***
Winceham was craning his neck upwards, trying to fit the whole length of the ship in his field of vision, but that wasn’t possible. It wasn’t possible for any of them from that close to see the HLS Magnometriton in its full glory. Judith had been assigned to be their liaison with the ship’s commander, the ship also happening to be the flotilla’s flagship, but so far, they’d seen no-one to liaise with and they were simply waiting, sitting down at the docks of Navy Spire Thirty-Seven where the fleet had mostly assembled.
Ned seemed to be in high spirits, and Parcifal was absorbed in watching over the lively preparations; it seemed like anything that had to do with battle, even its dull preparations, somehow made her day. Winceham was having another idle smoke, while Judith looked weary, even glum. The whole ordeal felt rushed, amateurish to her. It made her feel uneasy, but she kept her feelings to herself, mostly.
Below them lay more than a thousand feet of drop right down to the streets and shops of Rampatur City Central, while all around the horizon the peaceful countryside with its low-rolling hills and golden-brown farmlands lay inviting, yet unbearably so in stark contrast to all the tedious activity around them.
There were hundreds of men and women loading up the ships with provisions of many kinds, some of which were fairly basic like dried food; for the most part though, it was the cannon-shot and all sorts of strange colourful pellets and cannonballs of some sort that seemed to demand the utmost care. There was understandably quite a hubbub from all the people going back and forth or sometimes in circles, but it wasn’t overbearing. The sound of buffeting winds rushed by them from time to time, as the gales were rather strong this high up.
“What are those?” Ned asked Judith pointing a finger at the strange pellets, more so in order to start up a conversation. Judith breathed deeply before answering with a slight feeling of guilt: “I cannot tell you that.”
“Come on lass, it’s not like you’d have to kill us if you told us,” Winceham said in an off-beat way, getting ready to light up his pipe with a local variety he was eager to taste, more doubly so since he had acquired the particular pouch of tobacco by virtue of his trade skills; namely, he’d stolen it from an unsuspecting, though evidently quite well-off man in the streets of Rampatur City who also happened to be Lord Kennelsey.
Judith turned her head and looked at the halfuin with a seriously bland expression. A slight shake of her head and a minuscule shrug of her shoulders only meant that she had no comment on that; which only meant it was true and she would have to kill them if she told them. Ned appeared to be hurt, rather than shocked.
“I thought we were in this together. I thought you trusted us,” Ned said with a taut face before turning his head away from Judith in a childlike manner. “I thought you trusted me,” he said in what amounted to little more than a whisper.
It was Parcifal, and not Judith that spoke next. “This isn’t about you, Ned. Or us, even. It’s about her. She’s getting cold feet, that’s all,” she said with a condescending frown. “I can only hope you realise what’s at stake here,” Parcifal told Judith, in an almost scolding tone. Judith’s eyes flashed not with anger, but with the glimmer of an innocent, hurt pride.
“I realise much more than you think you do, lady Teletha. Bear in mind I’m still an agent of the Human League, sworn and dedicated to serve under its laws and edicts. I’m merely following orders; I have no quarrel nor wish for one with you and your friends. And although I can sympathize with you and your cause, I have to maintain a level-headed attitude. I cannot be anything other than dutiful and impartial; otherwise I might hurt you without it being my intention, I assure you,” Judith replied, turning her stare at Ned and seeking his eyes which were locked on dead ahead at the Magnometriton’s hull, trying to look unassuming.
“You’re saying you, helping us, might cause us trouble?” Winceham pondered, his face twisting in a sour grimace; the quality of the tobacco he had sequestered so tactfully was being put into serious question now.
“That’s right. I wish I could answer all your questions, and I wish I could help you more. I sometimes wish I had nothing to do with any of this but for me now, there is no other way. Try to understand; I wish there was time enough and the freedom for me to explain, but I can’t do that right now. We will be going into battle soon, and that is no time to question and wonder,” Judith said, mostly for Ned to hear. “I will protect you to the best of my ability, but I have orders I need to follow. Don’t make me choose, Ned,” she said and looked at the others with a truly sad pair of eyes. “Or any of you. My loyalty defines me, it’s what makes me useful. It’s what keeps me going,” she added, trying to sound apologetic, in a sense.
“What if you ever needed our protection?” Ned told her rather coldly.
“Then I wish you’d lend it heartily,” she said and shot Ned an honest, proud look. It was Parcifal who stood before Judith, the wind ruffling her short hair, her face unperturbed in any way, and told her: “I can’t speak for the others, but I understand a soldier’s loyalties cannot be divided. It would mean her ruin one way or the other. I appreciate your candid manner; it is more than most would offer though less than I would wish. Be it so, I shall stand my ground next to you, sword in hand, to face the common enemy as long as it is your wish as well.”
Judith nodded solemnly to Parcifal, while Ned shook his head slowly. Winceham shrugged before coughing wildly, his body shaking; he roared and grumbled for a few moments, before clearing up his lungs and throat. A hearty glob of mucus and spit left his lips and landed a couple of feet away, and onto a pair of nice, shiny boots.
The boots belonged to a tall, almost gaunt man with a smart beard and mustache, who looked rather prim and elegant in his suit, full of decorations and shiny bars and medals, without threatening his chest to collapse. He was wearing a Navy Captain’s cap skull and anchor sigil and owned a set of piercing black eyes; by his side, Winceham saw an attache of some kind, a rather short fellow with a face seemingly built for smiling, which was what he was doing even as he reached for the captain’s boots with a piece of cloth.
“Captain Elsenior Jones?” Judith asked briskly, to which the captain replied while still eying Winceham as if he were an impossible curiosity.
“Why, yes. I presume you are agent Judith of Naval Intelligence. And this is the infamous Alien Trio?” he said, nodding ever so slightly, not looking the least bit offended about the boots.
“I speak for all when I say that calling us aliens is an insult, captain,” Ned said out of turn, looking stern but not angry. The captain replied in kind, even as his attache seemed to have cleaned up the glob of spit; realizing the piece of cloth had been rendered useless, he tossed it expertly without the captain noticing. Winceham offered a slight bow of apology and the attache just shrugged it off with a grin and a thumbs-up, which only served to confuse the halfuin.
“I wouldn’t know, sir; it’s in the Navy’s line of business to insult each other. We find it endearing,” the captain said and smiled warmly. “Of course, rank does have its privileges. Sailors and officer’s alike face corporal punishment if they trash-talk to the higher ranks. Unless it’s ‘Keelhaul’ day when anything goes,” the captain said in a flat, uninteresting voice. “Enough of Naval tradition. I have orders that consider you, Mr. Larkin,” the captain continued pointing at Ned with a playful finger, “as vice-admiral in-commission, to lead this fleet in victory. Here’s the sealed envelope containing the fleet disposition, rules of engagement and the like. All the boring bits nobody reads anyway,” the captain said and smiled brightly.
“What?” Ned asked as if he hadn’t heard clearly. Him and Judith were wearing the same look of stunned surprise, except Winceham who was focused on the short, uncannily familiar attache who was making all kinds of funny faces.
“The Human League has offered you a war-time, temporary commission as vice-admiral, Mr. Larkin. It would be really rude to question that.”
“But, on whose auth
ority? I wasn’t briefed on this!” Judith complained brusquely.
“Lord Kennelsey has signed the commision, madamme,” the captain replied.
Ned was at a loss for words for a moment, before he turned and looked the captain in the eye, assuming a very proffesional voice.
“Very well, captain. How soon can we cast off?” Ned asked as if he’d been doing this for years.
“I’d say a couple of hours at the earliest,” the captain replied nodding.
“Make that an hour at most. Leave behind anything non-essential. Round the last of your men. If that means leaving men behind, so be it,” Ned ordered decisively.
“Ned, what are you doing? You haven’t got a clue about these things!” Judith insisted, speaking her mind freely now.
“What’s to know? It’s all about following orders. Isn’t that right, captain Elsenior?” Ned asked of the tall, perhaps a bit too tall captain.
“Of course, sir. If I may be so bold, sir?” the captain asked.
“Go on,” Ned said, wearing the new-found authority of a vice-admiral admirably well.
“What ship will you be boarding, sir?”
“Which one is the largest, most powerful ship available in this fleet?” Ned asked squinting simply for dramatic effect.
“That would be the HLS Bellerephon’s Quagmire, sir. But we’ll meet with it shortly before nethersailing, in space.”
“Please escort agent Judith on board Bellerephon’s Quagmire once we rendezvous with it. She is to relieve the captain and assume command as soon as possible. Make that in writing as well, if you need to,”
“Very well, sir,” the captain replied, sounding very approving of taking important orders from a complete stranger.
“What is this Ned? What do you think you’re doing?” Judith urged him.
“I’m giving you a chance to watch after our backs. I’m trusting you, perhaps with too much. But I don’t look worried now, do I?” Ned said, and licked his lips nervously.
“Sir? Will you be boarding the Magnometriton?” the captain inquired.
“Is there a ship called Mary in the fleet?” Ned wondered.
“Yes, sir. The HLS Maryland. It’s a Gadfly-class picket. Mighty fast ship, sir; she’s one of our best scouts.”
“Is her captain any good?” Ned asked captain Elsenior who remained silent for a while, looking for the right combination of words.
“To an extend. By certain definitions. He is known to be rather reckless. He does have a history of insubordination. He has lost three spots for promotion; but he has won a number of combat merits.”
“Insubordination?” Ned said thoughtfully before he let a thin grin grow on his face. “Excellent choice then. Captain, I believe that’s all I need for know. Thank you and bon voyage.”
“Thank you, sir. But if I may so bold once again, may I make a suggestion?”
“I’m always open to suggestions.”
“You might want to cuss more around the crew. Makes them feel everything’s normal,” he said and nodded briefly before saluting with an open palm, fingers strung together in a vee shape.
“Right. Carry on, captain,” Ned said and added with a suggestive frown, “damn you, you worthless mussel-bag of vomit?”
“Excellent, sir!” the captain said enthusiastically, turned about and headed for the boarding stairs. The short guy hanging around the captain followed behind, giving Winceham a knowing, mischievous look.
“I wish I could remember, but I swear I’ve seen this fella before,” Winceham said while Judith looked at Ned with a deeply furrowed brow, hands crossed against her chest irately.
“You can’t do that,” she insisteed.
“I just did,” he replied grinning.
“This isn’t some game,” she said sounding deadly serious.
“I take matters very seriously. I am, after all, the vice-admiral.”
“I don’t know who decided to make you leader of the fleet, but we’ll be lucky if this just doesn’t turn into a catastrophe faster than ever.”
“Why don’t you worry about yourself first. You seem to be good at that,” Ned said with evident disdain.
“Is this something personal? You’re not taking things into perspective here Ned. There are countless lives at risk and you’re acting all high and mighty all of a sudden,” Judith said, looking sincerely worried.
“Is that a problem?” Ned asked flatly.
“Does it matter if I think of this as one?”
“No. You have your orders. Take the Bellerophon’s Quagmire. Await instructions. That’s all you need to know for now,” Ned said and Judith simply shot him a wild-eyed look and went up the wooden plank stairs to the Magnometriton amidst a heavy, hurt silence. Parcifal was looking at her, wearing an earnest look of bewildered confusion. She leaned on Ned’s shoulder and whispered, even though it was impossible for someone to overhear in all the hubbub.
“What exactly, are you doing?”
“I haven’t got the slightest idea,” Ned admitted freely.
“It was all an act?”
Ned shrugged and nodded, sighing.
“Pretty convincing. You’re not half as bad as I thought. At least when you’re not telling jokes.”
“It’s kind of a difficult time to work on my comedy.”
“If you think about it, this is starting to look like a joke. They hardly thought of us as humans, and now they’re entrusting you with a whole fleet of ships? Don’t you find that strange, Ned?”
“I find it horrifying. But whatever’s going on, there’s a job to be done. And an act someone wants me to put on,” Ned said, a deep frown creasing his forehead.
“Lord Kennelsey,” Parcifal said, the name coming out of her mouth unpleasantly. “What about Judith?” she asked him.
“She’ll be safer in that big ship. And if she really means it, she’ll be best suited to help us if the need arises.”
“You’ve really thought this through, haven’t you?” Parcifal said, her eyes fixated on the afternoon sun.
“Not by an inch,” he replied smiling uneasily. “But I play on instinct, anyhow,” he added.
“I can’t remember if we’ve been dead piss-drunk together or not. I keep getting these strange flashbacks but everything’s fuzzy,” Winceham said mostly to himself.
“What are you talking about?”
“That short fella,” Winceham replied.
“What short fellow?” Ned asked again.
“That captain’s attache!” Winceham said, vaguely pointing to nothing in particular.
“What attache?” Parcifal wondered as well
“The short fella who cleaned up his boots. The guy who was doing the hand-stands?”
“Wince, are you eating some of those mushrooms again?” Ned asked the halfuin feeling genuinely worried for his well-being.