The Lost Star's Sea

by C. Litka

  05

  The elders of the tribe arrived during our sixth round in the island, along with what appeared to be their entire tribe.

  It began as a scarlet cloud swirling up from the shadow peaks at the far end of sea, and over the next hour, the cloud grew to fill the sky of the inland sea. There must've been ten thousand of them. We sealed the ship - the photographer and his assistant being the last to take shelter inside the steel doors of the ship. As they neared us, and began to swirl around the ship, the pale light grew red-tinted and ever dimmer as ever more of the Dragon-people gathered around the ship. At first, they did so silently - the swoosh of their arm/wings only emphasized their silent menace, and that was cut off when we closed and latched the last of the skylights.

  BayLi, Cas, DenToy - the watch crew - Hissi, and I watched the swirling cloud of natives, from one of the large engine room portholes set in the hull. All of the natives had bows on their backs and were now carrying long lances in hand. I was tempted to unlock my chest and don my old Unity uniform and my darters, but decided against it. I'd put them away almost 2,000 rounds ago, and had determined to live my life going forward without them. I didn't like our position, but I also didn't think we were in any great danger. Yet. They'd have a tough time gaining access to the ship. But I suppose that if they were determined enough, even steel doors could be beaten in, the afterdeck and glass skylights overhead breached by a motivated mob. But not before I'd gotten my darters out and raised steam.

  However, they merely continued to swirl around the ship in silence - perhaps waiting for the stragglers to arrive. When all had arrived, we heard, even through the hull, a keening chant. Faintly at first, but growing ever louder as it was taken up by the swirling mob, it rose and fell in an eerie, unnerving, cadence.

  We exchanged glances.

  'Don't like this at all, Chief,' said Cas. 'Don't recall signing on for anything like this...'

  'I don't recall it either. And yet, here we are. Still, I don't think we've anything to worry about. Their lances can't do more than scratch the paint. We'll be fine. We can always run, if need be.'

  'What about them skylights?' he said with a glance overhead. 'They can get at 'em from the outside...'

  'They're thick glass and locked down from this side. And even if they try prying them off, we can defend ourselves. Besides, between the afterdeck grating and the deck boat overhead, I doubt that they could reach the skylights before we'd start actively defending ourselves or running, so we're in no real danger. It's just a bit unnerving, which is probably what it's intended to be.'

  It didn't reassure him, or any of us. Still, it was true.

  The eerie chanting grew ever louder, and then suddenly the swirling mass of natives veered off, allowing perhaps three dozen brightly dressed figures wearing long flowing capes and elaborate headdresses to soar through the mob. They were gone from our view in an instant, and so I must rely on ship gossip about what happened next, since I wasn't about to abandon my engine room.

  These elaborately dressed men - either the elders or sorcerers of the society - had arrived to deal with us. They alighted on the trade platform forward and briefly inspected the goods displayed. The entire proceedings were recorded on vid from the bridge windows, where ValDare's expedition had gathered to watch and record. They were certainly getting dramatic footage - though how good the vid would be was an open question, since the scene was darkened by the swirling mob that surrounded the ship.

  After giving them a few moments to inspect the goods, DeArjen, rather bravely, stepped out on to the bridge's wing platform and hailed the elders in what little he knew and could reproduce of their language. Whatever he managed to say, did not go over well. Perhaps he said something wrong, or perhaps they recognized him and didn't want him back. But whatever the reason, the response was anything but cordial. The Chief went on a shrill, angry rant, and at the end, took his lance and began slashing at the banner poles and then at the displayed goods, scattering them into the swirling red eddies. The Chief then began to thump his lance on the metal deck, as did all those who had landed on the deck. Soon everyone who could find a spot on the hull and superstructure to bang their lances on, was doing the same. DeArjen, I gather, then retreated to the bridge.

  The ship shivered in a rolling thunder of lances hitting the hull. The random pounding evolved into a slow, rhythmic beat - the ship one vast drum - as the elders chanted their curses down on us.

  From our station in the engine room we couldn't see what was going on or why. All we could hear was the rhythmic and ominous sound of a thousand lances being banged on the hull. I thought for a moment that we'd been attacked, and flung myself up to the top platform nearest the skylights to keep an eye on them. The Dragon-people, however, did nothing more than pound their lances on the hull that they could reach, so while they pounded on the glass portholes, the glass was thick enough that it didn't even crack.

  I slipped over to com and signaled to the bridge. "What's going on?' I yelled over the racket, as soon as TeyLin, the first mate, answered. 'Should I make steam?'

  'Nothing to worry about, at least so far, Chief. It seems the natives are demonstrating their disappointment in our selection of trade goods, and perhaps, suggesting that we leave. They're just banging their lances on the hull and yelling at us,' he yelled back. 'Just sit tight.'

  'Right. Keep us informed,' I replied and relayed it to my crew.

  If I'd been captain, I'd have ordered up steam as a prudent precaution. However, we did have plenty of battery power - enough to take the ship back through the passage, so steam wasn't strictly really necessary.

  This must have gone on for some fifteen minutes or so - until the Chief grew too hoarse and winded to curse us. And then, I'm told, he swung his lance around with one last, grand gesture, and pointed in the vague direction of the way we came while bellowing one final instruction - leave - before he raised his arms, swept them down and shot upwards from the deck, followed by all the other officials, and then the great mass of natives. The silence was deafening.