aboard, pulling them up and away from the firestorm below. The cacophony of gunfire echoed around the gondola, with more people firing back at the advancing rebels.

The zeppelin lurched violently again, nearly knocking James off balance. Through the chaos, he could see the problem—the ship was still tethered by a single line, its massive bulk spiraling in a deadly arc, dragging the rope ladder dangerously close to the rebels’ firing positions.

When Zoe called out to him to handle the line, James didn’t hesitate. "Keep her steady, Itzi!" he shouted, his voice cutting through the chaos. She seemed to visibly be struggling in keeping the helm straight as she tried to guide the ship away from the rebels sights. The Mainer sprinted toward the nose of the ship, his boots clanging against the metal floor as he climbed toward the tether point.

Reaching the forward hatch, James braced himself against the wall before carefully pushing it open. The roar of the wind hit him like a slap, whipping at his hair and stinging his face. The tether was taut, straining against the massive airship, the only thing preventing them from breaking free. He leaned out, his pistol in hand, squinting against the wind and the distant flashes of gunfire below.

He steadied his aim as best he could and fired.

The shot went wide, the wind catching his arm and throwing it off course, "Damn it," he muttered, gripping the frame tighter. He fired again, another miss. Each shot felt like a waste of precious seconds as the rebels below closed in, their bullets pinging against the ship’s hull.

James gritted his teeth, narrowing his focus. The third shot clipped the tether, but not enough to sever it. The line wavered but held firm, mocking his efforts. The sporadic gunfire from below and the chaotic winds made it impossible to get a clean hit.

"Come on, come on!" he growled, adjusting his aim once more. But even as he lined up another shot, a nagging thought crept into his mind: this wasn’t going to work. It would take a miracle—or a helping hand from someone down below—to break them free.

"Porco Dio, che disastro!" Christina yelled in frustration, somewhere amidships, then headed to the nearest speaking tube. "Somebody cast off the lines and drop the weights! We need altitude!"

Nikos ran down the port side of the inner deck, axe in hand. Spying the mooring point, he stops to catch his breath, then raises his axe to cut the line.

---

The ship's aft drifted directly over the the communalists positioned along the berms, the shadow of the looming zeppelin falling over the soldiers and rebels - and much of the street behind them - as the massive airship eclipsed the sun. It was a portent that was accompanied by fire raking from the zeppelin's gondola machineguns. Fire the team of communalists returned in earnest with their rifles.

The young iktani, Chamer was clinging to the rope ladder again as its final rung started being dragged along the ground. Volodar was near enough to grab the line.

In the distance, Miquiztli squealed the roadster to a halt next to the bow line, leaning his pistol over the side panel and firing three shots into the line before it finally snapped free and the zeppelin began to rise.

Chamer remained motionless on the ladder as the last rung of the rope ladder began to skitter over the grass in preparation to take off. It was clear to all present that the driver of the roadster was never going to be able to make the ladder as it jerked off the ground.

---

Hearing the shots, Nikos railed backwards into the bulkhead, then realized the mooring line was now slack. Dropping the axe. he began hauling up the line to keep the communists from climbing up.

James felt the sudden jerk of the ship as the bowline snapped free, the zeppelin lurching upward. Relief briefly washed over him.

Without wasting time James began helping the uniformed man who had waltz in with an axe in bringing in the line, "You almost got your damn head blown off stormin’ in here like that!"

---

Straining himself, Volodar leaped for the rope as it started to raise off from the ground. "God, that was close," Volodar muttered before a communalist bullet whizzed beside him. Hurriedly, Volodar scrambled to climb as fast as he could while still returning fire at the communalists with one of his many pistol, more in an attempt to suppress the reds than to deliver effective fire. However, Volodar soon found himself blocked by the Iktani princeling further ahead of him on the ladder.

"Climb, you limp-wristed dandy!" Volodar bellowed at Chamer from below, "We are not going to die out here!"

The Iktani, Chamer, dangling from the rope ladder didn't respond or move. His eyes were focused on the white roadster that was motoring rapidly toward the rope ladder, even as they lifted well beyond reach from the ground.

It wouldn't have mattered either way because the car never reached beneath the swinging rope ladder. Struck by several communalist rifles, smoke and steam exploded from the front hood and the vehicle careened onto its side... the driver lost amidst the smoke.

With an angry growl, Volodar holstered the pistol he had been shooting and carefully unsheathed his sabre from its scabbard. Gently, the Elga poked at the Iktani with the tip of the sword, just enough to hurt but not pierce the skin. "Hell's fire! Mourn him when we have solid floor beneath us!"

The point of a saber tip threatening his backside did get Chamer's attention. The iktani looked down, his hat tumbling from his head and for a moment it seemed the Elga might take a boot for his efforts. Instead the young human gave the elf a frenzied glare. "Not even a dinner invite first!" He guffawed indignantly, before taking the hint and climbing up even as his hat tumbled down to the communalist position, where men were firing wildly upward.

Cowritten with @Pragia12, @InfamousGuy101, @Bingelly, @Athol, @Terrans, @Tesserach, @Badarby & @Imaria

Part One: A Cunning Type

It was a clear morning in Inbur, barely a cloud in the sky. Dawn crept over the fields and woodlands of Inbur far below them as the ship drifted onwards, seemingly without direction at this point. There was plenty of room for people to take cabins but most people were on the command Gondola. Arkadios was cleaning his pistol, leaning against one of the walls, while Zoe paced back and forth, somewhat distractingly. Before anyone had a moment to tell her to stop, however, she did exactly that, "So. Has anyone got an idea of where we are going?" she asked.

Arkadios looked up, raising an eyebrow, "I was assuming we were headed for Grendell."

"Could fall by the time we get there. Then what?" Zoe posed, leaving a pause, purely for dramatic effect, before declaring, "I'm quite in favour of going to Grendell, but, just in case, we should really have some money on us so that, in a worst-case scenario, we can actually refuel this ship and put ourselves somewhere useful and, as it happens, I know where to find some."

Yuri had pulled in a few of the maps kept in storage behind the bridge, a topographic layout of the eastern half of the continent typical to Inburian war planners. He had begun penciling in the rough extent of the Communalist advance based on the reports he had received earlier this morning, "Last orders we have are to pull up north to form a defensive line." The defeat in his tone was being suppressed, but not successfully so. Yuri gives a deferential but grim look to Arkadios. He still believed in those orders. The words of the civilian caused his brow to furrow "What do you mean money? This is a military decision, ma'am."

"Oh naturally," Zoe declared, without sounding like she actually intended to bow to the military, "But if you are willing to indulge me a little and hear out my idea, I will give you something which could lead to a chest full of medals if our brave boys hold in the North. And if they don't, at least we can afford to keep this ship in fuel and caviar until Judgement Day... or we decide to set down."

Carter stood at the helm, his hands steady on the controls, his expression as neutral as ever, "The Main," Carter suddenly spoke, turning his head slightly toward the group, his tone casual "It’s our best shot." Trusting Itzi with the controls, Carter stepped away from the helm. His boots clanged lightly on the metal floor as he approached the others, "This continent?" he said, gesturing vaguely out the window toward the land below, "It’s a powder keg, and it’s about to blow a hole so big no one’s getting out of it." He leaned against the console, arms crossed, and fixed Arkadios and Yuri with a pointed look, "Captain, lieutenant... I get it. Your plan? It’s dutiful. Brave, even. But let’s be real for a second. It’s not practical. We’ve got women, youngsters, people who’ve never held a weapon in their lives. The way I see it, this isn’t a military ship. Not anymore. It’s a refugee ship. And that means you don’t get to unilaterally dictate where we’re headed." His gaze shifted to Zoe, then to the rest of the group, "The Main’s got the space, the resources, and—most importantly—it’s far enough from all this mess that we might actually have a chance to breathe. You stick around here, you’re just waiting for the next army to knock on your door, whether it’s ours, theirs, or someone else’s. You want to live? You head west. Simple as that."

"The Main?" Zoe wrinkled her nose in distaste, "I would say most of us have family on this continent and therefore pretty good reasons not to want to leave. However, if we go and get the money, you can get a first class ticket home, even if we ultimately carry on to Grendell."

Taking the helm with a nod, Itzi simply listened. A merchant's life led one to be a vagabond of sorts and as long as it wasn't another war zone she was content to go wherever as she knew she skills could find her work in fairly short order. Hearing other's mention The Main she perked up. "If we're casting lots." She said finally. "I'd say The Main as well." Letting go of the helm with a hand for a moment, she gestured to Carter. "Like the man said, there's no sense in sticking our noses into a fight if we don't have to..." She let out a bit of a sigh. "Plus...this is just me, but I guess it'd be nice to head home; haven't seen my folks in a few years."

Yuri looked up from his scrawling as the Mainers spoke. "This country's the one I'm sworn to, and the one who owns this ship." the defeatism being burned away in indignation "We drop off you civilians behind the lines and bring this airship back into service. If you want to get off the continent you can arrange that with your own means. There will be no casting of lots." a pleading glance would be spared in the captain's direction.

Carter turned sharply toward Yuri, his expression hardening as the man finished speaking. His voice, steady and assertive, "Let me remind you, Lieutenant," he said, locking eyes with Yuri, "it’s the civilians—the ones you want to shove off behind the lines—who got this ship running in the first place. It’s folks like me, Itzi, Christina, and the rest who made sure we’re even having this conversation instead of digging our own graves back in Inbur. Where were your soldier boys? Running, or worse, switching sides. So don’t come at me with talk of duty and ownership." He stepped forward, gesturing broadly to the gondola. "This isn’t a military ship anymore. This is a lifeboat. And you’re not a commodore, just like I’m not a damn admiral. We’re all on this floating piece of metal trying to stay alive, and we all have a say in where it’s headed. If you want to stay and play soldier in a war that’s already lost, be my guest. But you’re not dragging the rest of us down with you!"

Lieutenant Kasrikos graced Carter with a roll of his eyes and a shaking of his head "You've earned your escape from communalist hands, and will be delivered from them. Lifeboats bring their people to the nearest safe harbor, not half across the world."

Volodar turned away from the maps that Yuri had been marking and turned to address the group arguing around him. "Shall we squander more precious time listening to an uncultured Mainer who wishes to steal command of this vessel? Furthermore, if we do listen to him, how exactly shall we pay for food and fuel for this voyage across the Evig without gold and currency? So let the woman speak."

Arkadios gave a sigh as he reholstered his pistol, exchanging a glance with Yuri, "Okay, Zoe, you are dropping hints about a vast fortune. What is this fortune?"

Zoe blinked innocently before adding, "The Imperial Gold Reserve, which is held in Castle Custospada. I would wager there hasn't been time to move it. Certainly not all of it! There is, after all, rather a lot of gold in the vaults," she paused before adding airily, "As to the matter of getting it out, I know people there and, more importantly, they know me. Papa took me there one time when he visited for business. I'm reasonably sure I can at least get them to talk to us and not shoot," she declared, "Then we just need to convince them that we're going to move the gold to Grendell. If some goes missing on the way, well... call it inverse taxation."

"If it's red or us instead...?" The Chamer blurted out with a wan smile from the corner.

Aden had been at the rear of the cabin. Picking away at a can of beans; taking a moment for the first time in weeks. Now, however, he stood. Rifle leaning back by his seat but pistol still holstered, “So your idea is the military members of this crew, desert. And not only desert but rob the nation on the way out?”

"Don't be ridiculous!" Zoe replied with an exasperated sigh, "We get the gold and return most of it to the Government. It's better than leaving it for the Communalists, isn't it?"

“So only partial treason. A great plan!!” Aden threw up his arms as he stepped closer to Zoe. “Maybe we can give the Communalists the battle plans for the Northern redoubt while we’re at it. Make sure the side we’re robbing has no way to come after us.”

"This isn't treason at all. Well, not unless you decide to tell everyone some of the gold didn't make it's way to Grendell," Zoe declared, "As I see it, we're doing the Government a favour by recovering their gold. You'll get a medal not a punishment!" she gave an exasperated sigh, "Really, I don't see how people can be so short sighted. That gold will be necessary for the war effort!"

"Well, I’ll be damned," Carter said with a low chuckle. "Didn’t take you for the cunning type, Miss Zoe. 'Inverse taxation', huh?" He nodded thoughtfully, clearly weighing the proposition. "As long as me and the others—your ragtag little lifeboat crew—get a fair share before the Inburians take it all back, you can count me in. If this gold means some restitution for my lost ship, my crew, and the hell we’ve been through just to get this far, then I’m fine with that. Hell, I’ll even help load it up. But don’t expect me to carry it all the way to Grendell unless there’s something in it for everyone here."

Zoe smirked, giving Carter a wink, "I'm full of surprises."

---

Part Two: My damn rifle till I can’t pull its trigger anymore

Arkadios grimaced, "I'm not sure I agree with taking a cut from the gold reserve... but we do need everyone onboard for this and, realistically, this ship can carry a lot of gold. Far more and more quickly than they could move out by truck. I suspect this would be seen as a valuable use of the resources we have at our disposal."

Yuri, meanwhile looked at Zoe curiously "How in God's name do you know where that's kept?" he didn't sound opposed to the concept.

"Daddy was involved with the mint," Zoe replied, a little vaguely, though it was possible she didn't know exactly what he did.

For once, Yuri smiled, "If you're certain the gold is there, I have no issue with seizing what we can." he said positively, darting a though glance towards Arkadios.

“Involved with the mint?” Aden studied the girl who was apparently holding sway with this crew. “Who are you exactly?”

"Me?" Zoe raised an eyebrow at Aden then shrugged, "I'm nobody much. As for Papa... Not sure exactly. I was fairly young. Warden to the Mint... or something like that?"

“How close to the front is this reserve anyways? Won’t we have to beat the Communalists and their allies there?” Aden demanded.

"The Castle is on the Edge of the Morktree and yes, we will need to beat the Communalists there," Arkadios answered for Zoe on this occasion, "But they are on foot and we are in an airship. We will get there first."

“I hesitate to ask;" Aden continued, "but do we have enough people to maintain this craft and deal with the Comminalists on the way. “

"Talk to the mechanic about maintenance," Arkadios motioned up towards the balloon where Christina was working, "As for the Communalists; they are on the ground, we are not. We will simply fly over them."

“We captured an airship. I believe the capabilities to mimic us is there,” Aden persevered.

"Of course they could, but there is no evidence they have yet," Zoe replied, "And like I said, they know me already. I am quite obviously not a Communalist."

“If anything goes wrong. You’re the first ballast I drop," Aden grunted in irritation.

"And if it goes right?" Zoe took a step forward, chin tilted upwards in defiance, a flash of anger in dark eyes, "Are you going to give me your share of the gold? Because I feel after that comment that I'm rather entitled to it."

"None of these ships were ready for civilian evacuation." Yuri put in sharply, as the situation took a turn for the tense.

“So this is the only ship that was ready for civilian evacuation?” Giogouka asked, having been silent for most of the conversation. The comment got a nod of confirmation from Yur.

Aden matched Zoe and took a step forward; almost bumping into her. “If this goes right I’ll give you my damn rifle till I can’t pull its trigger anymore.”

"Hmm," Zoe smirked slightly, "You know, I'm still partial to the money - a girl's got to eat - but I'll take that. I'm far more convincing than I look," she added, giving Aden a wink this time. It seemed she was quite confident in her plan.

“Apparently….” He waited a few seconds before their proximity registered and he brushed his neck before he stuck out a hand. A resigned sigh preceding his words. “…..Private Aden Robertson. 46th Alpine Regiment.” His accent was definitely not native Inburian but it had enough inflections to reflect that of someone familiar with the region.

Zoe took Aden's hand, slightly tentatively, as if she wasn't quite used to shaking hands, "Zoe," she introduced herself, "Zoe Spyrou."

Aden cocked his head at how a self assured person could be so timid in her handshake. But he let it slide as he drew back his hand.

---

Part Three: Mechanics and Morse-Code

"'Ware below!" Christina called out as she starts climbing down the ladder into the gondola. She looked around the compartment for Nikos, but didn't see him. "The segaiolo who took my pistol, where is he? I want my pistol back." She frowned slightly at the discussion she had stepped in on, "You cannot let the pezzo di merdas take your treasury. You should take it with you and what members of your government you can save." She paused then turned back to business, "We need more mechanics," she glanced towards Carter, "Since service we provide, wages would be fair."

"Well," Carter crossed his arms with a smile, "a few gold bars would be a fair wage for your services I'd say!"

"Guns would be fair," the mechanic stated flatly. "Many pezzo di merdas to kill."

"Well how about this," Zoe cut in, "We take ten percent of what we load up and split it between the people here. If you feel morally compromised you can return your share to the Crown. And if anyone asks we say we needed to throw it overboard to gain altitude or something Airshippy like that."

"They will not trust us, will send guards. Best have a contract that says what we get for doing this," Christina scowls. "They not dumb.
Pay up front."

"I'd advise against a contract," Zoe gave Christina a cheeky grin, "Since we're technically committing a crime. And no, they aren't fools, but I would gamble this rather pretty blouse I'm wearing, which sadly is all I have to gamble, that I can bluff my way past them."

Yuri cut in at that "A crime in peacetime, but this is an emergency action in the best interest of the crown." perhaps he was lying to himself to some degree, but clearly the idea of the revolutionaries seizing it was convincing enough to quell his concerns.

"Exactly!" Zoe agreed cheerfully, "Everyone wins!"

"Then someone get me my gun and a whole lot of mechanics. Can't run that compartment myself," Christina looked from Yuri to Carter, "Get me eleven mechanics, we then okay. Five very least."

The lieutenant bobs his head lightly as he regards Christina "I can offer spare hands, for what its worth." he considers the soldier "No other ships at the aerodrome were in working order, they might be able to get something from the commercial yard, but we're in the clear for now."

"Come with me after this," Christina told him.

Carter stood arms crossed as he listened to the back-and-forth. When there was a moment of pause, he spoke up, "I can lend a hand with maintenance too," he said, nodding toward Christina, "The ship I flew might’ve been a hell of a lot smaller than this beast, but an engine’s an engine. I can turn a wrench just fine if it means keeping us in the air."

"Hear hear!" Itzi backed up the fellow Mainer as she still held to the helm, "I can also twist a few bolts and screws myself. Wouldn't have made it here if I couldn't..."

"Lieutenant," Volodar cocked his head back towards the young man before he could be led away to do maintenance on the ship, "If we are requisitioning some of the Imperial gold, I suggest sending a message to Castle Custospada once we are in range of the wireless. It would not do us well to be fired upon by our own people."

Yuri nodded, "Once I got the telegraph fired up I'll get it sorted. Still have the codebook, also will try to smooth it over with them before we talk in person."

"Yes," Arkadios nodded to Volodar, "We'll need to alert them that we are coming."

"For the first time I agree with the stuck up elgamann," Itzi spoke up, her gaze still focused on the horizon ahead, "would be a shame to get holes in this here big girl!"

"Okay," Christina pauses, about to climb up the ladder. "When you two come, bring cigarettes. Filtered."

Having been seated at some unused desk space in the bridge, Marietta was typing up the minutes of this discussion. Hearing the mechanic stop to ask for a cigarette, "You probably shouldn't smoke miss, you're far to young for such a vile habit."

Arkadios, Yuri, Urses, Aden, Volodar, & Hamelin

---

Arkadios had decided, after their break, to do an inventory of the armoury and had been pleasantly surprised to find it was well stocked. There were belts of 7.62mm rounds for the machine -guns. Ten Makarios C94 Pistols, and six of the Fokaides-Harris self-loading rifles with the big 19 round drum magazines. A good gun, if somewhat prone to jamming, particularly in the mud and dirt of a typical battlefield... but an airship was not a typical battlefield.

He had also been pleasantly surprised to discover the military hadn't removed the old cabins meaning they had 26 rooms with bunk beds which was good considering they would probably be spending at least one night aboard. He lifted one of the rifles up, giving it a quick examination. It looked like it had come straight off the production line without a dent to the woodwork or scratch on the metal.

Lieutenant Kasrikos was sighting one of the rifles, angling it downwards as he checked the action. "Captain, I do not know if we can trust the civilian contingent aboard. Clearly the man at the helm has some experience in combat. That coupled with his arrogance and agitation is a recipe for disaster" Kariskos mused, closing the action on an empty chamber, he clearly did not have much experience with the weapon.

"I would tend to agree," Arkadios nodded, "Though at this stage we need their expertise if we are to keep this ship aloft. I understand there is a dark art to buoyancy that takes years to master," he paused, "Your thoughts on the gold reserve? I held my tongue mostly as it is a useful endeavor for this ship. I suppose better to overpay these scoundrels than let the gold fall to the enemy."

Yuri rocked his head back and forth, a small wince spread across his mouth, "I don't know if I trust the noblewoman, but she makes a compelling argument: we are the best option for securing it. If she, or anyone else, tries to steal from the crown, we can just put them into prison at Grendell when we drop them off." He seemed a bit sour at the concept.

The comms officer continued, "I don't know who she's hiding from, but it may be of concern, she might be communalist aligned."

Aden was poring over the inventory of a particular shelf. Neat typed tallies of ammo cans were arrayed on a clipboard which he read while ambling over.

“Trust or not,” the sniper commented. “She seems to have the ear of the civilians….and the ones who can pilot this ship.”

Arkadios paused, raising an eyebrow as he set the rifle back on the rack, "She is a woman who knows the location of the gold reserve. Who says her father took her around the reserve. Who will be recognised and allowed access. I’ve never heard of her family before."

Yuri replied curtly "Captain I imagine that is because she is lying." He paused to consider the situation. "I can think of quite a few groups who would be eyeing up the reserves in times like these. Playing along will be the smoothest option for resolution."

"She is definitely lying, but she's confident that she can convince the guards at the reserve to hand over the gold," Arkadios mused, "Why? She can't take it by force and hasn't tried to convince us to either. Her belief that she can get it peacefully seems genuine."

Urses had remained quiet so far, preferring to listen to the discussion pan out before making up his mind on anything. Between the discussion on the Gondola and now, the Favisian medic had stayed out of anything close to command decisions in favour of making rounds of the makeshift crew, checking for injuries that required immediate attention before trouble found them again. He'd actually been on his way to suggest turning one of the unused cabins into an ad-hoc medical bay should the need arise when he'd stumbled into the current discussion.

"Maybe she's not completely lying? About who she is, sure, but maybe not about knowing people at the reserve. It'd make her confidence in her plan a little less unfounded, at the very least."

"I suspect that her identity is the lie," Arkadios agreed, "Which then begs the question of who she is," he gave a small chuckle, "Which I imagine we will find out at the reserve. So I suggest we play nice with her for now."

The medic shrugs at this. "Not much else we can do. It's not like we have a solid reason to start making accusations, and at least she's not as eager to abandon the whole continent like that damn Mainer. I might be from working-class roots, but even I have a sense of duty to my King and Country..."

Yuri gave a firm nod at that, putting the rifle back in the locker "It'll do to test her assertion, worst case she gets detained and we continue empty handed down a few days' travel. I'll try to get a message ahead to them." There was a short pause as he looked to the closed armory door. "Should we disarm the civilians?"

"The girl is an oddity, and something about her is familiar to me," Volodar added, as he shouldered and sighted one of the rifles to feel the balance. "I have a cautious faith in her plot. Disarming the civilians, however, could prove problematic, but I support the measure."

“I think disarming is rather expected at this point.” Aden hung up the clipboard and hefted one of the C94 pistols; heavier than his own sidearm. “I don’t like the helmsman though. Too idealistic and greedy. He will cause problems.”

"Disarming would be potentially disastrous," Arkadios put in, "We don't have enough people qualified to operate the ship if they don't agree to be disarmed. Save it for when we reach Grendell... but keep an eye on them."

“I think disarming is rather expected at this point.” Aden hung up the clipboard and hefted one of the C94 pistols; heavier than his own sidearm. “I don’t like the helmsman though. Too idealistic and greedy. He will cause problems.”

"Disarming would be potentially disastrous," Arkadios put in, "We don't have enough people qualified to operate the ship if they don't agree to be disarmed. Save it for when we reach Grendell... but keep an eye on them."

---

Urses sighed but nodded in agreement to Arkadios' assessment. "I've got to agree with the Captain. We're all servicemen, so we have a certain level of trust in each other, but the civilians don't have that trust; in us or each other. Trying to take their means of self-defence might make them lash out and we need to work together... We need to establish a chain of command though, otherwise there'll be too many voices trying to talk over one another and that won't do any of us any good."

"It needs to be done," Arkadios agreed, "But I would suggest we leave it until it becomes clear to the civilians that this disorder won't benefit them, at the moment I believe that Mainer Captain will rally some of the stupider civilians behind them. Wait for them to realise he isn't their salvation from military oppression or whatever nonsense they believe."

“He wants to be the hero,” Aden compared the C94 to the ammo clips neatly tucked away beneath their firearms. “And she’s promising free gold and salvation. Helps she has a pretty face too.”

Adan gave an experimental rack of the pistol and found the mechanism rather staying in how it slammed home.
"And I suppose we shall accept this flippant disregard of any good sense until we pay the peasants and profiteers off?" Volodar grumbled.

Yuri kept a stiff lip as he muttered, "We can always rectify that lack at Grendell too, if any of them try something truly lacking in good reason." He sighed, "I doubt they have spare air crews lying around, but getting some more hands aboard would do a lot to keep things civil."

"If they get out of control, there is always a window to take them back to the ground," Arkadios remarked darkly, "But we'll try to avoid that necessity for now."

Yuri bit his tongue at the idea, holding himself from objecting.

"Aye, that there is," Volodar conceded as he held back a dark chuckle.

“Could always just hang them from the catwalk.” Aden replaced the pistol and its ammo on the rack. The private pulled his scarf slightly tighter as he stepped into the circle. “Assuming we don’t leave behind most of them when they step off to get their gold.”

Urses, for his part, raised an eyebrow in concern. "I'm pretty sure that something in my oaths tells me we should avoid that outcome as much as possible. We can repurpose a passenger cabin as a brig if needs be, so we can avoid executing people unless we're absolutely desperate."

Unslinging his rifle, He sets it down beside him and crosses his arms as he leans on the bulkhead wall. "I recognise that maintaining order is vital, but I am a Medic first and foremost; My utmost priority is making sure we all make it out of this alive and intact."

Yuri looked over to the sharpshooter "We don't need homicidal ideation here, gentlemen." He seemed perturbed enough by the direction of the discussion.

"What we do need is a rotating pair of watches here and on the bridge. Ideally at least two at a time there."

"Gentleman, my apologies for intruding but.." The Favian unformed officer entered having returned from the machine gun he was operating now the threat from Red forces had reduced.

"Before I became a diplomat,” Hamelin continued, “I was an officer, and ships live on order like we need blood in our hearts. Disorder is infectious and devastating." He agrees with little he had gained, no ship would last long without a chain of command however loose, ad-hoc, and multinational it may be. They needed to pull together to survive. "We need a crew, however basic."

---

"Establishing watches and command is a start," Volodar said, "but what of contingencies? We need to agree on what we shall do if avarice doesn't convince certain elements to follow the girl's plan."

“Lashes and solitary always worked for us.” Aden piped up. “Mountains were always barebones so we had to keep the discipline somehow.”

"Do these things even have a Brig?" Hamelin asked. "In reactivated, old Favian ships, marines slept between officers and crew, we discreetly locate our beds near the bridge and armoury, cite so we can get ro action faster, in case of the reds? We can keep an eye and ear close without open spying." He proposed to the group.

Yuri shook his head "No, but we can lock up a room if needed. Again, our manning is about as light as it can be, there will be long watches until we can refresh the crew." He considered the Favian's words "Aye, going to need to take up posts nearby. I can take a double watch on the bridge for now, I need to get the telegraph running anyways."

"Just like training, anyone good with a coffee pot?" Hamelin asked, taking the fact without argument, long shifts where something they would have to get used to and a decent coffee man or woman would make it much easier. "I will see what the navigation station is like if you agree. I was a gunner and I am rusty, but I was trained in astral and chart based plotting."

"I'm sorry to say I'm as useful as a-" He stops himself mid-sentence as he remembers the commissioned officers in the room and decides to abandon his humorous idiom. "...I'm not going to be much help on the mechanical side of things; I learned how to fix people, not airships. I can see about using another spare room as a makeshift medical bay just in case, god forbid, we end up with wounded that need treating."

“Guess I’ll go wait on the bridge in case I need to shoot something.” Aden plucked his rifle from the ground and slung the sniper across his back.

"Your rifle should stay here," Volodar took a surprisingly diplomatic tone. "If we are not to disarm the civilians forcefully, we should set the example." He shifted to a more dry tone as he continued. "In quarters like these, a knife or pistol are the practical choice, so there is little reason to feel disarmed."

"...He has a point. We've got to give a little to get a little so putting away the long-guns might make the others do the same, or at least make them less likely to grab for them straight away." Urses nodded to Volodar at his suggestion before glancing down at his own rifle, resting on the wall next to him. He did not seem eager to leave the rifle.

"Medics are useful, if you want work, I'm sure we will have no shortage of duties." Hamelin said approvingly. "Keep to personal arms, if you need a pistol, gear up. I’ll promote you if you want it to be official, services be damned. We need to be careful, we need to build trust and show we are professionals. We are of mixed nations but we need a unified front and build good faith."

"We are, however, all friends here," Arkadios put in, "Perhaps it would also be worthwhile to sound some of the civilians out. Some may be less prone to wanting to steal this ship and abscond to another continent."

“I earned this rifle,” Adan replied to Volodar. “ You’ll forgive me if I don’t want to leave it behind on a ship that is rather unsteady in its command.” Aden made no move to unsling his rifle, though he patted his holster to show the pistol was still there.

"As you wish, young man." Volodar replied as he began removing his pistols from his brace. He turned his attention to Arkadios as he checked the chambers one by one. "It should not be difficult to pull enough civilians away from the Ardellian. There are certainly enough Inburians and Calarians here that will not wish to leave the continent. Keeping the noble girl in check is likely more important.

So," Volodar continued with a shrug, "I suppose the next order of business is leadership?"

The young lieutenant, the highest ranking member of the Air Service currently aboard," Volodar gestured to Yuri. "By regulation, he would be acting Captain, but Captain Arkadios is many years his senior. My suggestion is to disregard protocol in the name of expediency, if the young lieutenant does not dissent."

"I am happy to take on that role though I would require the advice and assistance of those more qualified to operate the vessel," Arkadios nodded to Yuri.

Yuri spoke with a sharpness he didn't have before, "No, no I don't dissent. Circumstances make the captain's experience more valuable by my appraisal." He gave a firm nod to Arkadios.

"Ah well, in that case, airman, let's do it." Arkadios agreed.

"Do you mind if we propose to title our commander,” Hamelin interjected, “Air Captain and the like. To make it clear to those who have not served, Captain is rank and title. Or we adopt the titles of our roles."

Arkadios gave that a moment's thought before shaking his head, "A reasonable idea, but I'm hoping we'll be in Grendel before too long and I'd rather not explain why I took a title that isn't mine. Custospada is perhaps seven hours away if we maintain a good speed. We take some time loading up, perhaps a day, then eight hours to Grendell? Give or take. We won't be on this ship for all that long," he said confidently, "I think we just tell the civilians who is in charge."

“Bridge protocol is to refer to role to avoid confusion." Yuri gave more rotely to the Favian, who in turn replied with a nod.

“Very well then,” Volodar said, and he seemed to smile for the first time in this meeting. “I suppose we can call this meeting adjourned then? I shall take the quarter closest to this armory for now. I believe our officers should make their way to the bridge and assume their posts.”

The Debate

The civilian group debates the morality and logistics of taking a portion of the gold, revealing ideological rifts.

Co-Written by Badarby, Bingelly, Dyelli Beybi, Expendable, InfamousGuy101, Imaria Theyra, Tesserach

---

The airship cruised smoothly through the open skies, the hum of the engines a constant backdrop to the unfolding morning. Carter stood at the helm alongside Itzi, one hand on the wheel and the other holding a compass as he checked the map spread out before him. The morning light bathed the world below in a soft glow, revealing a patchwork of farms and villages that seemed untouched by the chaos tearing through the cities.

Carter glanced out the window, his gaze lingering on the tranquil countryside. "Almost feels like home," he said absently, his voice carrying a rare trace of warmth. "West Fork had fields like that. Wide-open spaces, hard-working folks. War’s got a way of skipping over the simple places… until it doesn’t."

Itzi, who had been adjusting a lever and monitoring the altimeter, turned to him with a grin. "Beautiful, isn’t it? Flying something like this... I never thought I’d get the chance. Back home, my folks would lose their minds seeing me at the helm of a ship like this," she said, a touch of pride in her voice. "They’d probably try to throw a big party for me. Mama would insist on roasting a whole hog, and Papa would just sit there, shaking his head like he couldn’t believe it."

Carter chuckled faintly, keeping his eyes on the compass. "Sounds like good people."

"They are," she replied, her tone softening. She let the moment linger before brightening again. "You know, we should name this thing. Every good ship deserves a name. How about Skyward Dream? Or maybe Cloud Chaser? What do you think?"

Carter glanced up from the map, offering her a sidelong look. "I think you’ve got a knack for optimism," he said dryly, though there was no malice in his tone.

Itzi raised an eyebrow, her grin widening. "Oh, come on. You don’t have any suggestions? West Wind? Freedom’s Wing? How about Mainer Pride?”

"All those names are terrible and make me think of people who live in swamps and are missing teeth," Zoe supplied as she made her presence known on the bridge. "Personally, I'd just call it 'Zoe'! Simple, elegant, and regal," she declared with a slight smirk.

"Might I suggest: The Unrestrained Hubris," came the somewhat annoyed call from the other room. The young Iktani Chamer was engaged in going through the contents of his storage trunk, papers strewn everywhere as he sorted through them.

Carter glanced at Zoe, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. "Naming a ship after yourself, huh? Sounds like something straight outta the old continent. What’s next, slapping a family crest on the side and declaring it a monarchy?" He chuckled, shaking his head. "Zoe the Zeppelin… real humble, that."

"Well yes, that is the continent we are on," she nodded. "And good point, yes, we should paint my crest on it as well. How good are you at drawing dragons and wyverns?" she asked.

"Ware below!" called out the hoarse voice of the boatswain's mate, Nikos. The little man slid down the ladder carrying a carafe, with coffee cups tucked in his jacket pockets. "Coffee, sir and ma'am. What's going on?"

"Dragons and wyverns?" Mitunbaal, dressed in traditional garb, raised an eyebrow at the mention as she scribbled notes down in a journal of some sort. The arrival of the boatswain caught her interest momentarily. "Yes, black coffee if you please." Turning her attention back to Zoe, she added, "So you must be a noble, I presume?"

On the chart table, Nikos put down a cup and filled it with steaming brown liquid, then carried the cup over to the lady. "Be careful, it's hot."

"Zoe Spirou," Zoe re-introduced herself with a slight bit of hesitation. "I suppose you could call me that, but nobody that significant... but having our own airship - it's a bit of fun, isn't it!"

She paused before offering Nikos a bright smile, "Yes please, Sir, coffee would be most welcome."

"Coming up, ma'am!" he smiled, hurrying back to the chart table and pulling out two more cups from his pocket and filling one. He carried it carefully to Zoe.

"House Spirou," Mitunbaal repeated as she looked over the woman quizzically. After a moment of thought, she offered the woman a smile. "Ms. Mitunbaal Vasiliou, at your service, Lady Spirou."

"Your coffee,” Nikos passed yet another cup to Mitunbaal who gladly accepted it.

Pausing her typing with a yawn, Marietta looked to the Boatswain's Mate. "Sir, may I take a coffee? I'm unsure we got your name as well.”

"Yes, ma'am!" Nikos bustled back to the chart table. "Boatswain's Mate Vassiliou, Nikos Vassiliou, ma'am!”

He filled the other cup and carried it over to Marietta, the scruffy man giving her a friendly grin.

"Your coffee. Sir, would you like a cup?”

Carter nodded toward Nikos as the man approached with the coffee. "Yeah, I’ll take one, thanks. No sugar, no cream." He leaned on the edge of the chart table, watching as Nikos poured.

Itzi held out for her own cup with an eager smile. "I’ll take some too, Boatswain, but load it with sugar if you’ve got any. Sweet enough to keep me awake and flying this big girl."

Carter glanced around the cabin, eyes lingering briefly on each person. "So let’s see," he began, his tone dry but amused. "We’ve got a typist," he gestured to Marietta, "a scholar," nodding toward Mitunbaal, "a damsel," his smirk landed on Zoe, "and a scrappy boatswain who looks like he could punch out a bear." He chuckled softly. "And somehow, I’m supposed to believe we’re all going to survive if the soldier boys decide to turn this ship into their personal command post."

Itzi, not looking up from her cup, slid her hand briefly toward the holster at her waist, hidden under her overalls. "Well," she said casually, "guess we’ll just have to make sure they don’t try anything stupid." She shot Carter a sidelong glance, her expression coy.

"Damsel?" Zoe gave a small laugh. "I prefer the term 'charming high-born rogue'... but on the subject of our good soldiers... they are doing their jobs," she shrugged. "They will listen to me, though. It's the natural order of things," she declared. It wasn't clear if she was serious or joking... or a bit of both.

Giogoula walked into the area where the other civilians were gathered, holding a cup of water.

"Trying to grab gold from the treasury seems a bit dangerous when we’re in a good position to fly to safer areas," she said, taking a sip of water.

"The main is still on the table..." Itzi chipped in.

"Sorry, it's just black coffee," Nikos said, pouring—then froze, spinning his head as coffee spilled out on the chart table. "Eh? Grabbing gold? Oh!"

"Sorry!" he cringed, setting the carafe down and pulling a rag from yet another pocket, trying to blot the spill. His voice got very casual. "So, what's all this about the treasury?"

"Well, actually, it's flying in the direction of Mitteland, so it’s not that dangerous," Zoe shrugged, then turned to Nikos. "We are going to assist the Government in retrieving some of the gold reserve and, perhaps, take a modest cut for our hard work."

Bringing the cup to her lips, Marietta took a little sip, letting the hot beverage flow over her tongue. She paused for a moment before spitting the coffee right back into the mug. "Boatswain, this is the worst coffee I’ve ever had. This is a pale imitation of anything even resembling coffee. I’d wager the damned Communalists have a better drink."

"Beats rotting in one of their prisons, drinking putrid water and eating stale bread..." Carter commented as he sipped the coffee, letting out a refreshing sigh.

"You should be happy that there is a hot cup of coffee for consumption at this time," Giogoula responded.

"Oh, I haven’t introduced myself. Name’s Giogoula Giorgiou, my father calls me Giogio," Giogoula said. "Work for—well, worked for the city police.”

"Err, sorry, ma'am. I think that Communalist engineer must be sabotaging the percolator," Nikos apologized, bowing his head, before turning back to Zoe, "A modest cut, did you say?"

"Depends on how much we can lift," Zoe replied to Nikos, "but this is an airship, so—a lot."

The young Iktani appeared then through the hatchway, wearing a matching deep green dinner jacket with gold trim, white lace cravat, and hat—having apparently changed at some point since take-off. He sidled up beside Marietta, offering her a steaming cup of liquid. "Try this," he suggested, observing the proceedings while taking a sip from the bottle of expensive tequila he'd tucked under his arm.

Despite his almost whispered voice, the Iktani poet fidgeted next to her, looking slightly annoyed.

"Well, Sir, find him and string him from the side of the ship for making a fool’s showing of Calarian culture. Those damned godless, immoral charlatans have to keep ruining everything they can even ephemerally touch."

Nikos blushed, then said, "I can't, they made me give her back her gun. It's a wonder if we're not all shot in our sleep."

Turning back, he finished filling the two cups and handed one to Itzi and Carter. "Sorry about that. How much do you think we can get aboard?"

Carter sipped his coffee again, giving Nikos a sideways glance as he posed the question. Setting the cup down, he leaned on the chart table and gestured broadly to the airship. "Well, if this thing’s built like most of the big haulers I’ve seen, she’s got a payload capacity of… what? A few hundred tons, easy. Now, that’s not counting how much fuel we’ll need to make the trip or the weight of the people on board." He tilted his head toward Zoe with a smirk. "But I imagine Miss Zoe here might have a better idea of what’s actually stashed in that vault—and what we might ‘redistribute’ for our troubles.”

Seeing the offered cup of tea wasn’t accepted, Chamer shrugged and paced toward the window, remaining quiet though his agitation clearly hadn’t settled. He took a deep sip of tea, causing a tremor to run down his spine as he stared out the gondola window toward the distant horizon, listening to the conversation as he braced his hands against the window.

"If we're tied up to the treasury's mooring post, then everything's got to come through the accommodation ladder. It ain't built for anything but foot traffic, iffen you beg my pardon."

"It's not like they're going to let us winch it aboard from the ground."

Nikos paused, scratching his chin stubble. "Maybe if we put down boards on the sides, we could use hand carts... but someone's gotta be pushing from underneath. That's gotta be heavy."

"Might I have some coffee? If there is any left." A shy voice spoke as Zano entered the room, looking a bit relaxed but still carrying his satchel and clutching it with his left hand. "I take it we have a task ahead of ourselves?"

"Oh! Sir, I’m sorry, sir!" Nikos blushed again. "I'll go fetch a fresh pot."

Snatching up the carafe, he hustled over to the ladder, rapidly climbing up. Footsteps echoed as he ran toward the galley.

"No, no, it is fine," Zano spoke to Nikos. "I mean... ," and Nikos was gone.

"There is more there than we can lift," Zoe replied with a shrug. "So we load her up with hand carts and so on until the ship can carry no more. Then off we go!"

Zoe took a sip of her coffee before remarking, "Well, I’ve had better, but we are on an airship! All part of the adventure, I suppose."

"I hope he adjusts the percolator. And who are you, sir?" Marietta said, gesturing to the new arrival in the gondola.

Zano sighed, looking at the others in the room. "I suppose I should introduce myself. I am Zano Mirazdar.”

In the galley, Nikos filled the carafe from the percolator, then paused to fetch a cup to pour in a little coffee for a sip. It was bold, bitter, brown, and hot—regulation navy coffee. "Civilians," he muttered, finishing it off before stuffing a few more clean cups into his pocket.

"Ware below!" the bosun called out, sliding down with the carafe in hand and more clean rags. "Sorry about that, sir. Just a moment!"

"Sorry about the taste. I can see about making a fresh pot. Haven't found the sugar yet from stores."

Zoe stepped back, waiting for Nikos to finish serving coffee, before gently catching his arm and drawing him aside. "Sir, while we are all very grateful for a hot drink, you, I believe, are the only person who is supposed to be here. How about you show me how to make the coffee, and I can help with that in the future?"

"Er, it's not right that a lady such as yourself be making coffee," Nikos protested, shrinking back. "I'd never hear the end of it from the officers!"

"Well, I should simply convince them otherwise," Zoe replied, as if that were the simplest and most obvious solution to the military not wanting her on the ship.

"Nonsense!" she replied to Nikos with a bright smile. "In fact, I think it would be quite fun. Why not show me, at least?"

“There is no rush, and you did not have to make more just for me," Zano said to Nikos.

"If you say so, ma'am!" the scruffy bosun nodded reluctantly, knowing he was between a rock and a hard place.

"To Phos tou Kosmou... indeed." Chamer gave a snide laugh and took another swill of his personal tea, followed by a sip from his liquor bottle.

Carter’s expression darkened for a moment at the sound of the Iktani language. He didn’t understand their exact meaning, but the tone struck him, digging into his mind like a whisper of something unresolved. He stared into his coffee, letting the conversation flow.

Itzi, however, was less introspective. Letting go of the helm briefly, she gave Nikos a small smile as she accepted more coffee, still black. "Thanks," she said, taking a tentative sip and wincing slightly at the bitterness.

Turning to the room, her voice took on a more serious tone. "Look, I think we’ve all got the skills to make this work—Carter, Christina, even me and the others. But," she paused, cautiously glancing around for Yuri and Arkadios before looking back at the rest of the civilians, "we gotta be smart about this. If the military folks don’t hold up their end of the bargain, or if they decide that ‘their country’ matters more than the people on this ship, we’re the ones who’ll end up with nothing. Or worse."

Chamer finally turned away from the window to face the assembled group, holding up his hand. "I'm sorry—I am a stranger as it were in your land, but I do have one question about this great adventure." The Iktani's eyes were bloodshot and wide. The man had a manic, frenzied look about him, though he paused as if waiting for permission to continue.

Both Nikos and Zanp glanced at Chamer worriedly.

"Their country is my country, Iktani," Mitunbaal spoke up suddenly, "And it is the country of several of us in this room. Understandably, we would not wish to leave it to fly halfway across the globe in an Imburian military vessel to do God knows what at the impulse of foreigners."

"I agree with Ms. Vasiliou, even if I fall in the minority of people who wish to leave the continent as someone who was run out of my home twice," Marietta commented.

Chamer waited for a calm with a wan smile. "Is this truly how the Great Inburian Empire dies? A group of so-called educated, so-called skilled people—members of the great and vaunted elite—standing amidst the greatest marvel of engineering known to the world, debating coffee and planning a theft—I'm sorry, 'skimming a little off the top'—only to slink away like thieves in the night? All while Communalists ransack the city that was once called the light of the world."

"Better for the military officials to transport most of the gold to a safe designated location," Giogoula added. "I wouldn’t want a bunch of foreigners to decide what to do with my wealth, either."

"You can't leave the treasury for the Communalists, sir!" Nikos protested. "Them'll just take it back to their boss, those gormless idiots, as he starves them half-blind."

Chamer nodded to Nikos. "Then let's do the job properly. Like proper men and women—not pretty criminals scheming while the world burns. Or is honor truly dead in this continent?"

Carter leaned casually against the table, his expression calm, swirling his coffee before taking a slow sip. "We’re not stealing anything. We’re making sure that gold doesn’t fall into the hands of those red loonies." He looked directly at Chamer and Giogoula.

"And yeah, there’s a finder’s fee involved—call it payment for risking our necks to make sure it gets to the 'right people.' Better that than it ending up funding a revolution or lining the pockets of someone who’s got no business having it." He shrugged, his tone steady. "We’re doing a job, plain and simple. Everyone wins."

Mitunbaal scoffed. "Thievery by any other name. At least be honest about the dirty work, or would you then not sleep at night or find comfort in God?"

"What do you think's going on down there? You think the Communalists aren't taking everything for themselves?" Nikos said hotly. "That's thievery, alright. And if you protest, they shoot you."

Carter shrugged, unbothered. "Call it what you want. It’s still better than letting the reds walk away with it."

Itzi smirked, leaning on the helm. "Dirty work, sure, but at least we'll smell better doing it than they will."

"Except, sir," Mitunbaal turned her attention to the bosun, "we aren't dealing with the Communalists. We're dealing with the House of Hasikos and the Inburian state."

"Pah!" Chamer scoffed. "Look at you all, wringing your hands, positively salivating at the prospect of—dare I say it—redistribution of wealth!"

"Indeed," Zoe agreed, nodding to Nikos. "This is a patriotic act. We're saving gold that would otherwise pay Communalist soldiers and buy their guns and ammunition and returning it to our people. My people. If we take a commission for the work, is that so bad? Otherwise, which able-bodied crew would want to do this?"

"This is simple pragmatism," Zoe said, stabbing a finger at the table with the charts on it to emphasize her point. "That pragmatism is what built this Empire. We do what we need to do to survive."

Starting to get fired up, Marietta threw her hat into the discussion. "Exactly, you all have the correct idea. Leaving it only lets the Communalists have it, and they'll use it to keep their bandit kingdom afloat for another 10 years. I think we will get paid for our valiant efforts. The gold will allow the Imburians to keep fighting. It will certainly liven their spirits, allowing our higher moral character to shine through again, alongside allowing the remaining forces to purchase war-making material. Should the Communalist state continue to keep fighting and winning wars on the back of their underhanded tactics, such as poison gas, honor will be dead on this continent. What's the next thing they'll develop, especially if they get the gold? Land battleships? A squadron of war airships?"

Nikos snorted, patting the railing. "It's what they were planning for the Sword here, weren't it?"

"If you want pragmatism, let that gold buy guns and soldiers’ wages. You all can take your blood money—if that's what you truly want—but I'll have none of it! If I am a man, and alive, then let it be said I lived and fought for freedom—not sucking the lifeblood of a nation in its moment of need and doing the Communalists' work for them. Put a rifle in my hands, and I'll help you liberate your gold, but of ill-gotten gains, I want none of it. I don't want it! I can forgive foreign mercenaries demanding their pound of flesh, but those of you who are Inburian should be ashamed to call yourselves such!" With that, Chamer spat on the floor.

Carter smirked faintly as he sipped his coffee. "That’s acceptable to me," he said casually, setting the cup down with a clink. "Means more for the rest of us who aren’t too proud to take what’s earned."

Itzi grinned, raising her cup with a playful glint in her eye. "To pragmatism, survival, and a nice hefty cut!" she cheered, tipping her cup toward Carter.

Carter chuckled, raising his own cup slightly in her direction. "Cheers to that."

Nikos, shaking his head, interjected, "Sir, there's just a handful of soldiers, and most of 'em aren't ours. It isn't fair to risk civilians for this. But we're the only ones who can."

There was a flash of anger in Zoe's eyes. She stepped forward, "I have the right to give that gold to whom I please," she declared. Then, abruptly seeming to cool off—or at least giving the pretense she had—she shrugged and smiled brightly. "If I can get it, that is. Which I will!"

At Zoe's approach, Chamer smiled wryly. "Oh-ho! A reaction? So there remains some shame left in Inburia for its discarded national character after all. Perhaps there's hope, and I have a suggestion—if any here care to hear it."

"What is your suggestion?" Zoe crossed her arms across her chest. "It would be impolite not to hear you out."

"Yes," Carter added, "do tell..."

Chamer stood straighter, a fire burning in his eyes. "Let me say this communalist host, this horde, this blight, may yet be beaten back, but if it is, it will be no thanks to men and women who plunder Inburia during her hour of need. So let's have no more talk here of stealing ammunition, food, and vital war materials out from the hands of the brave men and women below our feet who even now bleed for this struggle while we drift here amidst the clouds, counting out coins that don't belong to us."

He paused to survey the room, his voice hardening. "As I see it, everyone here has a choice, and it's a simple one: either you're a part of this struggle, or you're not—and your opinions can be safely ignored. Return to your cabins. You'll be disembarked at the next safe part. For those who choose to stay, a united effort is required. Faction will destroy us. Denying gold to the enemy is a laudable effort, but a war chest is no one's private property! And I, for one, will not suffer to see it squandered by those who neither fight nor suffer."

Chamer took a breath before finishing. "The terms I propose are simple enough. You'll be afforded a fair patriot's wages, but if you're in: it's commitment to the cause, to unity of purpose and command, to learning how to crew this ship properly, and to ensuring that if we do this thing, we have a responsibility to see this gold—should we attain it—is effectively put towards ending this communalist blight. Every last coin accounted for and spent in service of the effort. Now: who's in, and who's out?"

Carter tilted his head slightly, glancing at Itzi with a raised brow as Chamer's impassioned speech came to an end. He wasn’t sure whether to applaud or roll his eyes. "Well, that was... a lot," he muttered under his breath before speaking louder. "Look, I agree with the basics. If we get this gold, it should go to the right people to fund the fight against the Communalists—fair enough. But let’s not pretend people don’t deserve some reward for risking their necks. Patriotism or no, effort should be compensated."

He sipped his coffee, letting the bitter taste distract from his unease. Fighting a war that wasn’t his didn’t sit well, but he’d already decided that staying alive—and profitable—was his primary goal. Still, this self-righteous talk of noble causes grated on him. The Inburians could bleed themselves dry for their land; he was just here to keep the ship running.

Itzi leaned on the helm, her brow furrowed in thought. Chamer’s lofty words struck her as idealistic—noble, maybe, but disconnected from the reality they faced. "Fair patriot's wages, huh?" she murmured, half to herself. She admired the sentiment, but growing up working the fields and chasing dreams of the sky had taught her that noble causes didn’t put food on the table. Still, she couldn’t help but feel a pang of respect for his passion. "I’ll help, sure," she said aloud, her tone light, almost teasing. "But it better be a pretty fair wage. Seems like a lot of work for no pay."

Zoe paused, chewing her lip as she gauged the room's reaction to Chamer’s speech.

Mitunbaal offered Chamer a brief applause before speaking up herself. "There is an honest man among us. Praise God for that."

Nikos nodded to himself. If they weren't careful, this self-righteous man would get them all killed.

"So, uh, more coffee?" he asked, holding up the carafe.

"Clearly, this is going nowhere, so what if we put this up to a vote?" Giogoula suggested. "And we present what the majority wants to the officers?"

Arms crossed, Carter took a moment to gather his thoughts. "Fine by me," he said casually. "My vote? We go for the gold, but with the understanding that everyone gets their fair share for the work they put in. If that means most of it goes to fund your war, great. But if we’re risking our necks, then some of it better stay right here—on this ship—with the people who make it happen."

Itzi glanced over her shoulder at Carter, then shrugged. "I’ll second that. We get the gold, help fund the fight, and make sure those of us doing the heavy lifting don’t walk away empty-handed. I’m here to help, but I’m not working for free." She gave Nikos a grin. "Now, about that coffee..."

"I shall offer what I said before... 10 percent split evenly between all people. Any person can choose to give their share back to the Empire if they want," Zoe declared. "High-minded people and our military friends undoubtedly will. I... well... I'll decide if I want to return to the Empire or not. And that will inform whether I need the money or not."

"Here, here!" Chamer roared. "A toast to the end of Inburia! And to the people who, by simple majority, voted themselves amongst the richest presidents over her dying days!" He picked up his bottle of tequila and took a long swill of it before bowing with mock formality. "Congratulations to the new lords and ladies, how brave you all are, 'risking your necks' floating 10,000 feet above the fray aboard your luxury airliner! To think my best friend in this world gave his life just so you lot could stand here disgracing his memory."

And with that, Chamer threw the tequila bottle on the ground and stormed out of the gondola, heedless of the broken glass under his boots or the tequila spilled across the floor.

"I believe I've made my position clear enough. God willing, you'll make the right choice," Mitunbaal said, frowning as she rose to her feet. She scanned the room one last time before moving toward the exit. "I shall make sure he does not injure or further embarrass himself."

Giogoula crossed her arms, her tone firm as she spoke. "I will add in my own piece that it’s simply irresponsible for us as a whole to demand the officers give a portion of the nation’s treasury to us in a time of national crisis." She paused, her gaze sweeping over the group. I can’t believe a foreigner cares more about not robbing Inburia than some of you do. This entire argument sounds like the rhetoric made by fifth-column agitators at rallies I’ve infiltrated before. The country is in peril, and its citizens are fighting over wealth instead of helping.

She turned toward the hatch, her thoughts still swirling, Perhaps the military folks will be nobler than the crowd gathered here.

Nikos leaned on the railing, deep in thought. Of course, he mused to himself, me being military 'n' all, I ain't entitled to any gold, no how. In fact, them in charge is gonna be lookin' to me to explain how I let this zeppelin get taken over by all these people.

I'll have to say it were a rescue, to save civilian lives, he continued, puffing up his chest a little. That it was necessary to keep the zeppelin out of enemy hands. I might even get a medal!

His smile faded, and he slouched. But what's a medal? It is a target to shoot at!

And besides, I'm only enlisted. Rescuing civilians only counts if you're an officer or an officer sees you do it. Then there's my prisoner, a spy, now running our engines! A medal is further and further away.

"Excuse me," Nikos muttered, looking a little green. "I think I’ll go check on the percolator."

As Nikos shuffled toward the ladder and the group began to disperse Carter let out a low whistle, glancing at Itzi, "Well, that was a show. What do you make of it?"

Itzi shrugged, smirking faintly as she tapped the rim of her coffee cup. "I think we’re on a ship full of people who might just talk themselves into something dangerous. Should be fun." She leaned back on the helm, the group still dispersing each carrying their own thoughts—and tensions—with them.

Cowritten by Dyelli Beybi, @PrinceAlexus, @Shadow Daedalus

---

Where Zoe introduces herself to the Favian crewmen.

---

The bridge had emptied out a lot after the chaotic disturbances earlier, though Zoe was still there, leaning against the table with the charts on if, staring thoughtfully out into the darkness of the night beyond the gondola. She shivered slightly, hugging her arms around herself. The room was colder than the rest of the ship without any heating and the young noble had fled without a winter jacket... which hadn't been that silly given it was summer. But high in the sky the temperature plummeted.

Hamelin, walked slightly stiffly as he made his way down the narrow passageway, it was all too, ships moved and this Airship was somthing he had not got used to yet, it felt alien to him, like it was subtlety wrong vs Sea going vessel. He made his way past cabins to the bridge, a woman and a few others gathered though his aim was the chart table he found slightly damp... Grease pencils, maps, and a complex brass plated directional compass. He was looking about for the sextant and astrological equipment.

"Taking a look at the charts?" the woman asked, "Zoe Spyrou," she introduced herself with a slight smile.

Hamerlin looked over at the woman leaning against the Navigation station, a noble by the looks of her in a rather fashionable blouse as far as he knew. He turned his head as he had a black patch over one eye and a several visable scars. "Yes Miss Spyrou, well if I can find the rest of Navigation equipment." He spoke politely and a little more formerly, he could still be a Gentleman even if it had all gone to shit, "Hamelin Le Marinier, Diplomat and a Post Captain before i could only Aye, instead of Aye Aye." He said lightly and rested slightly against the chart plot and soothed his right leg, phantom pains from the effort of late and old injury.

Urses appeared a moment later, though with noticeably less purpose in his stride. Truthfully, he hadn't come here for any particular reason; After the initial argument on the bridge and subsequent discussion in the armoury, the Medic had busied himself by clearing one of the unused passenger cabins as an ad-hoc medical bay but now he had done so, he needed a change of scenery and found himself here, although he wasn't sure if he needed fresh air or a cigarette. The cooler air was pleasant enough, although he noticed that not everyone would agree... Sighing slightly to himself, and slipping off the coat of his civilian attire, he approached the Inburrian woman and offered the garment to her. Suspicions or no, he reckoned should at least extend her the courtesy, if only to prevent more work for himself later, "I hope you don't mind if I cut in, but do you need to borrow my coat? The cold seems to be bothering you and you don't want to catch something from it; I have the supplies to treat wounds, not cure colds..."

"That's very kind. Thank you," Zoe gave Urses a warm genuine smile. The gesture had meant something to her by the looks of it.

The Medic nods with a slight smile in return. "Urses Mallory, by the way. Medical Technician, Favis Army... not that you'd guess from the clothes."

"Oh really?" She let him drape the coat around her shoulders before slipping her arms into the sleeves, "I would have picked up the accent, and guessed you were military given you weren't squabbling in here earlier... A pleasure to meet you, Urses, Mister Marinier... I think we met before, must have been at some silly function," she said dismissively.

Hamelin racked his mind and he did link her to something, not a person or a perfect link but he has been attending. Yes, he knew, he remembered the night after rather fondly. "The 12th Innovation hall, Opening night. Good wine, but the sea food was to be desired. Apologies if my memory is a little loose, it's been quite eventful. " He said, not affronted and used to the rather ... less than open diplomatic events. He shifted his weight with a slight hiss of pain. "Well met Mr Mallory, You made it, so that what's matters,. Can you check the lower cabinet, sextant? anything?, old injury, never forgotten." He asked respectfully, rank really did not matter with the dangers still so close behind them, and he would give him curtesy and try to offering him a hand to shake, though his right was where his fingers where replaced.

"Oh yes, I remember that!" Zoe remarked, "I generally liked the wine at that sort of think but Papa was always worrying I'd do something frivolous. I imagine taking an airship out for a spin around the country would qualify as frivolous!

"The wine was always better after the 2nd glass." Hamerlin said matching her slightly more open mood, he definitely could give her a interesting way to escape boring diplomatic functions, grand theft airship...air piracy maybe? "Air Piracy...I'm not even sure If they even have invented the crime. Am i now a pirate?" He could not help but smile at idea, air pirates with cannons along broad sides etc and skyborne boarding actions. Airships where still rather novel.

"So how are we for weapons?" she asked, "And can I have one."

And then.. it dropped, he had to phrase this carefully and he chose his words delicately "We are prepared, but I hope we will remain as we are, and uneventful. Our flight estimate is about a day worst case right now Miss Spirou."

"Yes," Zoe nodded, leaning forward across the desk conspiratorially, "But I don't know who all of the people we picked up are and I suspect many would sell their own mother for a cheap bottle of brandy. They may try to hurt me or decide that the gold goes further if there are less people involved. I'd feel more comfortable... but if you don't want to, I'd also be happy to accept your protection - as an Officer and a Gentleman."

Turning towards Zoe, he had to track people from his one eye, he would protect her as was his duty but he did not want to get caught up in gold business. Money, stressed people was a disaster waiting to happen. "I of course, am still a Officer and Gentleman, I shall do what I can. Gold.. of course you'd bring trouble." He said quietly, with a small sigh, his memory linking her better... "Mi lady, You where always .. lively." He said, Zoe he seemed to recall was somewhat a woman whom could never be called dull.

Zoe flushed slightly at Hamerlin's comment, giving him a coy sideways glance, "Well it does have a habit of getting me into trouble, though in this case I rather think it's getting me out of it!"

"I cannot deny that, Least you were not in a ball gown and heals dodging a upset dukes coachman, Even though I was absconding with a Lady I shall not name to the Grand Royale Hotel, Nice Diversion for some of us anyway." He laughed as it was good for the soul to joke a bit however he would not name names. He was a Gentleman, in less gentlemanly pursuits.

Zoe smirked at that comment, apparently the idea of dodging a coachman didn't seem that concerning, "You know, I am pretty good at dodging people when I don't want them to know what I'm up to. Essential life skill!"

Cowritten by @InfamousGuy101, @Terrans, Dyelli Beybi, @PrinceAlexus

---

Where Aden and Zoe tease Carter for his outlandish stories of the other continent.

---

Carter had been standing at the helm, his hands steady on the wheel, eyes fixed on the horizon. The soft murmur of conversation drifted to him from the others on the bridge, but he made no move to join in. He adjusted the course slightly, the ship responding with a gentle groan as it held steady through the frigid air. The colder temperature didn’t seem to bother him much, his focus entirely on guiding the airship forward.

He glanced briefly over his shoulder, catching fragments of introductions and polite exchanges between Zoe, Hamelin, and Urses. Their voices were low and measured, a stark contrast to the earlier tension. Carter didn’t interject; he preferred the quiet distance, letting them carry on while he kept the ship on its path.

A merry whistling preceded the opening of the rear most hatch of the bridge. Aden appeared, the last notes of the marching hymn dying with a slight embarrassed grin, "Hello." The marksman gave a perfunctory wave of his hand before he closed the hatch behind him; standing beside it in a obviously loose posting. His rifle still slung across his back and his pistol holster snapped in place. His helmet was missing at least; replaced with a dark stocking cap that allowed wisps of hair to curl from underneath.

Carter, still steady at the helm, let out a low chuckle, “I had my fair share of run-ins with a sort of air pirates back in the Evig. They’re not as fancy as they sound. Most of ’em don’t have their own airships—just small boats with harpoons. They’ll try to snag low-flying crafts, drag ’em down for plunder. Only works on the smaller ships, though. The big haulers like this one? They’re a little too much for those harpoons to handle, that and they can reach higher altitudes." Carter adjusted the wheel slightly, his eyes flicking to the horizon. “Now, down south in the archipelagos? That’s a whole different story. Ain’t just pirates down there—there’s all kinds of nasties waiting for anyone foolish enough to fly or sail through. Heard stories of crews vanishing without a trace, ships found adrift with no one aboard. Some folks say it’s just storms or bad luck. Others? They think there’s... other things out there.”

"Harpoon an airship?" Zoe raised an incredulous eyebrow, "What kind of tuppeny-ha'penny airships do you fly in the Main?"

"Sounds like something in the penny novels." Aden piped in. The man having dragged a chair to where he could sit down. His notebook balanced on a knee and opened to a page that was on one side a range estimate and a half finished journal entry on the remaining space.

Carter smirked at Zoe’s incredulous tone, keeping his hands steady on the wheel. "You’d be surprised what desperation can do," he said, his voice carrying an easy drawl. "Harpoons aren’t just fantasy. You take a rigging gun, fire off a steel harpoon with reinforced cabling, and you’ve got yourself a problem. They aim for control surfaces or latch onto the hull. Once they’re hooked, they’ll drag you down or force a landing. It’s not always the harpoon that gets you, though—it’s the crew panicking. Seen more than a few greenhorns tear their own rudders off trying to escape. That’s a quick way to kiss the ground—or the sea." He glanced at Aden, his smirk deepening, "Yeah, it does sound like penny novel stuff. Thing is, a lot of those stories? They’re based on real tricks pirates pull. I’ve flown in the Main long enough to know better than to laugh it off. All it takes is one harpoon to ruin your day, no matter how ridiculous it sounds."

"Sure thing. I'm sure they also launch flying machines up to force zeppelins to the ground." Aden was still grinning as he scribbled away at his journal entry. Summing up two weeks of hell and horror into two paragraphs that did little to capture the enormity of his journey. A tear threatened his eye as his thoughts turned to the 46th Alpine, or rather, where they had died. The mountain pass had been held against the first few assault; but the fourth one came at the heels of clouds of gas and artillery. Faces contorting into terror as the gas or the Calarian's caught up with them....

Aden threw a grin onto his face and squelched the tear. He finished the paragraph and began the ones about the zeppelin. The cocky Mainer, the young silver tongued spinster promising gold, the civilians and military factions forming. His pen moving rapidly as he turned to the next page; a sketch of the air ship developing as if to illustrate his new home for the foreseeable future.

"Perhaps you could train a troop of flying monkeys to claw their way into the helium bags?" Zoe suggested deadpan.

"Maybe we could get a catapult and launch bears at the gondola's to eat the crew?" Aden finished the outline of the Zeppelin and begun to add the gondola and engines.

"Or train an albatross to mimic human speech, fly in through the window and command the crew to land in the voice of their Captain," Zoe added, clearly finding teasing Carter quite entertaining.

"Has to be a parrot." Aden began shading his sketch. "A parrot is colorful enough to fool them into thinking they're a captain."

Carter glanced briefly at Zoe and Aden, their banter about flying monkeys and bear catapults still fresh in the air. He didn’t take it personally; it wasn’t malice, just ignorance. Folks of the old continent had no clue what went on beyond their neatly drawn borders.

"Never trust a sea story, I've not told or heard one that was ever completely true. Even if you float than fly. I've told plenty to know." Hamelin put in. He had taken the opportunity of Aden's arrival to start working on plotting out exactly where they were on the charts.

Cowritten by @Expendable, @Terrans, @PrinceAlexus, @InfamousGuy101, Dyelli Beybi, @Shadow Daedalus

---

Nikos appears with coffee. Zoe and Urses volunteer to help around the ship. Hamelin teaches Nikos the fundamentals of navigation. The crew spot a destroyed railway bridge - evidence of enemy movement nearby.

---

"Ware below!" Nikos announced, then slid down the ladder into the gondola, a fresh carafe of coffee on hand as Urses returned from fetchign the piece of metal he assumed to be the sextant Hamelin was looking for "I've scrubbed out the percolator and put in fresh grounds, it hasn't tasted this good since the first day of the conversion. Anyone want a cup? And what's this about a parrot? Did another one get on board?"

"Coffee not made from a field kitchen or in a foxhole? I'll take a mug." Aden looked invigorated by the promise of fresh coffee. His zeppelin now accompanied by some light clouds and the peaks of distant mountains.

"Agh Coffee, bring a cup over good man." Hamelin said with a hope that coffee make life a little better, it was hot and woke you up at least. He had spent some time working on the charts now, lining the maps and systems correctly to true north. Placing the sliding glass wwas a challenge, a shake of his missing fingers as he locked the small screws to secure the array. But to his satisfaction he was finding that old skill and memories were returning.

"What about you, sir?" Nikos asks Carter as he pulls fresh cups from his pockets.

Carter let out a quiet chuckle, shaking his head as he kept his focus on the wheel. "Yeah, I’ll take a cup," he said to Nikos, his tone casual. "Been a long shift, and coffee’s coffee, no matter where you’re drinking it."

"I'll have a cup," Zoe smiled brightly, "Now my friend, you must show me how to use that to free yourself up for more important tasks."

"I couldn't do that, it's not proper," Nikos said, sweating a little. How would the officers take it if they found out a lady was doing manual labor? He had to change the subject. Weren't they talking about parrots? "On the Kaikias, my captain's brother died and left him this parrot that he brought aboard. We left to do a recon, only a day out when we heard swearing comin' out of the captain's speaking tube, then as clear as could be, we heard 'turn about, turn about.' We thought we were off course or something, so we turned the ship. Half-way through, the captain comes into the gondola and starts demanding who told us to turn around? Then we heard the swearing from the speaking tube and once again, 'turn about, turn about'. It was that bl... parrot," he quickly amended.

"Nikos," Zoe said, raising her eyebrow, looking partially amused by the parrot story, but undeterred, "It would be truly inappropriate if this ship crashed because you were playing tea boy rather than making use of the skills I'm sure you have. It would be so inappropriate that nobody would comment on it again - because they'd all be dead."

"Anyone is welcome to work, we are going to need all help we can." Hamelin said, survival was be better odds if they pulled together.

At mention of work, Urses leaned back against the wall and crossed his arms, "Well, anything requiring technical know-how is out of my field of expertise, but as long as no-one's dying I can give a hand with any general, unskilled labour."

"Helm, what speed we at? And def....wind age? Am I compensating for? You'd believe me if i saw a Kraken right.." Hamelin asked the unknown merchants captain from the pirate lands with a story tellers heart. He joked at end, every sailor had some claim to something impossible..

Carter glanced at the compass and altimeter, his hand steady on the helm. "We’re cruising at about 60 knots," he said, his tone calm and measured. "Not pushing her too hard—need to save fuel if we ever need to make a fast escape from the Reds. Wind’s steady, slight cross from the east, but nothing to sweat over. She’s gliding smooth enough." He smirked at Hamelin's quip about the kraken, "You’re talking to a guy who’s seen skybeasts that’d give you nightmares and pirates bold enough to harpoon a ship like they’re fishing. If a kraken decides to take to the air, I’m sure I’ll have to log that one too. Good thing we're inland."

"Copy, 60 knots. If that's so we can get some harpoons and catch a light calamari lunch." He returned the quip, The lack of waves is... strange I must admit." He said reflecting on how are ship travel he was not fully used to. Looking at the chart Hamerlin carefully, and a little nervously, adjusted the dials of the unfamiliar plotting system, he managed to get the speed and such calculations in eventually on his third try crossing out a page of messy hand written calculations as he went. All this was familiar...yet alien enough to challenge his experience. It took him a little time before he spoke. "I have a rough course, it's not perfect, but bear 15 degrees port, we will meet a larger town in maybe a hour currently and I not want to risk it be a red town. Take us wider over ... some large lake, lake... Irons Deeps." He said looking at the grease pencil rough lines along the glass over the map.

Carter nodded, adjusting the helm to match Hamelin's calculations. "Fifteen degrees port. Over Iron's Deeps, it is," he replied evenly, his hands steady on the wheel as the airship made the gradual turn. The gentle hum of the engines filled the silence for a moment.

"Not a bad call, skirting the town," Carter added after a beat, his voice quieter now, almost as if he was thinking aloud, "But I can't help wonderin'... if that town’s still in one piece."

The airship moved gently like a cab carrying a noble lady with about as much drama, the turn was slow enough that a fussy baby could have likely slept though it. Hamelin was impressed by how smoothly the ship could handle under a skilled helmsnab. "Smooth turn on the Helm, my coffee barely moved," Hamelin said drinking his coffee watching the expanse beyond the large windows, such a different world to where he started squinting out the gutters periscope, "Anyone want navigation basics while i have a long watch?" He asked, he might as well find some way to be useful and teaching someone some basic skils was somthing more than being idle.

"Iffen you don't mind, sir," Nikos says a little hesidently, glancing between Hamerlin and Zoe. "I wouldn't mind learnin' how to navigate." The more what know how to navigate, work the engines and steer, the more likely we'll survive if there's casualties, Nikos thought to himself. And I already know how to steer.

Hamelin looked over at the man who asked, a airship crewman who had been helping serve coffee. Well Coffee was valued but he could not deny that he could do more, "Not at all, come on, get over here, she won't bite, maybe steal a airship, but alas. No time like right now. A navigator must be confident, then you can make other confident, and that's a good ship. Is that not right." He said, gesturing him over and deciding that he would start on most basic foundations. Zoe he hoped would not mind the joke, he was a little nervous and maybe the lady had him a little...socially feeling...out of place.

Urses was far less concerned with social graces and openly chuckled at Hamelin's joke as he stepped away from the navigation table to fish out a packet of cigarettes from the pocket of his waistcoat. He wasn't sure about which brand they were; one of the local flavours but it didn't really check when he was buying them. "She doesn't? Shame, I like a little fire in a lady..." Moving closer to the front windows, he put a cigarette between his lips before going for his lighter, shielding the flame with one hand as he struck the flint with the other. He had the good sense not to put a lit flame near the very important paper maps, so he was fine to watch Hamelin's impromptu lesson from a distance as he partook in his chosen vice of the evening.

"Well," Zoe's smirk only deepened at the comment, "That's not quite true, but sadly this isn't the right setting."

Hamelin gestured to man on Helm to hopefully reinforce the lesson, "As you maybe know, everything boils down in the end every time to a simple formula items. Where you are, where you want to go, your speed and direction of travel. As long as we have at least 2 we can calculate any of the rest. " Hamelin showed him the course he plotted, breaking down the components and how each simple part interacted with all the others. Maybe simplistic but he started at very foundations making sure they where strong.

Zoe followed Urses over to the window, "Hmm," she commented, pointing out towards the curve of a small waterway, "Someone has blow the railway bridge,"

It wasn't the biggest bridge and people could probably still wade the river without too much difficulty, but the gap would definitely slow the Calarians down, once they got there. The lack of soldiers working on it, implied they weren't there yet, but given it had been blown, they couldn't be far away, "Hmm, well hopefully that will give us some time at the gold reserve. Has anyone radioed ahead to tell them we're coming?" she paused a long moment, considering what to say before eventually stating, "Be vague and just say we have orders that we'll present on arrival. They'll know me and it will be fine, but we don't want any suspicion that we aren't supposed to be there before we arrive."

Hamerlin looked over when Zoe mentioned a destroyed bridge, Urses seemed to least be less stressed, and less stressed people with guns was not a bad thing in his mind, he has sense to not smoke near the maps, they would be in the shit even more without maps and chats. Her comment resonated with some of the plans he had heard and other things he had seen in his diplomatic role, including the redundancy plans things fell apart too fast to even implement when the 5th column rose.

"Maybe a day or two for them to bring up an railway brigade to build a temporary crossing. They are not going to be held up for as long as I would like," he said not wanting to dwell on the gold, that was just a headache on top of headaches, he had to get them to somewhere they could even pause to take stock before they planned how to even manage gold. "Telegraph... we've not got that online yet. Someone was going to take a look at it when we can spare someone who knows how." He did not sugar coat half the crew where civilians who did not have the skills to do that, maybe run a watch once they got set up but they needed someone to get it set up and check if it even did work.

"Oh well, I imagine we'll be there in a couple of hours so I guess we just hope for the best!" Zoe declared.

Carter kept his focus on the helm, his expression unreadable as he listened to the exchange. “A couple of hours, huh?” he finally remarked, his tone edged with pragmatism. “Let’s hope your name’s got enough pull to smooth things over, Lady Spirou. Last thing we need is some jumpy officer thinking we’re here to rob the place.” His hands tightened briefly on the wheel as he adjusted their course slightly, eyes flicking toward the window and the blown bridge in the distance, “And if that bridge is anything to go by, it sounds like the Calarians are closer than we’d like. Wouldn’t mind having that radio running, but since we’re flying blind, I’d suggest keeping everyone sharp when we touch down.”

"Id like to give you a more exact number, but best i can say is few hours, Airships do not handle like ships." Hamelin said as he consulted the plot on the navigation table.

“Glad to see they made sure the rear guard will stay on this side of the river.” Aden sounded offended at the notion. The river falling away as the marksman gave a pondering look at the revealing horizon. “Do you suppose this reserve has any emplacement weapons? Something that might prevent us landing?”

"I couldn't tell you for sure. I was never that interested in that sort of thing," Zoe replied, "But this is an Imperial Airship. They will be unlikely to fire unless they are sure we are unfriendly, even without a telegram. Do you have any idea how expensive one of these is! I'd pity the gunner who shot down a friendly airship. Money, after all, makes the world go round! Once we're on the ground... don't worry. They'll do as I ask," she said, with a sigh that sounded disappointed for some reason.

The Stowaway, The Pilot and the Mechanic

Itzi finds out of a particular stowaway.

Co-Written by @InfamousGuy101, @Expendable and @Tackytaff

---

After his attempts at brute forcing his way out of the air-ship's ceiling proved fruitless, Puskurunuwa had begun wandering the space above the gondola's main floor. It was a tedious process, slow-going and painful to crawl his folded body through the tight passages, dragging his carry-sack behind to result in what must have been a terrible scraping noise to those below.

Only when he felt he couldn't move any further did he stop to rest. As his breathing settled, his functioning senses returned to him in the darkness. The sounds of the ship were still pronounced, but they sounded farther away than before.

Meanwhile, Itzi lay sprawled on the small cot in her chosen room, a cluttered yet oddly cozy space nestled close to the engines. The rhythmic hum of machinery vibrating through the walls was oddly soothing to her—like the heartbeat of the ship. The room was modest, with little more than a bed, a side table, and a small porthole letting in the faint light, but it felt like hers. She liked the warmth radiating from the nearby pipes and the faint scent of oil and grease that reminded her of home, back when she used to tinker in her father's workshop.

Propped up on one elbow, Itzi idly flipped through the pages of a worn journal she'd brought along—a mixture of personal sketches and half-baked designs for mechanical contraptions. One of the pages showed a crude schematic for an improved carburetor she’d once dreamed of building, the margins littered with notes and doodles. With a pencil in hand, she made a few idle adjustments to the drawing, her thoughts wandering. This wasn’t exactly the life she’d planned for herself, but as she scribbled ideas for a compact engine-powered tool, her lips curled into a faint grin. She could still dream, even in the middle of a war, even on this ship where every new day seemed a gamble.

It had been some time since Nuwa heard voices or footsteps leading him to the conclusion he was no longer in the more populated areas of the ship. Most importantly, he felt a draft. Nuwa carefully ran his fingers along the surface supporting him in the dark, slowing inching them closer to the cool slip of air until he was able to discern a small seam. He took a final deep breath the steady himself before prying his nails underneath. Just as his fingertips began to pinch between the seal, it gave away all at once. With a crash and surprised yelp Nuwa tumbled to the floor with only the sparse contents of his bag to cushion his landing.

“Ow.” He remarked glumly while his eyes blinked to adjust to the sudden light.

Puskurunuwa's gaze would be welcome by the gleaming barrel of a .38 pistol pointed squarely at him. The weapon's steady aim left no doubt about the intent of the hand holding it. A woman standing over him, her stance tense and her expression a mix of incredulity and barely contained annoyance.

"You've got about ten seconds to explain who the hell you are," Itzi growled, her voice low but covered with an intensity that suggested she didn’t make idle threats. She squinted up at ceiling, her grip on the pistol unwavering, "And what made you think that out of all places you'd come crawling through my room was the one?”

It took nearly half the time to woman had given him for Nuwa to comprehend what it was he was seeing. He stared at the gun, the woman behind it, then their surroundings, and held back a curse. While not the worst situation he’d fallen into in his short life, it was hardly the stocked kitchen he’d been hoping for.

“Puskurunuwa Petrides” He sputtered when her grip began to tighten on her weapon. It came out faster than usual, and given the woman’s foreign accent he thought it worth a second attempt after a quick swallow. “Friends call me Nuwa,” He offered with what he hoped was a disarming smile and raised his hands, palms forward, before trying to stand.

“Didn’t know anyone was here, honest. You’re mighty quiet.” He stole a glance towards the desk she’d come from before returning his gaze to the gun. “Sorry, but I really was just looking for something to eat.”

Itzi tilted her head slightly, her finger still resting lightly on the trigger of her .38 handgun. Her keen eyes scanned the man who had so unceremoniously dropped into her quarters. He was lanky, with a disheveled appearance that suggested he’d spent far too long in places no one should. His clothing was frayed, patched in some areas, and stained in others, but his face held a roguish charm that, to her surprise, she briefly found attractive. She shoved that thought aside quickly; there were more pressing matters than entertaining the notion of a handsome stowaway.

The name he’d offered—Puskurunuwa Petrides—meant nothing to her. “Nuwa,” she echoed under her breath, as if testing how it felt on her tongue. Her grip on the pistol relaxed ever so slightly, though she didn’t lower it entirely. There was something about him that screamed trouble, but trouble wasn’t new to her. This ship, though—it seemed determined to outdo itself when it came to secrets. First the gold, now a ceiling-dwelling stranger.

Itzi finally lowered the gun, though she kept it in her hand. “Itzi, Ku” she said shortly. “I’m one of the two who flies this thing.” She glanced at the spot where he’d fallen from, an amused smirk creeping across her lips. “So, Nuwa, was the ceiling cozy enough for you? Or do you usually go for grander accommodations?”

Her tone wasn’t entirely unkind, though there was a sharp edge of wariness. She motioned toward the door with her free hand. “Come on. We’ve got a kitchen, fully stocked—lucky for you. You can grab something to eat while you explain how you ended up living in the guts of an airship.”

She gestured for him to lead the way, keeping a careful distance as they moved toward the corridor. Though her gun was lowered, her fingers hadn’t left its grip. After all, charming or not, a man who falls through the ceiling wasn’t someone to trust without caution.

“My luck, I think, was finding you Miss Ku,” Finally standing, Nuwa finished the greeting with an exaggerated bow, hand over his chest. His face had reddened at her words, but the wide smile remained. Internally, hundreds of questions fought to leave his throat; her name alone was strange enough to sound foreign even to Nuwa’s well-travelled ears. Only the weapon between them kept his excitement tempered. Not that it seemed to effect him outwardly; putting on a show of nonchalance while his heart pounded was second nature. He followed her gesture to lead down the hallway and used the new space to stretch the stiffness from his arms and shoulders as they moved.

“I was going to wait out up there until we landed,” He began explaining himself. “Figured it was soldiers that had got us moving and away, but didn’t know which side.” He turned his neck to look at her again. While her dress was strange for a woman, it wasn’t exactly a uniform either. How did a woman become a helmsman anyways? It didn’t seem a question she’d appreciate hearing yet and Nuwa shook it out of his head.

“Fortunately, my impatience was rewarded.” He finished instead, giving a wink before turning back around, hands entwined behind his head and elbows out, as though he was on a casual walk with an old friend rather than a threatened march.

“I don’t supposed you’d do me another kindness and tell me where the ship is headed?”

Itzi walked behind Nuwa, keeping a measured pace as she listened to his explanation. His relaxed demeanor and casual remarks, while undoubtedly charming, weren’t enough to lower her guard entirely. Still, there was something oddly endearing about his bravado, and she couldn’t help but smirk slightly when he winked.

"Well, this ship hasn’t been seized by the reds," she replied evenly, "And no, it’s not entirely run by Inburian soldiers either. Let’s just say it’s a mix of...interests." Her eyes stayed sharp as they moved down the hallway. She pointed to the right as they reached a junction,"That way."

The hallway opened into the dining gondola, a spacious yet utilitarian room with rows of tables bolted to the floor. It wasn’t fancy—far from it. The room had a military efficiency to its layout, but the presence of a few scattered mismatched decors hinted at a more casual atmosphere among the crew and passengers. On one side, a self-serve buffet with steaming trays of food waited, accompanied by stacks of metal plates and utensils.

"This is where you can grab a bite," she said, gesturing toward the buffet. "Help yourself." Her voice softened slightly as she added, "The berry tarts aren’t half bad." She slid her pistol back into its holster at her waist but kept her posture upright, her confidence in control, yet still watchful. Itzi leaned back slightly, crossing her arms as she waited to see what Nuwa would do next.

Nuwa dropped the topic of their destination as readily as she’d evaded answering. They were going wherever they were going and he had neither the means nor knowledge to change course. Not that he would know were to go anyway; away from the reds was about as far as his own plans had gone. He instead gave his attention on the spread of food available. When he had a plate piled high with a generous portion of each offering her returned to her.

His companion didn’t seem to have anymore questions for him, content to simply stare. Being watched was never something that made Nuwa uncomfortable. The silence however…

He tried to focus on the food. His manners left much to be desired- if they existed at all. A spoon was the only utensil he took, and even then barely used, preferring to eat with his hands and making a mess of the table and himself. If these mixed interests were going to shoot or throw him overboard he’d at least have a full stomach. He did his best not to think of the last time he’d had a proper meal.

We shared those buns, filled with meat and warm enough-

“I should thank you,” He said aloud, nearly choking on a potato as the words came out, but he was desperate no to let his thoughts wander a second longer. “I hope you won’t find trouble for allowing me this.” It was hardly the question he wanted to ask but he wouldn’t directly pry when she was already suspicious of him. He attempted casual conversation instead. “It’s all very good. Is the cook Inburian?”

Itzi leaned back against the edge of the table, arms crossed, watching as Nuwa devoured his meal with what could only be described as unrestrained enthusiasm. It was... a bit much, but she wasn’t one to judge. Still, the scene made her feel a little awkward. Was this the kind of thing she could get in trouble for? Not that she had a boss anymore—at least not in the usual sense. Right now, she was here for one thing: a payout, hopefully large enough to make all this nonsense worthwhile.

When asked about the cook, Itzi gave a small shrug, her lips quirking into a faint smirk, "If there’s a cook, I haven’t met them yet. Honestly, I think this stuff just shows up. Probably stock from before the ship was repurposed. Buffet-style, military efficiency, no frills." She gestured loosely to the spread. "For all I know, it’s leftovers from some fancy gala that never happened."

She tilted her head slightly, her sharp eyes narrowing as she studied him, "But let’s talk about you, Nuwa. How exactly did you end up stowing away in this airship? My guess? You’re running from the reds. Can’t imagine they’d have been big fans of your table manners," she teased lightly, though her gaze remained steady, clearly waiting for an answer.

Nuwa laughed politely and rubbed his hands together in an attempt to clean some of the mess. “Never know when a meal might be your last, might as well enjoy it.” He spooned more food into his mouth, taking the time to consider how much of the truth he was willing to share. Itzi seemed fine enough, if a bit wary, but the ‘mixed interests’ she spoke of could have meant anything. Hell, she could be with he Calarians and just waiting for him to confess something. She’d be wasting her time, but Nuwa’s conscience wasn’t clear enough to not hesitate.

“I’m afraid I don’t have many interesting secrets to reveal. There was fighting and I wanted out, getting on a ship seemed the best option, and I didn’t exactly have a ticket.” It was true enough for him to say it confidently. Whatever notoriety that had come his way during his short time in the city would have been that of a pickpocket, hardly a war criminal worthy of putting a name or face to.

“Before that, it was my employer that brought us to Inbur. Lord Landry’s Big Top Circus; the best show in the whole Cirlce Sea!” For the first time since their meeting, his easy smile faltered. “Or was the best, I should say. We got a bit scattered with… Everything.” He took a moment to swallow more food and bar any further thoughts on his family. “Don’t think the Calarians or Inburians every gave us a second thought really. Just found ourselves in the wrong place at the wrong time.” He placed his spoon down and forced the grin back to his face as he looked at her expectantly. “Hopefully this isn’t more of the same.”

“Ah, a connoisseur of revelry and entertainment.” He inclined his head to her appreciatively. “The trapeze was my speciality, contortion tricks a close second. Would catch the odd knife, but more often spun around on the board, could walk the rope too, but...” He shrugged “Flying was always more fun.”

She at least appeared to be relaxing around him, but it was hard to forget about the weapon still tucked away somewhere under the table.

“Have you ever-” Before he could get any more wistful or return questions of his own, they were interrupted by someone entering the hall in search of refreshment.

Yawning, Chrstina Ferarri walked into the dining area, one hand under her shop coat, scratching her ribs.

"Buongiorno," she managed, heading toward the coffee urn. Picking up a cup, the skinny mechanic poured a little into the cup and held it up to her nose, sniffing it. She frowned, then risked a sip.

"Coffee good," she decided after a long moment, filling the mug, then grabbed a plate and began putting eggs, sausage, and toast on her plate, followed by a pastry. A cauldron held some curious sort of slow bubbling gravy that made her shudder. Christina then sat tiredly down at a table next to Itzi and Nuwa and frowned.

"Mi scusi," she said, staring at the pair. "You, I know."

Her finger then pointed to Nuwa. "You, no. You are...?”

Another woman, with a clear Calarian accent. He raised an eyebrow at Itzi, who appeared unperturbed and not at all surprised by the newcomers presence. For his part, Nuwa went quiet as he watched her move about the room, apparently oblivious to his own existence until sitting a foot away.

He gave her a small nod to her question before beginning his introduction. “Puskurunuwa Petrides. Circus Preformer and accidental stow-away, recently discovered and rescued by the lovely Itzi.”

Itzi smirked at Christina, leaning back slightly in her chair as she gestured toward Nuwa. “Much like everyone else on this ship, Mr. Nuwa here decided he’d had enough of the enriching ideas of the Communalists. And, well, when you’ve got nowhere else to go, I guess crawling into the ceiling of an airship seems like a good idea.” Her voice was teasing, but her expression was lighthearted.

She grabbed another piece of her berry tart, popping it into her mouth before continuing. “Of course, now that he’s here, I figure he might as well be useful. Maybe he’ll provide some good entertainment while we’re busy trying to save the gold reserves from landing in the wrong hands.” She tilted her head toward Nuwa, her tone turning playfully pointed. “But let’s make one thing clear, Mr. Petrides—no more sneaking into rooms. At least not without an invitation.”

She gave him a sly wink before looking back at Christina with a grin.

Christina nodded wearily as Itza warned the stowaway about sneaking into rooms. "In training, *esercito popolare* taught how... What is word? No matter. We taught to cut lower parts. Best you stay out.”

Nuwa’s gaze volleyed between the two women. He continued spooning at his food, but with comparative reservedness, and a small frown drawing between his brows. The talk of his potential usefulness made him wary, but the mention of gold reserves snagged his train of thought and refused to let go. Only when he looked up to see Itzi winking at him did he notice his lack of attention; failing to recall her final remarks. He smoothed his features back into a relaxed smile and hoped she didn’t expect a response.

"So no wings, good," Christina said, pausing to take a bite of sausage. "Anyone else up there?"

“I came alone and haven’t seen anyone else.” Nuwa replied to the Calarian as she began her own line of questioning.

"Communalists killed my parents," the mechanic stated flatly. "Running good idea if you no can fight."

She eyed Nuwa up and down. "You can fight?"

“Not much of a fighter either so you won’t be forced to demonstrate that particular ah- skill.” Nuwa’s voice hitched at the end of the sentence, forcing him to clear his throat before desperately latching to the next topic, and allowing his attention to return to Itzi.

“I was wondering about the rooms myself, I don’t suppose there are any left?” He rapped his fingers on the table. “Do we know how many people are aboard for that matter?”

Smiling thinly, Christina took a sip of coffee, then frowned. "Rooms? You have rooms? Where get room?”

"Dozens of empty rooms, probably meant for the crew or passengers before all this chaos kicked off. I’ve already claimed mine, though.” Itzi's voice took on a mock-serious tone, “Of course, that was before a certain someone decided to burst through the roof like some kind of circus cannonball. That someone might just owe me a little handiwork fixing said roof.” She raised an eyebrow at Nuwa, her smirk widening.

Turning to Christina, Itzi continued, “But don’t worry, Ferrari. There are plenty of rooms left. I’ll show you two around and get you each one that’s nice and comfy. Preferably with ceilings that stay intact.” She jabbed a thumb toward Nuwa with a grin. “And hey, maybe we’ll find you one with a trapdoor or something, in case you feel the need to do any more dramatic entrances.”

She stood, brushing off her overalls. “Finish up your food, circus boy. You’re coming with me to help scout out rooms. Oh, and don’t think I’m joking about that roof. If you’re going to freeload, you might as well contribute, right?”

Cowritten by [.@Bingelly] and Tesserach

---

Having stormed out of the gondola during the meeting, Chamer didn't go far. Down the passageway, he knelt next to his open travel trunk. The contents were half-removed, stacked in piles around the trunk as he sorted through the disordered contents packed, it seemed, in a hurry. Mostly tailored wardrobe materials, along with books, papers and a small arsenal of spirits, absinthe, and some other pharmaceutical looking powders, plants and herbs.

Chamer's main focus seemed to be his paperwork and notebooks, flipping angrily through them and sorting them - looking rather like a petulant man-child.

Mitunbaal caught up to the man quickly, and looked at the frantic display of paperwork and belongings with a mixture of familiarity and contempt. She crossed her arms with a sigh. "Would this not be easier in one of the rooms?" she suggested as she moved to grab her own set of belongings.

"About the same really." There was still a hint of irritation in his voice, though the energy in his voice was much diminished from earlier in the gondola. "I simply need discover what's missing. It shall be easier to ruminate over my losses in a cabin later I expect though."

"If that pleases you," Mitunbaal replied with a shrug. She glanced out one of the porthole, pondering the stars visable off in the distance. "Will that rumination come with more tequila or is there some gin in that trunk, sir?"

"Gin?" Chamer sighed then raised a skeptical eyebrow at this, then leaning over the trunk he sifted through an array of clothes, pulling out some additional bottles that he added to the existing arsenal of alcohol and glassware containing various medicines that he began to list off. "I have tequila, aguardiente, chicha - bourbon - and absinthe," Then some small glass containers. "Marijuana, mushrooms, and - of course - cocaine. No gin." After a moment he selected a particular bottle of chicha. "Ah, tonight I think is a chicha de jora night."

"How," Mitunbaal paused for a moment, "artistic. I assume most of those are Iktani, Sir?"

"The bourbon and absinthe are continental vices. I had some other rare bottles from back home, but I seem to have lost a great deal today."

"Indeed you have, sir. As have most of us." Mitunabaal agreed. "It's a better time than any for some strong drink, but I suggest we do so in a cabin or what may remain of the old lounge. Less chances for accidents involving windows... or firearms."

Chamer stiffened then as though some momentous though occurred to him just then. "But of course, you're right. Here I am sulking in a corridor - this should be a celebration of life!" Immediately he began rifling loose paper and bottles back into the trunk until items were piled haphazzaddpy within such that the lid could not be closed.

Then seizing upon the handle on one side began dragging it towards the cabin areas. "Would you mind terribly getting the door?" He called even as he was backing towards it.

"Of course, I wouldn't mind at all," Mitunbaal replied as she lugged her own trunk around him and, with her free hand, opened the door. The cabin that greeted was fairly empty. A double bunk and a set of footlockers were all that greeted the pair as they both stepped through the door. "I supposed austerity was to be expected," Mitunbaal added with an awkward chuckle.

Chamer dragged his trunk inside the berth by one hand, shoving it to one side. "If one is to properly celebrate the life of a man that seized every day given him..." Leaning over the trunk he looked inside, then straightening and turning to face Mitunbaal, he presented what appeared to be a pungent, hand-rolled cigar. "This I think is more appropriate. Do you partake Miss...?" Chamer raised an inquisitive eyebrow, as he stepped aside gesturing in offer to help Mitunbaal with her own trunk.

"Vasiliou," she said, glancing at the cigar without a sense of hesitation. Though she also appeared all too unwilling to part with her trunk. "It has been some time since I've indulged in that particular vice, but, if you feel it would honor your man's life, I believe I can make an exception for today."

Chamer noted Miss Vasiliou's partiality to her trunk and stepped out of her way to hold the door for her "A life lived without vice is one scarcely lived at all." He watched her, gesturing with his foot towards a spot beside the door her trunk would fit. "Your effects should be safe there for a time."

"I am familiar with the thought," she nodded as she placed her trunk down, "I knew a more than a few avant-guardists in Inbur and Neapol in my younger days." Digging through the satchel she also carried, she produced a box of matches. "You may need these."

Chamer took the offered box of matches and handed Mitunbaal the fat, hand-rolled cigar. "Rank amateurs if my own experiences on the continent are any indication. This is to be a proper celebration of life!" He declared, striking the match and gesturing with the still burning match toward the cigar now in her hand. Even unlit the cigar was already filling the cabin with the pungeant smell of reefer.

Chamer glanced to the door, then back to Mitunbaal, making and holding intense eye contact as he reached out with his free hand, and flicked the door closed behind them.

Mitunbaal placed the cigar in her mouth, and leaned over the match. The cigar lit with a quiet crackle that was satisfying if one could hear it. Drawing a long pull, the acrid smoke filled her mouth, throat, and lungs. Mitunbaal coughed harshly instinctively, expelling the smoke in a cloud "Dawnbringer's fury," she choked out, "that's potent."

Chamer smiled at that, flicking his wrist and tossing the spent match into the rubbish bin. "Would you wish it any other way? My people consider such herbs sacred, the starting point of a spiritual journey." He intoned through the thick, pungent cloud of smoke. "Which is what I intend tonight."

Chamer turned slowly, and knelt before the trunk again, removing several other implements. A bottle of absinthe, and two ornate lacquerware containers that he set aside with something approaching reverence. Glancing over his shoulder at Mitunbaal he asked. "Interested?"

"Perhaps I may be," she offered a faint smile and a nod towards the bottle of absinthe. "Though I pray there aren't any priests aboard. They most assuredly would call this a sin." She laughed warmly, "Though one of my associates was once challenged by the brother of a priest to a duel over a similar affair."

Chamer turned looked at Mitunbaal and nodded appreciatively at that. "Very nice." He then turned back to the trunk, producing two crystal glasses from one of the laquer cases, and pouring a generous portion of absinthe into each, eyeing the levels as though he were a chemist carefully measuring out his reagents.

"Have a seat." He offered, gesturing towards the bed. "Make yourself comfortable. It may take a few minutes before the herbs start to have an effect."

"I'm aware," Mitunbaal replied before raising the cigar to her mouth and taking another hit. This time, she managed to stymie the cough and exhaled with a sigh before offering the cigar in turn to Chamer. "So, what brought you to my fine country?"

Chamer took the cigar, balancing it on his lip and inhaling deeply. Mitunbaal's question though seemed to cause him pause, enough so that he took another toke before finally responding. "Family disagreements. An unpatriotic appreciation of the Inburian classics and desire to visit the center of the civilized world." He shifted and reached for the two glasses. "An endless restlessness spurred by disquiet at the thought dying having never truly lived."

Mitunbaal smiled at Chamer's answer. "A similar craving for knowledge drove me eastward, to the sparse interior and barren north of my people's lands. The blight was our undoing, while also being placed the center of our modern myth. It's maddening oxymoron, and an enduring mystery despite it's apocalyptic scale. I hope to understand it one day."

"Now there's a worthy striving." Chamer turned to face Mitunbaal, gazing up at her appraisingly as he passed the cigar from his lips to his fingers, then offered it up to her. Settling in there on the floor he sat crosslegged, propped against his travel trunk. "It's so rare to meet someone who's managed to resist the quiet death of the heart that infests modernity. Is that what brought you to Inbur?"

"I am an Inburian citizen by birth, as my family is from Neapol." Mitunball explained, only pausing to take another puff of the cigar as she joined him on the floor. "The University of Constaninos the Second is the oldest university on the Circle Sea. Its reference collection is quite extensive, even after the Haltian Conquest and the Restoration War, and it is superior to the universities in Neapol. Field expeditions are significantly more exciting than both, however, but the Calarians launched their pitiful attempt to spread their goddless revolution while I was digging through the University's archives."

"You know, I actually gave a talk there. I was staying with with the head of the literature department when I first arrived." Chamer shuffled to the side a little to make room for Mitunbaal next to him. He then added matter-of-factly. "He and his wife were both communalists by the way."

"I had my suspicions," Mitunbaal dryly replied, "alongside rumors of certain queer proclivities of the pair," Staring at her trunk, she coughed again. "I do have incense with me. We can burn it once we've finished with the cigar."

Chamer nodded silently at that, sitting up on his knees and picking up the two glasses of absinthe he'd poured earlier before turning towards her and offering her one of them. "I have a proposal. But it might see you somewhat preoccupied to be lighting incense." Something of a mischievous smirk creased his lips.

"Oh," she laughed, returning the smirk with one of her own as she reached for the glass, "I believe I am capable of a great many things."

"I certainly hope so. Once this cigar has done its work, what I envision is you taking a seat up on that bed." He tilted his head in the direction of the bed while watching her intently, his expression and eyes lighting up. "At which point, I, being here on my knees in supplication before you, shall begin to slowly worship you with my lips until you have achieved a state of sublime relaxation as most people shall never know in their lives.

"Then, we shall spice things up by finishing these glasses - which we will have saved for the occasion - in order to further heighten the experience. At which point I shall pounce upon you like a hungry animal and we shall throw ourselves completely at one another, taking one or two of these mushrooms..." Reaching behind him he flipped open the lid to the remaining lacquerware container, revealing what appeared to be group of mushrooms before he continued, like a chef discussing a full course meal he'd prepared. "... which we will lightly season with just a sprinkle of cocaine! Then once we have both expended ourselves completely we shall drift off in the most perfect of endings to an otherwise abysmal day."

Into the silence that followed he simply glanced to the bed and asked. "Shall we?"

"You, sir, are a devil," Mitunbaal lowly replied as she began to remove her coat. "And tonight, I shall be a poor wayward sinner. May God forgive me for my sins." However, her expression turned forlorn as she reached for the glass and raised it, "And may your man find eternal peace in the light of the dawn."

Chamer's expresion momentarily faltered. "He's on his way to the land of the dead heroes. Up there, among the stars." He gestured off in the distance, where the sacred stars might've glimmered beyond the cabin window. But then a wicked grin creased Chamer's lips as he shuffled towards her on his knees. "There are other paths to the divine. Why, without devils and sinners there'd be no need for holy men or gods. Tonight, let this devil be your guide."

---

Outside the zeppelin, the air was thick with the sound of her engines. The night dark as the blinds were struck, a solitary light within remaining on through the night and until the breaking of the dawn when finally it was struck out.

Christina sighs as she checks the gas bags, making sure the gauges were holding steady, then glances longingly at her improvised bedroll of blankets, lying under a table with a battery lantern. A cabin would offer her more privacy - but easier to shut her in. It also meant being too far from the engines.

Putting down her steaming mug of coffee, she produces a cigarette from her shop coat pocket, neatly tearing off the filter from the end. Peeling away the paper, she rolls the filter with her fingers until it was compressed, then carefully inserts it into her right ear, sticking out slightly. It began to swell as she repeated her actions with a second cigarette filter she stuck in her left ear, the roar of the engines becoming more muted.

Christina's smile was so slight as to be mistaken for a shifting of the light, then she took the stars down to engineering.

Only the compressor was silent, there being no need to fill the tank further. It took a lot of air pressure to get those engines started, burning that Blau gas, out there on a strut in their engine pods. The master engine gauge panel showed her how each of the engines were performing. A good part of her work was to get them running right - with careful maintenance and avoidance of battle damage, it should work well for several weeks, as long as she feathered them in pairs from time to time.

Even engines needed their downtime.

Happy she moved forward again, putting a heavy door between her and the engines as she yawned tiredly as she headed for her sleeping pallet. It would be great to strip everything off, scrub herself down and sleep between clean sheets.

Hamerlin had left the bridge with a cup of coffee, a sextant, a note book with a guide sheet, the older man was struggling to stay awake so he had another hot cup of coffee and chosen to take the sextant and a use the night sky to calibrate it. the cool night air was cold on his skin but welcome and the light breeze that was a cool constant. a new constant and unused to the effects of being some 2000 plus feet up. They where on course and he would fall asleep if he did not keep busy. Even the complex maths and so he had with 10 notes in 3 books and 5 sets of sums feeding into one where not ernough.

He sat down a large ammunition crate next to one of the machine gun mounts and sighed the north star before checking his rather bad handwritten notes of what it should be, his right hand mangled by shrapnel was not the best for fine work, but alas he was right handed. the notes where crude but accurate though and he breathed gently as he adjusted the settings with help of a small tool kit he found on the wall.

Watching the lands move below, he sipped on a steaming mug of coffee, the night sky this high up clearer than he had ever seen from the sea making his task an rather technical but satisfying task. The lights of the world glittered from the darkness.

His life had changed, his life was … unknown but for the first time in years the former Navy officer had a sense of adventure, daring and a much more simple sense of what he had to do. Part of him smiled and was glad, he was his old self more again.

He thought back as he worked slowly through each calibration, slowly and steady making tiny adjustments with the small tool kit lining everything up as well as the quality allowed. He was worried about people, friends and lovers but chaos erupted so fast, they barely had a chance to even react to events, guards were barely at their stations before the gun fire crippled all over the city. The 5th column, regular army had them on the backdoor reacting from the very start they had every advantage and exploited it without fail.

The handle of the sea knife as he took It to remove some dirt from slotted screws on the device was now stained a redish broken, the blood soaked Into worn wood from its lethal use.

He doubted it would be the last time they had to fight before they finished this chapter of the adventure. He would catch a dew naps and so overnight, he would take readings om regular rimes, the wind was meant to be steady, speed steady, so the course was unlikely to drift by more than a hand full of degrees at worst. Their was likely a cot near bridge he could catch a few winks of rest. He was not the same 18 year old, he needed some rest.

Private Aden Robertson

It struck Aden as he sketched the profile of a few of his shipmates. He had finished the visage of Arkadios as Aden remembered him from the armory; stern and imposing. The outline of Carter as he helmed the airship; the drawing comparable to that of a captain bracing against raging seas. It was as he outlined the frames of Zoe, face pulled into a grin as she teased Carter, that it came to him.

' I survived. I survived. I made it back from the mountains. '

His sketching stopped abruptly. The line becoming misshapen and darker as the sniper pulled back his pencil. His abbreviated two week journal entry was a few pages back; it did little to show the experiences he had went through.

Aden realized his breathing was becoming shakier as he remembered the first hours of the war. The scramble to the front. His best friend; Lucius, taking a bullet in the initial scramble for cover. The first shot in anger he ever took. How it missed the fresh faced kid who's only crime had been to wear the wrong uniform. Scraping away at rocks and loose dirt with desperation as mortars fell on him as the kid he missed reported the sniper.

The marks of day still evident on his hands; thin, angry red scars still showing the after effects of his adrenaline fueled panic. They shook still.

His mind still om that day. The young Calarian soldier picking his head up cautiously and how it filled his crosshair. The distance making it seem so much smaller; the pain of his bleeding fingers as he pulled the trigger again. The distant clang of metal on metal, a helmet flying off and a brief spurt of red. The face falling out of a view and a cry of grief. Aden had moved on by the point the mortars fell again; but that face stayed in his mind.

Had he killed someone's friend? Brother? Would he remember them all?

Then he killed his second, third and fourth man two hours later. His fifth and sixth came five hours after that. Aden realized then that it never became easier to do it. Just to forget it.

He had no idea how many he had by the time he had escaped onto this airship. But here he was now. Sipping coffee and sketching away as he helped steal gold from a nation that he had chosen to fight for. Just so he could go back to fighting for an army that had left him behidn in a doomed city.

"Gods above I'm a mess." He said aloud to the bridge. Not really caring who heard it.