by Aaron Yeager
Now free, Athel picked up Deutzia again and moved to run to her drawers to find some clothes to wear, but large heavy footsteps made her pause. Hanner entered the room, looking very amused at the predicament of the other two as they lay squirming on the floor.
“Here, let me hold that pot for you while you get dressed,” Hanner offered.
Athel raised her staff and the peanut plants grew further, wrapping themselves around Hanner’s massive arms. He stepped forward unhindered, the stems breaking away as he reached out.
“Okay, so you’re too strong for that,” Athel said. She dropped her staff and grabbed her pistol from on top of her drawers. Hanner lunged forward with startling speed for someone his size. She fired her pistol just as he reached her, the seed growing into strong vines that completely enveloped his massive frame. Athel stepped to the side as he collapsed onto the floor. “We use stranglevines in our pistols because they’re stronger than oak branches,” she explained.
Hanner grunted in frustration and lifted his left arm upward, snapping the vines that held it.
“And apparently so are you,” she admitted.
While he freed his other arm, Athel opened a porthole and began squirming out as best she could. Deutzia shimmered at her in protest, but Athel managed to get both of them outside. At her command, a tendril of the stanglevine grew out of the porthole, and Athel grabbed hold of it.
“Sorry, I know you’re afraid of heights, Athel said as she used the vine to rappel down the side of the hull to another porthole.
Deutzia thrashed back and forth in anger.
“You’re going to have to get over it. I mean, when you reach your full height, you're going to be up this high all the time, right?” Athel looked down and could see the boiling waters far below through a break in the clouds.
Deutzia tossed her leaves back and forth complaining.
“Yes,” Athel answered as she tried to pry open a porthole. “I know there won’t be acidic seas beneath you then, but I think you understand the point I was trying to make.”
Deutzia hummed as she pulled in her leaves close, a strong gust of wind nearly pulling her out of Athel’s grip.
“You’re right, they're trying to be tested, but who could have told them?” Athel asked as she opened the porthole and began wiggling inside.
A few moments later, Athel poked her head around a doorway and into the corridor. Finding it empty, she stealthily made her way down toward the cargo area. On a ship as small as the Dreadnaught there were precious few places to hide, and she certainly couldn’t run forever.
Pops the Janitor came out of a room, mopping the floor happily and slopping water everywhere as he worked his way out into the corridor. She stopped, but it was too late; he had seen her. He looked at her for a moment, using his old tongue to wet his dry lips.
“Oh, please,” Athel sighed, “Don’t tell me you’re in on this, too.”
He considered her over for a moment then shrugged, “Sorry, you’re not my type.”
Whistling to himself, he continued mopping as Athel breathed a sigh of relief.
Athel could hear the sounds of boots descending a nearby ladder, so she quickened her pace to a run and rounded the corner to enter the cargo hold. Nearly tripping over an open barrel of bassa, she turned and saw Odger standing there, holding a red vial up in the air in a threatening manner.
“Stop right there, all four of you, and all four of your trees” he cautioned, shaking his head to clear it. “This potion will put you to sleep for days if you breathe it in. I don’t want to hurt you, all I want is...” He was cut off when a ripe bassa thrown by Athel hit him square in the face. The red fruit scattered juices on crates behind him as he dropped the vial and brought his hands to his face to wipe away the soft fibers. The glass vial shattered at his feet and by the time he had cleared his eyes, he had inhaled a lungful of the vapors. He could only manage a confused grunt as he fell forward, landing serenely on the floor and snoring peacefully.
Deutzia called out in panic as a hand reached out from the darkness behind her. Athel spun around, barely dodging the grip.
“Captain Evere, what are you doing?” Athel asked, offended. “Aren’t you a married man?”
“Oh, um,” Evere stammered, looking sheepish. “I was just trying to, uh, you know, get your attention to find out what’s going on.”
* * *
Up on the deck, Alder couldn’t shake the feeling that Athel needed help as he re-threaded a pile of cordage. Normally he would have run off to help her, but he knew that she had just taken a shower, and he had learned that lesson very quickly. Subconsciously, he rubbed his hand against his black eye, still feeling the sting of her punch when he had brought her a plate of gooseberry pancakes while she was still bathing.
Suddenly the stowage grate to the cargo hold exploded, flipping twice in the air before crashing back down to the deck. As Alder stood up, he saw Athel clamber up onto the deck carrying a thrashing Nallorn tree in its pot. Dr. Griffin leapt up after her, pulling out an assortment of acupuncture needles and throwing them at her with incredible precision. Athel ducked under one needle as it embedded itself into the main mast. She then picked up a rigging peg and caught two more needles in it that had been thrown at her midsection.
Alder didn’t know what was going on or what he could do to help, but he was certainly going to try. He dropped the cordage and began running across the deck. Ahead of him, Ryin and Hanner climbed up the ladders and moved toward her as well.
“What are you guys doing?” Alder asked, grabbing onto one of Hanner’s massive arms to slow him, but only managing to swing off of it like a bracelet.
“We’re just going to get tested,” Ryin said. “It’s like a royal lottery.”
Athel blocked two more needles from Dr. Griffin using the rigging peg then ducked underneath the lantern hook. Ryin sliced his hand through the air in command and the hook came free of the wood, falling to the floor around her feet. At another command, the lamp and hook crimped around her ankles causing her to fall backward across a pile of rope.
Hanner towered over Athel, reaching out toward her with his massively strong hands. Rather than shrink away, Athel stretched out her free hand and grabbed him, her slender fingers unable to wrap even half way around his wrist.
Hanner began laughing mirthfully, but the humor quickly left him as his countenance changed to that of panicked confusion. He pulled his hands back toward his throat and began coughing painfully as peanut stems and flowers began growing out of his mouth and nose.
“I’m sorry, but I can’t let you do this,” Alder called out as he tugged and pulled with all his might, but he only succeeded in getting one of his feet caught between Hanner's legs as he stumbled forward, tripping him. Hanner’s arms flailed wildly, grabbing onto both Dr. Griffin and Ryin, and all four men fell on top of Athel and the potted tree she carried.
“Just what in creation is going on here?” Mina cried out as she jumped up on deck, followed by her husband who was looking unusually timid.
The small Nallorn tree squealed in disgust at the men touching it. Ryin, Hanner, and Dr. Griffin were tossed backward, landing painfully on the deck. Alder, however, was lifted high aloft by its small branches; and then thrown across the deck, skipping off of crates and barrels before finally crashing into a pile of rope.
Mina approached the chaos and began screaming at the men, demanding explanations between breathing out threats, slipping into her high-pitched native tongue as she cursed. Amid the groans of the injured and the high-pitched tones of the Mesdan language, Spirea walked up and stood over Athel triumphantly.
“Well, isn’t this quite the mess,” Spirea said cruelly. “Alder touched the Nallorn as well, and it rejected him strongest of all. Now you’ll have to sell him off as quickly as you can.”
“Is that what this was all about?” Athel asked as she sat up painfully. “Spirea, you are a twig, do you know that? I would have sold him to you if you had just asked.” A
thel pulled up the thrashing tree so Spirea could see it and removed her arm from around the clay pot, revealing the hand-decorated engravings of Milia and the Sotol family.
“That’s not Deutzia,” Spirea said aloud in shock, “it’s Sumac!”
“I switched them when I went through your quarters,” Athel explained. “Looks like the joke is on you.”
Sumac began trilling angrily at Spirea, letting off what was surely a string of curses that would make any sailor blush, but Spirea paid no heed. She could only fall to her knees and hang her head in defeat, while Mina grabbed Ryin and Dr. Griffin by their ankles and dragged them off for what was sure to be the longest scolding of their lives.
Chapter Sixteen
Red Tape
The only things that linked the Naval offices on Thesda with the office Athel had known on Wysteria were the pamphlets and recruiting posters. Other than that, they had nothing in common. The walls were bare rock, still retaining the scratch marks from when industrial mining golems had chiseled and carved out the roughly square rooms. Small rectangular chimneys were cut at angles into the ceiling, allowing the smoke from the torchlight to filter far up to the sheer mountain surfaces far above. A faint glow of starlight filtered back down in, providing some comfort, but otherwise the room made Athel feel buried and anxious. There wasn’t a single living thing decorating the office.
The wooden chairs they sat in didn't sit level; instead they leaned to one side. Athel wondered if the commanding officer had done it on purpose. It sounded to her like something her mother would come up with, sawing a few millimeters off of two of the chair legs so that her guests were always slightly uneasy, giving her a psychological advantage.
A woman carrying a large stack of papers entered the room. Despite the weight and awkwardness of the load, she moved smoothly and purposefully, even in the extremely high heels she was wearing, which utterly failed to compensate for her small stature.
Only when she put the papers down in front of Captain Evere did Athel notice the striped chevrons of her officer badge on the collar of her flawless uniform. Her brown hair was pulled back into a bun so tight that her scalp almost screamed audibly for release.
“I’ve been in contact with central, and they have assigned me the duty of updating your ship’s paperwork,” she said disapprovingly.
“Ms. Recaldier, always a pleasure,” Evere said, picking something out of his teeth. “Is it still Miss or is it Mrs. now?”
“I’m sure that’s none of your concern, Mister Evere.”
“Captain Evere,” he corrected.
“I would call you Captain, but your ship is not in my port. What is this I hear about the Dreadnaught being docked at a civilian dry dock? Federal Navy Ships are to be serviced only by certified craftsmen,” Recaldier reprimanded.
“But it’s not being serviced,” Mina insisted, crossing her legs and kicking one foot up and down. “An old friend of ours just upgraded his dock and thought the investors would be put at ease if they saw a nice and shiny Federal Navy vessel moored to it.”
Recaldier clucked her tongue and looked Mina over suspiciously. “I’m afraid I’m going to have to cite you for altering your uniform, Mrs. Evere,” she said at length.
“It’s Duvare. Mesdans don’t change their surname, and how have I altered my uniform?”
“You have quite obviously shortened the skirt,” she said curtly, adjusting her glasses as if she felt the need to clean them now.
“It’s standard issue, I assure you,” Mina said, extending her leg out in a sultry fashion. “I just don’t have stubby legs, that’s all.”
“If you mean me, then I take offense at that kind of ethnic slur. It just so happens that my mother was half Sutorian, so my legs are a perfectly normal length for my bloodline.”
“Then why not wear flat-soled shoes and be proud?” Mina asked slyly.
An aide brought in another stack of papers and set it down in front of Athel and Alder.
“Mrs. Forsythia, you’ve been in the Navy two months already and we still don’t have any of the paperwork that’s supposed to be included in your portfolio.”
“The girl just won’t cooperate,” Evere commented.
“Hey, don’t try to make this out to be my fault,” Athel defended. “I haven’t heard anything about this paperwork.”
“And you,” Recaldier said, turning back toward Evere. “You’ve been on patrol, but you haven’t filled out a single sighting report or incident appraisal.”
Alder tilted his head to one side and spoke up. “What about the Umor...” but was unable to finish his sentence when Mina slapped him on the back of the head.
“We’ll fill out the paperwork as soon as something happens to warrant it,” Captain Evere stated.
“Do you really expect the Navy to believe that your ship has seen nothing but clear skies for the last five years?”
“Afraid so, little lady.”
Ms. Recaldier’s nose twitched at the word ‘little’ but otherwise kept her composure. “None of you are to leave this room until your paperwork is updated. You can start with this,” she said, tossing a paper to Athel as she turned to leave.
“What’s this?” Athel asked.
“Your last will and testament. Everyone has to have one on file.”
“Hey,” Ryin called out as Recaldier left the room. “What if we get hungry?”
“I’ll have someone bring you a sandwich,” she called from her office.
“Well, what if we have to use the bathroom?”
“I’ll have someone bring you a bedpan.”
Ryin’s face stretched in disgust at the thought and he began filling out his paperwork as fast as he could, obviously having decided to finish before it became an issue.
The next few hours were spent in relative silence as the crew of the Dreadnaught, minus Hanner and Pops who were lucky enough to be in the infirmary, filled out forms and papers as best they could.
Athel had never seen forms so unnecessarily meticulous. An entire half-page description was required of each personal effect she had brought on with her. Not only was it tedious, but often impossible. After all, there is only so much one can say about a sock. Athel found the pages describing her underclothing to be particularly difficult to fill out because Ryin kept trying to look over her shoulder to see what she was writing.
But it was the last will that made Athel stop and stare. Even though she had felt the sting of battle, it just seemed bizarre to her that this piece of paper in front of her might one day be delivered to her family after she had died.
“Hey, Athel,” Mina said, breaking her train of thought, “you’ve been staring at that for twenty minutes. We’d all like to get out of here before dinnertime.”
“I really can’t figure out what to write,” she admitted. “I mean, should I just divide up my effects, or should I leave a message to each person, like parting words or something like that?”
“As long as you do it quickly, you can do it however you want.”
“I could just write up one single message for everybody, but that seems a little impersonal,” Athel said out loud.
“Look, you’ll be dead,” Ryin huffed, “so it won’t matter if you’re impersonal. What are they going to do, get offended and yell at your corpse?”
“That’s a pretty insensitive thing to say about the recently deceased,” Spirea chided.
“The point is if she’s dead then it doesn’t matter,” Ryin insisted.
“I’m not dead yet, so it matters to me,” Athel clarified.
“Will you guys knock it off!” Odger exclaimed without taking his eyes off of the paper in front of him. “It’s hard enough to write with five voices yelling in my head; I don't need additional yelling from you guys adding to it.”
Athel imagined herself lying in a plush wooden casket, her family and priests surrounding her in prayer as they prepared to have her cremated, later mixing her ashes into the soil of her family tree. She imagined Dr. Gri
ffin poking and groping the women in attendance, and Evere and Ryin in a drunken brawl with other attendees. She remembered Mina’s taste for immodest clothing.
Mina signed her final form and put it into the pile before her. “Okay, I’m done, so maybe I can help you. What have you got so far for your parting message?”
Athel read the single line she had already written: “Dear Mother, I’m sorry that I died before you; please make sure that none of the crew members of the Dreadnaught are allowed to attend my funeral.”
“Well that’s kind of you,” Ryin scoffed. “I would've liked to try the fancy foods I bet they serve at a princess’ funeral.”
“Trust me, you wouldn’t like it,” Athel commented.
Mina started checking some of the papers that had already been completed and stopped on Alder’s pile.
“Alder, you left all of section three blank in your will.”
“I don’t have any possessions to allocate, so it’s kind of a moot point,” he admitted.
“Well, you can’t just leave it blank. Just make something up.”
Alder fished around in his pocket and pulled his hand out to look at it. “Then I shall leave this small ball of lint to my former matron, Lady Aspen Bursage.”
“C’mon, you guys are wasting time,” Mina said, throwing up her arms. “I want to get out of here before the market district closes for the night.”
“Forget the market, we’ve got us a fish to reel in,” Evere said, eyes twinkling as he looked over a blue-form in his hands.
“What have you got there?” Mina asked, snatching the form from her husband.
“This is the recruit assignment listings that were updated this morning. It shows the people who have signed onto Naval service, but have not yet been assigned to any particular ship.”
“And one of them is from Stretis,” Mina noticed, eyes alight.
