Bolts of fire streamed across her field of vision. A massive machine of war seemingly beyond the horizon. A fortress of stone and crystal shaking with each volley of fire. Its true shape was unrecognizable, hidden by the clouds. These streams swept over and around the sails of the ship, impacting them, and setting them ablaze. This was the fate of every vessel in the thousand-strong armada.
As the fire reached the ship's dockside nacelle it was set aflame. The floatstone inside freed itself from its charcoal enclosure to plummet into the storming clouds below. With one of its nacelles no longer functioning, the ship began to uncontrollably reorient itself. Anchored at only two points, the craft turned from being parallel with the horizon line to being perpendicular to it. Nailed to the sky, swaying like a sign in the wind.
This sudden dip of the back dockside of the ship rendered its capacity as a warship useless. Inside each cabin, every crew member was now standing on the left wall of what used to be a level room. Those on the deck were much less lucky. They were in freefall, and their only options were: breaking their legs by landing on the wooden dockside railing, or passing between the rails' columns and throwing a skyhook.
Temora passed through an opening in the dockside rail used for loading and unloading. She reflexively threw her skyhook toward one of the columns of the rail. It wrapped around the rail and bit into the wood. She attempted to quickly grasp the rope. The rope burned through her hands as its melted end passed through her fingers. What good did all that rope climbing do for her?
Her eyes were now locked into the skyhook end as she continued to plummet. The ship she had made her home started to take up a smaller and smaller amount of her visual real estate. The thick black clouds of war and storm soon obscured her vision of the ship completely.
She would survive falling for longer than she expected, as the air around her became heavier and colder. Sharp shards of ice and frozen nitrogen gas began to cut her cracking skin as they swarmed across her at incredible speeds. As the lenses of her eyes began to freeze, she apologized that she would not be able to keep that promise to her mother.
Temora jolted from her bed to the sound of citywide bells; a morning courtesy. They came from the Daynist churches which worshiped the Source, the life-giving ever-present sphere in the sky. This sphere was responsible for daylight, the passage of time, and all of the creatures of Una; supposedly.
She pressed into her eyes roughly with the pads of her palms. That one was rough, but she was a dreamer after all. There were many nightmares like this over the last couple of weeks, but none affected her as much as this one did. The only part of this dream that messed with her was the length of time it took for her to ultimately die.
Dwelling on something as trivial as a dream was not in Temora’s nature. She was already out of bed and triple-checking through her pack. Her mother was still very much asleep, at least she hoped. Today was Cooprelson, the seventh day of an eight-day week, and the start of this weekend. Parele had no reason to wake up before fullbright. Certainly with how late they were up the night before. Staying up did not do Temora’s morning any favor.
She spent a few minutes adjusting the elements of her uniform, as she expected it to be inspected as she boarded the ship. The rucksack was heavy now, but the stitching could handle much more weight and so could she. Temora considered taking time to buy personal provisions for the tour, but after seeing how well-equipped the military was she deemed it unnecessary.
After quietly and slowly walking down the stairs and exiting the house, she had successfully snuck out. Free from the possibility of her mother making one last attempt to keep her home, and ready to move on with her adult life.
Unlike with a walk to the college campus, this was a trek across the city to the aeroina. Even though she could see lights from her bedroom window, the aeroina was almost a redknot below their street, and five away. With the winding roads, it was a beat-long walk, even at her exceptional walking pace. She was grateful it was all downhill.
Temora would have normally biked this distance, but if she parked her bike out that way it would be rusted or stolen by the time she returned. Some would take a glider down, but she had only done that once or twice; never unassisted. A carriage ride would been nice, but she had no karats to spare.
So, a long walk to the dock it would be. It was chilly this morning as it was getting closer to Sorinel, the coldest grad of the year. It would be deep into the cold by the end of her tour. This tour would last four to five weeks. She did not yet have the details. Ideally, they would be debriefed onboard long before they had to perform any combat duties, but war has a way of ruining plans.
She passed by food stalls and carriages serving brightfeast of all kinds, but her walk was already compelling her to hurry. Not that she was ever late, but they wanted her there by the second beat. A little tight for a beat-long walk after half a beat of checking her packing, and preening her uniform. She would arrive maybe half a beat before they would be embarking the ship.
The walkways down to the aeroina were mostly intact. However, the stonework down this way turned into paved rough concrete. It was weathered and needed significant repair, but with the amount of foot traffic it had; their condition could have been worse. The carriages were fine with this surface. Fewer bumps from the roads than the warbirds walking them at any rate.
Temora approached the aeroina whose only barrier of separation was a large overhead hanging sign supported by a steel girder and two square steel columns, which read “Aeroina of the Port Authority of Argentis” followed by “Ushunfield Aeroina” in much larger flourished typography. Around her were hundreds, perhaps thousands, of people going about their early routines. Most of them looking for one of the port’s many diners for a good morning brightfeast.
The aeroina was a complex structure built off of the cliff-side of the skyland. It branched out into eight cul-de-sac-like protrusions each with about 20 spokes, where aeroships could dock on their left side; dockside.
This meant all of the ships docking with the aeroina were pointing toward each of the platforms. For the ships, this was no issue, as they could fly above the aeroina with clearance given to them by the Port Authority. Ships could not pass under the aeroina due to nets that hung below the platforms for safety. A specialized profession retrieves those who fall into or below the nets; the Void Divers. As well, ships cannot pass underneath the skyland itself due to the constant threat of falling debris and rocks.
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Temora did not have to go searching for the ship. Other than having been to the aeroina at least a hundred times, she spotted the ship from her window relative to the entrance. It was one of the largest on this platform, and the third largest in the whole of the aeroina.
The boarding plank was less of a plank and more of an elaborately carpeted and engraved platform with parapets on either side. The entire ship was painted white, with blue trim. All of the masts and extraneous wooden beams and additions were painted silver. The sails were dyed a brighter blue than the ship was painted.
The ship's six nacelles were enclosed in solid steel encasements to protect them from projectiles and fire. It had three pairs of steel-clad aerofoil wings. Each side of the ship was lined with at least 60 cannons, and 20 ballistas: fifteen and five, on each of its four decks. This massive vessel would be manned by three-hundred soldiers; which meant three to six platoons. Something that Temora would have to grow accustomed to.
The ship’s helmsmen were able to tune the elevation of the ship to a precise degree; within a few finger’s widths if they wanted to. Their experience meant that the boarding plank was dead level with the platform, and rock steady. With a ship of this mass, stepping onboard did nothing to move it. Even lowering a floatskid of cannonballs barely made it jiggle.
As the aeroship was loaded, a small team was in charge of walking out onto the nacelles to change the positions of their floatstones to keep the ship from listing. If there was too much weight on the aft cloudside, they would slide the floatstones toward the opposite pitch and roll to offset the list. More plainly, if it was leaning back and right, they would move floatstones forward and left. Mass was an abundant resource for an aeroship; especially one with six nacelles. One of the many perks that comes from exploiting magic stones.
Temora did not take long to get herself acquainted with the vessel, staring in awe at its size. She nearly ended her life walking into the unbarred corner of the boarding area. After returning her mind to a highly alert state, she walked onto its deck and was immediately greeted by higher-ranking military personnel.
A young woman was standing before her in the middle of the ship's top deck, equidistant from both rails, and from its main and middle masts. Upon approach, she appeared older than she had been at a distance. Up close it was still hard to tell, given her short stature, she came up only to Temora’s shoulders.
“I presume you to be Temora Fayn.” Her eyes were practically burning into a clipboard held in hand with a stack of papers clipped into it. It was a roster list of the ship’s passengers, overtop of what might have been the ship’s papers. She was fighting the paper stack with both hands to keep them from being taken by the wind.
“How did you know?”
“There are only fourteen women on the roster. You are the last to arrive.” She began to walk to the back of the craft, implying with her body language that Temora should follow. Her pace was uncomfortable for Temora to match, and slow. She figured that a seasoned professional such as this would be practically jogging, but the young woman was going nowhere fast.
Before them was a door that led to the ship's helm, grand cabin, and enclosed quarter-deck, but they sharply turned before getting to its handle. In front of the cabin were several pallet-sized gratings for lifting material above and below decks. Between them were hatches that remained propped upon, and a steep staircase that felt more like a ladder to descend. This was the first interior deck of the ship, the upper gun deck.
They did not stop to tour the decks nor meet with any of the hundred men that passed them by. All of which were becoming situated with their new living conditions. Despite a large portion of the floor space of each deck being occupied by 30 sizable guns, these areas were more spacious than she imagined.
Each of the guns was maneuverable, resting on a floatskid, and was tucked up against the hull. The massive rope which controlled its recoil was ready to be attached, but hung above the gunport which was currently closed. The center of each gun deck was used for both loading and unloading, as well as quarters for the crew; who were encouraged to take up a place next to, but out of the way of the guns. Bunks were provided in the ship's middle column.
All of this was curious to Temora, who to the best of her knowledge was not trained to man a cannon. At best, she could use one of the many small swivel guns or ballistas on the top deck. The training she had for those would probably carry over to the use of the ship's main guns as well. She would learn that this is not what the military intended for her to do.
Down she went. Steep stairs continued to the middle gun deck, the lower gun deck, then finally the leapover deck. The leapover deck was atop the ship's hold, which stored everything from alcohol and food, to the powder for the guns.
As for the leapover deck, it had the largest range of amenities across the entire ship. Anything with real value was located here. The sails were taken down when coming into port, so they were stored here. The boatswain’s cabin responsible for maintaining the rigging of those sails was next to the carpenter who was in charge of repairing the ship’s wooden hull. The steward who made the food, the purser who managed funds, and the ship’s medical staff were here as well. Most importantly of all, the magazines for charging the ship’s guns were between this deck and the lowest gun deck. Prepared to distribute 120 cannon charges within a single bead.
The young woman continued down the length of the ship to its rear where the purser’s room was located. Outside was a short mob formed of most of her plantoonmates. There Albe and Cocole were standing, along with many others. Their pay was being distributed to each member of the platoon; as a signing bonus.
The young woman quickly turned toward Temora and held out her hand in the Argentian way. “Serra Ruee. Master of the 2nd Year. I am sorry I haven’t the time. I do need to return to the top deck.”
“Oh, yes of course. Temora Fa---”
“I know.” She bleated from further down the hall. Temora looked down to her empty grip which Serra escaped entirely without notice. An incredible skill she was jealous of not possessing. Why didn't she move this fast earlier?
Temora turned to the mob, clueless as to what was going on in front of her. Thankfully, Albe was diligent and arrived two beats before brightset.
“Glad to see you in this place. We are surrounded by chaos.” Albe did not change posture in the least, arms folded and nodding toward the purser’s door. “They insisted the others have their debts settled before us. Maybe because they know we are patient.”
She subtly mirrored his standing position. “You know every other platoon is getting almost nothing right? They all have loans and credits to the government.” In that, Temora was absolutely correct. Many of the other platoons in the company onboard the ship were of a different class of soldier. The knights of a belitboard; expendable and replaceable. Bred from generations of soldiers before them, mostly second and third sons. All happy to be here, and happy to fight for, and even die for, their country.
Cocole stood between both of them and casually put an arm over and around both Albe and Temora’s neck and shoulder. “I’m not going to get a karat out of that room... sure of it. I owe the government a lot of money.” He deeply and nervously laughed. Cole’s debts were extensive, ranging from housing, schooling, asylum immigration fees, as well as levies and taxes owed to the court.
“My only way out of debt is being right here. I have no idea how I’m not over there.” He opened his hand wistfully, with his arms still over their shoulders, toward the group of the biggest men in the room. Those men were slapping each other’s calves with a leather strap to get them to cramp; for fun. “Very... very lucky; to be right here with you two.”