Aethosphere Chronicles: Winds of Duty

by Jeremiah D. Schmidt

  For that, Bar had no answer. Thinking back on it, he suddenly realized in dismay a terrible truth. The imperial’s attack, as dire and perilous as it was, had actually saved them…saved them from themselves.

  In the silence that followed, Lockney asked him, “Do you deserve a medal?”

  “No,” replied the ensign harshly, and he could feel the outrage tearing him apart inside.

  The admiral snorted back. “Maybe you ought to talk to that ship full of civilians that put into Glenfindale because you were there to lead—”

  “Lead…? I only reacted, sir, went through the motions because I was forced to…forced by one circumstance after another…”

  When the admiral didn’t immediately respond, Bar wondered if he’d realized that too. Maybe he was rethinking his whole position on Bar’s recounting of the events that had transpired. Maybe they’d forgo this medal and just lock him up as it should be.

  Finally Admiral Lockney spoke, his voice husky in the cold wind. “Do you even know why I prompted you before I left, Bar?”

  To that, the ensign could only shake his head in silent ignorance. The weight of what the admiral had already confessed to him was almost too much to bear, and now any more threatened to break him.

  “I did it because I saw a greatness in you—a greatness that this country needs, Bar. More than any other crewmen on that ship, you had the drive, the intelligence, and the self-reflection needed to do great things. You deserved it by sheer force of will and accomplishment alone, but this system we live under was designed to prevent you from getting what you deserved. So when I found the authority in wartime to do it, I did just that, gave you a battlefield commission every bit as binding as any other, and I haven’t been disappointed. You may not have been ready to lead when the events began, but by the end, you did lead them; and the only reason any of those people survived is because you united them. And, if this medal can help the people of this nation feel a little bit of pride and unity for just a few days longer then so be it.” Bernard locked his intense gaze on the junior officer as the wind tussled his short hair. Resting a hand on Bar’s shoulder, like a father consoling his son, the admiral clasped down reassuringly, probing the younger man’s eyes. “Listen, it’s not just what they deserve, Bar, it’s what we all deserve—a true hero that can bring us all together…someone humble, conflicted, but ultimately worthy of our admiration. So come on, Captain Bazzon, we mustn’t keep them waiting.”

  Bar wanted nothing more than to be this hero his mentor was praising, but he just couldn’t bring himself to buy into it. A nagging truth, left unsaid, still festered within the shadows; a truth that even Lockney couldn’t suspect; a truth that made all those inspiring words sting like shards of broken glass…

  Epilogue: The Terrible Truth

  Having ordered his battered crew to rest, Bar felt like doing so himself. The wounds spread across his body sang a symphony of pain and discomfort, but he still needed to get to the bridge, still needed to order Gryph to set course for Ragnarok Cloudfortress. He staggered to the ladderwell, instincts having robbed him of remembering it was nothing but a broken pit. So when he reached the edge and found devastation, he was momentarily confused, looking down into a blackened void.

  The ladder, that’s right. Bar laughed it off. It was funny he could forget something that not long ago had almost claimed his life. But he was tired and things like that happen when you’re tired. He began to turn for the hold, but something caught his eye. He stopped, knelt down to examine this curiosity lurking in the shadows. Stowe’s clatterbolt took shape, hanging by its shoulder strap from a jagged piece of wood. Bar reached out, rescued it, and found the metal still warm to the touch. Stowe’s terrible weapon, he thought holding its weight. It was heavy—as heavy as you would expect a machine capable of spewing out such rapid death.

  “What’cha got there, mate,” asked Tolle, and when Bar turned with the gun in hand, the hefty Candaran frowned. “You should pitch that thing off the side of the ship. It’s too terrible a weapon to exist…and I’m the weapons officer.”

  “Aye,” murmured Bar in agreement. He’d watched the master-at-arms shoot too many good men with it. Rat-tat-tat-tat. It was as though it still held the souls of those it had claimed, locked in the heat of its surface. “Listen up. We can’t tell the Admiralty the truth of what happened here. Too many good men would be sentenced to death if we were.”

  “Aye, my thoughts exactly, Captain. What should we tell them? We’ll need a damn good story to explain this mess away.”

  “Well, the imperial attack took care of most of the explaining. We’ll figure out the details later. But right now, I got to get to the bridge. Get some rest, Tolle.” Bar slung the clatterbolt over his shoulder and continued on through the hold.

  On deck, the night air was crisp and cool. The sun had retreated behind the reef complex and now the endless stars were out of hiding and winking down at him. Some of the horror had faded in the darkness. The damage etched across the deck blotted out by heavy shadows or at least softened in the subdued light of the core. Even the blood stains appeared to have faded… almost like this terrible day never happened.

  “You think your lies will save you?” husked a voice from the blackness behind him. It was low and raspy, edged in pain. “I heard you talking to that villainous rabble, and I’ll not let you spin this treacherous fantasy…not to the good people of King’s Isle, Bar Bazzon.” Captain Moore staggered from the shadows into the blue glow of the atmium core. He was a horror to look upon. The explosion had seared away half his face, turning it into something like blackened bark. Corrupted blood oozed thickly from the seams and the cracks in his flesh. One eye gleamed out from the ruin like an over-boiled egg, while the other glared out through a hemorrhage. He shambled towards Bar.

  “Moore…” was all he could manage to say as he backed away. The good part of himself wanted to help his captain, duty demanded it, but another part…a darker part still, ruled by anger and fear, lingered on the man’s threat: ‘I’ll not let you spin this treacherous fantasy.’ “Things happened, Moore,” Bar tried to argue reason, “terrible things, but these men—the men left here—well, they saved this ship; you, me…us all, Captain. We found our peace.”

  Moore’s seemly undead corpse shuffled closer, trailing a mutilated leg. “I am the master of this ship. I give the orders, and not a one of you followed them. Our mission’s ended in failure, Bar. You’re all traitors, one and all…”

  “That’s not what happened,” decried Bar, but sweat broke across his body as it flushed hot with guilt. In the strictest sense, Moore was right. As captain he gave a wartime order, and not a one of them carried it out. They’d let sentiment and personal opinions drown it away. And worse still, they took up arms. Feeling as though the world were weighing down on him, everything vanished except the captain’s ruinous form, and the weight of the clatterbolt held slack in Bar’s hands.

  “I’ll see that every last one of you is hanged, godsdammit!”

  Bar averted his gaze; found it filled with tears as he looked down at the rifle held in his own hands. “Moore… are you sure I can’t talk you out of this….”

  “There can be no peace outside the King’s authority…”

  Bar raised the weapon to the Chimera’s rightful captain. The weight of it a terrible thing. Orders were orders…that was simply the truth of the military. It really didn’t matter what had occurred after to unite the crew, the fact remained that a mutiny had occurred, and military order had been shattered. There could be no simple forgiveness for that.

  “Hand it over,” urged the ship’s master greedily, his breath coming in almost lustful wheezes as he waved a clawed hand in anticipation. “I’ll see to it that you’re spared if you do—”

  “I’m sorry…” muttered Bar softly, thinking of Al and the men in the hold. Too many lives now depended on him, and right, wrong, or indifferent, he was in command.

  The trigger was a light-pull, so slight.
Six, maybe seven shots barked from the gun in an instant, lighting up Moore’s already-battered body with round after round. Sprays of misted blood blew back over Bar, and he staggered away under recoil and repulsion; his lips sticky with the captain’s vitae. After, as the sulfurous smoke drifted away on the wind, the world became a darker place. Perhaps it was merely a result of the sudden burst of light, but reasons really didn’t matter. Bar could feel the darkness now; hear it ringing in his ears and twisting around his heart. “…but I’m… for the ship, Captain…”

  He dumped Moore and the gun overboard.

  Discover Other Titles by the Author

  From Aethosphere

  Book 1: Coalescence of Shadows and Light

  From the Aethosphere Chronicles

  Storm of Chains

  And Coming soon!

  Aethosphere: Book Two

  Aethosphere Chronicles: The Rat Warrens

  Connect

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  R.A. Chimera