Thump thump thump
Living most of his adult life in the wastes had familiarized Jim to the sounds of nature. Wind, sand, scurrying creatures, and the slow creak of his landship as it pushed forward upon the wind. These were things he knew.
Thump thump thump
Machinery was the first word that came to mind.The sound of technology was an unsettling intrusion upon a well established pattern.
Curiosity pushed him back into the waking world and he chanced to open his eyes. Blinking away a stubborn haze, he tried to make sense of the room taking form around him.
Patina and rust covered walls surrounded the small box shaped space. At the far end, an oddly oval shaped door with a wheel handle looked much newer and out of place against the dilapidated backdrop. The ceiling above him was made of aged slatted Manzawood.
It looked ancient. The place looks two centuries past expiration, Jim thought. A straight line was not to be seen. The ceiling, walls, floor, all of it was warped in some way. As if the structure of the room had been subjected to extreme force, more than once probably.
This was possibly an infirmary... or a prison perhaps, he pondered with rising concern. Next to him, a flimsy steel rolling table covered with assorted medical instruments stood unattended.
An infirmary then, he concluded.
Among the medical tools upon the table, he spotted what appeared to be a large metal canteen. Dehydration hit his stomach like a lead weight. If his mouth had had any moisture left to salivate, he would have. Quickly, Jim grabbed the container and unscrewed the lid. After a brief sniff, he decided, nothing that’ll kill me. Good enough, and threw his head back for a prolonged gulp.
The cool liquid slid down his throat, and the relief was almost instantaneous. Refreshing, albeit slightly stale water hit his empty stomach and rewarded him with a sudden wave of nausea. However, his thirst far surpassed the discomfort.
Quickly, Jim’s strength was returning to him. Taking a breath, he pivoted on both hands and swung his legs over the bedside. Now that his immediate need was taken care of, his brain switched on.
Questions began to fill the void in his mind where exhaustion had long lived. Where am I? How did I get here? Am I a captive? What did they do to me?
He didn’t have to wait long as a loud squeal and a metallic clang disturbed the quiet mechanical thrumming. Someone was coming in. Darting his head around quickly, Jim spotted a scalpel on the nearby tray. Quickly, he retrieved the blade and slipped it underneath his pillow. Scrambling back into the bed, he sat against the metal grated headrail and attempted to look stoic.
The rusty door swung open. He caught a quick glimpse of an even more dilapidated hallway lined with rusted metal and worn purple carpet runners. What is this place? he thought. Some kind of museum?
The first soldier stepped through the door followed by another, and another. Four armed men made their way through and quickly turned to face him, standing at a semblance of attention. Examining them as they stood there, he made out the brown uniforms with red cloth bands on the right arm. He’d seen the uniforms plenty of times before and recognized the design as Alliance Navy.
The Warlord Alliance was the largest government in Ruin, if you could call it a government. The uneasy alliance of twelve desert warlords was held together by a burning hatred toward the Free Citizens Federation to their south.
The FCF (or Free Ruin as they often called themselves) had achieved independence hundreds of years earlier and paid in blood every year since. An enormous network of trenches marked the border between the two nations and were the focus of frequent skirmishes and the occasional pitched battle.
Jim was more concerned with the men in the room though. Their type had a reputation. Warlord soldiers were known for their cruelty and mistreatment of their lower class. And lower class… was him.
Anyone unfortunate enough to be caught alone in the desert by one of their patrols could anticipate a life of cruel slavery in the black-crystal mines or, if they were lucky, a draft into the frontline death brigades. Neither was a very promising future for Jim.
There was something highly unusual about how these men carried themselves however. In his rare supply visits to the Alliance capital city of Dyelita, soldiers were commonplace around the streets.
Traders, merchants, drunks, and lower class citizens packed the marketplace by day and required constant surveillance, less they get away with an underhanded deal or crime against the Alliance.
Among the sea of gritty and dirty people, the well uniformed and frighteningly imposing Alliance soldiers were instantly recognizable; well fed, well groomed gems sticking out among the filth of commoners.
However, these men wore their uniforms poorly, and none was clean shaven or clean at all for that matter. None looked particularly large, and their breech loaded rifles looked worn. Some could be excused as battle damage, but there was an “oldness” to them that matched the expired look of their surroundings.
Most Alliance soldiers he’d seen carried newer bolt action rifles and a revolver, courtesy of their “benevolent” rulers. Citizens and traders such as himself were only allowed flintlock and muzzle loaded weapons according to local law.
He didn’t have much time to ponder these things however. Once the soldiers had planted themselves against the far wall, an older man entered. His silver hair was matted with sweat and grease. He had a hawkish nose and small spectacles that seemed one small misstep from falling off his face completely. The woman who followed after him was something else entirely though.
[http://i.imgur.com/1orjS6T.jpg]
Standing a good three inches taller than the elderly man, she walked in the room with authority and purpose. Coal black hair fell slightly over her left eye, almost hiding a scar. It ran the course from above her left eyebrow down to her jawline.
The rest of her hair was done up in a tight ponytail. Knee high mechanic’s boots made of leather and desert cotton met a pair of grey sport pants covered in grease. Her button up shirt appeared to be a few sizes too large for her and was so filthy, he was unsure of its original color. Maybe white. Maybe, not quite, he pondered.
It was highly unusual to see a female in an alliance military unit, even as a mechanic. The Alliance loved to proclaim its mighty democracy and social equality upon government issued propaganda posters. They were commonplace in any Alliance city.
Reality was quite different. Despite “elections” taking place every seven years, the same people remained in power and the same oppressive laws continued on solidified, unchanged for centuries. To see a woman among alliance military was...very strange.
His thoughts drifted away from the woman’s mysterious profession. As he watched her, he was suddenly drawn to her eyes. They were the deepest green he had ever seen. In a land of dirt, dust, and death, they were pools of tranquility. He found his practiced apathy falling away under rising curiosity. She’s stunning, he admitted to himself.
“Let's start with the easy stuff,” the woman began. “What's your name, and what’s the last thing you remember?”
Jim remained silent.
A small grin crept up the side of her mouth. She stole a glance at the elderly man. He didn’t share her amusement and rolled his eyes before commenting, “This isn’t an interrogation son, and you may notice a lack of bonds. You’re not a prisoner here.” The man's age didn’t match his powerful voice, “Ahh yes, you also may have noticed, you are all patched up. You're welcome, by the way.”
Against the far wall, the Alliance soldiers stared straight ahead, but the tension was visible. If Jim tried something, despite their appearance, he had no doubt he’d be on the losing side of an engagement.It didn’t take him long to decide what to do.
Finally, he opened his mouth to speak. The words escaped slowly at first. It had been months since his last conversation with a human. Unless calling a few starving cannibals “assholes” counted.
His voice was a rough whisper. “My name is Jim, and the last thing I remember is... destroying my ship and the cannies that tried to eat me.” He left out of course, his awakening. Volunteering information was usually a bad idea in the wastes.
The doctor raised his eyebrow, “Jim? You look like a 'Iizalatan. I’ll say, your the first one I’ve met with a name like that. Don’t you lot take pride in your traditional names?”
This content has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.
'Iizalatan literally translated meant “removed” in the old tongue. It was a name given to most lower class people as well as some traders, many of whom were descended from a people conquered thousands of years before by the first empire.
“The Eternal Kingdom,” as they called themselves had ruled the deserts of Ruin for nearly four hundred years and brought about many of the technological innovations that were still common use.
“Doctor,” the woman interrupted, “we aren’t here to interrogate our… guest. Jim, you may be surprised to know, you’ve been in that medical bed for nearly forty hours.”
She smiled at his skeptical stare but continued- “After we retrieved you, it didn’t look very promising. You were charred, your head was a bloody mess, you had a good number of broken ribs and, well, at first glance, we assumed you were dead.”
Jim’s hands probed the bandages around his midsection and head. There was plenty of dried blood, but as he pressed on the various darker patches, nothing hurt or felt out of place.
He’d avoided the majority of the explosion including the raging inferno. That much he remembered vividly. “Charred? What are you talking about?” His voice was slowly returning to him.
She smiled again. Oh man, that smile, he thought. Another strand of hair fell over her scar as she spoke. "Both of your arms were completely blackened as well as a good portion of your torso. Over the last two days, you've been in that bed tossing and turning -"
“And healing at a phenomenal rate,” the doctor interrupted.
Charred skin? “Phenomenal” healing? But how… a light went off in Jim’s head. He’d heard of these symptoms before. My awakening. So much for secrecy, he thought with alarm.
Less than one tenth of one percent of the population was said to be potential awakened. “Natural” awakenings always followed a near death experience. The awakened would often die from the release of massive energy as its previously hidden power erupted and often overwhelmed them.
The few who survived were hunted endlessly by agents of the Prophetess, ruler of the most powerful nation among the five empires. Those captured were taken away to be re-educated in Golden Spire, the seat of government for the empire of The Holy Land. There, they would serve out their lives as the Prophetess’ devoted priest..
The role of a priest was anything but peaceful and benign however. Powerful as The Alliance and FCF were, they never refused a request for extradition of captured awakened. Failure to do so would result in an army of priests “politely” asking a second time, usually making an example of those who refused them.
If these were Alliance military, it was only a matter of time before they brought him to the nearest monastery for a considerable reward. The Prophetess and her Holy Order paid handsomely for people like him. Awakened potentials were rare. Natural awakened were almost unheard of.
The doctor leaned in as the woman whispered something into his ear. Dismissing the soldiers with a nod, he made his way to the medical table and began collecting the instruments as the rest of the procession, aside from himself and the woman, shuffled out of the room.
She spoke again, “I am Captain Alia Rychist. If you ever call me Alia though, I’m likely to send you back to this place with more than burns and dehydration. Captain or ma’am will do.” Her tone of voice was believable. Her powerful build left little doubt to her ability to follow through.
Getting no argument from him, she continued, “I’m going to get right to the point, Jim. I know what you are and I know what they will do if they find out. Truth be told, I could make a small fortune for turning you in. Believe me, we could use the money.”
She allowed him to sit there for a few uncomfortable seconds before another smile told him, she had other plans.
“However, that isn’t our way. In fact, you’re quite lucky to be here. We have a need for someone with your...unique gifts.”
Jim let the silent tension hang for another few moments. He didn’t have much choice. His ship was gone. His possessions were destroyed. He didn’t have anything left. Also, somehow he suspected she wouldn’t take “no” for an answer.
His list of trustworthy people was one person long. All he needed was his ship, his wits, and the freedom of the open desert. However, with the loss of his few worldly possessions, these strangers were all he had at the moment.
Maybe it’s time for a change, he thought. His rational mind screamed in protest, but ahead of him stood the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen. He’d never had a particular weakness to the opposite sex but.. those eyes. Another few moments in thought and Jim nodded toward the captain.
The doctor broke in. “Before we continue, would you be so kind as to place my scalpel back on the tray? It seems to be missing.”
Jim stared blankly at the doctor.
The old man smiled and added, “Son, if we wanted to harm you, believe me, we had ample opportunity to do so over the past two days.” He and the captain shared an amused glance at each other.
Seeing no escape, Jim sighed in surrender, turned the pillow over, and removed the scalpel. After placing it hesitantly back on the tray, he gently nudged the rolling cart toward the doctor.
“Thanks for that, son. I can appreciate a person who’s always prepared for the worst. I assume your survival instincts or an overabundance of luck has gotten you this far. On this ship though, I wouldn’t recommend running around and cutting up our crewmen. The captain can develop a real mean temper.”
Captain Alia rolled her eyes and pointed to the door, “That’s enough out of you, old man. Jim and I have things to discuss, and he hasn’t seen the ship.”
I’m on a landship then. Must be a steam ironside battleship. Who the hell are these people? He wondered.
With a curt nod, the doctor gingerly grabbed his cart and rolled it out of the room. The metal tray bounced and banged as he navigated the bowing wood floor. The noise echoed through the hallway as he wandered off.
“Well, do you feel strong enough to take a walk?” the captain broke the silence.
“Yes,” he replied. “My head hurts a bit but...I can walk.” Jim hoped his tone of voice didn’t betray his burning curiosity. He wanted to get out of this ancient coffin of an infirmary and explore the ship. I’ve never seen a steamship up close, he mused.
Most landships were purely propelled by sail. Steam engines were expensive to build and complicated to maintain. Not to mention, sand and machinery were not good bedfellows. That’s why they were mostly found in airships.
The deadly vessels of the sky required massive steam engines to provide lift to their balloons and power the large propellers that gave them mobility. Only the largest and most formidable landships (usually ironclad battleships) had need for such technology.
As they made their way to the door, he couldn’t seem to steady his uneasy steps. Spotting his struggle, the captain smiled, “Don’t feel bad. It takes most people a few days to get used to the rocking. I just hope you don’t have a fear of heights.”
Get used to the rocking? He’d been on ships most of his adult life and… a fear of heights? Definitely a battleship then, he thought with excitement. He couldn’t strike the look of wonder from his face as he imagined just how large the ship really was.
Alia saw right through his contemplation and asked, “Do you know where we are right now, Jim?” A mischievous twinkle was in her uncovered eye. She knew something he didn’t.
He recalled the details of his journey north. “I was about one hundred and seventy kilometers south of Vigilance Oasis and heading north on the afternoon winds. Assuming we’ve been travelling for two days as you say, I’m guessing you made it the rest of the way.” Jim replied. His head was still aching.
Inside the ship [https://i.imgur.com/dScdGuU.jpg]
The captain smiled again; she did that a lot. It was very distracting. “Pretty good speed for a landship; especially one as big as ours.” They reached another hatch door. A tiny porthole spilled light into the darkened hallway. It was day. After being stuck indoors for days, even if most of it was spent unconscious, the sun felt warm and inviting.
“However Jim, we are not on a landship, and I meant what I said about that fear of heights thing.”
The door swung outward, and a gust of ice cold air rushed past him. For a moment, he nearly lost his footing. The shock of cool air and the flood of light was nearly overwhelming.
He shielded his eyes and followed the captain carefully through the door on unsure feet. What he saw next would be etched into his memory forever.
Beneath him, he felt the familiar bend of wooden deck planks. However, these were thicker and sturdier than the ones in the infirmary. Still, they creaked beneath him with every step. Grabbing hold of the railing, his eyes adjusted while he took in his surroundings.
Their ship was sailing through a sea of white clouds. The tops passed lazily by, nearly spilling upon the deck. All around them, the horizon was a deep blue, not the browns and yellows he’d grown accustomed to over the years. From the northeast, the high Eternal Mountains shot up through the endless white blanket. Some still sparkled with the last of the winter’s meagre showing of snow.
South, through a break in the clouds, The Great Dune Sea stretched far beyond his sight. The blacks and browns of each dune connected together in an endless tapestry of ripples and snaking ridge lines.
Jim leaned over the railing and spotted a glint of metal and white sails on what looked like a Brigantine class landship far below them. This far north, it probably belonged the the Unaligned League Navy, patrolling out of Freeport. At this distance though, it was hard to tell. It moved along gracefully as its lengthening shadow stretched eastward it the warm afternoon light.
Pulling himself away from the breathtaking scene below, Jim began to realize just how big this ship - this airship was! Above him, an enormous balloon of patchwork oiled canvas stretched at least one hundred and seventy meters fore and aft. Countless small steel cables held it in place like a giant creature caught in a trap, locked in a hopeless struggle for freedom.
Rope ladders wrapped the giant balloon every couple dozen paces and followed the canvas upwards, beyond his view. They creaked with each gentle puff of wind, tensing and then relaxing as the ship floated along.
The deck was crawling with men and women of every size and color. All were wearing thick flight jackets to stave off the cold of high altitude flight. Just like the faux Alliance soldiers he had seen earlier, their uniforms were in poor condition. Among them, a few even donned thick leather aviator caps common to most empire military pilots.
A short but impressively burly man bent over a steel cable anchor with a welding torch. The gas feed tube coiled and snaked around the many obstacles upon the topdeck before disappearing somewhere below. Every few meters, pieces of frayed black tape covered previous leaks in the line.
The man took a moment to glance at Jim and the captain. Captain Alia motioned for him to come over.
As he made his way to them, he shot a calloused, dirt covered hand toward Jim. It took a moment for him to pull his gaze from the scenery. The man’s vice like grip certainly did the trick though. Jim barely contained a grunt as he shook the human equivalent of a pneumatic press.
Unlike the captain, the short man was all business as he spoke, “Name’s Harol, lead deckhand. Pleasure. See ya.”
Pulling fogged brass rim goggles over his eyes, Harol quickly returned to his task. He paused only momentarily to bark orders at a duo of young twins loitering nearby. The boys, likely teenagers Jim suspected, scurried off to carry out his wishes.
Jim instantly liked him. Short on words, heavy with purpose, he thought with amusement. Captain Alia motioned for them to continue their tour. Though he could not seem to figure out his balance, he did his best to concentrate and quickly shuffled forward to catch up to the captain.
From somewhere underneath them, the smell of burning coal crept up through slats in the wood and mixed with the sulphuric smell of black powder. The deck continued ahead for at least eighty meters.
Two dozen ten pound cannons to starboard and what looked like a few thirty-six pounder downward facing siege cannons above the forward quarter showed signs of recent use. Crew members darted about, performing maintenance tasks on the collection of deadly weapons.
Over the side of their ship, a pair of particularly brave carpenters sat on wooden planks. Suspended from little more than a few frayed ropes, they banged away with their hammers, repairing what appeared to be minor battle damage to the wooden hull. They joked quietly and laughed, unphased by their precarious position.
A breeze gently pushed against the side of the ship and sent Jim into the rail. He struggled to stop his vision from swimming. A strong hand from the captain quickly grabbed his arm as she said, “Easy there. You aren’t going to puke, are you? We just repainted the hull at our last port of call, and I don’t think Asad and Allie would be very happy.” She nodded toward the carpenters as they waved up toward her.
Jim closed his eyes and collected himself for a moment. The last few days must have taken a greater toll on him than he first thought.
“I’m fine,” he lied. “It’s just this headache. Now, where the hell did you get your hands on this ship? This has to be at least a... Sunder Class Airship? What military do you report to? FCF? Protectorate? Alliance?”
The captain chuckled, “No. Not the Alliance, or FCF, or hell...anyone if we can get away with it. As for the class, he’s called a Dagger Class Attack Ship. It falls somewhere between a cruiser and a pocket battleship. Bit bigger than a Sunder.”
“He?”
She sighed and rolled her eyes, “The male fascination with classifying ships in the feminine is so typical. You know, if most of my crewman thought they could get away with it, they would mutiny on that one little detail alone.”
Another infectious grin hinted at her sarcasm. “You can have your silly lady ships, but this ship…oh no, he’s no lady. He’s a brute and would never be found in polite company. He’s a survivor and deadly when threatened.” Looking back to him, she smiled. That smile... “I’m sure you can appreciate that.” Yes, I can but...That smile...
The captain continued, “As to the nature of our procurement of this lovely gem, that is a conversation for another day. Now, let’s have a little talk about this newfound gift of yours and how it can benefit us both. You like money, right?”