The Panagea Tales Box Set

by McKenzie Austin

“Forgive me, Nordjan,” Edvard said, “but if it is the Earth Mother they seek, they have everything they need to find her before Darjal’s ship is completed. If she comes back, the history of the Time Fathers will come to light. The people will know what our forefathers have done.”

  “They did what they thought was right for Panagea,” Nordjan replied. “The Earth Mothers stood in the way of blooming technology. They held mankind back from their true potential. We made incredible strides since their removal. We’ve utilized nearly the entire landmass to its ultimate potential.”

  It sounded as though he recited a book, Edvard thought. “At what cost?” he wondered out loud, though it was barely audible to his peer. “We’ve come so far now. If word got out that our forefathers slaughtered women to achieve their goal of advancement ...” Edvard shook his head. “I fear the primitive ways of how men conducted themselves may appear vulgar in the eyes of the modern public. If we thought they would panic at the knowledge of Southeastern being frozen by a rogue Time Father—well, I fear news that murdering a critical part of Panagea’s history would not look favorable, either. There are only eight—seven—of us,” he said, his tone monotonous, “and millions of them.”

  “Some would see the sense in the elders’ actions,” Nordjan said, though, by the tone of his voice, Edvard sensed he did not believe it in full. “The blue bloods. Those who own the research facilities, the factories, everything that pushes us forward. They know how important technology is. They would agree with our forefathers. Indeed, their actions were not without consequences, I’ll admit, but if we keep moving forward, we’ll find the cure to what ails Panagea. There’s nothing technology can’t cure; we just need to discover that next breakthrough. Soon, this crumbling world will be a problem of the past, just as the Earth Mothers are.”

  A sense of duty made Edvard nod. Nordjan was right, the world existed in a sorry state. He was unsure what issues other divisions experienced, but one of their top ten largest factories on the coast of Western suffered irreparable damage when an earthquake of incredible magnitude ripped it apart like paper. Two thousand people died that day, including the countless commercial and residential damages it caused. Edvard ran himself ragged sending as much help as he could to the area, but commanding an entire cardinal direction was a big space to control. Edvard already depleted most of his brainpower with the Nicholai fiasco. Many sleepless nights plagued the Western Time Father these last four weeks.

  Nordjan dusted off his sleeve though there wasn’t any dust to remove. He glanced at his haggard-looking comrade, studying him. “Why didn’t you tell him, Edvard? About the Earth Mothers? If you had simply outlined the importance of why the forefathers did what they had—”

  “It wouldn’t have mattered,” Edvard interrupted. “I cannot claim to know my son well, but what little knowledge of him I possess points to his idealism. He’s a fantasist. A wishful thinker. He never would’ve seen the necessity of killing them.” Edvard took several steps away from Nordjan, rubbing at his face with his hands. “I wanted him to respect the Time Fathers and everything they stood for. I wanted us to at least have that,” he mumbled. “The knowledge of the past would have destroyed that ... even if it was hundreds of years ago.”

  Nordjan frowned, though he seemed to accept Edvard’s explanation as a reasonable answer. He never fathered children of his own, too focused on his duties as Northern’s Time Father. But he knew it was not an uncommon desire for a father to want to share a bond with his child. Unfortunately, his journey here had been a waste of time. Edvard knew nothing about Nicholai, and the little he did proved to be useless. One more topic burned on the Northern Time Father’s mind, and he needed an answer before he continued his efforts to track Nicholai. “Edvard ... I know you’ve proven your loyalty in the past. You know when he’s found, he’ll be killed on sight,” he stated, trying to gauge Edvard’s reaction.

  The Western Time Father’s face betrayed little of whatever emotions he felt. Whether it was due to his exhaustion or his incredible skill at hiding it, Nordjan wasn’t sure. “I suspected as much,” he said in response.

  Nordjan narrowed his eyes. He remained unsure of what to make of the man’s behavior. “Given Nicholai’s ability to traverse the sea,” he began again, “it would not surprise me if he washed up on Western’s shores at some point.”

  Edvard pursed his lips together. “The thought crossed my mind,” he admitted, surprised his son went to Southern first instead of seeking shelter under the arms of his family in Western. Surprised, but relieved. He didn’t know what he’d do if Nicholai approached him. Perhaps that’s why he steered clear of Western. Nicholai knew Edvard better than Edvard knew Nicholai. Throughout his entire childhood, all Edvard ever showed Nicholai was that he valued his duties above everything else.

  “I need to know,” Nordjan approached Edvard and placed both hands on the man’s shoulders, “I need to know what you would do, if you, or your men, were to find him first.”

  Edvard felt the pressure of Nordjan’s hands on his shoulders. They seemed heavier than the weight he put on himself. He understood Nordjan’s question and its necessity and therefore took no offense. He drew in a slow, deep breath. “I would do what needs to be done,” he replied, staring his peer right in the eyes. “For the good of the divisions. For the good of Panagea.”

  Nordjan searched his face as if it might hold a small shred of insight into whether the man spoke the truth. He always trusted Edvard; he was a lawful man of his word. But blood was often thicker than water, and the Northern Time Father needed to be sure what to expect, should the moment arise. “Good man,” he finally said, patting him once on the shoulder before he stepped back. “That’s all I needed to know.”

  Edvard accompanied Nordjan as he walked back to his flying machine. He hesitated, waiting until the Northern Time Father finished buckling himself in to ensure his safety before he asked, “Were we wrong, Nordjan? Were they wrong? Our forefathers ... cleansing Panagea of them ... it’s been on my mind.”

  A slow, skeptical look crept onto Nordjan’s face. He took a moment to answer, but when he did, he said, “Too much time has passed. It’s too late to remedy it now. All we can do is put our faith in them and continue forward with the path they set in motion for us.”

  Edvard nodded and stepped back, as the wings of the ornithopter flapped. Nordjan operated the burner, filling the balloon with hot air to assist in the rise. The Western Time Father watched for longer than he should have as the flying machine disappeared from his field of vision, heading back to its home in Northern. He let Nordjan’s words settle over him, though it didn’t take long for him to accept it as an answer. He was already familiar with those words. They had been his mantra for a while.

  It was too difficult to remedy things when too much time passed.

  Chapter Eleven

  The crew ran him hard. Only fleeting moments of free time existed. At the day’s end, Nicholai held the options of sleeping or studying his book. His mind and heart always gravitated to the book, for Lilac’s sake, but his body only granted him minutes with it before it forced him to sleep. Every morning, he discovered he collapsed in exhaustion over the text, and before he had the chance to dive back into it, a crew member knocked on his closet door and put him to work.

  He never complained. Not in front of the outlaws. No weakness. No failure. Morning after continuous morning, he pressed on.

  Today, Brack drew the short straw and came to wake him, though Nicholai suspected the man didn’t mind. He didn’t seem to mind much of anything. Nicholai familiarized himself with the rest of the crew. The Rabbit remained the only person on the ship the Time Father never saw in dull spirits.

  “Good mornin’, sunshine!” Brack beamed when Nicholai opened the door to his room. He held a plate of breakfast in his hands, a metal bowl containing a heat-and-eat porridge. It looked gray, lumpy, and entirely unappetizing, but Nicholai accepted it with graciousness as Brack handed it to him. “I told Penn I
had to rise you today, he made sure I brought this with me. Seems he’s taken a shine to you, mate—not easy to do with Mr. Elmbroke, that!”

  Nicholai forced a smile as he shoved a spoonful of the mush into his mouth and swallowed. His tongue protested the taste, but his empty stomach didn’t mind. “He’s one of the few, I’m afraid, which makes your kindness even more appreciated.”

  “Come now,” Brack started, “I know Iani and Rennington took a liking to you when you plucked ‘em out of the hands of those footmen. Everyone else on board is as merciful, you just need ‘em in the right setting!”

  Nicholai smirked. Their entire lives played out on board the ship. The scenery never changed, but he still asked, “What setting would that be?”

  “Tell you what,” Brack said, “you join me tonight as my honored guest in the dining hall, aye? No more wolfing down meals by yourself in whatever corner of the ship you find. We’ll put a few drinks in ‘em and you’ll see they’re right as rain.”

  The Time Father hesitated. Though he held compassion for all people, he wasn’t sure he wanted to get to know these people on an intimate scale. Even Rennington and Iani, who were generous to him in their attention compared to everyone else, still shot men in Avadon without remorse. Their pendulum of ethics swung in the opposite direction of his own. Rubbing elbows with murderers and thieves, much less introducing alcohol into the situation, seemed like a bad idea.

  Then again, gaining their trust was a worthy investment. If he connected with these people, the likelihood of them killing him when he ran his course of usefulness lowered. Nicholai needed to approach this with the same level of dedication he approached the jobs they gave him so far: he’d have to exceed their expectations. If he earned their trust, they might ease up on him. Then he’d have more time for his studies.

  Nicholai put on his best smile. “I accept your offer, Mr. Joney. Thank you.”

  “Oi, Mr. Joney was my dad’s name,” he said, pointing a faux stern finger at Nicholai’s face. His ability to hold a concerned expression did not last long, and it twisted into a smile before he cracked into full-on laughter. “Least, I think it was, never knew the fecker!” He laughed at his joke for longer than he should have before taking Nicholai’s empty bowl. “But no, mate, you can call me Brack. Or Rabbit, most everyone here does.”

  “That’s a curious nickname,” Nicholai admitted, thanking Brack with a nod of his head for taking his dirty dish. “Can I ask how you acquired it?”

  A devilish grin crept onto the man’s face. He motioned Nicholai to follow him toward the galley to dispose of the bowl. “Courtesy of Captain Hidataka,” he explained. “I never seen one with me own eyes, but he says my habits put him in mind of a rabbit. Something to do with them having a healthy appetite for—”

  “Food?” Nicholai interrupted.

  Brack grinned. “Nah, mate.”

  Nicholai blinked. He picked up the subtleties. “Everyone needs a hobby, I suppose.”

  Brack burst into laughter again. He slipped into the galley and tossed the bowl in the sink. "Too right, that!" he said to Nicholai before turning, motioning him to follow. "You’re with Granite and Revi today. They’re our boatswain and carpenter," he explained as he headed to the main deck. "Just follow them ‘round, get a feel for things. They keep the ship pretty tip-top, you’ll probably only be doing minor repairs on wood and canvas, maybe some tinkering in the engine room. Pay mind, they’ll make you swab the deck if you piss them off."

  Nicholai nodded as he joined Brack on the main deck and crossed the distance over to Granite and Revi. They stopped when they saw the others approach, appearing irritated at having to babysit Nicholai. Granite’s dog did not share their annoyance. It scurried about the deck, pleased with the new company. He ran over to Brack and Nicholai and weaved in between the men’s legs, yipping with excitement and wagging his tail.

  “Mornin’, beasty!” Brack bent down and seized the flopping mutt by the face. He ruffled the animal’s cheeks and cooed at it. The dog wriggled with great force, trying to lick Brack’s face, but he kept out of reach. “Oh, I love you too, you filthy animal!” He laughed and pet the dog before he looked to Revi. “He’s with you today, boys. Be gentle now, he’s good people.”

  Revi sniffed and hocked a mouthful of mucus over the side of the ship. “Right, we just finished rigging maintenance. We were about to head below deck to survey the boiler and the engine room.”

  “Good luck, mate,” Brack patted Nicholai on the shoulder before he abandoned him with the two men. The jester had his own duties to perform, and though he came across as an unkempt mess, like everyone else on the ship, Brack existed to work hard.

  Nicholai couldn’t believe how much he missed Brack’s presence in the moments that followed his exit. Granite was an intimidating man: a huge behemoth who held a permanent look of displeasure on his face. The dog did not match its master. It jumped up onto Nicholai and stood on its hindquarters while it struggled to reach his face with its tongue.

  “Friendly little sort,” Nicholai said with a small smile, petting the creature atop its head. “What’s his name?” he asked as he looked over at Granite and Revi.

  “Ain’t got one,” Revi spoke for Granite and raised his eyes to his face to shield his vision from the blinding sun. “You of any use around an engine?” he asked.

  Nicholai perked at the mention of an engine. The engine existed as the most critical component of a ship; he didn’t think they would’ve trusted him near it. “Yes, I could be of use,” he offered, neglecting to mention all the experience he had with the inner-workings of most mechanized items. “Though I must admit, I’m not too familiar with sea vessels. If you have access to engines, what need have you for the sails?” he asked, genuine in his curiosity to learn more.

  “It combines two useful techniques,” Revi said as he motioned for Nicholai to follow. The three men and the canine entered the belly of the ship. “Captain Hidataka may be old, but he kept up with current tech. The ship’s powered by two propellers below the hull. She uses sloped surfaces to transition rotational motion created by the steam engines into an axial force that moves the ship forward. The sails are just added power if the winds are favorable.”

  Nicholai blinked, surprised. He did not peg Revi for a well-educated sort and regretted stereotyping the man. It was clear he knew his stuff. Nicholai also knew his stuff; with any luck, he’d leave them with a good impression. Thanks in part to his natural curiosity and all the classes he attended back in Southeastern, Nicholai spoke the language of mechanics. He hoped that would be enough to earn Granite and Revi’s favor.

  “You got your syringes then?” Revi asked as they approached the boiler room. “Gets hot in there. It’s ventilated, but it’s triggered oxygen deprivation before.”

  Nicholai reached into his pockets and thumbed the familiar device contained within. “I’m good,” he said, staring at the entryway to the boiler room with interest.

  "Not much use for those down here," Revi pointed to the goggles Nicholai wore around his hat. "They’ll keep the coal out of your eyes, but the heat will fog them; you’ll be of no use if you’re working blind." Revi entered, feeling the intense temperature shift punch him in the face. He waltzed over to one of the several boilers, opened a hatch and grabbed a shovel. "We only need a couple running to maintain cruising speed," he explained as he shoveled coal into the opening. Granite joined him. He made short work of the chore, able to shovel loads twice as heavy as Revi poured in.

  Nicholai removed his hat and felt the beads of sweat collect on his forehead. He tucked it under his arm and stared around the boiler room, immersed by the inner-workings of the ship. The surroundings reflected what he imagined life would be like inside a giant clock. He watched every piece of metal and fuel interact with one another in a way that kept things moving with efficiency. It captivated him.

  “Don’t just stand there, Nico, get your hands dirty,” Revi muttered, barely audible through the noise of the
room.

  Nicholai cleared his throat, finding Revi’s caution about the constricting heat affecting his lungs correct. He set his hat down, grabbed a shovel and helped.

  “Cruising speed is the most efficient rate for coal consumption. Burned coal heats the steam and drives it to the engine room. Should we ever need to go slower, never let a boiler go out. Re-igniting it is a pain in the ass,” Revi explained.

  The men worked in silence. Revi noted Nicholai held up surprisingly well in the conditions. Though time and a lack of grooming gave the man a haggard look, Revi did not peg him for a useful sort. It pleased him he was wrong. Three working sets of arms cut the time down a lot. They completed their work in the boiler room efficiently.

  “That’s it for the boiler room,” Revi announced. “Off to the ER,” he added, careful as he closed the grates and exited the sauna-like environment. “The engine room is aft, follow me.” He pushed passed Nicholai and continued his mission.

  Nicholai looked up at Granite, “You both come across as quite skillful in this element. Have you been at this a while then?”

  Granite glanced down at him with an irritated expression. He said nothing and walked ahead. His jovial dog ran a circle around Nicholai before it followed its master. Nicholai rubbed the sweat that accumulated on his face with his hands, smearing coal across his skin as he followed. Once he reached the engine room, he waited for Revi to enter first before he trailed after him.

  It was a veritable trove of gears and mechanics, churning in a rhythmic tune. It consumed Nicholai with a comfort he missed—the familiar sound of metal as it clanked and turned. He liked it even more than the boiler room. He knew it well and felt more at ease in this environment than anywhere else he explored on the ship. Revi interrupted his thoughts, “Steam turbine, fuel pumps, feed pumps,” he rattled off the names of things as he pointed at them. “All the necessities to move a ship.”

  “Impressive,” Nicholai breathed as he lost himself in the beauty of the functioning gears. “It sounds as though this area here may need lubricant,” he motioned to an area on his right. “Should anything ever need a tune-up, just let me know. The mechanics of machines, well ... they’re a hobby of mine, you could say.”