Buckle Up, Ladies and Gents

Prologue: Gunner Plus One

 

THE BROKEN-DOWN AIRSHIP gleamed rather majestically in the fading sunlight, and the distinct shadows of three eclectic individuals shaded the front hull. These three considered themselves present for business matters, though there wouldn’t be any exchanging of money today. The ship was a piece of junk, to put things politely, but there was a lot of potential in it if you could look past the rusting exterior.

It had once been a ship from the queen’s navy, a long, long time ago. But its dated nature, Captain thought, gave the ship personality and spunk. She could picture it all spruced up and running again—maybe some adjustments here and there—and became giddy at the thought. Granted, it did not take much to excite Captain, but she liked to think her appropriation of this ship would eventually become the moment she looked back upon and pinpointed as the “turn” of her life. A tremendous change in course, for the better.

Captain clambered aboard the ship like a monkey, using whatever means necessary to reach the deck. It was lopsided, as the ship was tilted awkwardly against the ground without the generators running to keep her afloat, but Captain was a tall, limber woman, and the climb wasn’t difficult for her. Her arms and legs were strong, and her mind even more agile.

Her companions hastened aboard to join her, one of them nimble and silent like a cat, the other crippled slightly by a mechanical leg that started just below his left knee. Both wore the only clothes they currently owned, though it was clear that Captain planned on remedying that situation at her soonest convenience. She may be a thief, liar, and gambler, but if she was going to make herself and her crew notorious for those things, they should at least look good while they did it.

“Well, here we are,” Captain said, hands on her hips, looking around the deck of the ship she’d just purchased with what essentially amounted to her life’s savings.

Since the boat had been labeled as junkyard waste, it shouldn’t have cost her anything, but it was impossible to steal without some sort of elaborate scheme, so she ended up simply buying the scrapyard. Might as well have the place to themselves, she supposed, since they were planning on becoming outlaws of a sort anyways.

Not that she didn’t enjoy risking her life for no reason, but she preferred the idea of throwing her entire life into one project and seeing where it went than simply dying needlessly. And without a good adventure first. Captain had been raised on that sort of philosophy, and she thought this would be a good test for a pirate’s merit; taking risks, of any sort.

“It’s a death trap with marginal potential,” the leaner and younger of the two men said in a deep, flat voice.

“Hey!” the elder shouted crossly, scrambling to his feet as he finally managed to board the ship. “Don’t talk about my baby that way,” he pouted, gently rubbing a hand against one of the chipped railings.

“We’ll fix her up in no time,” Captain insisted with a self-reassuring nod. “And I’ll get out of here to be the best female pirate captain the entire world has never seen. Ah…Actually, let’s not limit ourselves the best pirate captain the world has ever seen, barring specifics.”

“Hmm,” the first man said, neither dubious, nor confident. He dragged a finger against the same railing and examined the dust that came off on it. He wasn’t necessarily judgmental, but Captain still felt like the Gunner wasn’t going to invest in this venture of theirs until she showed him some solid proof of potential success—whether he owed her his life or not.

“She’ll need a good name, of course,” Captain added, hoping to get the two better acquainted and to bond all three of them as future partners.

“I’ve always liked Sky Bitch,” Criks admitted, and Captain scrunched her nose in distaste.

“You really wanted to name my ship after a derogatory slur for a woman?”

“A female dog, actually…Well, the other idea I had was Hades’ Barnacle,” Criks admitted, scratching at his beard. Captain frowned and blinked unhappily at him to get her point across. Criks gave up on trying to persuade her before he even began.

Captain tucked her hair behind an ear and crossed her arms. “Gunner, what do you think?” she asked, gesturing to him politely. The stoic man barely even blinked. He seemed bored with this venture already.

“I have no thoughts.”

Criks fought a chuckle and grinned. “You wanna sign for that?” he teased smugly.

“Immediately,” the Gunner replied in a second, his face blank, so that he seemed to be completely serious.

“Sun Skimmer,” Captain interrupted triumphantly. “That’s a good name for an air ship. Yes. That’s it. I like it. That’s what we’re calling her.”

Now it was Criks turn to raise an eyebrow. “Don’t we at least get to vote?” he suggested.

“Sun Skimmer,” Captain said.

“Sun Skimmer,” Gunner agreed darkly.

“There, see? We’ve voted,” Captain announced. “And now we can get on with our business. We’re gonna fix this lady up, pick up a rag-tag crew, and sail the skies like the most badass pirates of the clouds there never was. Remember, we meet back here tonight—Gunner, don’t forget your plus one; you told me you had a crew member for me. In fact, bring all you got; once we get her running, this ship is home.”

“Home is where you can sleep without keeping an eye open,” Gunner grunted.

“Do you ever sleep?” Captain pointed out.

“We don’t speak of that,” came the gruff reply.

 

CAPTAIN AND CRIKS met back on the ship five hours later at about one ‘o clock in the morning.

Gunner, naturally, was late.

Captain paced the deck, her coat billowing out behind her and boots clacking dangerously.

“And to think, he owes me!” she confided in Criks, who had spent the past five hours working on the ship. It had already been his home, after all, and he didn’t really have any belongings to pick up or unfinished business to settle, so he had at least gotten the engine and the generators back up and running. The airship now hovered precisely six feet above ground, purring like a kitten, albeit a rather cantankerous kitten, and looking just as dangerous for anyone onboard as it could be for anyone who faced her.

Accidents were bound to happen.

For the next two hours, Captain rolled up her sleeves and got to work, helping Criks with the menial sort of duties no captain should have to do. When Gunner finally arrived, she might have killed him, except she still needed him and doubted she could even scratch the man if she tried.

That, and he completely shocked her with the “personal” items he chose to bring with him.

Captain never did figure out how Gunner managed to climb up the ladder onto the deck with a twenty-five kilogram burden, but that was just the way of Gunner. He could do that sort of thing without explanation and expected the rest of them to simply accept his ability to surpass most laws of physics without even thinking about it.

“What is that?” Captain asked, her brow furrowed as she looked down. Gunner was carrying a tiny curly-haired child of perhaps nine years like she was the most important thing in the world.

“I told you ‘Gunner plus one’,” Gunner said, reminding her. He gestured to the little girl. “This is my plus one.”

“That is a small flesh thing,” Captain complained.

“This is Sasha Griffins. She’s coming with us.”

The Captain’s face scrunched up and she waved her hands about in exasperation. “She’s a little…thing!”

“She’ll grow into a bigger thing. A useful bigger thing,” Gunner promised. 

“This is not a crew member like I was promised,” Captain insisted.

Gunner shrugged and blinked those dead eyes of his. “I never said how old or capable the crew member would be. Now you have a cabin girl.”

Captain stared at him and then let out a long, heavy sigh. “Fine,” she finally huffed. “Now I have a cabin boy.”

“Boy?” Criks repeated, shouting from afar. Captain often had to wonder if the man had greased mechanical ears as well as half a leg. There was no way he could have heard them otherwise.

“Boy,” Captain insisted. “There is no such thing as a cabin girl, it sounds stupid, and I discriminate against everyone equally. She can be the cabin boy.”

Criks creaked up behind them, rubbing grease off his hands on a rag. “That makes no sense,” he insisted, shaking his head.

Captain whirled on him crisply, her face pleasant but her tone commanding. “That makes no sense, Captain,” she corrected, and walked off briskly, her hands behind her back in a contemplative fashion.

“There goes the captain,” Criks said with a satisfied nod.

“Just Captain,” Gunner corrected.

Criks sighed. “Why does she insist on that? She knows her reputation will skyrocket if she simply chokes on her pride and uses her father’s name, doesn’t she?”

Gunner shook his head. “That’s all she needs,” he claimed.

It was the start of many adventures.

 

 

​

One: Six Years Later

 

VERAPOR CITY was all sorts of busy that Sunday evening. There were enough people milling about to create a crowd difficult to hurry through, so no one was getting anywhere particularly fast—except for the dark-skinned woman making her way towards Isaac Arbiter with a determined look on her face. Once people saw her, the crowd simply parted for her; the brown leather belts slung across her body packed enough weaponry to let folks know she meant business. Her height—the same as Isaac’s, at least—also helped impress her no-nonsense personality upon people, and they did their very best to keep out of the way of her muscular shoulders, even if it meant stumbling into others nearby.

She wore her dark hair in thick dreadlocks, which sprang forth from beneath a bandana, hat, and goggles. Airman’s boots laced up to her knees and a holster’s thigh strap could be seen peeked out from beneath the ruffles at the bottom of her thigh-length jacket, pressing the fabric of already very tight brown leather trousers even closer to her skin. The ceremonial sword swinging from her side told Isaac this was most certainly the person he’d been waiting for: Amelia Flux. Bosun of the Sun Skimmer.  

Isaac straightened his jacket and cap, adjusted his belt of tools, and hoisted his bags over his shoulders. This was it—his first step out of Verapor and on to the real world. His first big job.

Engineers were always useful in the technological modern age they lived in, and Isaac knew that with his graduating notes, he’d be able to get whatever job he wanted. He just needed a little experience to add to his résumé, and he’d be good to go. A respectable airship captain’s word would be a nice addition to that rather blank sheet of paper he had so far.

Engineering genius he may be, but after spending most of his life in a university, he lacked significant world experience.

The woman reached him and looked him over in a strangely nonjudgmental way. As if all she wanted was to try and commit the image of him to memory. “You Isaac Arbiter?” she all but barked.

“You Amelia Flux?” he returned, his voice, unfortunately, weaker and higher than hers had been.

She didn’t seem notice this and simply stuck out a hand and shook his gruffly. It was the hard, strong handshake of a woman who spent most of her life fighting for everything, which now gave her a certain air of confidence.

She practically crushed his knuckles together.

“Amelia Flux, bosun of the Sun Skimmer,” she introduced herself properly. “I’m here to take you to the airship.”

Isaac tried to smile in a friendly way. “I’m all set.”

“Good. Otherwise I would have had to leave you behind,” Flux replied brusquely.

She turned on her heel without further explanation and walked off, apparently expecting him to follow. Isaac scrambled to catch up with her, lugging his heavy bags and grumbling in his head of how he wished she’d been polite enough to lend him a hand.

Even at this late hour, the day was hot and humid, without a cloud in the sky, and the bodies surrounding them did very little to help. Isaac felt a bead of sweat trickle down the side of his face and drip onto his shirt—so much for impressing the new boss with a spic-and-span appearance. He was going to be red-faced, dusty, and damp when he met the captain of the Sun Skimmer.

By the time they neared the docks, he felt like a panting dog in the summer. No—not even a dog; a pig. That would explain the grubbiness. He could barely look up, staggering under the weight of his own luggage, and he found himself using Flux as a shield so he could make it through the crowd without knocking anyone to the ground or getting knocked around in return.

It was a good enough system, he supposed, until Flux decided to stop abruptly and he nearly walked smack dab into her.

He peered around her to see where they’d stopped on the docks and was startled by the tremendously impressive sight before him: a beautiful, hulking airship of a relatively old model that somehow managed to look brand new. The steering control on the back, from what he could tell, seemed as if it could turn far more accurately than anything he’d seen simulated for its model, and the netting leading up to the large balloons at the top weren’t frayed in any way he could see from this distance. Overall, he had to wonder how in the world such a thing was considered merely a transport for goods when it could have easily housed a good number of high class passengers.

In any case, he couldn’t wait to fiddle with all the inner workings and mechanics.

He could see part of the crew milling around on the deck up there, surely all ready and jittery to take to the skies again. They seemed to be a rather interesting assortment of folks, and he was sure he’d fit in well with them. He liked the outside of the ship, at least. It was the sort that made the high tech and modern shipping and receiving airship next to it look like a grimy slug.

Glancing between the two airships, Isaac noticed three people standing there, apparently discussing something business-related. The man on the far right was rather unremarkable—of average height, weight, appearance, and wearing the boring brown uniform of an international merchant captain.

It was the pair on the left who really caught Isaac’s attention. The woman—the one doing the business clearly—was tall in the way many Alshorstans were, as tall as any average man from most surrounding countries, and rather sly looking. Her choppy brown hair played host to a magnificent hat, and she wore a long, gold-trimmed coat over her boots and leathers. With said coat flapping open, Isaac could clearly see a gun clipped to the wide belt of her high-waisted trousers, and the waistband that secured most of her otherwise billowy shirt close against her. The quality of clothing itself seemed to suggest that she certainly knew how to dress properly, and how to haggle down a high price. She appeared to be in her early to mid-thirties or so, and gave the impression of someone both acrobatic and limber, despite her height.

The man standing just off behind her was equally odd. He also dressed in a coat and leathers, though he also wore a heavy black facial scarf that covered his neck and the lower half of his face so that only his eyes peered out. It didn’t help that his hair was pitch black and thick, so that it looked like his head (and entire body, for that fact) was just one mass of black unless one saw him face on. What little of his skin did show was paler than Isaac was used to, and milkier—like he didn’t venture outdoors much, though the rest of his appearance pointed to the contrary. His belts also had numerous different handguns strapped to them, and two larger, impressive looking weapons crossed on his back.

He was the sort of person you didn’t dare look at funny.

“Well, I suppose Captain’s not quite finished with her business,” Flux said shortly, surprising Isaac as they went on, passing right by the three individuals without any sort of interaction. 

Flux gestured to the two, introducing them to Isaac, even if neither of them were really paying any attention, nor were they close enough to care to shake Isaac’s hand or give him a “how do you do”.

“This is our captain. We call her Captain. This is our gunner. We call him Gunner.”

She spoke in a rapid, clipped tone and first gestured to the sly looking woman and then to the bored, dark haired man.

“Captain what?” Isaac felt the need to ask as they passed by.

The captain herself seemed too busy arguing at the moment to pay attention to him, which he was actually glad about. This way he’d get the chance to clean himself up a bit first and then allow Flux to properly introduce them before the ship took off.

Isaac stared at the captain and gunner as they passed by, but the captain, at least, didn’t pay him any attention. The gunner gave him a sideways look, tracking him with his eyes until they passed by completely. He was a bit of a terrifying man, Isaac would admit, and didn’t look Alshorstan—but having a frightening foreigner was probably a good investment, for vessels like the Sun Skimmer. The fact that he was a gunner simply meant an extra layer of protection.

“Well, keep up,” Flux said briskly, stalking up the metal gangplank to the bobbing airship.

Isaac readjusted the bags and scurried to follow her, glad when they finally reached the deck. He felt a swell of pride, noting the first boot he placed on the polished wood. He was a part of a sky captain’s crew, now. From this day forward, his life was only going to get better; his salary would only go up and up and up.

Isaac grinned.

He took a moment to breathe in deeply, smelling the fresh air, and was glad to be out of the city proper. The ship didn’t have much of a crew about her, but those who Isaac did see intrigued him. At the helm stood an impressive, broad, tanned man with dark blond hair, a few days’ worth of scruff on his chin, and a left leg that ended in a mechanical appendage from about an inch below the knee onward. He had enough scars to suggest that he’d been out and about in the open air for quite some time, but the cheerful expression of someone not quite old enough to be cynical. Isaac was sure he could have fit two of himself in the man’s large brown coat.

Just walking past the helmsman was another fellow, not half as physically impressive, but with enough scowl to make up for it. He had dark hair worn slicked back, and a neat goatee to surround that cantankerously set mouth. He seemed bored with his life; maybe an ordinary enough crew member who simply wanted to leave all this behind someplace and never think about it again. It wasn’t terribly inspiring for someone just coming aboard like Isaac, but he found he was ridiculously intrigued by the man’s startlingly good looks, and his red leather belt, which held at least half a dozen swinging containers, perfect for carrying maps in.

Without thinking, Isaac took a step forward to follow the map man and nearly smacked straight into someone else entirely.

“Oi, watch it,” snapped the other, another dark-haired, dark-eyed Alshorstan man of perhaps forty, who looked just about as annoyed as he sounded. His broken nose and startlingly bushy beard made him appear even crosser then he already was, and Isaac got a sinking feeling that he’d created an enemy of sorts already.

“Sorry,” Isaac scrambled to say, ducking out of the way. The man grunted and gave Isaac a judgmental glance before continuing on his way.

Thankfully, Flux had noticed Isaac’s failure to keep up as she’d asked, and popped back up at his shoulder.

“The one with the maps—that’s M’rosse, our navigator, and that’s our steward,” she said, nodding in the direction of the disappearing men. “We call him—”

“Lemme guess,” Isaac interrupted, feeling rather clever. “Steward?”

Flux gave him a look of disbelief, like he was the biggest idiot she’d seen in her life. “No. Of course not. That’s Dekker.”

“Oh,” Isaac said, blinking in embarrassment.

A great belly laugh sounded off behind them, and Isaac turned to see the mechanical-legged man had stomp up behind them. “Don’t pay any mind to poor Dekker there,” he suggested. “Man’s just temperamental—he was gamblin’ up a fine winning streak last night when it all got swiped from him within a single round. Now he’s nursing a hangover and a nearly empty purse.”

“Oh,” Isaac said again, a little overwhelmed by all the new people he was meeting.

“It’s not yer fault, kid,” the man continued. “Little Fluxy here should have kept a better eye on you.”

Flux frowned crossly. “I told you not to call me that. I’m only a year younger than you and I undoubtedly hold twice the authority.”

“But Fluxy, the kid’s gotta learn how to needle you some time or another.”

She threw up her hands and rolled her eyes. “That’s it,” she exclaimed, already walking off, her quick stride taking her away before Isaac could think of following. “He’s your problem now, take good care of him,” she added. “Remember what happened to the last engineer…”

“Why, what happened to the last engineer?” Isaac asked nervously. He didn’t get an answer.

That left Isaac with the helmsman, another stranger, who was laughing after Flux like she’d just made the biggest joke of the year. 

As far as Isaac knew, maybe she had.

He cleared his throat, determined to make a good impression on at least one person here. He offered a hand to the helmsman as professionally as possible and tilted his chin up.

“I’m Isaac Arbiter. New engineer for the Sun Skimmer,” he introduced. 

“Oh, we like to simply call her SunSki,” the helmsman said with a wave of his hand. “Nothing fancy.”

“What about you?” Isaac wondered. 

“It’s Criks,” the helmsman said, finally noticing Isaac’s offered hand and giving him his second hand-crushing shake of the day.

“Is that your first name, or your last?” Isaac asked, trying to be polite.

The man shook his head. “It’s just Criks.”

“So…you don’t have a first name?”

“It’s Criks,” the other insisted.

“So your name is Criks Criks?”

“Just Criks.”

Isaac thought about it. “I’m confused,” he finally admitted.

The one Flux had called Gunner passed by, rolling his eyes. “Didn’t take much,” he muttered, startling Isaac. He hadn’t even known that Gunner and the captain had finished their business and were back onboard. Not only that, but now Isaac knew he had at least two crew members he needed to win over—three, if Flux counted, though it might have just been in her personality to be short with everyone.

“Don’t mind him either,” Criks suggested. “Gunner’s a mystery wrapped in an enigma wrapped in a lot of black leather. He’ll walk by, disappear for hours at a go, then pop back up again just in time to say something snarky. Kinda nice, though. Keeps you on your toes, at least.”

“Oh. Um. Ah,” Isaac said, nodding slowly.

Criks slapped him on the shoulder, almost dropping him to his knees from the sheer force of it. Isaac found himself coughing slightly, undignified, and hurried to straighten, fixing his coat and cap. If Gunner was back on the ship that meant the captain would be too, soon. If she wasn’t already.

“Come on, kid,” Criks said, causing Isaac to grimace. He didn’t like being described as a kid to someone only about a decade older than him. “The captain’s gonna prob’ly say something to the crew.”

“Shouldn’t I meet with her?” Isaac asked.

Criks shrugged. “Maybe later,” he admitted. “It’s not really how Captain works. She likes to keep people guessing.”

Isaac nodded—that made sense to him. He had just barely accepted the fact that he would have to wait to meet with the captain, when a woman appeared at his elbow, hands clasped behind her back, her nose up in the air. The captain herself.

“Morning, gents!” she greeted cheerfully. Her voice was deep and had a slightly pinched accent that told Isaac that she had, at one point, lived in the Alshorstan Empire among at least a few aristocrats. She certainly seemed full-blooded Alshorstan, so that wasn’t surprising, but the idea that she’d lived with nobles at one point was.

Criks nodded, barely keeping back a grin as Isaac had jumped nearly a foot in the air. “Cap’n,” Criks addressed, equally as cheerful. Isaac didn’t like it: he felt like they were conspiring against him already.

“Catch yourself a stowaway here, Criks?” she asked as crew members milled about around them, preparing the ship to cast off. Now that she was up-close, he was startled to see that her eyes, which were technically brown, were still very much tinted amber. They looked like a cat’s eyes, he supposed.

Isaac opened his mouth to reply, straightening his vest. He was all set to impress her with some incredible verbosity, but Criks beat him to the introduction.

“Nah, this is the new recruit, Cap. The new engineer.”

Captain practically slapped herself on the forehead. Isaac wondered if she’d, on top of living with aristocrats, spent any time stage-acting. “The new recruit! Of course! Our new wrench!”

Before Isaac could do anything at all, to his surprise, the Captain had whirled around to face the rest of the ship and stuck her fingers in her mouth to give an earsplitting whistle that forced Isaac to cover his ears. All at once, the crew members stopped their worked and, within a minute, had assembled themselves for the Captain to address.

As Isaac looked around at them all, both surprised and impressed as he tried to take them all in at once. He recognized the dangerous man they simply called Gunner. The steward, Dekker. Flux. The man with all the maps called M’rosse. Once the entire crew was assembled, he realized there were only about thirty of them total—a skeleton crew, really, for a ship of this size. He hoped they would be picking up more men sometime later, or else this was going to be lot of work.

Captain herself had leapt up on the polished wooden railing, holding onto a rope to steady herself against the breeze. Just as Isaac had guessed, she was limber and light, and just a little cat-like, as her eyes implied.

“Listen up, everybody!” she called, her deep voice somehow carrying easily without having to tear her throat out. She flung an arm out to the side to gesture towards Isaac.

“We’ve got ourselves here our brand-new shipmate! Say hello to Isaac J. P. Arbiter. He’s gonna be our new mechanic—so let’s make sure you all give him a proper Sunski welcome!”

There were a few chuckles from select crew members, and they looked around at one another smugly. That sinking feeling in Isaac’s stomach made a home there and he wondered for the first time if maybe he’d made a huge mistake.

“As it is at the moment, we’re set to leave in the next half hour or thereabouts, so if there’s anything last minute you feel like doing before we head out, I suggest you do it now. We’ve got quite the trip ahead of us, and I’m not planning on making any unnecessary stops. Are we good, gentlemen?” Captain yelled.

“Yes, sir!” the crew chorused, as if they’d done this many, many times before. Isaac was overwhelmed with their synchronization—he wanted to skip forward a few months in his life where he was already a part of the crew. He had hoped that he could use his résumé to enter the upper crust straight away but…Everything he knew about merchant ships was worth absolutely nothing now. Captain clearly didn’t run her ship according to standard Imperial guidelines. She had a strange style of her own. And she hadn’t even finished yet.

“Good!” she called back to the crew, and then jumped off the railing and landed on the deck. “Everyone back to work! I want us on schedule!”

She nodded once, almost half to herself, and then walked away with her arms crossed behind her back once more.

“Oh, and cabin boy!” she shouted behind her. “Show Mr. Arbiter to his quarters, please!”

“Sir, yes, sir!” a hoarse young voice squeaked from somewhere behind Isaac, making him jump and yelp in surprise.

From where he stood just next to the newest recruit, Criks started to laugh.

When he turned, behind Isaac was a five-foot-nothing Alshorstan girl with dark wavy hair and a mish-mash of different clothes to make up her style. A short, pink tulle skirt. Burnt orange jacket—so burnt a color, in fact, it might have been tan. Little brown boots. And the biggest scarf Isaac had ever seen, wrapped around her neck at least four times. Her skin, though not quite as lustrous or as deep a hue as Flux’s, was on the darker end of the spectrum, suggesting at least one parent had roots in the southern-most reach of the Empire, as did her petite pug nose.

She looked up at him, her mouth covered with the scarf like she was purposefully trying to mimic Gunner. Her eyes were huge and brown like a doe’s, and she couldn’t have been any older then fifteen or sixteen.

“Hi!” she said in that hoarse voice of hers, like she had some sort of permanent cold. “I’m the cabin boy. Sasha Griffins,” she mumbled through the scarf’s fabric. “Nice ta meetcha. Wanna see where you’re gonna stay?”

Isaac’s mouth opened and closed a few times like a grouper’s. Everything was moving far too fast for his liking—this crew was ridiculously good at what they did. They were too much of a well-oiled machine, and he knew he would need to fit in fast or else he’d always be an outsider.

“Um, hel-lo?” Sasha repeated, and Isaac shook his head, disoriented.

“Yes, yes. That’s sounds good…thanks, much,” he managed to mumble, still trying to take in the sights of all the crew members and the different jobs there were to do on the Sun Skimmer.

Criks was there, then, to give him a hand with his things. Or, at least, that’s what Isaac first assumed. Only, Criks walked right past him and picked up Sasha instead, sticking her on a huge shoulder to carry her around, as she giggled. Likely the crew around her treated her like a sort of pet, when Isaac considered how young, small, and innocent as she seemed.

Isaac stood there, staring after them for a few moments as they started to walk, before Criks turned and gave him a curious look.

“You are coming, kid, aren’t ya?”

Isaac scrambled to follow them, lurching suddenly from the combination of the ship’s bobbing movements and his own luggage. The worst bit was, he supposed, most of his things weren’t personal items, but tools of his trade. So, though he might look a bit vain, walking around with all these things like he expected immediate vacation time, these items were necessary components if Isaac expected employment of any kind. He’d have to begin some serious networking as soon as possible, he told himself, just in case he’d already left a bad impression on anyone. Criks seemed to like him, though, which was at least one spot of good news. And Sasha likely wouldn’t haze him much. She was just a kid, after all, how bad could she be?

“You’re down and back, where you’d expect,” Criks was saying, ducking down significantly as he walked down the few short steps and the doorway that led down into the belly of the ship. He had to put Sasha back down, too, or else she’d have easily clocked her head.

Isaac followed them, awkwardly maneuvering all his things.

“So that means you get a mini-tour!” Sasha said, as if Isaac should be particularly pleased about that. “Come on—kitchen first!”

Criks leaned down towards Isaac. “She says that,” the helmsman muttered, “as if she’s all excited to give you the tour, but she’s just hungry. Skipped dinner again.”

“…Ah,” Isaac said, unsure of how he was expected to respond.

They squeezed down the narrow hallway, which surprised Isaac by widening so that they could walk side-by-side. The electric lamps buzzing overhead, lighting the otherwise dark, cavernous ship, impressed him mightily, though he noticed one down the hall had gone out, and another was flickering softly.

“Kitchen and galley!” Sasha announced, veering off into a doorway to their right. Criks had to duck to get inside, though Isaac had at least another inch and a half of space between his head and the wooden post overhead.

Inside, he found a square room with rows of wooden tables and benches, both of a much cleaner and of a higher quality than he would have expected. Across from him, set off to the left, was a serving station, through which he could see the kitchen beyond. There was a man bustling around noisily inside, presumably Dekker the steward.

“Come on, this way!” Sasha called. Isaac decided her hoarse voice must be a permanent thing, or else she wouldn’t ever be able to speak above a whisper.

Isaac was hesitant, considering how early on he and Dekker had gotten off on the wrong foot, but he supposed it was best to start trying to make up for that now, lest he starve in consequence.

Sasha headed straight towards the kitchen, Criks not far behind her.

“This is the dining room…and this is the kit-chen,” Sasha sang, rushing into the kitchen and throwing her arms out wide.

Isaac took in the kitchen, impressed by its cleanliness. This was no grubby, half-rotted closet of wooden cabinets. Oh, no. Unusual as the Sun Skimmer may be, Captain kept its belly updated enough to assuage many of Isaac’s growing concerns. The kitchen storage was designed to maintain food freshness regardless of altitude differences, while a large, chilly ice box and cooling system made certain none of them would catch ill surviving off only shelf-stable products. Even better: while Isaac had been warned during his course-work that he would likely be subject to less than stellar cuisine on a non-luxury airship, Dekker—for all his gruffness—appeared to be a more than decent steward, as he’d begun to set out ingredients for what looked like a more than promising meal of stew and bread. Though…it was rather late in the day for a meal, Isaac thought.

Dekker, who’d been hanging a metal pan in its place on a hook when Isaac entered, practically glared at the newcomers when they arrived, so indiscriminately that Isaac nearly convinced himself he’d done nothing to irritate the steward on deck.

He ascertained quickly Sasha and Criks’ intentions and grumbled, but allowed them into the kitchen to give Isaac a brief look-around regardless.

“Just stay out of my way,” he warned. “I’ve got hours of preparation work ahead of me and I don’t need inane little know-it-alls underfoot.”

Isaac was stunned anyone would refer to the seemingly rather bouncy young Sasha that way.

The moment Dekker’s back was turned to them again, Isaac leaned far down until he almost bumped his chin into Sasha’s hair. “Does Captain really let him talk about you like that?” he whispered.

Sasha gave him a puzzled look, furrowing her brow. “He’s talking about you.”

Isaac was shocked enough by this that by the time he stopped disassociating, Sasha had already procured a slice of thick homemade bread and was trying to reach a giant jar of honey planted too high for her to reach. Criks luckily helped her with it before she pulled it down onto her head and procured a closed-head injury before the ship even left port.

“So, this is where the real magic happens,” Criks said with a self-satisfied sigh as he looked around. “Not that impressive, I know, but Dekker does what he can with what he has.”

Dekker gave an unimpressed grunt.

“I think it’s always good stuff,” Sasha said around honey and crumbs.

The steward himself turned from his cutting board and vegetables to narrow his eyes and point his knife at her in a way that alarmed Isaac.

“Don’t ruin your health, young lady. You can’t live on honey-bread alone,” he warned, though his tone made it difficult for Isaac to tell if this was playfulness or some sort of threat. Whatever sort of crew Captain was running on the Sun Skimmer, Isaac had no doubt they were of the less than reputable variety.

“Yeah, yeah—I skipped third dinner,” Sasha replied, in the middle of taking a second large bite. “Won’t do it again.”

She was scarfing down that bread in an almost animalistic way, and yet, she’d barely made a dent in it, small as she was. Small mouth, small head, small kid. Isaac wondered what in the world had possessed Captain to bring aboard a little girl when they were sure to be up in the air for months and months at a time. He didn’t plan on having children himself, but he’d read the Empire’s Guidelines for Raising Expedient Young Men and Women to his younger siblings, hoping the reminders would help round them out. Children under the age of eighteen needed certain areas of space to run around and exercise in. To keep their muscles from atrophying and maintain healthy hearts.

If Captain let this child eat bread with honey between meals and planned to keep her up on an airship nearly all her life, then Captain was hardly a fit guardian for a teenager.

In fact, now that he got to wonder, where were Sasha’s parents—?

Criks suddenly slapped an arm down around Isaac’s shoulders and began steering him about, as if to hastily show him everything he could as he gabbed on, explaining. The question of how the hell a fifteen-year-old became a permanent resident on a shipping vessel was temporarily pushed off Isaac’s mind.

“Now, I’ll admit, meals aren’t super fancy,” Criks announced. “Nothing like what the aristocrats eat, you know? But as far as sailin’ goes, we certainly could do worse for food…We keep well stocked, as far as Captain can afford. Freezers an’ ice boxes make sure we can keep some less travel-ready supplies at all times, but after a week of being out on the air, it’s never gonna be as fresh as it could be, you know? Even if we are flying up higher than usual.”

Isaac eyed the kitchen equipment again, which seemed up to date, but after taking note of the ship’s model and make, he was still concerned about potential air-borne mishaps.

“Isn’t it…dangerous? To actually cook in an airship this old?” Isaac pointed out. The Sun Skimmer might look pretty enough from the outside, but it was still a much older model than what was usually permitted.

He thought he heard Dekker make a very displeased, almost threatening noise.

“Nah, don’t worry about it,” Criks insisted. “Captain likes Dekker enough to take pity on him every once in a while and make sure all the equipment’s updated. SunSki might be an old model, but all her innards are the good stuff. The new stuff…Well, for the most part,” he amended thoughtfully, and Sasha giggled.

“Uh…huh…” Isaac said uneasily, picking his hand up from the railing, suddenly wondering about the cleanliness of this environment. “How the hell do you folks pass yearly inspection?”

Criks and Sasha exchanged a look, setting the girl off into actual cackles. Isaac would have never imagined such a terrifying sound coming from what a sweet, adorable little thing, but it was concerning to say the least. Who were these people?

“We, ah, don’t participate in the yearly inspection,” Criks explained diplomatically.

“I didn’t realize it was optional,” Isaac said, somewhat aghast by such an idea, but Criks only shrugged, and smiled that wide, almost absent smile that seemed to be on his face more often than not.

Isaac heard an unusual, gruff, sound—like a dog’s barking—and that, combined with the smug smile he saw on Dekker’s face, confirmed that the steward was laughing at him.

“Come along, kid,” Criks went on, following Sasha out of the kitchen again as she munched on her bread and honey. “Lots more to see.”

Isaac scurried along after them, sure he could feel Dekker’s glare as he left. It didn’t entirely surprise him that their steward was of poor temper—it was tough making three meals a day in an airship, especially at higher altitudes, where it took longer to cook.  Still, Isaac supposed, even if he didn’t like Dekker and Dekker didn’t like him, at least the man was balding. That should hopefully make hairs in one’s meal less frequent.

Back in the hall, Gunner passed them while Criks pointed out two storage rooms while Sasha skipped ahead. Or, perhaps it was more accurate to say that Isaac only noticed Gunner passing them half-way through the action, and having someone appearing to visualize right next to him frightened him so that he jumped into the wall. He felt Gunner flash him a look, as if judging Isaac’s jitteriness deeply, but Criks and Sasha barely batted their eyes. Isaac supposed that, at some point or another, one simply got accustomed to the gunner’s peculiar nature, but currently, he found the other unnerving. Gunner was only about an inch taller than him, but more muscular, and certainly intimidating. The way he swathed himself ensured that Isaac hadn’t gotten a really good look at him since that first hasty glance on the docks.

Shuddering, Isaac hastened to catch up to Criks just as the jovial helmsman pointed out the room Flux and Sasha shared away from the rest of the crew, since Captain was the sort of person who thought men and women in limited quarters for weeks on end should sleep separately.  

“…And I’d imagine it smells nicer for them, too,” Criks was saying. “Of course, Captain makes us keep clean, but even so: the smell of twenty-five men all bunkering down in hammocks and bunks with stale air can sometimes take some getting used to. Not that you have to worry about that, but even so…”

“Where does…Where does, uh, Gunner stay?” Isaac asked nervously, hoping to avoid that man as much as possible.

Criks raised an eyebrow and chuckled. “Wouldn’t that be nice to know?” he said, and continued walking as if Isaac had never asked.

The next door they came across, Criks almost walked past, then stopped himself and put his hand on the handle. “And this, here, is a room you should not ever enter unless you have a death wish.”

He swung open the door to reveal that unfairly good-looking man with the maps sitting bent over the wooden desk inside, trying to unfold his maps and pin them down with assorted fanciful desk weights that looked as if they’d been purchased in a back alleyway.

“A-A-And this is where M’rosse does all his crazy calculations so we don’t end up crashing into a mountain,” Criks announced.  

“Get out,” M’rosse snapped, looking up to give all three of them a glare. “Now.”

Criks obliged instantly and closed the door once again before Isaac could get a good look inside.

“So that’s M’rosse’s ‘Map Room’,” Criks said with a roll of his eyes, as if there was nothing of importance in there. “Actually do stay out of there unless you’re told to fetch something, will ya? Normally I wouldn’t mind folks bothering M’rosse—he needs to simmer down a bit—but he is the one telling us where to go, so…”

Isaac made a mental note to, perhaps, just stay out of everyone’s way, for the sake of his health. Criks and Sasha seemed okay, he supposed, but he had a sneaking suspicion that he was not going to fit in very well with anyone else.

“What’s his real name? M’rosse’s” Isaac asked. “And what’s Dekker’s, for that matter?”

Criks scratched at his scruff of a beard, thinking.

“Dekker is Dekker. Well, Neal Dekker, I suppose, but I doubt anyone’s ever called him by his first name. Not even his own mother.”

He thought for a moment longer.

“I can’t remember M’rosse’s. It’s possible I never knew it! Sash, you have any ideas?”

“For what, M’rosse’s real name? Uh, nope! We just call him that cuz he’s, well, ya know.”

Isaac sighed, but supposed he shouldn’t be surprised at this point.

At the end of this hall, there was another closed door to their left, a wide opening to a room on their right, two more small rooms on either end, a ladder leading downwards in one direction, and a few stairs leading down in the other, and then around back across the boat’s belly once more.

 “And here’s where we would have a little medical bay…if we had a doctor on board,” Criks confessed, gesturing to the open doorway on their right, which revealed a decent enough medical bay, with one notable piece missing.

Isaac grimaced. “There’s no doctor?”

Sasha shrugged. “Well, not currently. I’m sure Cap will acquire one at some point or another during your time with us. She’s good about that.”

“I hope so…”

Criks, meanwhile, had opened the door on the left to reveal a rather cramped chute, fitted with a ladder. A blast of cold air shot up at them, and Criks closed the door once more, as he explained.

“Those lead down to the controls for Flux’s wind turbines—they’re on the tiller and rudder, to help with the power and all. Don’t ever touch them; she’ll eat your head. This leads down to the general crew’s bunks. Again, not where we’re sticking you, but its where you can find M’rosse or Dekker or anyone you might want to bother…Down there past that door we’ve got some quarantine bunks. I mean, that’s what we use them for, anyway. Here—watch your step,” Criks added as they found themselves near another short set of stairs.

“Does the crew get along nicely, then?” Isaac asked, thinking back to his interactions with them all thus far.

“Well enough,” Criks shrugged. “We’ve never had a mutiny, at least, but…that might be because Cap keeps us pretty well taken care of.”

This information wasn’t entirely surprising to Isaac, but he allowed himself relief at the good news. Maybe Captain seemed a bit mixed up in the head, but according to Criks, that may be more of a personality quirk than a mental impairment.  

Once down the stairs, Isaac realized that the bowels of the ship held much more than he’d expected. Naturally, most long-distance airships were large, but with its skeleton crew, Isaac had wondered if the Sun Skimmer was a bit smaller than most. He wasn’t sure why else Captain would other to try and run the ship with too few crewmembers. Given the unpredictability of the skies, and the possibilities of deadly storms, to purposefully do so was arguably insane.

“Here, keep up, kid,” Criks said, gesturing for Isaac to catch back up to him and Sasha. “I think you’ll like this.”

Now more uneasy than ever, Isaac followed the hulking aviator and his pipsqueak companion into a new room, hissing with pipes. Before them were two large, metal tanks, big enough to fit a few people inside, and Isaac recognized them even before Criks spoke.

“Here’s the waste and water processors—Cap takes very good care of them. Very up-to-date, really. She’s very much a modern woman,” Criks admitted.

Isaac examined the machines, and indeed found them to be to his liking. “This is a new model,” he said in surprising, tapping a finger against the waste processor. “Sorts and cubes everything down to be used as compost and fertilizer—this must have cost a fortune!”

Behind him, Criks shifted his weight noticeably. “Erm, yeah…you could say that…”

“Do you usually make port in farming towns, then?” Isaac wondered, most of his focus still on the processors.

“Eh, Cap gives ‘em the waste for free. We’re not gonna use it for anything, after all, and the empire tends to, ah…overcharge farmers, when they need proper fertilizer. And we don’t need the money.”

Isaac frowned, concerned about Criks’ criticism of the Alshorstan Empire, but supposed that Captain’s altruism made up for such words. After all, he supposed the empire couldn’t be perfect.

“We have separate storage for drinking water, don’t worry,” Sasha said, finishing up the last of her honey-bread and licking her fingers. “We just use the recycled water for washing up and such. I mean, it’s cleaned water, yeah, but…Cap would rather be safe than sorry. It’s tough, getting’ sick on an airship.”

“…Washing up?” Isaac said, perking up a bit.

“Uh-huh,” Sasha said, heading out of the door already. “C’mon, we’ll show ya.”

They followed the pipes next door, which startled Isaac by being a washroom, complete with the usual amenities, and even a mirror. Two large, metal tubs were separated by a thick curtain. Another door in the back was open, leading to a third tub, in a separate room.

“Two for the boys, one for us girls,” Sasha said almost smugly.

“Yeah…You can clean up in here when you’re not needed, though I’ve got to warn you—regardless of whether you want to or not, Cap’s gonna make you wash at least once a week,” Criks said with a wink.

Isaac shuddered. “No worries about that,” he said, feeling slightly better about his employment given the unexpected benefits attached.

Commercial airships of course had proper accommodations for their guests, but finding a way to properly bathe oneself on a shipping vessel whilst in the air for weeks or months at a time could otherwise be difficult. Lord admiral’s stars of the fleet often had such amenities, as did most of the navy’s prettiest vessels, used mostly (honestly) for showing off. But Isaac had not expected such things on a ship like the Sun Skimmer and had previously prepared himself for the stench of sweaty limbs.

He wanted to go back and examine at the processors for a little while longer, but Criks and Sasha were already moving on again, to the largest room in the belly of the ship. Isaac wouldn’t have expected a shipping vessel like the Sun Skimmer to carry sloops, and yet, here they were: six sloops lined up in three-by-three fashion, against the left and right sides of the ship. Captain was, startlingly, somehow, down here, leaning up against the side of one of them and chatting to a man crouched down too far for Isaac to see properly. When Captain caught sight of the three newcomers, she straightened up properly and uncrossed her arms, sauntering towards them.

Isaac attempted to heft his bags properly again without success, hoping he didn’t look weak. Though—in his defense, he’d been lugging these deadweights of equipment around for quite a while.

“What’s this—still on that tour of yours?” Captain mused. She looked down at Sasha. “I thought I said to show the engineer his own quarters, not the whole damned ship. It’s late. I’m sure he’s tired.”

“Quite fine, Captain. Really,” Isaac managed to say before Sasha could open her mouth.

​