Stenia doesn’t answer at first. As usual, she opens her mouth only when she is ready. “I’m not certain that I will sleep,” she says as a wisp of blond hair blows out behind her flight cap. She continues her habit of seeing things we can’t.
“It’s very odd to me that this may be the last time that my feet touch the earth. Having spent so much time airborne, I’m curious about this place," she says, observing the oddly shaped rooftops and winding streets. "I believe I will trade my sleep tonight to see what else this place holds,” she muses thoughtfully.
“I’m sure the Admiral would love to hear that his top scout’s trading sleep to go sightseeing,” I chuckle.
“I don’t need much,” Stenia says without turning her head.
Silence takes over once more. I think of those who aren’t enjoying a beer with us on this chilly evening. Olan’s locked away someplace quiet on the Artemis. He hasn’t spoken much since we lost Aoife. In lieu of conversation, he devotes his time to the art of warfare. Practicing his sword forms and honing his aim at the practice range seem to be all that’s left.
Spray vaults over the rocks as the ocean wind buffets from behind it. I brace against Cass as it blows over.
My shivering attracts a hand. It snakes under my blanket, feeling around the darkness until it finds mine. “Are you feeling ok, Sage?” Cass whispers.
I nod as a tear freezes on my cheek. “Yeah . . . Just cold.” I’m thankful for the darkness.
She gives my hand a squeeze. “You know you’re not the only one who’s afraid, right?”
I shift my weight underneath the blanket. “I know. It’s just . . . different this time.” I exhale. “We know what's coming. And really, if we want to, we have the power to just walk away.”
“Hah, we’ll see how well that would go over”, Yeti laughs. I hear the nerves in his voice.
The pressure of our destiny weighs on my chest. I need to put it in words or I won’t sleep tonight “When I started all this . . . it seemed like the right thing to do. Of course you take up arms against those who do wrong, and of course you think that you’re going to come out on the winning side.” I massage Cass’s hand with my thumb. “But now that I’m here . . . now that we’re so close, I’m just not as sure.”
Stenia’s voice cuts through the dark. “When you think of Aoife, are you sure?” She stands up at the edge of the promontory. "What about the blood of all the innocents killed in all those trading posts?” Stenia bristles, taking a small rock and hurling it into the ocean.
“I prefer it this way,” she breathes. “This way I can see the uniforms of those we’re about to fight. I can study their tactics. I know their intentions.” She twists to face us. “Every one of those fragments make them that much easier to kill . . . and it’s exhilarating to have that advantage.”
I nod slowly. Everything she says is true. The mention of Aoife’s name lights a flame in my gut. I can feel it clearing away the uncertainty that’s built up like rust.
“You’re right Stenia,” I say. “This is the course we set. We’ll see it through to the end.”
My train of thought’s derailed by Cass’s hand gliding up my thigh. My mind shifts gears from contemplating mortality to something much better. Glancing over, I see her eyes looking up at me.
“Hey Cass, are you getting a little chilly?” I whisper, squeezing her hand once more to cement the message. To my delight, I see her sea foam eyes light up in the darkness.
“You know, I could be persuaded that it's too cold to stay out here,” she smiles.
I take my hand from hers, moving it up her knee. “May I persuade you then?”
Cass cocks her head. “You may.”
With that, we both down the last of our beers. We wrap the blanket around our shoulders as we try finding our feet on the rocks.
“I swear I’ll find that someone eventually.” Yeti yawns as we pick up our bottles. His hunched form gazes thoughtfully at Stenia.
“You knew that was a long shot from the beginning," Stenia says without turning around. "No pun intended.”
As encouragement, I clap Yeti on the shoulder and give him a thumbs up. I nudge Cass, and she snaps her head up and nods in agreement. The downturned corners of Yeti’s lips reveal a mask of strategy as we leave him to his work. Maybe he’ll learn something from the waves below and figure out a way to wear Stenia down over time.
Wishful thinking.
Dawn breaks over the cliffs of World’s End. I peer out at the shipyard from the docking bay. Trucks and cranes swivel, doing the last bit of refueling and rearming of the Artemis and its crew. It won’t be long now before we cast off ties and chase our destinies. Everyone I know has already retreated deep within the bowels of the Artemis to go keep their minds on other things. No one wants to focus on the opportunity to stay behind and sit this one out. It’s too easy to turn around and walk right off.
I’ve made the mistake of lingering too long, unable to make myself move farther than a few steps from the earth. I gaze at the small tufts of grass shooting up from the rocks dotting the landing zone. An impulse impels me to reach out and touch them, but I know it won’t help any. I’ll want to keep holding on until I just won’t let go. I’d just stay here in this quiet little fishing village. Figure out how to fish. Maybe get lucky enough to be forgotten about.
I make no movement to go farther into the Artemis as this fantasy struggles to claw its way from my mind into reality. It doesn’t last long though. The sound of familiar voices drowns it until it stops struggling.
Captain Dixon and her daughter Fiona round the corner of the docking bay. I’m surprised to see her in street clothing. Without her nurses uniform, I see Fiona as the young woman she is. Side by side, her features are just as angular as her mother’s, but a little softer. Instead of raising her as a warrior princess, I think Janna’s done her best to let Fiona live like a normal woman.
“Mom, I’m not letting you go up there alone. You really think I’m going to be better off in a place called “World’s End” than with you and the Artemis?”, Fiona asks. “You really think that I can’t help you fight up there?”
I shrink back into the rest of the machinery in the docking bay. It’s too late for me to leave without them knowing I was here, contemplating cowardice.
Captain Dixon shushes her daughter, wiping away the tears welling in Fiona’s eyes. “Of course I know you can fight Hon, of course I do,” Dixon says, wrapping her daughter up tightly. “But, I’m not sending you into battle when I know your gift is to heal others.”
Even I can tell this is a tired excuse that holds less and less water each time it’s employed.
Fiona stops, wiping her face with her sleeve. “Mom, you know that’s not fair. If anything happens up there, I want to be there with you when it does. I don’t want to have what happened to Dad, happen again with you," she says, pulling in a ragged breath. "I want to be there.”
The mention of Fiona’s father transforms Dixon’s features from Mother back to Drill Sergeant.
“Fiona, we’ve talked about this. I’m not going to get to the age where I get taken by a heart attack. You’re not going to sit there and spoon feed me soup while I keep asking you if you’ve ever met my daughter. It’s just not going to happen.” Janna straightens, making her daughter do the same. “How many times have I told you that when I die, it’s going to be doing something useful? I’m not waiting to share the latest nursing home gossip.”
“Mom, you’re forty-six, you shouldn’t be worrying about that,” Fiona says indignantly.
Dixon starts, looking back towards the Living Quarters. “Jesus Kiddo, why don’t you let the whole crew know?”
Some spittle shoots towards the deck as Fiona lets out an unexpected laugh.
Dixon gathers her daughter up in her arms again. “Hey, this kind of lifestyle puts a lot more years on your body than you think. Ok?”
Fiona swallows, staying quiet.
Janna rolls her daughter out of her a
rms, taking her by the shoulders. “Listen Fiona, I love you. You turned out pretty amazing, and I’m not going to let some Admiral’s last hurrah ruin everything that you are.”
Dixon slowly turns Fiona around towards the exit, keeping an arm over her shoulder. Janna leans over. “No matter what happens from here on out, always remember that you’re a Dixon. You can overcome anything.”
In spite of the tear rolling over her lips, I swear there’s a hint of a smile on Fiona’s face.
Captain Dixon takes a big breath. “Fiona, you know I love you so much, but it’s time to go. So what are we going to do? We’re going to set our shoulders, edge our chin up, and walk right down that gangplank into a new life.”
She whispers into her daughter’s ear. “Are you ready?”
I hold my breath as Fiona gives the slightest nod.
Dixon releases her daughter.
With her shoulders set and her chin up, Fiona Dixon strides out of the docking bay and down the gangplank without looking back. Once she’s made it far enough, Janna Dixon hits the door release, closing the way for both of us. We stand there in red tinged darkness. In the quiet, she leans over the door controls.
“You know you’re the reason that happened, right?”, Captain Dixon asks the darkness.
I swallow hard. “Yes.”
Dixon stands in silence once more with her arm up against the side of the wall. “She’s tough, she’s independent, and she doesn’t need you,”, she says, her voice as even as ever.
I nod in the dark.
“But, if something ends up happening to me . . . you need to promise that you will take care of that girl.”
Silence sets in again.
“That’ll be our trade, alright?”
I find my voice. “Alright.”
Without saying another word, she takes her hand off of the controls and walks back into the interior of the ship. As her footsteps fade, I realize I’m once again alone in the darkness.
I let the echoes reverberate around me as I stand there, listening to the sounds of the ship preparing for takeoff. But it’s not a sound so much as a smell that I notice: a pungent odor. One that I remember from childhood. It’s been there over the last few months, but never as strong as it is now.
I freeze, finally placing it. It’s not possible. The only person I know who smokes Burley Tobacco has been gone for a long time.
“Dad?”
I turn, finding a man in the midst of lighting a cigarette. He’s dressed in a vintage version of one of our uniforms. The igniting cherry illuminates a tilted flight-cap sitting over bushy eyebrows. A full moustache covers a shrouded face. The milky blue eyes flit up to me. There’s no mistaking him. What makes the whole situation even more unsettling is that he’s not much older than I am.
“Good to see ya Killer.”
The muscles wrapping around my jaw pull taught. “Don’t call me that anymore.”
My father coughs out some smoke, laughing. “Why? ‘Cause it actually means something now?” he counters.
Blood froths up from the man’s mouth. The pilot screams from the street. A woman hits the ground with a dull thud.
“No,” I say, my palms starting to sweat. “Because you haven’t called me that in twenty years.”
My father nods absentmindedly. “Well, I’ve been gone a long time.”
Anger bubbles beneath the surface. “You look like you’ve been doing pretty well for yourself. Being gone for that long.”
My father squints. “What are you gettin’ at Killer?” He takes a long pull on his cigarette, bringing the darkness back over his face.
“Would you prefer to remember me like this?”
The cherry burns brighter, revealing the fingers holding the cigarette as nothing but bone. Horror rises as the light creeps back up a moldy, waterlogged skeleton of a face. The mouth twists in a gruesome angle. A single, dark, worm arches up out of his eye socket, reaching out towards the shadows.
I throw my hands over my face. “No!” I shout, fighting to collect myself. “. . . No.”
When I lower my hands, his face slides back into view. There’s a smile on it. With flesh this time.
He lets out another smoky laugh. “I didn’t think so.”
Focusing hard on the full face in front of me, I struggle to banish the thought of his decomposing body. “What are you doing here?” I ask.
My father holds his cigarette like a candle, watching the smoke rise from the burning cherry at the top. “You’ve made a lot of decisions lately, Sage.” He gives the cigarette a wag, sending the smoke curling. “And a lot of people are going to die in the next few days as a result.”
“I already know that.” I grate.
My father takes the cigarette, pointing the cherry at me. “See, I don’t think you do though.” His blue eyes pierce through the darkness. “They were looking for something to make them complete. You gave them a purpose.” His sharp cheek bones keep bringing back the image of his skeleton. “That purpose just so happens to be a suicide mission.”
He places a hand on his chest. “Everyone loves to be a martyr. Except when it actually comes time to die.”
“Are you saying that we should just turn back now?” I say through my teeth.
He leans against the wall, taking another drag. “I’m not telling you to choose one way or another. I’m just trying to make you understand the full weight of your decision before you make it.”
His skin looks so sallow.
He rocks himself forward. “It’s so easy to charge forward with no thought for the future, only to deal with the consequences later. Anyone can do that. But only a real man understands the costs of his decisions before he makes them.”
I roll my eyes. I’m so tired of being told what it’s going to take to make me a ‘real man.’ I’m twenty-eight years old; it’s a little late for that.
My father continues before I can stop him. “You put an idea into these people. Now you’re responsible for them - no matter what happens.”
His chiding demeanor cuts through, unimpeded. “They chose for themselves Dad. Every single one of them chose for themselves. No one’s here who didn’t walk over that line,” I state.
My father brings himself to his full height. “You think drawing a line on a deck makes it fair? With all of their buddies watching them make that choice? How could you expect them to say ‘no’ in a circumstance like that?” He places his hands behind his head. “You phrased it in a way that they believed the world would end a second time if they didn’t join you.”
“It could . . . ” I say, swallowing.
My father pushes his cap back. “You really believe that?”
Silence fills the room.
He nods. “That’s what I thought.” He shifts his weight, pointing a finger at me. “You know . . . it’s funny. I always thought that your sister was gonna to be the fighter in the family.”
Something akin to nostalgia fills his eyes. “You could see she had that fire, you know? Even at six, Pela had more balls than you.” He pauses, his finger still frozen in midair. “You,” he says, “you always had your head buried in whatever book you could get your hands on.”
I throw my arms up. “What are you trying to get at?”
My father leans back up against the wall. “I know the real reason why you went along with this whole charade,” he says.
I raise my eyebrows, waiting for an answer.
“Think about it,” he motions, flicking his lighter open again to renew the dying cherry of his cigarette. “When do you feel most alive?”
Flying, Cass, tearing a piece of freshly baked bread in two, a vista sunset, the sound of that piano . . .
“No, no, no.” My father waves his hands, the smoke trail of his Burly Tobacco cigarette curving wildly. “When do you really feel the most alive?
A different set of images flows in: the whiz of a bullet tickling my jaw, the feeling of bone snapping underneath my clenched fist, the recoil from that rifle, lookin
g up as the smoke clears just in time to see that woman fall to her knees.
A cold sweat breaks out over my arms. I want to tell him he’s wrong, but nothing comes out.
My father angles the burning cherry down towards me. “See. That’s it,” he says, his eyes dark voids. “You live to ‘be shot at without result’. To watch the life drain from others.”
I try objecting, but my mouth’s so dry I can barely form words. He has to be wrong. I attempt again. “Geez Dad, you make me sound like some sort of psycho . . . ” I manage.
He gives me a look of exasperation. “Well. You’re talking to me, aren’t you?”
I nod numbly. “Yeah . . . I guess you’re right.”
The corridor around us shudders. The magnets pulse outside, reversing their charges and sending us away. Flickering hallway lights announce we’re leaving ground.
My father turns his milky blue eyes from the lights to me. “I believe your crew needs you now, Lieutenant.”
Taking a deep breath, I try focusing once more. I put my hand on the back of my head, turning away.
“So, whatever happened that day? Twenty years ago . . . ?” I ask.
Silence.
Stopping, I slowly turn back around. Once again, I’m alone in the darkness of the lower deck, the smell of Burley Tobacco wafting in the air.
20
The cold bursts over my face as I leave the bulk head. Snowflakes flit by as we power through the thin atmosphere. Pulling on my gloves, I push out into the current. The cutting wind probes for bare skin as I make sure my cap is snug. My leather armor secured, I allow myself to peer over the banister.
It’s something to see, really. From the port side of the ship, the Agincourt plows ahead. The hulking Namazu follows in its wake, while the Bastille covers the left flank of our little armada. Somewhere behind me the Sohrab keeps a close watch on the right flank. If I squint, I can make out the dots of our multinational fleet flying from ship to ship, patrolling for anyone looking to give our convoy trouble.
As striking as it is, I’m worried about this tactic. There’s probably a wire going out to the entire privateer network that a large shipment’s headed due north. We hardly look like easy pickings, but in a pirate’s mind, that means whatever we’re hauling is worth more than what we’ve put in place to defend it.
With Eyes Turned Skyward Page 26
