With Eyes Turned Skyward

by Gregory Stravinski

I hold my hand up, offering the red scrap to the winds. “For Aoife MacDonaugh.”

  As my fingers move to release it, I hear words carry away on the wind. I freeze, turning to Olan. This would be the first time anything’s come out of his mouth in almost a week. I grab back the red material before it blows away. Clearing my throat, I try regaining some control.

  “Olan . . . Olan did you say something?”

  For the first time in six days, his eyes flit up, focusing on me. His mouth moves, but I can’t hear the words; the wind and the people around us drown out the sound.

  “Sabine, I’m going to take him to a quiet place. I think I heard him say something,” I say.

  She nods. Her hand stays at her mouth as a new stream of tears spills over her reddened cheeks. “Whatever he needs,” she says.

  “Do you need help?” Stenia asks.

  I shake my head. “I should be able to make it through ok.”

  “If you need anything, I’ll be in my perch,” Stenia says before disappearing into the crowd.

  I turn Olan’s chair away from the banister, maneuvering it through the masses. Most people are kind enough to make way, while others take some persuading. Slowly, the crowd clears and people become less numerous. The wind also dies down, blocked by the bow’s armor plating. The bow was installed to implement a worst-case-scenario ramming action, but it also provides shelter from the elements for those who would promenade during peacetime.

  I step on Olin’s break and we squeak to a halt. I come around to face him. “There are a lot fewer people here. What was it that you were saying?” I ask.

  His hand darts past me, grabbing my sidearm.

  Panics shoots through me as I try grabbing it back. That’s a mistake. Olan’s other huge hand slams in from the side, catching mine. Using brute force, Olan forces my hand into the trigger guard before jamming the barrel into his temple.

  “I said, I want you to shoot me!” he yells.

  His voice is gravely and broken. My hands shake, resisting Olan’s broad finger pressing mine against the trigger. I pull in a breath, trying to think of a way to stop him. He keeps pulling the firing mechanism. We’re running out of slack. Gritting my teeth, I try using my other hand to peel back Olan’s grip. Who am I kidding?

  “Olan, please don’t do this!” I plead.

  His eyes well with tears. “Just do it,” his voice breaks.

  The trigger tension pulls to the firing point.

  I have no other options. Pulling both our hands down, I bring the gun level so his face is right next to mine.

  “So that’s how you’re gonna do it, huh?” I gasp. My throat tightens. “So you’re gonna cut down the MacDonaugh family tree for the Cascade now? Just do their dirty work for them?”

  His eyes widen slightly.

  “Huh?” I yell.

  There’s a tremor in his grip. “Why throw it away? You’re a nightmare of a weapon, and you know it,” I say, returning his glare. “You love it.” Doubt tinges the words leaving my lips, but I have to save him somehow. “You want a reason to live? How about revenge?” I ask.

  I try slowing down my thoughts. Every word counts. “Right now, we’re preparing a full-scale assault on the Cascade flag ship. We finally have the Admiral’s blessing.” I probe for cracks. “We’re going after the Ark on our own terms, and I need you there with me. It’s the only way any of us are going to come out of it alive . . . and you know it.”

  I can almost match his grip now.

  “They gave you an insurmountable debt. Don’t make me settle it for you all by myself,” I growl.

  A window cracks open as his grip weakens. It’s not much, but it’s there.

  I wrench the gun from his hands, throwing it as far as I can towards the center of the ram. Clattering, it comes to a stop at the base of the wall. A few worried onlookers freeze, unsure of what to do. There aren’t any other weapons within reach, and I’m faster than he is. He knows it too.

  Looking up at him, I catch the slightest hint of the Olan I knew.

  “If I go with you, you put me on the front line . . . you understand?” he says slowly.

  I nod.

  This isn’t enough. “If I follow through with this, you need to let me go,” he says firmly.

  I let the tension ebb. “The second you step foot on that ship, you’ll be free to do what you need to do,” I promise.

  Olan keeps his eyes fixed on mine. ”If Sabine delivers us anything other than Garon’s head, I’ll pull out the roots of her family tree and rid the earth of everything it’s ever touched. When I’m done, there’ll be nothing but a sterile fucking promontory for her to kneel on and lament what she’s lost.”

  I get up to retrieve my gun. Tremors twitch up and down my legs. What’s left of Aoife’s dress scratches at my thigh through my pocket. I take a few steps before turning back around.

  “If she does anything less than that . . I’ll help you.”

  16

  Apparently it’s monsoon season over the top of the Appalachian Spine, because heavy winds and rain have driven everyone inside for the last several days. I place my hand up against the thick pane of glass, watching the deluge spray behind it. A gray darkness sets the mood. Bridge officers move about their posts, transferring information from console to console, measuring everything from the radar to the status of the engines. The tension’s so thick it’s like walking through soup. Running my fingertips over the glass, I try gauging its thickness as well; I’m putting it at about three feet.

  A Bridge officer pulls out a tray close enough for me to engage him. I clear my throat. “Can this glass take a direct hit from a shell?”

  The Bridge officer grimaces as he continues his task. “No,” he replies after some thought.

  I take my hand away from the glass, wiping it against the other to remove the condensation. “Then why do we have our most vital organ protected by only a window pane?”, I ask.

  The officer pulls out the document he’s been searching for. “Because the Admiral likes to be able to observe the skies from 280 degrees,” he says. Before leaving, he stops, raising his face to me for the first time. “And it will stop just about everything else.”

  His footsteps fade away. Turning away from the glass, I look inward at a greater spectacle. The Bridge is a dark place, illuminated only by the holograms of the different systems bobbing up and down based on their operators’ needs. A spider web of green splays itself over the center of the floor. Small red dots ping through the net. I suppose we’ve identified them as non-threats since the rest of the staff appears unconcerned about their presence.

  Underneath the three dimensional display sits a long table with two dimensional maps hanging over the edges. A congregation of people has already gathered there, but our two guests of honor still haven’t arrived. I can’t blame them; it’s pretty hard to step into the wolf’s den when you know the alpha male’s been on your scent.

  Admiral Khan gave me his word, on pain of an uprising, that Sabine and Raltz would be treated with respect if they came to the Bridge. It’s a big risk, but it’s one we need to take. We can’t launch an assault without their intel, and there is no assault without the crew of the Artemis. It’s my wager that their brains are of much greater use in their heads than decorating the side of a wall. I glance once more at the clock, trying to subdue my rising stress.

  They’re not going to come.

  Diz seems to sense my anxiety. She leaves the planning table, coming to my side. “Don’t worry Lieutenant, they’ll be here soon,” she assures me.

  Lieutenant.

  For this meeting to take place, the Admiral had to ensure that my power was legitimate. By promoting me, Khan still holds control and keeps me in the fold. That, and he gets his war hero back. I can’t imagine that my odd, accelerated track is lost on the rest of the crew. That being said, people are focusing on more pressing things than the career arc of one officer.

  Lieutenants lead platoons, and that’s exactly what
the Admiral needs right now. Thus, as he always does, he deemed it so.

  Both Cass and I received official recognition for performing “indispensable reconnaissance” during the fleet’s full blown rout at Shipwreck. All we did was report the Ark’s ability to focus its firepower on one target. That, and we provided our eye-witness account of the capture of the Churchill. The sound of the Ark’s bay doors slamming shut and cutting all radio contact still haunts me. I shrug my shoulders instinctively, shaking off the memory.

  The Bridge doors hiss open, revealing a small group. Everyone looks up at our new arrivals. A brace of seven pilots and marines surround a barely visible Sabine. They’re armed, with rifles cocked to their shoulders as they sweep into the room.

  Bridge personnel draw their weapons, taking cover behind their consoles.

  I freeze. This is not what we need for internal relations right now.

  “Thank you!” I shout “Thank you, but that won’t be necessary.”

  Inserting myself between the two groups, I wave off the turncoat servicemen. One of them moves to confront me. Saving face, I close the distance to him.

  “Lieutenant Basmon, are you certain we’re safe here?” a thoroughly disguised Raltz questions.

  I’m at a loss. “Raltz, are you trying to get yourself shot?” I hiss.

  Raltz observes his surroundings. “None of our weapons contain live ammunition,”, he replies at full volume.

  Defeated, I gesture to the large rifle strapped to his back. “No, but you’ve still brought them into a restricted area. They really don’t take very kindly to that,” I say.

  “If I had wanted them dead, I would have done it a long time ago.”

  Admiral Khan’s voice echoes down the Bridge. He adopts a joking tone, but it’s also a clear demonstration of the balance of power.

  “Come, let’s discuss our grand strategy shall we?” he offers.

  The Admiral stretches out his hand, motioning for us to join him and the rest of his brain trust.

  Raltz’s eyes fix on Khan. He doesn’t move.

  I exhale. “Raltz, it’s going to be fine. And if it isn’t, you have my word that you can kill me later.”

  Raltz shakes his head slightly before taking off his bandana. “No.”

  I stop to ponder what he means. Am I having a breakthrough with Raltz?

  He continues. “No, I won’t have to wait. If this goes wrong, the first shot I fire will be through your left eye.”

  I put a hand on his shoulder as he gestures for the other militia guards to stand down. “Always the charmer.”

  Not today, I guess.

  The guards lay down their weapons and file to the back wall. One by one, they leave Sabine to face the rest of us. Her arm and side are freshly bandaged. Bright scarlet splotches pool beneath her clothing. I can’t tell if these are new wounds, or remnants of her escape from the Ark. Sabine, as always, appears entirely unfazed.

  She raises her arms. “Let’s begin, shall we?”

  The circle forms around the table. We’re an odd group, really, comprised of a mixture of Bridge staff, Admiral Khan’s top advisors, pilots, engineers, gun crew, and a few high ranking marines.

  Sabine and and her bodyguard take their positions across the table from the Admiral. Raltz places as much of himself between Sabine and the officers as possible. Sabine doesn’t seem to take notice of any of the perceived threats.

  Across the table, Captain Dixon stands at attention. Her focus stays with the Admiral, but exudes an air of impatience. Next to Captain Dixon stands Diz. The Crew Chief peeks under her red locks and winks at me. Her hair’s streaked with engine grease, but no one else seems to notice.

  Behind all the others stands Stenia. She’s wearing a wool cap and full scarf. Odd choices, but I think she’s just trying to be respectful of the older staff who don’t look so fondly on tattoos. As always she says nothing, but sees everything.

  Admiral Khan clears his throat. “Good evening!” he booms.

  Everyone echoes his greeting; some more committed than others.

  “Thank you very much for joining me in my home,” the Admiral continues. “Hopefully you will find it just as comfortable as I do.”

  There is a small chortle from the gathering, but nothing gratuitous.

  His gray eyes sweep the crowd. “We’re all here tonight to decide how to best tackle what most people would consider the impossible.” He gestures outwards. “But it’s nothing that we do not do on a daily basis.”

  His eyes fix on me. “Many thanks to Lieutenant Basmon for bringing this opportunity to my attention. Lieutenant, could you please explain to the crew the plan you have assembled?”

  I freeze. I didn’t expect to be put on the spot so soon.

  Taking a breath to steady myself, I respond, “All of you were present to witness the destructive power of the warship that has come to be known as ‘The Ark’”

  Tension rises in the room.

  “If you remember, the Ark leveled the entire city of Shipwreck, destroying several zeppelins in the process. Its fleet downed countless pilots, despite being vastly outnumbered.”

  I look into the center light, trying to draw some power from it. Focus on the facts.

  “In my search for more information about the vessel, I discovered that the ship and its fleet have raided no less than seventeen other trading posts, from the Louisiana Bogs straight up through the Appalachian Spine, ending here.” I tap the northern most island in Appalachia. “This is where Shipwreck fell.”

  I place markers on the attacked areas and turn the map towards the Admiral.

  Diz speaks up. “I’ve been studying tech from the downed Cascade fighter wrecks we recovered.”

  She pulls up two chunks of gray metal, setting them down on the map.

  “Most of the fighters used by the Cascade aren’t made from regular steel or aluminum,” she continues. Diz looks up to Sabine, motioning her over. “Sabine, if I could.”

  Sabine nods, making her way to the Crew Chief.

  Diz grunts, picking up the smaller chunk of metal and flipping it over onto its side. “If you’ll observe, this was a piece taken from one of our downed Jackals. The pilot survived, but I also requested that the Helios crew take a piece from his wreckage if at all possible.”

  Diz sticks a finger through the quarter-sized hole in the piece of armoured plating. “This was caused by a regular slug; tore right through it. Almost caused Archangel’s early demise,” She says, sweeping her green eyes back up to the group. “Moral of the story being that the Cascade are still using conventional weaponry.”

  “Where it gets interesting though,” Diz says, picking up the larger chuck of grayish material and flipping it over with relative ease, “is looking at what the Cascade have for armor.”

  Diz smiles, taking the piece of broken fuselage and spinning it into her other hand. “It’s super lightweight, pliable, . . . ” Diz presses her fingers up under the armor, turning it towards the glare, “and very durable.”

  We all lean in, observing a small divot in the metal.

  “Same slug, different result,” Diz continues, twisting herself around slowly so all can see. “We literally have to shatter these lads if we want to take them down.”

  She turns to Sabine, “May I?”

  Sabine nods as Diz rolls up her sleeve. The same grayish material flickers underneath.

  Diz takes great care in pulling the sleeve up over Sabine’s fresh bandages. “The metal found in the fighter’s armor is a match with the shrapnel our advisor Sabine Tesarik took when she first fled the Ark.” She lays Sabine’s arm on the table next to the armor. “It’s a naturally occurring material that’s a sister mineral to Neodymium Iron Boron. We don’t know how the Cascade found it, we just know that they found a lot of it, and they’re in a constant search for more.”

  Sabine holds her arm up for everyone to see. “When my father first began his crusade, he looked for areas that would be rich with this mineral. The easies
t way the material can be harvested, is from within the mountains. The second is from the bottom of the sea. Since Garon is a man of efficiency, you can guess which option he’s pursuing.”

  She peels one of her bandages back, revealing a bloodied fragment embedded deep in her arm. “Besides being lightweight and durable, the Neodymium exhibits strong magnetic properties. To best harvest the material, my father’s reengineered the Ark’s power-source to double as a super magnet. Since the magnetite already has a strong polar charge, the Core can be used to pull the material up from beneath the ground.”

  Her eyes scan the room. “We’ve already borne witness to such an event.”

  Some of the officers shift their weight uneasily.

  Sabine runs her finger along the exposed edge of the rock in her arm. “It is largely a coincidence that the most mineral rich areas are located below established trading posts. It’s only natural, since these are often areas of high elevation the sea has pushed up from below. That being said, my father is indifferent to all the lives within them. In a sense, it matches his end goal.”

  Sabine’s eyes lose their focus, her voice coming from some place far away. “I began planning my escape when my father announced his intention to ‘cut open the sky’. He had discovered how to use the emissions from the Core to break down pure ozone.”

  She presses her hand on the table. Some of the blood from her wound trickles down the side of her arm, spotting the backlit table. Large red circles expand on the ceiling of the Bridge. Their tint is unsettling.

  Sabine appears unaware of this, and presses on. “For those of you who are unaware; the lack of O3, also known as Ozone, greatly contributed to the initial stages of the Drowning.”

  Some officers nod their heads. Others appear bewildered.

  Sabine looks up from the table. “My father aims to drown the world once more, so that the Chosen people can repopulate it in peace.”

  Scoffs of disbelief erupt from the gathering.

  “How ridiculous is that?!” yells one particularly grey lieutenant.

  A fist slams on the table, silencing everyone.