95. Winter, by the Pulvera-Medulli border.
“Ready to roll!” Rumi yelled into the intercom.
“Loader, HE.” Solomon reported.
“High-explosive shell, up!” said Orvilo, our loader.
I scanned the perimeter, and called in. “Driver, forward.”
We’re finally in an actual light tank, or ‘armored tractor’ if you will. Designated number 451. I’ve been huddled in research labs for months. Can’t believe it took this long to get hoses and hose clamps perfect. I haven’t seen Rumi, Solomon, and many others since, and they don’t seem to recognize me other than as Lieutenant Forlasita, the lower-ranked identity I intend to keep.
Rougher demeanor and minimal makeup both do a decent job at differentiating it from Isolus. I’ve grown my natural dark red hair a bit, but not so much that it’d make my long black Isolus wig difficult to wear. It’s nice to be able to free my half-elven ears.
Developments in electrical tech helped guide the creation of lead-acid batteries, electrical telegraphs, and telephone systems. All still in their infancy, but our optical telegraph towers – the semaphore lines south and west of Pulvera, have recently been updated to also use electrical telegraphs and soon we might be able to install relays so long-distance phone calls might not be too far off. Local intercoms are already here.
“Driver, halt.” I said in a raspy voice. Rumi slammed the brakes. I complained, “Rumi? Ease up on the pedals.”
“Sorry, ma’am!” she said.
I voiced out to Solomon. “Gunner, aim 145. Large creature or vehicle, possibly dozens aboard.”
He shifted immediately. “Traversing right. Acquired.”
“Aight, fire when ready,” I said.
“Sending!” Solomon replied.
The sound of our new 60mm low-velocity cannon firing shook the vehicle, and sent chills down my spine. We made a smaller version of the Onslaught’s 120mm main gun and standardized it as our new field gun, and tank gun.
“Targets neutralized,” said Solomon. “Loader, HE.”
“HE, load-” Orvilo stammered as his hands slipped and dropped the high-explosive shell onto the floor. Tip first. We heard the loud clang of metal, and reacted. Rumi slowly turned her head around and gave us a look of concern. Solomon smacked Ouro on the back of the head and yelled. “Pick it up and hurry!”
I knew that shell wasn’t going to explode, I helped design the fuses after all. They’re only armed when the shell is fired. Orvilo, is actually Ouro’s third grandson. After serving Kantax for decades, Ouro found love and settled down at a Pulveran farm.
I looked out the periscope and called it. “Targets down, confirmed. Scanning for new targets.”
“We’ve been spotted! Monster at 182!” I declared. “Driver, fall back! Gunner, smoke up!”
Solomon fired off a batch of White Phosphorus smoke grenades up front, just as Rumi stroked the levers to reverse.
“Loaded! HE!” Orvilo yelled in success.
It’s time. “Driver, halt! Firing a line to 449.”
With a flip of a switch, I unmounted the gun housed in the commander’s mini-turret. Then, I placed a dead-blow wired harpoon on the muzzle, and reattached it to the turret. I aimed the commander’s sight towards their turret, and raised it to compensate for the range. Thunk, it went and flew across a field to hit 449’s turret. The harpoon stopped and slid down the turret’s side, clipping onto small railings on the hull.
“Hello, 449 do you read? It’s 451.” I asked.
Junior Lieutenant Shit-Cup accepted the transmission.
“449 here. We read you. Nice shooting,” he said.
I sighed. “Well, that’s it for today. I’d’ve liked to say perfect, but we ran into a few problems on our end. See you guys at the outpost. Nice work. Let’s do better tomorrow.”
“Roger that. Our driver couldn’t get the engine going and we’re still trying to fix it. Could you get the mechanics?”
“Sure.” I turned to Rumi. “Drive back to base, and have them send engineers if we don’t come back in an hour.”
I leapt out of our tank, waved the 451 away, and approached the immobilized vehicle. I got on the driver’s seat, and taught the crew how to clear a flooded engine as well as ways to prevent it, before I had their driver take us all back. The colder season made stuff like this happen more often. I should update the vehicle manuals with solutions to these kinds of problems.
The other tank commander nudged me. “Hey, Lieutenant. Forlasita, was it? Where’d you learn to run your crew so well?”
“Oh uh, Isolus gave me the rundown for it.”
“Woah, the chief taught you herself? Damn lucky.”
His gunner slapped my ass. I laughed with them, then told them I’d have them flogged if I saw any more of that shit; reminding them that Isolus’ stipulations tolerated zero sexual harassment at any level. Shit-cup told me to lighten up – I told him I’d light him up if he allowed behavior like this to persist. His ass is also on the line if his crew doesn’t straighten up.
“Take it easy, now. Come meet us at Shoreside later!” he said. “Your drinks are on us, we owe you one after all. Tobina and Anthrax would’ve given us an earful, and Memoro forbid Isolus ever hears about this.”
I tried not to laugh.
“I don’t really.. drink. And don’t sweat it, that’s why we run exercises, so issues like these get corrected early on.”
…
96. Summer. Phaedra woke up. Praise be.
It must’ve been 12 cycles since I last heard her voice, roughly 8 years have passed. Pipra’s been taking care of her every day, and has been feeding her the best liquid diet we could make.
She was too weak to talk, and barely able to move.
We recently moved her to a new room upstairs, by a window close to a tree. The way old Pipra held her daughter was a sight to see – she must be in her mid-sixties, by Earth standards. Her shakes had gotten worse, and she couldn't operate machinery anymore. If I’m not mistaken, she has Parkinson’s. My grandpa had it, back in the old world.
I approached them as Forlasita. Pipra recognized me from her childhood, before I’d left Trezoro. Now that I think about it, she’s never seen me outside of my Isolus persona. She says she’s glad to know Kantax had the time to see me again, and is thanking Sonya for bringing Phaedra back.
A few months passed, and Phaedra’s health improved. She doesn’t quite remember much about what happened leading up to the crash, but she seems glad.
“Hear that?” she said. “I remember the birds.”
Her gaze had been locked through the window, as she sat in her bed. “Will I be able to fly again someday?” she asked.
If you come across this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.
I was just about to ask her if she’d be willing to fly again upon recovery. The incredible care Pipra gave her merely left her with a slight nutritional deficit and a loss of bone and muscle mass.
“Will you?” I asked back.
She smiled at the window, then frowned.
“I can’t see you like this, buddy. First thing tomorrow morning, you’re coming with me to ride on our newest airship. You’re incredibly healthy for someone who’s been out cold for so long, and all your limbs work.”
I unveiled my upgraded prosthetic arm, as Forlasita.
“Phaedra, it’s been a while, but I promise you’ll get your wings back. You’ve never been one to give up.”
Then, she finally broke her gaze away from the window. She turned to me as if to ask something, then smiled softly.
…
The next day came, and we boarded Airship 17, also known as Pulvera’s Pride. We took off from the biggest airship hangar near the enlarged airstrip close to the capital. She featured as many safety features as we could design. I’m personally proud of the improved dual-gas lift system. It was only possible due to a secret natural gas extraction plant we recently built in ex-Brigantii land. Basically just hydrogen gas bags within the semi-rigid helium compartments in the envelope, with automatic topside vents to clear any dangerous hydrogen buildups or leaks.
Airships actually do have an odd usefulness to them, especially with the horrible Marbordian terrain that largely prohibited rail construction. And, the bigger the airship, the more efficient it gets in terms of lift. Wish we could design helicopters instead, but we’re really not quite there yet.
Tonight I’ll be having a spontaneous dinner with friends and colleagues aboard. I organized a plan, and picked everyone up between Pulvera and Louvia. We sailed through the night sky in the most luxurious sky cruise to date.
I dressed up as Isolus, a pink gambeson flak vest over the traditional black vinylon coveralls. Damn, I don’t have a fancy wardrobe. Not a single pretty dress! Unacceptable. Everyone else here, however, wore their finest garments.
“Are you in the middle of work?” asked Tobina, wearing a red fur-lined dress. She also ushered her father to a seat.
“Not tonight,” I smiled back. “I’d like to celebrate.”
Euryas was well-dressed, formal as always. “Finally,” he said. “Guess you DO know how to take a break! That’s healthy.”
Pipra was pushing Phaedra’s wheelchair for a better view off the sides of the gondola near Nora – also wheelchair bound, but with a crude electric motor using a lead-acid battery.
I walked around and saw Arzo haranguing Rumi. I brought along the 451, and a few armored cars for redeployment.
“See? Come on, join the air corps again!” he said.
“Fuck off dude, no way. I prefer driving, thanks!”
Rumi quickly locked herself in the 451.
“Hah, you can’t be that scared! Pussy!”
I tapped his shoulder. “Arzo, kindly leave the lady alone or I ‘will’ have you thrown overboard – or maybe dragged across the ocean with nothing but a damaged parachute, yes?”
“Forgive me. Isolus, ma’am.”
“Good. Now go double-check your plane in the hangar.”
He scurried off to the improved Render we keep aboard. This airship has several mounting ports for lightweight aircraft.
“Ensign? You hungry? Would you like anything?”
“No, miss Isolus. I’m fine, I think.”
“Please. I’ll have someone bring it to you.”
“..a sandwich, tea, and some sweets would be nice.”
“Sure thing. Give me a bit.”
I approached the buffet display and heard Nightingale and Qistina playing some gorgeous melodies in lovely dresses. The best part was that Wiremu was doing the singing on a brand new microphone-linked sound system. She may be the first siren to ever fly. Anthrax watched, nervously, as it was near impossible to get him aboard with his fear of heights. Ostracia wore Rujia’s robes, and Kylin wore a tailored oriental dress. They were both busy tending to the few plants on board.
Wiremu paused when she saw me. “Ah, everyone!”
All eyes were on her. “Our benefactor, hasss arrived.”
She waved to me as the crowd clapped.
I took the microphone, and cleared my throat.
“Thank you all for being able to make it. Let us all be thankful to the gods and goddesses for allowing us to dine amongst the stars, and in good health.”
They clapped some more.
“I’d like to announce that we have several bits of good news as of late. First off, today we celebrate Pipra turning a hundred cycles young! Look at her go. We’d all be naked without her.”
A bit of laughter, and a hoot, mixed in with the applause. Pipra was able to smile a little.
“On another note, I’d like to congratulate her daughter for such a swift recovery. Without Phaedra’s effort and skill, Pulvera’s air corps may still be at its infancy. In fact, this airship might not have been built!”
More clapping. Arzo and a few other pilots cheered.
“Lastly, it seems that the Medulli threat has been held at bay. It is with the combined economic, political, and military might of our state that we can live in peace once again. May we live long, prosperous lives in this part of Mondo that we’ve carved out for ourselves. May the souls of those who sacrificed the most for us, be granted peace. Let us hold a solemn prayer for them.”
A moment of silence. Eyes all closed, full of intent.
“That is all, at ease.”
I handed the microphone to Wiremu, who was grinning mischievously. “May we cheer for Isolus! Empress Isolusss!”
Wait, what? Empress?
“Empress Isolus! Empress Isolus!” they chanted.
The whole vessel erupted in cheers, as their voices echoed over the forests and mountains below. Fuck it, I’m way past the point of embarrassment now. Wiremu handed me the mic.
The cheering died down, and I had the fresnel lanterns aimed at me. I gave Qistina and Nightingale the usual look, before I launched into my usual beatboxing routine at Shoreside. The crowd was largely confused at first, but eventually they grasped the tempo and tone I was going for. Smiles began to arise from the astounded room as I spat the dopest flames since Acherona.
Qistina sprung forth like a lutenist from limbo and joined in with a haunting melody. Her fingers danced across the strings of her lute with a sharp blend of sorrow and triumph. Soon, Nightingale found an opening to complement us by weaving in a tapestry of sound with her harp. Her aged fingers played with the grace and precision only a long life of music could accomplish. Wiremu then joined with a siren’s majestic acapella that pierced every heart that bore witness to us that evening.
Together, our symphony of sound captivated the crowd whose faces were lit by the flickering flames and glows of lanterns. Our joy and camaraderie should’ve been heard by all.
My throat got tired, so I allowed the musicians to do their thing. I’d completely forgotten about Rumi. I got a tray of everything and came back to the 451 to see her.
And there she was, in the driver’s seat, sound asleep. I hopped in from another hatch and woke her up, in the darkness of the tank’s interior. Rumi doesn’t snore. She laid the seat back for comfort, almost like a sleeping beauty highlighted from outside the driver’s hatch. I gave her the tray – a full course meal with dessert, and tea. “Sorry I took so long.”
“Lieutenant? Ma’am?” she asked.
Oh shit. After the beatboxing, my voice was so rough that I sounded like Forlasita. “Yeah, it’s me.” I rolled with it.
“An egg sandwich! Thanks – and you even got me some sweet pastries with tea. Now that's a real dinner.”
I engaged with a bit of small talk with her, careful to not let her turn on the interior lanterns so she couldn’t tell which of me it was. She thanked me for sticking around to keep her company, before she went back to sleep. I carefully left the vehicle, and drank honeyed tea myself to soothe my throat.
Not long after I started pacing around the airship, I saw Solomon examining a small weathered journal. He looked busy, so I didn’t bother him much. He gave me a smile and waved.
Kylin stopped me for a moment and asked to speak with me privately. By now, she’d firmly grasped the language.
“Lady Isolus. I am the bearer of unfortunate news. More survivors wash up on shore, claiming Emperor Jin has died. I must go home and help, as my older siblings may already be dead. The younger are waging a war not only against the Agma, or demon-kin as you call them, but also each other.”
“Okay, but do you have to? I mean, I’m not stopping you. When do you leave, and on what?” I replied.
“Teacher, I will find a way. Some of my sailors decided life here is happy for them. It is okay. The new sailors and my remaining officers will go with me – Watari also.”
“But please, promise me you’ll be safe? And if you want to establish trade across the ocean, inform me at this address.”
I handed her a note with details, and she broke eye contact to ponder. “Yes. We have many resources for trade. But we cannot do much yet. Only very few traditional mages in Jade. Had to use what you call ‘science’ and ‘technology’ to survive.”
“How long have you guys been fighting?” I asked.
“Against Agma, for as long as can be remembered. But against the bearded barbarians, over three human lifetimes. My uncle taught me the ways of the fire powder. The clan of serpents' biggest pride and help has been the powder.”
Watari mentioned the House of Serpents before. Is that why her pupils are golden slits? Like a reptile’s?
She continued. “I gave up my princessness to study. I wanted to protect our waters with fires. Pulvera is proof that my home, my people, can also survive. It is my duty. You understand.”
I rested my hand on her shoulder. “I get you.”
Honestly, I was hoping she’d stay. I’ve never met such a quick learner before. Never gonna forget that one time she rambled on and on about Pulvera’s short written history from start to present – I had to correct her on just a few tidbits of it. Hell, I could’ve been wrong. Or that one time I showed her how fast Strelya could disassemble and reassemble a rifle, and she asked to try. Kylin field stripped the weapon and put it back in just a few seconds longer than Strelya.
It was almost like whenever she saw something new, she wanted to see how it worked. And when she did see, she’d commit them to memory and bring it up on related conversations or on technically similar matters.
“Aight, look. When we get back to Pulvera, we’ll take an unused Stirling engine and haul it to Louvia to retrofit onto one of the old fishing boats there. I’ll pay for it, and the supplies your crew would need to get home safe.”
Kylin locked her gaze to mine. “So any fuel will do?”
“Yeah, else you’d have to somehow conjure biodiesel when you’d run out. Coal, charcoal, or firewood will suffice. Wait a second, you figured it out that fast?”
She gave me a wide grin and embraced me. She’s stronger, and much more well-endowed than I thought. Never really noticed until this evening when she stopped wearing her armor for once. Kylin bowed to me afterwards.
“Teacher, I will not forget your kindness.”
Hell, does she forget anything?