Before today, Gila Thorteya had never set foot inside Thorteya’s war room.

Wonder had assaulted Gila when, as a young girl, she had observed the officers congregating in the lower levels of the Thorteyan prime Ark to take the private lift to the war room. The intricacies of her family’s ship became apparent as the room’s floor opened up to swallow the lift. She had even tried to sneak into a gathering a few times, unknown to the guards accompanying her. That had only lasted a few minutes before they carefully shooed her away.

Today, however, she was not here to reminisce about those distant years. Even though she was still a child in the eyes of any Thorteyan, she had an extraordinary role to play in the kingdom.

“Our defenses are our highest priority.” Florence’s words spread throughout the sixteen chairs at the large round table before Gila, the young navigator making the seventeenth.

The council’s reactions were mixed. Some nodded, while others bore no expression. Most let their attention drift to the panorama, which afforded a view of the entire Thorteyan kingdom.

Florence cleared his throat, flipping a page in his notebook. “We have reinforced the walls and gates with extra sharpshooter roosts and barricades, doubled our patrols, and have begun enforcing a curfew on children. Starting today, anyone under thirty years old found on the streets during nightfall will be detained and escorted back to their homes. Failure to adhere to this will result in military intervention.”

Chairs shifted as Florence finished the last remark. Gila imagined the discontent spreading through the ship like fire. Many of the council members’ children were friends of Gila. She wasn’t sure if that would remain true after today.

“Regardless of what you all may think,” Florence continued, placing his notebook down on the table, “the curfew is necessary for the security of our nation. Your lives and those of your sons and daughters are in jeopardy every moment that we are… at a disadvantage.”

The castellan’s eyes wandered to Gila only for a second.

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At first, she thought it was a dream.

“Your life is going to change after today,” Gila’s father had said.

She had only groaned, thinking an apparition was visiting her that night and that any faint stir would dismiss it.

“I don’t know if I will ever come back,” he had continued, “but you will not need me.”

Gila had risen like most mornings after waking from a dream, eager to record it in her journal. She recounted word every word, fitting them into only two paragraphs, and thought of telling her father about it. Before she bathed, she found the private lift to his quarters and tried to ride it.

“Sorry,” the lift attendant had told her, “malfunction.”

“Malfunction?” Gila had asked. “Tell him to pay attention.”

You couldn’t just tell a navigator to do anything. They were always busy bending their minds to see the ship from all facets of its existence. Sometimes, they operated lifts. Other times, they pumped water. They manipulated their Ark shift in a thousand different ways every second. She knew that.

But Thorteya’s navigator was also her father, who always made exceptions for his little girl.

Save for this time.

“I’m sorry, little lady,” the lift attendant had said.

She knew then that her father was gone.

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“Now,” Florence continued, “one of our larger concerns is the viaducts. Thorteya’s filters won’t work without Guidance Thorteya commanding them, so for the time being, we will need to reroute the water through the purifier Arks. We’ll need to begin constructing more canals as soon as possible.”

It seemed to Gila that her city had moved on from its navigator’s absence in only one night. Maybe it should have taken her that long to do the same.

Florence was right, though. Enough draft horses could operate lifts manually. Wood and coal could fuel the furnaces. There was, however, no way to pump water reliably in Thorteya without a navigator’s intervention. Without her father here, they’d have to do everything manually.

That is until Gila attuned and held all the same powers her father had. She would, one day, operate every facet of this massive generation ship.

And with her father suddenly gone, it would have to happen soon.

Florence took a seat. “Romnel?”

The castellan nodded to a stout man, shorter than even Gila but much older and covered with a thick bush of hair. She had not known Romnel’s role in the kingdom—she was unaware of most of the council members' responsibilities—but her father had trusted them. She would do the same.

Romnel’s spine curled like a cane handle, and his hands were laden with black oil. These details spoke of only one task: shipbreaking.

The short man stood. “As you may know, all our Arks work at maximum capacity. Our purifiers run day and night, the granaries and stores are emptying, the observers are crowded with our guards, and every other ship performing a function works twice as hard. Our minor navigators are straining under the load. This means we cannot scrape Arksteel from their hulls.” Romnel paused to let the council take in the words. “But there is still one Ark from which we can draw material.”

The council’s eyes flicked Gila’s way for a split second. Even the war room’s thirty scribes—draped in nondescript brown robes—glanced at Gila before returning to record the meeting’s notes.

Gila sucked in a breath through her nose. “I will not let anyone break my Ark.”

The council kept their heads down. The scribes dropped their quills. No sounds filled the chamber aside from Gila’s breaths.

My ark, she had said and had meant it. Though she had yet to attune and control Thorteya, she was still its navigator. She needed to protect this vessel at all costs.

“I’m sorry, dear Romnel,” Gila continued, standing, “but my father would have said the same. Thorteya is our kingdom’s icon, the beacon uniting us against Kefoine’s threats. Cutting it would be worse than cannibalism.”

Romnel nodded solemnly, looking away as he spoke. “Wise words, Guidance, and I agree that cutting Thorteya is not the best option. But it is the only option I can see. I am serious when I say that all minor arks are at full capacity. Parts of Thorteya, however, are inactive or rarely utilized. We have empty cargo holds whose walls can be torn down and used. There is piping long dormant and lifts that haven’t run for years. I am saying that we take some parts of the hull and… reallocate them to better-served places.”

Romnel spoke with years of experience, and Gila knew she could not match that. She would be damned, though, if she let Thorteya—even parts of it—be sacrificed just like that. Wasn’t there anything to be said about preservation?

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“What is next, Romnel?” Gila asked, her hands gripping the table. “Suppose I permit you to cut me open, then what? What if more problems arise? Are you just going to keep cutting me down and down until I’m nothing more than a skeleton?” Gila shook her head. “You need to think of alternate solutions. What will my people believe when they see their home torn apart?” Gila knew what they would think. “Thorteya will not become a derelict.”

Derelict. The word hung in the air like smoke. If Gila could not rule her ship and protect it from awful ideas like those Romnel was espousing, then it would become an empty, lifeless shell. It would be the end of not just her reign but the end of her people.

She wished her father was here so she could consult him for advice. “Why is Romnel a complete self-sacrificing idiot?” she would have asked him. Maybe he would have agreed, or if he didn’t, he would have shown her the correct line of reasoning, and she would have avoided making the mistake again.

Why did you have to go? Why?

Another man cleared his throat. “Her Guidance is correct,” he said, “to an extent.”

Alnoral was Thorteya’s armorer, and a reclusive one at that. Gila had seen him only a handful of times. A black cloak and dark jerkin nearly obscured him in darkness, though it was broad daylight, and he looked as if he just stepped out of a forge. Patches of soot blacked his face, and callouses formed dried terrain on his hands.

“Our people need to believe in Thorteya more than ever,” Alnoral went on. “If we are to keep the morale of not just our citizens but our soldiers in check, then we need to show we are unfaltering.”

Gila nodded. She saw now that having a fellow Thorteyan chime in on the issue—not just a shipbreaker—was necessary.

“Thank you, Alnoral,” said another voice, “but I believe it is my turn to speak.”

Guidance Shovrisi was a navigator of Ongiara and a liaison between Thorteya and her kingdom. Aside from the pale white of her skin, a slit of flesh ran across her neck. The gills were the Ongiaran’s most identifiable trait and easily spreadable—nearly every citizen with Ongiaran blood had some form of them.

Guidance Shovrisi rose slowly. “Ongiarans make up nearly forty percent of the military reinforcement currently occupying this kingdom,” she said. “We’ve withdrawn many of our land forces from their usual duties and have given them over to you without hesitation to compensate for the absence of your navigator. In addition to that, forty of our ships float in your bay right now, along with our strongest frigates: Donnager, Curtail, Icebreaker, and The Sea Spear.”

The Ongiaran navigator pointed with one hand past the panorama to the area behind her overlooking the bay. What had once been an empty patch of blue only a week before was now dotted with the wooden outlines of the naval vessels. The four Arks Shovrisi had boasted of were there, floating like gray eyesores among their fragile companions. Docks bobbed in the waves connecting the Arks to some of the wooden ships, and Gila could almost make out the faint shine of armor as the Ongiaran troops disembarked.

“Temporarily,” uttered Alnoral.

“Yes,” said Shovrisi. “But that can change, and I suggest it does.”

The statement drew a knife’s edge across the necks of every council member.

Gila felt the tension the most and had to speak. “I appreciate the offer, but we can care for ourselves.”

“Ah,” Shovrisi said, “but can you?” She looked around to the assembled, then to Gila. “You need us, young Guidance, more than you think. Your father is gone, and your ship is vulnerable. Until you attune, you are defenseless.”

Gila clenched her teeth. She didn’t want to hear this, let alone lay it bare for the council to see. Who was this woman to embarrass Gila so?

“Now, now,” said Florence, “no need to make us insecure. We were just now speaking of morale, after all.”

“Well,” Shovrisi said, “boost your morale yourself, and then we’ll worry about the situation that matters.” She nodded to Gila. “Getting your navigator up to speed. Quick.”

Despite her insistence, Gila couldn’t deny the Ongiaran was telling the truth. Thorteya needed backup now more than ever, at least until Gila attuned.

Or until you come back, father.

Would that ever happen?

Guidance Shovrisi opened her mouth to speak. “I am sorry for all of this burden that you carry, your Guidance,” Shovrisi said. “I understand you must be under a lot of grief. Your father is gone, and your kingdom is weakened, but until you can attune yourself, you will have to endure our presence.” She smirked at that. “We will do what we can to preserve your Ark while you attune. Once you’re older, you’ll thank us for your careful watch.”

The nerve of this wench. Gila breathed in the words like they were smoke. She had been present during a few of her father’s discussions with his council members, and she had seen his charisma at work, his brilliant negotiation skills put in place. He had made it seem so easy. But Gila had forgotten that he had always been speaking to superiors then. Now, the young navigator was against equals.

“The girl knows full well her predicament,” a man said, smiling at Gila. “If she is anything like Dorn, she can defend this kingdom herself. She only needs time, and we will help her with that. I will help her.”

Gila found the man who spoke and smiled back at him.

Guidance Borvos was Gila’s best friend in the council because she was her father’s best friend. His beard blended with the bark of a Minessonon mahogany, but his skin was as tan as the sand surrounding Del’Tiza, his Ark kingdom. It was to the south, farther than Gila or any of her closest friends had traveled. She had never asked how her father and the navigator had met, but she had always respected him. Now, with her father gone, Gila and Borvos were equals. She was glad to see that he thought that way, too.

“In addition to aiding in attuning Guidance Thorteya,” Borvos continued, “Del’Tiza can lend to the effort. Twenty-five hundred naviguard, each with two thousand rounds of ammunition and enough Arksteel to outfit them.” He raised a glass of water to his lips but didn’t drink. As a Del’Tizan, he hardly needed to. “Oh, and ten shipkiller rounds.”

The silence lasted only a second, but even Gila could hear the sounds of the scribe’s quills halting.

Gila wanted to leap from her chair. “Ten rounds?”

Borvos nodded. “Indeed! Just in case, your Guidance.” He looked in Guidance Shovrisi’s direction as he said it.

Just in case. One shipkiller round was almost the equivalent of a minor ark. They had to be forged correctly and required an incredible amount of Arksteel packed into a small space, making them the densest man-made objects on Kefoine. How could Borvos spare ten of them for Thorteya? Either he had an excess, or he thought Thorteya needed them.

“Done,” said Florence, looking to Gila and raising a brow.

How could she deny such a gift? And from her closest ally. Gila nodded. “Your assistance is appreciated, Guidance Borvos.”

The room noticed she did not share the comment with Guidance Shovrisi.

The Ongiaran navigator, however, barked a laugh. “Thorteya is in trouble, your Guidance. Ten rounds and—what?—twenty-five hundred soldiers? That will hardly be enough until you attune. Bands of shipbreaking raiders can bring hundreds of arks down upon you.”

“We still have the batteries,” Gila reminded them. The anti-air defense cannons didn’t use shipkiller rounds, but their ammunition was often enough to stop an Ark—most of the time. “Those don’t require my father’s mind to control.”

“But they require people, and more than 2,500 across all your batteries to be precise.” Guidance Shovrisi searched for her docked ships in the bay. “This city is a fragile glass sphere, waiting to be dropped and broken. Your fields have dried up, too, and the irrigation systems are inactive. Even the gates do not open unless a navigator’s mental hand lifts them. Your citizens are working harder than any of their generations have had to. And for what? Because a little girl has-”

“Enough!” Florence said, his voice booming across the council room. “Enough, your Guidance! Please have a seat! I will not have my navigator insulted by anyone!”

Shovrisi sat but did not take her eyes off of the young navigator.

There were many times in Gila’s life when she felt like crying. During those times, her father had always been there. Some had branded her as a ‘daddy’s girl’ who could not exist without that paternal influence. Maybe she would have to grow out of that.

And that meant not fearing anyone.

Gila found Guidance Shovrisi across the table and said, “Alright.”

The room, for a moment, was dead.

“Park your ships in our bay,” Gila continued. “We will greatly appreciate your presence here and always be accommodating hosts.” She let the room eat those words and hopefully taste the scorn. She turned to Borvos. “Every one of those ten shipkiller rounds will be active all hours of every day in case these so-called invaders do arrive, which I’m not sure they will.”

Then maybe they already have.

“Well,” Florence said, adjusting his collar, “I think this meeting is adjourned.”

The council had taken the cue and began leaving their seats. Representatives from allied Ark kingdoms gathered in the hallway outside, forming cliques and meeting with their scribes to review the notes from the past two hours.

“Thank you,” Gila said.

Borvos stood next to his two scribes: a shorter, fat boy with flat blonde hair clinging to his scalp and a taller, noticeably younger girl. They both bore the tan of the sun’s constant assault in the deserts surrounding Del’Tiza.

Borvos turned. “Oh? Well, you need not worry, Guidance. Your father would have done the same for me had I been in that position.” He stooped. “But it wasn’t all me, you know. Your retorts were, how you say, masterful?” He looked to the scribes. “Did you write them down?”

The two scribes nodded.

Borvos peered down to Gila and pinched her cheek. “Now, it seems your father’s visit to the Seat of the Seekers was well-timed.”

No one had told her about that visit—not yet. The council hadn’t mentioned it. Someone was going to bring it up eventually, right?

“And why is that?” she asked Borvos.

The older navigator, her father’s long-time friend, smiled. “Because you have the best teachers available to you.”