by J. C. Staudt
I strode away with Kupfer’s righteous indignation ringing in my ears. Belowdecks, I inspected the galley, crew cabin, cargo bay, furnace room, and a few other choice areas to make sure things were shipshape. My dear old dad had never lacked for organizational skills, nor did he allow his crew to be slouches where character-building hard work was concerned. I’d done enough chores growing up—and been reprimanded for doing a piss-poor job on them—that I was more used to everything looking spotless than I was to them looking dirty.
With the sudden yet inevitable departure of several key crewmembers, personnel needed to be shifted around. I had to decide who could be relied upon to change roles from the one job they specialized in and still do passing well. For now, as long as the boat sailed true and the engines ran clean, we’d get by on what we had. Once we’d rescued my friends and added the majority of them to our number, the holes in the line would close up quickly enough.
My surface inspections complete, I rose to the captain’s quarters and greeted the roomful of crimson-clad men awaiting me. This was the inner circle—the strike team Yingler and I had chosen to infiltrate the palace. There was nothing I could do to change the fact that they were all Civs. What I could do was make sure they weren’t dressed like Civs.
“First things first,” I said. “You’ve gotta get out of those gaudy red uniforms. Nothing like painting a target on your chest to give the enemy an unneeded dose of self-confidence.”
“They’re robots,” Yingler said. “Do they have self-confidence? Do they even see in color?”
“Our enemy is the synod,” I reminded him. “Think of them as Maclin’s Board of Trustees, of sorts. Except they’re really old, and anyone who’s ever trusted them with anything is a moron, myself included. The Galvos Project is a secret endeavor they’ve had in the works for years. Their ultimate goal was always to take control of the Regency. The automatons were their tools for doing so.” I expounded at great length upon the robots’ manufacture, make-up, and capabilities, answering questions as my audience raised them. “And by the way, they do see in color. Of course, they also have a close-range thermal detection system, so they can pick up your heat signature even if you’re wearing a suit made of black-and-white newspaper. While you’re too far off for their heat sensors to kick in, it’s better if they don’t see you so well.”
Several of the men removed their red Civvy overcoats, despite the fact that we hadn’t left the ground yet and were still hours away from our destination. I told them we were going in cold; I planned to land the Ostelle way outside the city, past the reach of their blockade and safely out of range of their long guns. Trekking in on foot was the only way to get close without drawing their attention. If we could disguise ourselves as average citizens and get inside the city, the going should get easier until we got to the palace.
“You said there’s a circle of robots protecting the streets around the palace,” someone said. “If the robots aren’t letting anyone in or out, how do we get through?”
“That’s where our friend Captain Kupfer here comes in. What’ve you got for us, Kupps?”
“Kupps?” he muttered, standing up next to me. “You and I are hardly on a first-name basis, let alone a casual one.”
“Hey, you can be as tightly wound as you want on your own boat, Kupps,” I said. “Under my roof, we take a more light-hearted approach.”
“Serious work requires a serious attitude,” he said.
I shook my head. “If you can’t face death with a little humor, you’ve got the wrong attitude altogether.”
He ignored that last comment and moved on. “I’ve obtained the address of Roathea’s Commissioner of Wastewater Treatment, a Mrs. Maude Fitzsimmons,” he said. “With luck, we’ll find her at her personal residence tomorrow morning. She’ll have access to the maps we need.”
“Maps?” remarked a broad-shouldered Civ, one of the men Yingler had chosen. I hadn’t yet ascertained his name, but I would soon come to know him as Zilch. “Wastewater treatment? Is this going where I think it’s going?”
“As I mentioned in my briefing earlier,” I began, “Maclin Automation has the city center locked down. No one’s getting into the palace by land, by air, or through the underside. That leaves only one way in.”
“The sewers,” he said with disgust.
“You’re smarter than you look,” I said. “That’s right, boys. We’re taking the road less traveled. We’re lucky Roathea has a sewer system. And if we’re going to navigate that sewer system, we need to know how everything’s connected. Short of getting barfed up through the palace’s toilet bowls—and given the average size of the heads in this room, no one here is going to fit through the pipes—we need a way inside that doesn’t leave us exposed to Maclin’s defense system. That means… maps.”
“So let me get this straight,” said Zilch the broad-shouldered Civ, a man who would insist on giving me guff about everything I said and did for the short time I knew him. “You’re telling me that we’re supposed to land outside the city, hump it to this lady’s house, get her maps, find a way into the sewers, crawl through miles of human waste, find a way into the palace, rescue your friends, rebuild your remote, take over the robot army, and assassinate those Maclin folks. All this without getting spotted, tracked, followed, or killed.”
I waggled my head. “Eh, more or less.”
“That sounds like the most longshot plan I’ve ever heard.”
“It is,” I admitted. “And it’s the second-most repulsive plan I’ve ever come up with. But if history has shown us one thing, it’s that people who are willing to crawl through raw sewage deserve to win. We’re about to brave a place so vile, no one in their right mind would even think about going there. And that, my friends, is why Maclin will never see us coming.”
“What a bunch of baloney,” Zilch said. “That stuff is for fraidy-cats, sneaking around underground like a bunch of sissies. I ain’t no coward. If you had any backbone at all, you’d have listened to what Cap’n Kupfer told you and put a shot straight through ‘em. A run right up the gut… that’s what we oughtta do.”
Some of the others voiced their agreement.
“There are lots of brave, dead people who would probably agree with you,” I said. “I’m not going to try to convince you this is going to be safe, or easy, or even that it’s a sure thing. Far from it, in fact. But if you think for a second that this won’t require bravery, I don’t want you on my team. I need good men—not just brave, but willing to take risks, too—so if you don’t fit into that category, you can load out with the rest of the castaways from my crew and find another war to be a part of.”
Zilch started to rise, but a hand came down on his shoulder and pushed him back into his seat. It was Kupfer, to my surprise. His reason for doing so was no surprise at all, however. “Marshal Zilenski,” he said. “Need I remind you that I’ll be accompanying Mr. Jakes on this mission? I want my best men around me—and around him, for that matter. I won’t stand for anything less.”
Zilch’s mouth curved into an irritated smirk. He said nothing, just nodded and stayed in his seat.
“Speaking of your best men, where in Leridote’s blue heavens is Pearson? He was supposed to be here for this briefing. How hard is it to find a waterproof backpack and a few spare parts? We’re supposed to be setting sail in a few minutes, for crying out loud.”
“Pearson left,” someone said.
“What do you mean he left?”
“Stand up, Minoe,” said Kupfer. “Tell us what you know.”
The marshal stood, holding his goofy Civ hat in his hands, and said, “Pearson heard the Vigilant was ground-bound for a while, so he took off and went to town. I heard he was at the Timepiece, uh… bending his elbow.”
“Rat!” someone yelled. “Snitch!”
“Stow that, Marshal Berryman. This is no time for flippancy.”
“I told you I had a bad feeling about that guy, Kupfer. He looked like he was about two steps up fr
om slow. With a first mate like that, it’s no wonder you never caught me in the old days.”
Kupfer’s lips went taut. “May I have a word, Mr. Jakes?”
“Have as many as you want.”
“Over here, please?” He took me aside, out of earshot from the other marshals, who started murmuring amongst themselves as soon as Kupfer’s attention was off them. “Pearson is… a special case. I dare not belittle him in front of the men.”
“You should’ve gotten rid of him the day he started,” I said. “That guy belongs on a barge somewhere.”
“He’s the Admiral’s eldest son.”
Suddenly, I saw Kupfer’s point. All I had to do was nod to let him know I understood. “I’ll head into town and pick him up. I’ll have to fill out the list, so it may take some time. You’re not going to bail on me if I leave you in charge while I’m gone, are you?”
“I won’t deny I’m tempted by the thought.”
“So the big bad Kupfer has a sense of humor after all,” I said.
“I wasn’t joking.”
“Couldn’t hurt to try,” I said. “Have her ready to sail by the time I get back, and I might just make you my first mate.” I turned and left without seeing his face, but I had a good idea of what it probably looked like.
Before I got off my boat, I returned to the kitchen to see how Kupfer’s cook was getting along. Actually, I went because I was hungry, and pretended to care how he was getting along when I got there. Buncheon was adequately plump to be trusted as a capable chef, so I commanded him to make me a sandwich. It was good, and I ate it on my way to Grimsley Township, which was as straight-laced and well-rounded as he was.
From a distance, the whole town of Grimsley appeared to stand like a single structure made of folded parchment. Domed towers rose from a veneer of polished beige stone, bright and smooth in the moonlight. Silver ripples glimmered on the river coursing around the town’s edge, a perfect curve of shoreline with a stone-bordered channel. I crossed the wide river bridge where streetlamps were beginning to fade with the coming of dawn, and tossed the crust of my sandwich to the mallards paddling below.
Some fishermen were loading their vessels on the docks, so I stopped to ask them where I might find the Timepiece Tavern. I’d been to Grimsley once or twice before, but I had been much too young for spirits back then. As I strolled down the near-empty streets, it became apparent that this town had benefitted from its close proximity to Roathea and the added commerce therefrom.
I liked the Timepiece Tavern, I decided—both the engraved stone columns decorating its exterior, and the oaky, dark-lit world beyond its frosted glass door. I was less pleased with the bar’s patronage; Pearson wasn’t there. I told the bartender I was looking for a guy by his name and description, and was rebuffed with only a grunt and a gesture toward the back of the pub.
I was heading in that direction, trying to figure out what he meant, when Pearson stumbled out of the bathroom with a vague look on his face. If the guy’s head had been full of hot air while he was sober, then by all rights he should’ve been bobbing up and down from the ceiling by now. He saw me coming toward him, but in his haze he seemed not to recognize me. His feet made a groggy shuffle-step to the side as he attempted to pass, but I moved to block his way. He was a little slow on the draw, and his bulk came crashing in to send me back a step.
“Hey, watch where you’re going, you—” He stopped himself, blinked me into focus, and frowned. “What are you doing here?”
“Same as you—getting hammered when I’m supposed to be saving the world.”
“Lay off.” He shoved past me and took a seat at the bar.
This guy does not want to mess with me right now. “I gave you one simple task, and you told me you could handle it,” I said, following him. “Now you’ve set us back, and I’m the one who’s stuck making up for the time you lost. If the Regent bites it because you dropped the ball, you’re going to hear about it.”
“I never hear about anything.”
“You will this time. Kupfer is pissed.”
His eyebrow lifted in surprise. “Really. At me? That’s something new.”
“Yeah, at you,” I lied. “In fact, he’s so pissed, he said he’s thinking about demoting you to potato peeler. If I know Kupfer—” which I don’t, “—I’d say he’s liable to drop you from his crew altogether. And I can’t say as I’d disagree with him.”
“I can only hope,” Pearson said. The bartender passed him a frothing mug, from which he took only a dainty sip before letting it clunk to the bar. He began to fidget, spinning the mug with his fingers like a man too bothered to sit still.
“You hope, huh? I guess that’s because you’re one of the few fortunate souls who can do no wrong in his father’s eyes. That silver spoon will never stop feeding you as long as you live, will it?”
He gave me an agitated look and shook his head as if to say I couldn’t have been more mistaken. “How’d you find me?”
“Berryman ratted you out.”
The look on his face said he’d been expecting that. He reached down between his legs and brought out a small black vinyl duffle bag. “Here’s your junk.”
I studied the bag with equal parts interest and apprehension. “What junk?” I asked after a moment, doubting he could’ve possibly meant the junk I had asked him to collect.
Without another word, he yanked the list from his pocket and slapped it down on the bar. He lifted his mug and gave it a longer pull this time, then resumed his finger-spinning, smearing the ring of condensation puddling at the base.
I snatched up the list and read it again, then slid the bag toward myself and tossed the flap. Pulling out the parts one by one, I cross-checked them with the list until I’d reached the end. Every last hunk of junk was present and accounted for. “Tell me you didn’t just luck out and find this sitting by the side of the road somewhere.”
His shoulders lifted and dropped, but he never spoke or took his eyes off the mug.
“You’ve got to be some kind of latent prodigy, right? Your dad has you on Kupfer’s ship because you’re one of those guys who’s smart but never learned to apply himself. He thinks some real life experience will help you on your way. Am I on the right track?”
“Not even close, buddy. Pop doesn’t think that well of me. Always been a gearhead, through and through. Pop says I’m bred for command. Says leadership is in my blood, and I should embrace it.”
“Letting your dad tell you what to do when you’re a grown-up kind of defeats the purpose, don’t you think?”
“If Pop was an easy man to get around, I’d have gotten around him by now.”
My idea of sympathy is telling people when they’re being stupid. I spared Pearson no such sympathy. “So did you think screwing off was going to make things better with your old man? All you’re really doing is making things harder on Kupfer… and I mean, who doesn’t enjoy that? But you’re supposed to be on the same side. Instead of failing on purpose, why not show him your strengths?”
“You got all these bright ideas you think I’m too dumb to have tried already.”
I couldn’t exactly deny that. “Alright, so give me a break. You’ve got a flat head, and your neck’s the size of my waist. Excuse me for generalizing.”
Pearson used that neck to swing his head around with a look that was somewhere between vacant and malevolent. I froze, expecting what came next to be unpleasant. But a smile began to creep into his expression, and before I knew it the room was echoing with the deep bass tones of his laughter.
“I’m quick to stereotype,” I added, “and I’ve been told I’m a terrible judge of character. I guess I’m a bad judge of intelligence, too.”
“You wouldn’t be the first person who’s judged me that way,” he said. “The week after I came aboard the Vigilant, one of the marshals said he was surprised I hadn’t keeled over for lack of common sense.”
“Well, now I know better. And screw that guy, whoever he was. Kupfe
r may have been under your dad’s thumb while you were on his boat, but now you’re on mine.”
He looked taken aback. “I’m on your boat? Since when?”
“Oh yeah, I guess we sent you off on this errand before that happened. We’re taking my Ostelle to Roathea and leaving the rest of the fleet here, so as to remain incognito. Why don’t you come on back with me? We’ve had a recent reduction in the number of crewmembers aboard my vessel… people who were loyal to my dad. I promise the second you’re on board, I’ll order you to hit the engine room and won’t allow you back out until we make landfall on Roathea. How does that sound?”
“It sounds temporary,” he said with a scowl. “But better than waiting on Kupfer hand and foot.”
“I’ve got a dirty road ahead of me,” I said, “and even that sounds better than waiting on Kupfer.”
Pearson looked suspicious. “Dirty? How do you mean?”
I laughed. “You’re going to be working in the engine room. You’ve got a different kind of dirty to worry about. Now, what’s with the duffle bag? I specifically asked for a waterproof backpack.”
“I’m not a miracle worker,” he said. “I never heard of a waterproof backpack in my life.”
“I’d settle for a purse at this point. No matter what I carry this stuff in, it’s got to be waterproof.”
“They expecting heavy rains on Roathea?”
“In a manner of speaking. It’s going to be raining where I’m going.”
Pearson didn’t understand, nor did he attempt to. “Okay. I’ll come back with you. Sure I’ll never hear the end of it, going AWOL like this.”
“I’ll keep Kupfer off your case,” I promised.
“Kupfer never raises a finger. It’s the other guys I’m talking about. You know how people are when they see someone getting special treatment. Sometimes I wish Kupfer wasn’t so afraid of Pop. Things would go easier for me in the long run.”