by Taven Moore
Jinn lifted Hank by the armpits and transported him from floor to stool as easily as he would pick up a rag doll. Hank lifted his chin, though the feeling of being so easily manhandled was humiliating.
“Serena was going to turn you in for the bounty over whatever you stole from Bespin,” said Remora. “Just after you collapsed, the gentleman (and I use the term loosely) currently spread across the floor burst through the window with that same intention. Jinn moved to intervene and the man accidentally blew his face off.”
“Accidentally?” he asked, one eyebrow lifted. “Does that sort of thing happen around you a lot?”
Remora sniffed. “People do foolish things all the time, Mr. McCoy. I hardly see how my presence or absence should have effect upon the phenomenon.”
Neither did he, yet he found his world spinning out of control from the moment he met her. All done accidentally, no doubt.
“After that, I found out you’d come here in search of a pilot, so I had Serena send for Montgomery while you slept. It seemed more efficient than wasting the time in sending for him afterward.” Hank’s eyebrows lifted. She made it sound like he’d been catching up on his beauty sleep!
“I am curious, though,” she said, leaning forward, brown eyes wide. “What did you steal from Bespin to put such an inconvenient bounty on your head?”
4. Inconvenient
Hank frowned. “I didn’t steal anything from Bespin. I was trying to steal a shipment of harvested spark, but after Jinn and his brother left us, we were lucky to get out of there in one piece. Even if we’d succeeded, a city as large as Bespin is more likely to eat the loss than chase after a few missing cubes.”
Hank turned a suspicious gaze to the Shinra’ere. “Were the Shima brothers more successful in their illicit Bespin activities, I wonder?”
Jinn’s red eyes gleamed, but he said nothing.
That Roith’delat’en, back-stabbing ghoul! He knew something. And whatever he knew, whatever they’d done, Hank was the one getting blamed for it. He’d been set up!
Remora frowned, swirling the tea in her cup. “That is inconvenient. If you stole nothing, then we have no way to bargain with the authorities to get the bounty lifted.”
She took a sip of her tea, then set the cup down, sighing. “They won’t stop until they’ve found you. Any bounty levied by a skycity is legally enforceable land, air, and sea, until such time as the criminal is turned in. You were lucky the warrant wasn’t issued until after we left Westmouth.”
“How could you possibly know all that?” he asked.
“I read a book on law, once, when I was bored,” she replied easily.
Bored. Right. Nothing like a rousing tome on the inter-terrain judicial system to liven up a slow day.
Still, she was probably right, which meant they were essentially grounded until he was caught or the authorities forgot about him. Neither of which was likely to be soon enough to sate Remora’s impatience.
“There’s no other solution, then.” He grimaced. “We’ll have to turn me in.”
Remora wrinkled her nose. “That’s a terrible idea! You obviously have no concept of how long it took me to find a suitable captain. I haven’t time to waste moving backward. Besides,” she added, “I believe turning you in would distress Bones.”
“Not me,” Hank said, gesturing to the stiffening corpse on the floor. “Him. He’s got no face. They’ll have to take Serena’s word that he’s me when she turns him in for the bounty money.” Comprehension dawned on Remora’s face.
“I get the bounty off my head.” He pointed to Serena. “You get paid.” His hand shifted to Remora. “You get to continue your treasure hunt.” The hand moved to Jinn. “You, however, are going to have to tell me exactly what I’m credited with stealing.”
“If I did that, you would lose plausible deniability,” said Jinn, unblinking.
Hank grimaced down at the corpse on the floor. “Plausible deniability is a lousy shield. You and your brother used me and put my crew and my ship in danger. I want to know why.”
“Perhaps we can continue this conversation at another time,” Jinn suggested, eyes flicking to Serena.
Right. Serena, who had so recently won her way off of his rapidly-shrinking list of friends. He glowered at her.
Serena sighed. “I told you he’d be cross about it, Miss Gates.”
“I suppose he is entitled to some small measure of sulking. You did drug him, after all.”
Sulking. He was betrayed and drugged with intent to turn him over to certain death in order to collect bounty money, and his reaction was called “sulking”.
“I believe this can work to our advantage, however,” Remora said, brightening. “We will need to wait at least a week before heading for Bespin, so that the proper paperwork concerning Hank’s death can be filed. Meanwhile, I can build the device here, with your assistance. And yours as well, Montgomery” she said, turning to the shonfra, “should you choose to lend your expertise. I should be most gratified to see a professional at work.”
The shonfra chittered, his ship translating a moment later. “If I don’t help, I’m afraid the two of you might blow up the entire island.”
Remora smiled up at him as though he’d paid her the highest compliment imaginable. “Splendid, splendid!”
Sometimes Hank wondered if the girl inhabited the same world he did.
The shonfra chittered again, his egg-shaped craft hovering closer to Hank’s head. “About the pilot you seek—” the translator said.
Hank lifted a hand, cutting him off. Eyes hard, he set his mouth into a thin line. “The position is not open to terrorists.”
5. Terrorist
The egg-shaped craft stilled, the shonfra’s eyes meeting Hank’s squarely. Hank tensed, one hand sliding down to the holstered grapplegun at his hip. If the shonfra turned violent, he didn’t trust Jinn to protect him.
“Terrorist?” Remora scoffed. “Don’t be ridiculous. Montgomery, please forgive my companion’s lack of manners. What an unconscionable accusation. McCoy, do apologize!”
The shonfra ignored Remora, instead speaking directly to Hank, tiny ears pinned against his head. His ship translated the high-pitched chitter. “I assure you, I am no longer affiliated with the Swampers. If I were, do you honestly think I would be in this hellhole looking for work?”
If he was willing to call them “Swampers” rather than insisting on calling them “Freedom Fighters” or whatever half-brained politically correct title they were using these days, he might be telling the truth. Still, he didn’t deny that he used to be a Swamper, and Swampers weren’t exactly known for their fair and honest dealings.
Hank shook his head. “I need a pilot I can trust, someone I can count on.” He turned a pointed gaze to Jinn. “Unless I can be certain that every member of my crew will follow orders and not abandon us to fulfill personal obligations, I can’t guarantee the success of any mission my crew embarks on.”
Jinn said nothing, though his eyes narrowed slightly. Remora gave Hank an annoyed look, but he ignored her. Bringing Jinn along had been her idea, not his. He saw no reason to make the Shinra’ere comfortable.
The shonfra’s craft landed on the counter. Montgomery bounded from the pilot’s chair, chattering. Behind him, his ship continued translation.
Primarily rodent-like in shape, the shonfra balanced on muscled hind legs, thickly webbed toes splaying with each hopping waddle-step. His four stubby front arms waved expressively as he spoke. His froggish skin was covered in a short pale blue fur. Bright red stripes ran from his eyes to his toes.
The most startling thing about Montgomery was the thick ridge of scars trailing down his back. Hank could see the contacts where his forewings and hindwings should be, but instead of the vividly-colored insectoid wings that should be there, Montgomery had only twisted stumps.
That explained the shonfra’s bizarre craft, then. Without his wings, Montgomery couldn’t fly. It also lent credibility to his assertion that
he wasn’t a Swamper any more. A wingless shonfra was a liability.
“If I sign to a ship, I can assure you that my loyalty is absolute.”
Hank scoffed. The word of a Swamper? “No offense intended, Montgomery, but your people are better known for violence and betrayal than honor. I’d be a fool to trust my ship to you. I sympathize with the shonfra’s plight, but sabotaging civilian airships and blowing up colonies is not the way to free your people.” Hank shook his head, voice hard. “I had friends at Remus Seven.”
Startled, Remora spoke without thinking. “Remus Seven? I was told that was a thundranium mining explosion!”
Montgomery gave a mournful chitter. “I am ashamed of what my people have become. I am not the shonfra I was when I joined the Swampers.”
“But,” Montgomery said, straightening and waving all four forelegs at Hank, tail slapping the countertop for emphasis, “I am the best pilot you’re going to find, and a skilled cogsmith, besides.”
Hank pursed his lips, thinking. If Montgomery were telling the truth about being done with the Swampers, he could be a valuable asset. “Have you ever flown an HH?”
Montgomery cocked his head to the side, almond eyes widening. “You have an HH? A full ship, nest and Hawks all?”
Hank nodded.
“Impressive,” replied Montgomery, tail curling. “I am familiar with the nest and have flown both Hawk models. I prefer the maneuverability of the Sparhawk to the heavier Thrusthawks.”
Hank lifted an eyebrow. The shonfra sounded like he knew what he was talking about. “How do you reach the controls?” Hank asked.
Montgomery snorted, the sound more like a sneeze than a scoff. “You take me for an amateur? My pod plugs into a standard wheel configuration. I can manipulate the entire ship from the cabin seat in the craft without ever needing to touch the human-sized controls. In the event that the interface is incompatible with my pod, I have a cogwork suit I can use.”
Remora choked. Eyes gleaming, she leaned forward. “You have a cogwork suit?”
“A modified mining suit,” the shonfra said, preening.
“Where did you get one? I asked for one for my birthday last year, but I got a bracelet instead.” Hank suppressed a snort of disbelief at her glumness. That bracelet had probably been worth more than his ship.
“I got it from—” Montgomery paused, forearms nervously brushing across his whiskers. “Does it matter?”
Hank reached up and rubbed his chin, days-old stubble rough against his fingertips. “Not to me, it doesn’t. Six months. That’s how long the contract is for. No bombings, no rescue crusades, no changes of heart, no sabotage, no harboring fugitives or Swampers.” Hank paused. “Unless I ask you to, of course.”
Montgomery laughed, the bright chitters echoed by a flat mechanical “Ha ha ha,” from the ship. “We haven’t discussed the terms of my payment.”
“One hundred gold doubloons. Flat payment, at the end of the contract.”
Serena scoffed, “And just where did you get that kind of money? You still owe me ten doubloons from two years ago!”
“I’m missing the part where that’s any of your business, Serena.”
Serena stilled as Hank’s gaze met hers. He would not so easily forget that she had drugged him and attempted to turn him in for bounty money.
“It doesn’t matter,” said Montgomery. “It’s not money I want.”
All eyes in the room turned to the little shonfra. “Our people can never be free while our queens remain in human hands. You free a queen for me and I will fly your ship and follow your commands for the entirety of my contract. I swear it on the wings of my brothers.”
6. Illogic
Remora reached the top of the rocky hillock overlooking Terrapin Isle and promptly collapsed from utter exhaustion.
Someone on the island should put up warning signs, truly. The hill had not seemed daunting from below, but she regretted her eagerness (and lack of companions) long before reaching even the halfway point of the steep slope. Her pack seemed to gain poundage at an alarming rate and despite stopping once to loose the laces on her corset, her lungs still burned and ached from lack of air. Her legs, she was certain, might never bear her weight again, so dreadfully did they shake and quiver.
Testing the device on her own had seemed such a captivating plan back on the Miraj. Serena and Montgomery felt the Thumper wasn’t yet ready for testing, but they had run out of time to seek perfection. The Miraj left port on the morrow.
The device would work. Of that, Remora had no doubt. What she did not know, however, was what else the Thumper might do. Her inventions frequently exhibited unintended behaviors. Naturally, that left only one option. It must be tested.
She wanted to do this alone. This was, after all, her quest. The others were only along because she was paying them—she was under no misconception that any of them truly cared about proving Starbirth.
Nor did she expect them to, really. They wouldn’t understand why it was so important to her.
From her left, a rock clattered down the slope.
Heart leaping, she rose from her prone position, fingers scrabbling for the pistol in her pocket. “Who is it?” she called out.
No response.
Freed from the folds of her pocket, she checked the liquid level in the alchemy chamber to make sure the little gun was armed. Surely an assassin couldn’t have found her here already. She’d been so careful in using her pseudonym. Everyone here knew her as Miss Gates.
“I know someone is out there.” She paused, uncertain. “Jinn, if you have disobeyed my orders and followed me, I shall be quite cross with you!”
Another silent moment passed, during which Remora began to wonder if perhaps the stone had been dislodged by a rabbit. How embarrassing, should anyone have seen her frightened by a rodent!
Another rock clattered and her heart sped up. No rabbit, that.
Downslope, a slim figure moved from behind a thin tree. Remora’s gun hand shook, then finally lowered.
“Bones!” Dizzy with relief, she dropped her hands to her lap, hiding their sudden tremble in the folds of her skirt. “What in the name of the dawnstar are you doing here?”
The ticker walked closer, the wind blowing the long flaps of his jacket behind him. “Jinn requested that I follow you, as your orders impaired his ability to keep you safe.”
Relief, mingled with disappointment. She’d wanted to test the Thumper herself, but she had to admit that she felt better knowing that Bones was here. She hadn’t expected being alone to feel so very lonely. Just a few days aboard the Miraj and already she’d become accustomed to the company of her crew.
“Very well,” she said, rising. Her legs still quivered, but her skirts hid the weakness. Perhaps she should begin some sort of physical regimen, such as Jinn practiced. Her adventures might well require that she be fit enough to climb more than a rocky hill before her quest was over, and she could well imagine the look on McCoy’s face should she falter in his presence. The cad might well toss her over his shoulder rather than pause while she collected herself. The thought brought patches of heat to her cheeks.
She would most definitely speak to Jinn of exercises upon her return.
“If I may ask,” Bones said, moving closer, “why did you choose to come here alone? The decision is not a logical one. Either Jinn or I would have been glad to come, and the shonfra will be cross at missing the testing of your new device.”
Remora reached for her pack. “I suppose you are correct. It was a terribly illogical act.”
Bones’ eyes flashed, intent. “But you are a cogsmith. Surely you understand the importance of logic and order. Why behave in a manner you know to be senseless?’
Remora thought about her answer as she removed the Thumper from her pack. She held the slim, coppery device at arm’s length and flicked a safety catch with her thumb to reach the button beneath it. Pressed, the button released the springs holding the Thumper’s legs, which telescoped out to o
ne side, creating a sturdy tripod. She placed the tripod firmly on the ground and pressed another button, which released the rod from the center of the device toward the dusty ground below. As it lowered itself, biting into the earth and burying its nose in the ground, she finally answered Bones.
“As a cogsmith, I also value serendipity and imagination. The world is an illogical and disorderly place, Bones.” She paused and turned her head to the side, surveying him. The rod reached its required depth and stopped. “I know so little about tickers. What I’ve read in the Ardelan Encyclopedia seems to be constantly refuted by you, so I do hope you’ll forgive if I ask a silly question. You seem no more soulless than I and you’ve displayed emotion on more than one occasion. Emotion is, I believe, the root of illogical behavior.”
“If you know this,” said Bones, eyebeam colors whirling, “why not strive to eliminate emotion and become more logical?”
“If I were a truly logical creature, I should never have found myself in the Jolly Rooster, and I should never have met you.” Her smile softened. “And I am very glad to have met you, Bones.”
At that, his eyebeams began fluctuating color rather rapidly. She turned away to allow him time to compose himself.
“So!” she said, lifting the locket from her necklace and opening the clamshell, “I believe that although illogic can lead to misfortune, it can also lead to great rewards. I try to do one illogical thing each day. They say that fortune favors the bold, my dear Bones, and I believe them.”
“What do you say?” she asked, eyes sparkling and sun casting odd highlights from the purple crystal in her locket. “Shall we do something illogical?”
7. Corset
Bones gave no answer, aside from flickering color-changes in his eyebeams. Remora hadn’t really expected one, although she supposed even the lack of a refusal was a good sign.
Carefully, Remora plucked the tiny purple crystal from its setting in the locket, heart beating faster. Such a fragile thing, to hold so many of her hopes for the future. She bit her lip.