Taven Moore's Blog, page 6

8. Trust

“Seven months?” Bones’s eyebeams whirled. “Is there nothing that can be done to prolong your life?”

Remora’s lips twisted. “It would be safe to assume that, as the highly motivated heir to the Price fortune, I have done more research on the subject of Seraph half-breed mortality than anyone.”

Bones digested her announcement. After a long moment, he finally spoke. “This . . . displeases me.”

His honesty surprised her into a smile. “It displeases me, as well, though I will admit that I took a bit longer to arrive at such a succinct reaction.”

Remora squared her shoulders. “Part of coming to terms with it means that I had to decide what I would do with the rest of my life. I could spend what little time I have left moping about things I cannot change, or I can do something important. Something that matters.” She gestured to the quietly waiting Thumper, its metal chassis gleaming in the late afternoon sunlight.

“Starbirth was real, Bones. I’m convinced the Seraph had something to do with it. Furthermore, I can prove it. I know I can.” Her shoulder throbbed, reminding her of the Thumper’s trial run. She leaned back to pull Bones’s coat away from her chest, grimacing at the blood-darkened makeshift bandage he’d used to wrap her left shoulder. She wiggled the fingers on that hand, pleased when they all responded despite the resulting thrill of pain along her collarbone. Nothing broken, nothing severed, nothing torn. Easily mended, given time and her alchemy set on the Miraj.

“But,” she said, giving Bones a hesitant look, “I cannot do any of this if people know about . . . this. About these wings. Lady Remora Windgates Price has the money and resources to unveil the truth behind Starbirth. A penniless half-breed bastard is powerless.”

“I understand.” His outstretched hand flattened, the feather no longer pinched between his fingers. The barest flicker of wind lifted the tail end of the feather, causing it to skitter toward the edge of his palm.

Remora leaned forward just before it flew away, closing his hand back over the feather that he’d had since the very first night she met him. His metal fingers curled around the black and red feather, forming a cage around it. Her hand felt warm against his fingers. “I trust you to keep my secret safe, Bones. Thank you.”

She met and held his eyes for a moment, hoping he realized just how important it was to her that someone else knew—that not only did he know, he cared more that she was going to die than that she had wings. It made her feel less alone.

He broke the look first, and she pulled her hand away. Clearing her throat, she leaned back and looked to the device. “Now, to fix the Thumper and try again.”

Bones’s eyegleam flickered. “Again? Would it not be wiser to wait? Hackwrench seems a competent cogsmith. He could assist you. Even Serena would be a better choice than I.”

Remora scoffed, finding her discarded corset on the ground behind her. The whalebone clattered against the metal inserts and she turned away from Bones before dropping his trench coat and deftly fitting the contraption around her torso. Bones may have disrobed her out of necessity earlier, but that was hardly an excuse for not maintaining her modesty now that she was awake.

“I am convinced that it is just a power issue. I can tweak the feedback loop to shunt more of the energy to the grounding rod and it’ll be fine.” She paused, allowing her wings to stretch once more before binding them against her back. “Probably.”

Bones hesitated. “I . . . am uncomfortable with this course of action.”

She laughed, affixing the right shoulder strap carefully across her back and tucking the wing beneath the stiff leather backing. The left strap was completely useless, split by the Thumper’s beam, but thankfully the reinforced metal plates sewn into the corset’s body had shielded much of the initial blast.

“You worry too much, Bones. What is the worst that could happen?”

Bones gave a metallic sigh. “I have compiled a list of catastrophic outcomes, but I believe your question was ill-advisedly rhetorical in nature.”

She sucked in a breath and pushed the lower button on the corset’s side seam. With a hiss of escaping air and the whir of moving gears, the side-stays spun and tightened, fitting the undergarment to her form. Her wounded shoulder protested again, but she ignored it for now. Keeping her secret was far more important than any superficial wound. Besides. She’d been without the corset so rarely that she felt exposed in an entirely un-physical way without its familiar embrace.

She slipped her arms into the sleeves of her dress, lifting the bodice to its proper placement. The dress itself was ruined, of course. A jagged burn line scored across the torso and over the shoulder, bordered with an unattractive bloodstain. A regrettable loss, but she could find a replacement in Bespin.

She stood, lifting Bones’s trench coat. When she turned to give it to him, she saw that he’d spun so that he was not facing her while she dressed. Her cheeks warmed. Surely he had seen anything worth seeing when he’d gone through such effort to bind her wound. “Thank you Bones. Your gentlemanly behavior is much appreciated.”

Bones turned and accepted his coat, slipping it over his thin metal frame. He slipped the feather into one of his pockets, buttoning it shut after.

Remora picked up her pack, removing a few rolled up sheets of paper, a sharpened stick of graphite, and her travel toolkit. A moment’s work, and the power parameters of the feedback loop were adjusted.

She paused a moment, then adjusted it again, slightly lower. Just to be safe.

Standing, finger over the power switch for the Thumper, she couldn’t help but feel a slight twinge of concern. The device would work, of course.

Bones walked closer and handed her a large leaf from a nearby tree. “If you insist upon this unsafe course of action, at least test on this first.”

She took the leaf from him with a smile. “Thank you, Bones, that is a wonderful idea!”

He did not release his grip on the leaf. “Do not take my assistance as concurrence.”

Her smile widened into a grin. “I would not dream of it.”

He released the leaf, but remained standing next to her. She smiled to herself as she reached over to the Thumper.

A button press and the Thumper thrummed to eager life. The ground shook even more noticeably this time, but the Thumper’s head lifted and rotated without a problem. The first purple beam shot from the Thumper’s eye into the distance, much paler than the first beam had been. Remora dangled the leaf into the path of the next beam, which struck the thin surface without even a sizzle.

Remora clasped her hands together.

It worked!         

When the beam reached her, it struck against her ribcage, harmless as any beam of light.

It really, truly worked!

The rumbling beneath her feet grew more pronounced and she flung out her hands to keep her balance.

As the Thumper’s head began its third rotation, she saw the grounding rod begin to glow faintly red. It was overheating.

Immediately, she leaned forward and turned off the machine. The rumbling stopped.

“Is it supposed to do that?” asked Bones, eyes on the smoking grounding rod.

“Probably,” she answered, seating herself and unrolling one of the papers. A detailed map of the known world spilled across her lap. She picked up a tool from her toolkit and began measuring against the horizon.

“You are plotting a course?” Bones asked.

She nodded, peering down the arm of a tool. “Triangulation,” she explained. “If I take readings at several different places, marking the precise angle and direction of the beams at each one on this map, I should be able to find all of the pieces.”

“All of the pieces of what?”

“I’m not sure yet,” she answered, biting her lip as she traced the first angle across the map. “But whatever it is, it’s important, and that purple crystal is a part of it.”

 

[Perry] Perrypocalypse 2015

Another year and another random visit to the Moores later (did you see what I did there? *nudgenudgewinkwink, the Moores).

Ahem, anyway.

Adventure! Sightseeing! Pictures!

Let’s begin.

The Chicago-ing

For various reasons, we decided to meet up in Chicago this year. I flew into Midway and the Moores drove in from the Manor, parking at the hotel and taking the train into the city.

I also took the train into the city.

We met and greetings were exchanged as if we were sorta kinda friends who maybe knew each other, and then? Adventure!

Museum of Science and Industry

The first day was devoted to the Museum of Science and Industry and the Willis Tower’s Skydeck.

The Museum was pretty cool. The inside looked a little…madcap? Is that a good word to use here? I think that’s a good word to use here.

If you’ve never been, think of it as like…an interactive learning experience, of sorts. Lots of little exhibits and interactive displays to show how things like tornados and tsunamis work, as well as others devoted to explaining Bernoulli’s principle and how tractors work.

The highlight? Was easily the mirror maze that they built that was supposed to somehow explain or highlight the whole divine ratio thing and how you can find patterns in nature that reflect the logic of numbers…or something.

To be honest, I just thought that maze was damned cool, and probably would have had a better time of it if I’d managed to go in there with just the Moores and if the mirrors didn’t have fingerprint smudge marks all over them at kid height level haha.

But it was still pretty interesting to check out.

Skydeck

Took the bus back into the city and wandered through the downtown core (apparently called “The Loop”) till we made our way to the Willis Tower.

Whereupon we found a HUGE line of people wanting to take the elevator up. Luckily, we had a “citypass” that allowed us to skip virtually ALL the lines. Like, potentially 1.5-2 HOURS worth of lines we skipped. Just strolled past them, like those snooty folk that we all hate haha. But it was totally worth it.

There’s an observation deck up there where you can look out on the city, as well as stand on a glass floor and such.

Apparently? There was some sort of Groupon deal going on for the weekend cause everyone and their mothers were there at that time.

There was actually enough of a crowd that we didn’t end up getting to stand on the glass floor area…but alas. The view was spectacular anyway.

Downtown Chicago

Fun fact?

For some reason, the entire downtown core of Chicago seems to just…CLOSE after 5PM on a Sunday night.

I know what you’re thinking.

“Well, Perry? Maybe they don’t get enough business there so they just close the restaurants and such. It’s not a big deal.”

Oh, it IS a big deal.

When I say everything? I mean…fucking everything.

Restaurants? Closed.

Convenience stores? Closed.

McDonalds and other fast food joints? CLOSED.

STARBUCKS. CLOSED.

Holy hell, we were starving, looking for somewhere to eat.

Closed, closed, closed.

Got Tami to consult Senor Google for a nearby place to eat?

NOTHING. Just a blank square swathe of city, with the nearest pinpoints of nearby restaurants being like eight-nine blocks away in every direction.

It was honestly one of the weirdest damned things I’ve seen in a major city.

Shedd Aquarium

Day two started off with the Shedd Aquarium, which was suitably awesome.

I will admit to an ulterior motive on this trip.

I’m…a giant Harry Dresden junky? So one of my goals was to visit as many “Dresden” landmarks as I could.

So yes, I was totally gung-ho for the aquarium. I mean, this was where Nicky and the Nickleheads pulled a fast one and made off with Ivy! I saw the dolphins that warned Harry of danger! And I took a picture of them! They’re practically celebrities, guys.

But cool fish, all around.

I was a tiny bit spoiled by the fact that I’d popped my aquarium cherry just a month prior. Some friends had come to my town and we took the opportunity to check out the aquarium downtown, something I’d never bothered to check out before.

So SOME of the awe and wonder was a little absent, but it was still really cool.

I think my favorite was down in the basement, where there weren’t many people around? They had this big tank with simulated waves to sound like the crashing ocean.

Twas quite lovely.

Adler Planetarium

Not part of the Dresden-verse but still pretty cool.

Space…I love space.

Not really too much to say about this one. There were space-y things. Two curved dome theater shows that nearly put me to sleep (shush, they were dark and soothing).

It wasn’t as…science-y as I was half hoping it to be, to tell the truth. I was expecting it to be a little more geared toward adults? But most of it seemed to be geared toward the younger crowd and I didn’t really learn much in the way of new things.

Basically, if you’ve even a passing fondness for space, there wasn’t much that this place would impart.

But the cool part? There was an observatory thing outside that we got to go to and look through a telescope with specialized filters that let us look directly at the surface of the sun.

Could see the sunspots and the little…flare thingies? That rise up from the surface in slow arcing waves?

That was super cool.

Field Museum

Oh yeah. I did a thing.

You see that beauty?

Fucking Sue.

SUE!! Yeah, THAT Sue. The Sue that Harry reanimates and rampages around downtown Chicago during the plague of necromancers?

I TOOK A PICTURE WITH HER.

She seemed pretty cool. Named after the woman who discovered her, she’s (gender is unknown, but I’m calling her she) apparently the most complete T-Rex skeleton ever discovered.

There was more, some really, REALLY cool looking exhibits at the Field museum that I totally, TOTALLY want to go back to? But we were old, tired, and just…completely exhausted from walking around so much the past day and a half so we called it after about an hour and half in there.

We did still manage to check out some really cool exhibits there, especially the taxidermy-d animals of the natural world sorta thing.

Soldier Field

We didn’t actually go to it, but on the way out of the Field Museum, I did manage to get a bit of a picture with the outside of Soldier Field, where Harry dueled Duke Paolo Ortega of the red court of vampires.

Excite!

…yes, I AM a geek =D.

Moore Manor

Drove back to Wisconsin after that.

First view of the carlashes. The CARLASHES guys. What the shit?

And Ollieollieollie!

Yes, that’s his name. Ollie is his short name.

I know this, because EVERY time Tami calls for her cat? That’s what she says.

“Ollieollieollie!”

Cute XD.

Things that were done at Moore Manor

In no particular order?

Shotgunned the third season of Hannibal: It was…alright? But I felt it was a relatively weak ending to a strong, STRONG first two seasons.

Watching of miscellaneous things: Predestination. An episode of Teen Titans with a stupidly catchy song. Couple first episodes of shows, to see if we want to add them to our together watching agenda.

Baking: Tami made little cranberry snacky things! And I totally helped…hey, stop laughing. I swear, it’s true. Tami, tell em I helped =/.

Ukelele plonking: Now with 67% more cowboy hats.

Playing with Ollieollieollie: Lol. Quite amusing.

Walking Olliolliollie: Who the hell walks a cat? XD.

Board games!: A round of the Firefly board game (pretty fun), two rounds of Dixit (Ollie played too), and couple rounds of Nines (I HATE THIS GAME and so totally want to play it again).

Lounging in the soul-hugging chair of DOOM while Ollieollieollie napped on the ottoman by my feet: Why won’t you cuddle in my lap, you stupid cat? ><

Cooking!: Of a korean spicy soft tofu soup dish that turned out swimmingly! Alas, I neglected to take a picture of my success, so you’ll have to use your imaginations.

Escape Room

There are a few of these in Toronto, but I’ve never actually attended any before.

I think that definitely has to change.

This place? Was just…so much freaking fun.

I could have wished that the puzzles involved were just a tiny bit harder? But it was still a LOT of fun to wander around and try to decipher the clues together and figure out a way out.

I was a little skeptical as I walked in, as the ‘lobby’ area looked pretty unassuming and all? But once we got in there and started working on it?

Guys, SO much fun.

Something we talked about that they could have done a little better? Would be to have added just a little more atmosphere. Maybe add in a hint of a storyline, maybe make the room look a little more…normal instead of an obvious “this is a puzzle room” sort of vibe?

But otherwise, hot damn, didn’t realize how much fun it would be to go through one of these.

Food

Butter burgers: SO soft and delicous.

Deep fried cheese curds: WHY?!

The beginning of my whiskey education: Maybe I should try to ‘learn’ wines instead XD.

Conclusion

All in all, a pretty darned fun-filled trip.

Here are the rest of the pictures if you’re interested in checking em out.

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.

Please, let this work.

Alchemy was the difference between pure engineering and cogsmithing. The Thumper was just a dumb device until she added the source and the focus. She unscrewed the vial from the Thumper’s underbelly, checking its contents carefully. The sun shone through the red liquid, sparking odd highlights from the fragment of starshard already in the phial.

“Is that blood?” asked Bones.

She nodded. “Mine, actually.” Every cogwork apparatus needed a liquid to bind its pieces. Saltwater and pure water were the most common liquids, but those wouldn’t do for this purpose. She was seeking something far more specific, and for that, she needed to considerably narrow the scope.

This was another reason she hadn’t wanted Serena or Montgomery here. Bones simply looked uncomfortable, but either of the other two cogsmithers would have been aghast at her use of blood for the source’s suspension liquid. Additionally, they might have wondered why she thought human blood would assist in her goal—and she most certainly did not want to explain that her blood wasn’t precisely human.

Remora knew she was right in using her blood, though. Cogsmithing was one of the few things she was actually good at, and this felt right to her. It wasn’t as if there was an established formula for the Thumper that she could follow. She had to trust her instincts, and her instincts said that she could choose no better suspension for this source.

She took a deep breath and dropped the purple crystal into the vial. Exhaling, she watched the shard sink slowly through the blood until it fell to the bottom, nudging against the starshard fragment already inside.

“Are you sure about this?” Bones asked.

“Yes. And no.” Remora screwed the vial back into the Thumper’s belly, giving it a final pat before she straightened and gave Bones a smile. “This is the fun part.”

Bones looked less than convinced. She turned away from him to hide the nervous biting of her lip.

Please, please let this work.

She flicked aside the safety catch from the Thumper’s activator, thumb hovering over the wide red button for a fraction of an instant before she pressed it.

The Thumper hummed and the ground beneath her feet vibrated. Pebbles kicked up and skittered down the side of the hill. The Thumper’s head lifted and began to spin in a counterclockwise circle. The humming deepened and she felt her chest tighten.

A soft click announced the Thumper’s eye clicking on. A beam of violet light shot into the distance, striking a cloud to the southwest. The cloud swirled and vanished.

It’s working! It’s working!

Remora couldn’t breathe for the excitement. From the moment she had acquired the purple crystal, she had done nothing except plan for this day.

The Thumper’s head continued to rotate. Twice more the purple beam was released. Once to the west. Again, almost due north. When it faced her, the eye flickered to life. The light caught her in the ribs and drew its way across her waist, the smell of burning cloth reaching her nose an instant too late.

Too much. The power was too much! She lunged forward to turn off the Thumper, the beam traveling up between her breasts to trace a jagged and uneven line across her shoulder before she managed to push the button.

She fell backward as the humming stopped, vision spinning. She could smell burnt flesh now, along with the cloth.

Her last thought before passing out was that she had to come up with some way to make sure Hank never found out about this. She’d never live it down.

 

Remora woke with the sun in her eyes and a breeze tickling her cheek.

Something was wrong.

Her hands clutched at the blanket thrown over her and she sat up, gasping in pain as her shoulder protested.

She glanced down. That was no blanket. That was a jacket. Bones’s trench coat.

Her breath rattled through her chest, full and unencumbered.

Her eyes widened. One hand dropped below the trench coat and traced her ribcage.

Her corset was gone.

Alarm froze her heart and for a moment her vision spun dizzily. Her corset. She had to find her corset, before someone saw her.

“Remora, be calm. You are safe here. I had to remove your corset to survey the damage.” Bones. That was Bones’s voice. The panic clutching at her throat barely dimmed. It was impossible that he would have missed them, that he might not have seen.

Remora froze and stared at Bones, feeling very much a mouse facing a housecat.

For the first time since she had known him, his ticker body was completely bare before her, thin metallic rods bound together in a parody of the human form. Solid bars mimicked a ribcage to protect his cogsmithing source.

Normally, she would have been fascinated. Normally, she would have asked to look closer, asked him a thousand questions. Right now, her body trembled with the need to run.

He must have noticed the panic in her face. “You are safe,” he repeated.

One of his hands lifted, fingers curled around something. Dozens of tiny gears in his joints spun as he extended his arm toward her. She leaned away, shaking her head, as if she could deny the thing he held in his hand.

The fingers unfurled, revealing her worst fear.

A feather.

The wind tugged at the treacherous thing, but Bones snatched it back before it could fly away. The vane of the feather caught the light, shimmering red against maroon. The soft fluff of after-feather at the base of the shaft was a dull black.

“You know,” she said, her voice hollow.

He nodded.

She pulled her knees to her chest and pressed her forehead into her thighs, not caring that her burned shoulder screamed in pain at the motion. She pressed her closed eyelids against the smooth fabric of his coat until she no longer felt the need to cry.

Freed from their normal prison beneath the constricting boning of her corset, a tiny pair of cherub wings, no longer than her arm, lifted and arched over her back.

She didn’t have to look back to know what Bones saw. One wing was completely black. The other was only half black, the sooty base of the wing giving way to sleek red and black feathers like the one that Bones held in his hand.

It was over. The moment anyone found out about this, she was ruined. Magnus Price did not have wings. Nor did her mother. Remora hadn’t even needed to do much research into genetics to learn what that meant. Her mother was unquestionably her mother, which meant that Magnus Price was not her father. Therefore, the final heir to the Price fortune not truly a Price.

She would be ruined. Cast out and penniless, a bastard half-breed child.

If only that were the worst of it.

Moments passed in silence, a slight breeze tickling her wings. Sensitive after so many years of being tightly bound beneath her corset, her wings twitched involuntarily at each tiny wind eddy.

Bones said nothing.

She lifted her head. Bones wasn’t even looking at her. Instead, he inspected the feather in his hand, staring at it intently.

“I’m a half-breed Seraph bastard,” she said. A knot in her chest tightened. She’d never actually said the words out loud before. The wind ripped them from her lips and danced away with them before she could call them back.

“This feather,” he said quietly, “was not from today. I found it in the Westmouth prison cell.” His eyebeams shifted from the feather to her face. He showed no sign of judgment or derision. He was just . . . Bones.

The tightness in her chest loosened slightly. She swallowed past it.

She felt bold, reckless. Bones already knew her secret. The thought that anyone knew, she could say these words to anyone at all, made her throw caution to the wind. “Every Seraph half-breed in recorded history has died suddenly on their twentieth birthday, assuming they did not die before that.” She said. Another thing she’d never said out loud.

“You . . . you are going to die?” asked Bones, eyes flashing a vivid yellow. She’d startled him.

“My birthday is in seven months,” she said. She took a deep breath, her fists knotting in the fabric of his trench coat. “I am going to die in seven months.”

(There was no poll at the end of this installment)

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 one 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?”

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.”

Blog Update

Ugh. Argh. Arglebargle.

Malware is gone (finally).

I’m still dealing with some of the fallout. The domain that is my actual name is still marked as malware even though it is clean. (I can’t even type it here or this site might get flagged for linking to THAT site).

A hundred thousand billion thanks to Brad-O, who dedicated an evening of (hopefully delightfully drunken) debugging to fix the issue.

Are you Infected?

ALL OF YOU SHOULD BE FINE.

I repeat, all of you should be fine. There were iframes that linked to bad content that had been injected into my code, but it shouldn’t have done anything to you.

Please run virus scans or whatever else might doublecheck your systems, just to be sure. I’m not saying don’t be smart about it.

I’m just saying please don’t worry. It’s highly unlikely that anyone got infected from my site. And it’s EXTREMELY unlikely that I’ll get infected again. Brad-O installed some pretty hefty security software and I’ve been blocking IP addresses that have been hammering at my newly-secured admin accounts.

Why does the site look so funny?

Well, that’s because it was my theme that was infected. All those custom changes I made so that it looked better than it had out of the box? Poof. Gone. They weren’t the cause of the issue, but since I didn’t properly create a child theme when I made the changes, upgrading the theme removed all my pretties.

That being said, rather than try to fix this theme, I think I’m going to go off the rails and make my own theme.

I’m tired of tweaking other people’s stuff to try and suit myself. Especially when stuff like THIS happens and makes me doubt the safety of those themes.

It’s going to Look Weirder Before it Gets Better

I am going to be activating my new theme as soon as it’s reached the “barely usable” stage.

Then I’m going to chip away at improving it till I am pleased with it. I do have an end-game in mind, and a few nights of solid coding should get it pretty far along that path, but it’s easier to do those tweaks if the site is already using the theme I’m testing.

 

P.S. This really sucked

I don’t know why this has become a thing, but I’m not completely useless when it comes to coding and wordpress, but I would not have been able to fix this without Brad-O’s help. The WordPress community seemed to take a very nose-in-the-air “if you can’t fix this, you shouldn’t be using wordpress” mentality, with lots of links to helpful articles that suggested I “find the problem and fix it.”

My web host let me know in no uncertain terms that “code” problems are not their problem and I should get “my webmaster” to fix the problem for me.

As many of you know, I was on the verge of just nuking the site. No more blog. Years of content destroyed.

All because my little insignificant site came up on someone’s brute force hacking list.

Not that the hackers will ever read this and feel any sympathy towards us small-time self-hosters, but I was very disappointed at the tools I could find to try and solve my own problem.

… but it did have its upside

I am very very proud to have friends (not just Brad-O! but I don’t want to out someone who might prefer to remain anonymous) who took my hands, talked me down from the ledge, and did their damnedest to help me get back online.

You guys are amazing.

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.”

3. Tea Party

Hank woke slowly. His tongue felt like it was wrapped in cotton and his stomach burned worse than the time he’d tried the Four-Eye Monongahela at that dresl bar and woke up naked and alone in the middle of the desert.

“I’m sorry, Miss Gates, but I disagree. A power loop such as the one you’re proposing would severely impact the reliability of the machine. The moment you turned it on, you’d short out every fuse in the chassis.”

Serena, talking. He should be mad at Serena. Why was that, again? He couldn’t remember. And who was she talking to?

“That may be true, but the device absolutely must be portable. The configuration you recommended, while stable, would be so cumbersome as to require the use of its own ship. Triangulation is key. If I cannot carry it upon my person, it is useless to me. The feedback loop is unstable, but it quintuples the amount of available spark.”

That was Remora. Why was Serena calling her Miss Gates? Slow and labored, his thoughts blundered through his head like ponderous beasts.

“At the cost of too much stability, I say. I admit, using the Law of Similarities like this is clever, but it does you no good if the thing explodes in your pocket.”

That did indeed sound like something Remora would make.

A short burst of high-pitched peeping and chattering interjected. A moment later, a mechanical voice began, clearly translating the animal-like chittering. “You’re both idiots. Ground the device. Bleed the excess spark through the earth itself.”

Now Hank didn’t want to open his eyes. A shonfra. He hated shonfra. Untrustworthy little fiends.

“Montgomery, you’re a genius!” cried Remora. “I can add a retractable tripod and grounding rod. If I install a two-way master-slave shunt for the power, I can loop as much energy through it as I like!”

“Until the core overheats and it explodes, of course,” said Serena.

Chittering, followed by the mechanical voice, “I find it amazing you Grounders manage to accomplish anything at all, if you think as slowly as you speak.”

Really, really hated shonfra. Bad enough when you couldn’t understand what they said. Worse when you realized just how pompous the little beasties were.

“I’ve got most of the parts on your list in stock. Tell you what, I’ll give ’em to you at a discount, on account of my poisoning your captain and all.”

Hank’s head throbbed. Oh, right. That was why he was mad at Serena.

“Oh, don’t be so hard on yourself,” said Remora. “It was really more of a drugging than a poisoning.”

That was more than enough of that. Hank growled and rose to his feet.

Or at least, that’s what he tried to do. His growl sounded more like a gurgle, and in his attempt to stand, he managed only to peel his torso away from the counter and fall to the floor.

Wincing, he tried to focus his eyes. Just what had that traitorous woman given him? He couldn’t feel his legs at all, though his shoulder wound had blossomed into lively shards of pain upon impact with the floor.

“Oh, do be careful, McCoy! You’ve almost landed in the blood pool, and that would stain terribly.”

Blood?

His eyes widened. Less than three feet away, a corpse stared back at him through a ruined face.

In what he thought was a remarkably calm voice, he asked, “Why is there a corpse on the floor?”

Remora explained with imperfect grace, “Really now, where else would we put it? Nobody wants to touch it.”

Carefully, he lifted his head and looked back to the counter. The tiny red-headed girl who was rapidly becoming his least favorite person alive frowned crossly back at him. Jinn, the Shinra whose brother had gotten him into so much trouble that he’d needed Remora’s money in the first place, stood behind her. Serena, the woman who had just poisoned him, gave him a friendly wave. A flying machine the size of his head hovered over the counter, its tiny, vibrant-skinned shonfra pilot chittering at him.

To top things off, judging from the dainty kettle and matching set of delicate cups spread between them, it appeared that they were having tea. Wasn’t that just splendid?

A tiny red light on the front of the shonfra’s ship flickered and shifted to green as the shonfra stopped chittering. The mechanical voice said, “I’m not at all certain I want to work for a captain this inept.”

“Why can’t I feel my legs?” he asked, ignoring the shonfra for now.

Serena answered, “Ah, that’d be the backup drug. It’s a two-part system. The drug that knocks you out floats on top of the alcohol, but it doesn’t last very long. The second drug gives short-term paralysis below the waist. As long as I offer the first drink to the person I want to drug, we can both drink from the same bottle and I’m unaffected.”

Remora clapped. “Oh, that’s quite clever, using your handicap to your advantage. Speaking of which, your chair is truly a marvel. I trust you built it yourself?”

Serena beamed. “Yes, though the design has gone through many revisions since my first prototype. I’ve been thinking about replacing the wheels with a hover system, to make it easier for—”

Hank cleared his throat. “I hate to interrupt this charming little discussion, but would someone please help me get into a chair and explain what is going on here?”

“Jinn, do please help him to a chair.” Remora said.

Jinn’s red eyes blinked once, like distant fires snuffed out on a moonless night. Immediately, Hank regretted asking for help.

“As you wish, Miss Gates” Jinn said, flashing Hank a warning look at Serena couldn’t see. So Jinn was calling Remora “Miss Gates,” too? Obviously, Hank was expected to do the same. He resolved to ask her about that when they got back to the ship.

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?”

2. New Opportunities

Remora marveled at the thick carpet of dust dulling the edges of the Rusted Spark’s products. It took years of neglect to accumulate this much build-up. What sort of cogsmithing shop took such poor care of its goods? The glass storefront had been so covered in grime that she’d barely been able to make out the vague shapes of shelving units inside.

Jinn followed her with unexpected grace for such a large man, weaving his way through the overloaded shelves, red eyes alert for danger.

Aside from the imminent possibility of a dust avalanche, Remora didn’t expect any danger. No one knew she was here. To be more specific, no one knew that Lady Remora Windgates Price was here. Remora Gates, head of the Gates Foundation, however? She could walk the city streets freely. Remora had set up the alias months ago. She couldn’t remember the last time she had felt so unencumbered, free of the weight of the prestigious Price surname.

Still, she had hired Jinn to be her bodyguard. She could hardly ask him to stay back on the ship while she gallivanted down pirate city streets, shopping for cog­smith­ing equipment.

She leaned down to examine a shallow bin of parts. Those couldn’t really be self-sealing stembolts, could they? And there, beside them—was that a jigowatt converter cell? Why would such valuable stock be left loose, as if they were no more precious than peanuts or teabags?

“Excuse me, but we’re closed.” A woman’s voice, raised.

Remora reached a hand into the bin, pulling out a stembolt to peer at critically. “Your sign said you were open,” she remarked without turning.

“I haven’t had time to turn off the sign yet. I’m going to have to ask you to leave now.”

“Don’t worry about her, Serena.” A familiar voice, deep and a little rough around the edges. Remora’s heart sank and she spun, clutching the grimy stembolt to her chest.

The captain of the Miraj sat on the near side of the counter, a strange woman frowning at her from the other side. What in the name of the dawnstar was he doing here? Guilty heat flushed her cheeks.

“She’s with me,” Hank admitted, rubbing the bridge of his nose.

Remora frowned. “You needn’t sound so depressed when you say that.”

Hank lifted an eyebrow. “Is that so? Why, it seems like only moments ago that I extracted a promise from you that you would stay aboard the ship. The memory is so crisp and fresh, yet here you are.” Hank paused for effect. “Surely, it must have been a dream.”

Remora coughed, eyes downcast. “Yes, well, I didn’t think you’d be gone this long.” The rough edges of the bolt in her hand reminded her why she was here and she lifted the part triumphantly. “Aha! Had you not demanded I leave all of my trunks at our last departure, I should not find myself in dire need of cogsmithing materials.”

“Ah, so you breaking your promise is my fault, is it?” he asked, lifting an eyebrow.

Her cheeks burned. “Yes.” She bit her lip. “Mostly.” Drat. Why did he have to be in the one cogsmithing shop in all of Terrapin Isle? She’d hoped to complete her business and rejoin the Miraj before he returned, with he none the wiser. Besides, his intent was that she stay out of trouble and his way, right? So, it wasn’t truly breaking a promise if she’d intended to stay as far away from both the captain and trouble as possible, right?

Hank rolled his eyes. “Of course it . . . it . . .” His voice slurred. “I don’t feel . . . right.” Brow furrowed, the turned to the pretty woman seated behind the bar. “Did you . . . is this . . . poison?”

The woman pursed her lips apologetically. “Yes it is.” He reached an unsteady hand to her, and she gave a sad little smile. “Good night, Hank.”

Hank’s eyes rolled back and he fell forward, torso draped across the counter.

Remora winced. That fall was not going to help his injured shoulder.

Remora eyed the counter, noticing the drink and glasses. Had he truly been poisoned as simply as that? Just what sort of captain had she hired?

“I don’t suppose you’d believe this was all just an accident?” the woman asked, raising her hand into view and pointing a full alchemist gun at Remora. Jinn slid smoothly between Remora and the unwavering gun, one hand lowered to the hilt of the weapon at his side.

“Did McCoy owe you money, too?” Remora asked, curious. Just how many enemies did “Handsome” Hank McCoy have? This journey was going to become very tedious indeed if she was required to deal with his debts at every port.

The woman’s lips parted with open confusion and she lowered the gun slightly.

Before she could reply, the storefront window at the front of the shop shattered. A shockingly dirty man waved an alchemist gun at each of them, arm swinging wildly. “Nobody move! McCoy’s coming with me!”

At this considerably more alarming threat, Jinn pushed Remora back so that she stood out of the path of both guns.

So fast that she almost missed it, the Shinra’ere unsheathed his weapon with one upward swing from his hips. The weapon was incredible. She’d never seen anything like it. It might be called a sword based on general design, but in truth it looked like a tall metal C on a stick. A red energy arc sizzled between the two contact points of the C to form the blade. A fat yellow tassel dangled from the end of the knobbed hilt—the same tassel, she now remembered, which typically dangled at Jinn’s side.

“A Tesla sword?” gasped the woman at the counter. Serena, Hank had called her.

The man at the front whirled, gun outstretched. “I said, nobody—”

Jinn dipped the nose of the sword in a threatening gesture and the man lifted his hand to block the move. The same hand, it might be noted, which held the alchemist gun.

Volatile alchemist chamber and energy arc collided and the gun exploded directly in the man’s face. Jinn moved to block her view of the resulting carnage. Averting her eyes, Remora grimaced at the wet sound the man’s body made as it fell to the floor.

“Jinn. That showed undue haste on your part. We did not truly know why the man was here. He said something about McCoy.”

Jinn flicked his wrist and the red energy arc vanished, thrumming sound silenced. “My apologies, Remora. I did not expect him to thrust an explosive chemical into the energy stream.”

Remora stepped forward and patted him on his black-wrapped forearm. “I understand, but I must ask that you be more careful in the future. We mustn’t go around killing people. Some assassin clans are less businesslike than others and take it personally.”

“Understood.”

Remora smiled at him approvingly and the woman at the counter cleared her throat. Remora peered at her, lifting an eyebrow.

The woman’s eyes never left the weapon in Jinn’s hands. “That is an arcblade, isn’t it? Could I . . . could I see it?”

Jinn paused. “I am curious to know how you recognize my sword well enough to name it.”

“I repaired one, years ago. An old Shinra’dor brought it to me. He said it had been his brother’s.” The woman shook her head, voice awed. “I never thought I’d see a Tesla sword in use, and in the hands of a Shinra’ere, no less!”

Jinn dipped his head in a small token of respect. “You must be a talented cogsmith, for him to have come to you. However, I cannot let you handle my arcblade while you yet hold a weapon against my mistress.”

The woman blinked at the gun in her hands as if she’d forgotten she held it. Immediately, she pushed it out of reach, shaking her head. “As if it’d do me any good against a trained Shinra warrior.”

Remora cleared her throat, gesturing at Hank’s prone form. “Please tell me my captain is still alive? I realize he can be irritating, but I do need his services. I am Remora, by the way.” Good heavens, she’d lost all sense of propriety, to have taken so long to introduce herself. Still, she was understandably flustered by strange, dirty man on the floor. He really had chosen an incredibly messy death. Remora herself hoped for something with a touch more elegance when she died. More elegance and less blood, preferably.

“I’m Serena, owner of this shop. Hank’s alive. His bounty is bigger if he’s alive than it is if he’s dead.” She looked wistfully down at Hank. “I don’t suppose I could talk you into letting me keep him?”

“Pleased to meet you, Serena.” Remora gave a polite shake of her head. “I am sorry, but I truly do need Mr. McCoy.” She frowned down at the back of his head, hoping he could feel her disapproval even from his coma. “I did not realize he was a wanted man, though. What is the nature of his bounty?”

Serena waved a hand in a vague and graceful gesture. “He must have stolen something important over at one of the bigger skycities. Bespin, I think it was. They want him pretty bad and weren’t terribly specific on whether or not he needed to be breathing when they got him. Things have been pretty rough here lately, and if Hank’s gotten sloppy enough to get caught in that kind of net, I figured I might as well be the one to profit from it. He’s charming as hell, but a girl’s gotta eat.”

Remora frowned. Perplexing, that McCoy had not mentioned his bounty when he learned that Bespin was their first destination. What had he stolen?

Her eye fell on the muddy boot of the unknown man. “I suppose collecting the bounty was his goal, as well, given that he named McCoy specifically.”

Serena nodded though her eyes were drawn continually to Jinn’s arcblade, as if she found it difficult to concentrate on the discussion.

Remora sighed. “Troublesome.” This situation could easily become detrimental to her goals. She couldn’t very well fight an army of both assassins and would-be bounty hunters every time they visited a port. She had plans.

Certainly, she could afford to pay this Serena person the bounty money, but she could hardly pay off everyone who might wish to collect on him. Besides, spending that much money at once would attract far more attention than she preferred. It might damage her anonymity. Truly, adventuring should not be this . . . inconvenient!

“I believe now would be an appropriate time to say something unladylike,” Remora announced.

1. Old Friends

Hank stepped through the doorway to the Rusted Spark, shaking the collar of his coat to dislodge the rain that had collected during his walk from the docks. He’d already wasted an hour convincing Remora they needed to stop at Terrapin Isle before they made for Bespin and he wanted to be out of port before the rest of this storm hit.

Storm or no, the need for additional crew was non-negotiable. He and Bones could handle some pretty sticky situations by themselves, but Skycity security was an entirely different beast.

The unquestioned market for illegal goods—be it cargo, slaves, substances, or hands unencumbered by troublesome morals—Terrapin Isle stayed out of the law’s eye by virtue of being the single least inhabitable forsaken stretch of land still above water. No plants grew on its surface, it was always raining, and it was easier to find a dagger buried in your back than a friendly smile.

The Rusted Spark looked much he remembered it—shelves overloaded with strange mechanical odds and ends, all blanketed by a thick layer of dust. To official eyes, the Spark was a cogsmithing shop, but Hank wondered if the owner ever had legitimate business that didn’t come and go through the back door.

An oddly familiar object atop a barrel in the corner caught his attention. Curious, he moved closer and pulled away the dusty drop cloth hiding it from view. A ticker head stared back at him through unlit eye sockets, a price tag dangling from its mouth. Grimacing, he replaced the cloth. He had good reason for not inviting Bones with him today. His first mate’s disguise fooled most folks, but never a cogsmith.

“Handsome Hank, you old devil, you!” Hank turned to see the Spark’s owner, a beautiful woman wearing the same colorful scarves she always wore, wave him over to the front counter. “I wouldn’t have believed it was you if I hadn’t seen it with my own eyes! It’s been . . . what? A year? Two? Latest news I’ve heard had you in some kind of scrape with some Goralor in a Skycity. You have any idea how big the price tag is on your carcass?”

Hank grinned. “It’s good to see you, too, Serena.”

She cackled. “Roith’delat am I glad to see your face! How can I help an old friend? Got cargo needs offloading? You know I’m good for it.” A slow, knowing smile spread across her lips. “Or maybe you’re here to fill a different kind of need?”

Hank’s eyes traveled a familiar path down her curves. That was what a real woman should look like: warm, sensual, and inviting. A right shame that she’d lost the use of her legs. Rumor said she’d been a glorious dancer before refusing a spoiled nobleman her bed. He’d had both her knees crushed and tossed her into the sea. She’d washed up here on Terrapin just like everyone else without a future, but she didn’t let the loss of her legs stop her from becoming one of the sharpest minds on the island.

The way she filled out a blouse wasn’t the only thing he found attractive about Serena, though it certainly didn’t hurt. Still, he was here on business. With true regret, he shook his head. “I’m looking for crew, not companionship. Specifically, a talented pilot. Know anyone looking for work?”

Her brows lifted. “A pilot, you say? Must be one hell of a job if you don’t think you can do it yourself.” Her right hand flicked at an embedded ball in the arm of her chair. With a low-pitched whirring sound and a brief puff of steam from the back, her chair moved forward. She steered the chair to a locked cabinet by the front desk. Deftly, she placed her fingers in the slots on the lock and spun her wrist in a swift and complicated gesture to unlock it. She pulled out a pair of snifters and a glass decanter filled with amber liquid.

“Take a seat, have a drink, and tell me what skills you’re looking for. I might have an idea or two,” she said, filling one of the glasses and sliding it across the counter.

Hank sat, taking the drink with a nod of thanks. She filled her own glass and he lifted his to her. “To old friends and new opportunities,” he said.

She laughed, lifting her own glass. “A perfect sentiment!”

Together, they downed their drinks. The liquid burned an unexpectedly warm path down Hank’s throat. He exhaled sharply. “That’s got quite a kick, what is that? New brandy?”

She gave a secretive smile. “I save this for my special guests,” she replied, corking the decanter and setting it down. “So, tell me about this pilot you need. Anything you can tell me to help me narrow down the options? Don’t know if you heard, but Magnus Price died a few weeks back and his brother’s taken over the business on behalf of the old man’s daughter. Set quite a few of our plans off track—the brother’s been doing some restructuring of the guard, and it’ll take some time to get the right bribes into the right hands for business to resume. You’ve got quite a few out-of-work pilots to choose from.” She paused, giving him a sideways glance, “I’m assuming the normal finder’s fee, of course.”

“Of course,” he replied. “I wouldn’t have expected anything less.” He reached into his jacket and dropped a small sack of doubloons on the counter. “Ten gold, up front. I’m in a hurry.”

She glanced at him through lowered lashes, “You’re not in too much of a hurry, I hope.” She licked her lips and he inhaled, smelling her signature scent of copper and honey.

“Never that much of a hurry,” he agreed, grinning wolfishly. What could an extra hour hurt?

“Glad to hear it. But, business first,” she said, clasping her hands together.

He nodded. “Right. At minimum, I need someone trustworthy who has experience in smash and grab jobs, is capable of piloting both air and sea, and who’s no stranger to gunnery. Pay is flat rather than percent of take and the job comes with a six-month contract.” He frowned, thinking of Remora and Jinn. “Oh, and they’ll need to have a bit of self-control. I’ve got some guests on board that aren’t to be trifled with.” He could just imagine some drunken lout grabbing Remora and getting sliced in half by Jinn before they’d even left port. Accidents like that made it so a Captain had a hard time recruiting fresh crewmem­bers.

“Well,” Serena said, fingers steepled. “That’s certainly specific enough. You’ve got me curious about this mission of yours. I’ve never heard of you taking on guests.”

Hank gave her a bland smile. She lifted a brow, then nodded. “Fair enough, that’s no business of mine. I can think of only one pilot that fits the bill, though you’re not going to like it. He’s shonfra.”

Hank’s immediate and somewhat rude response was interrupted by the sound of bells as another customer entered the shop.

“Oh, my, that is quite a lot of dust, isn’t it?” said a painfully familiar voice.

Of course. Could this day get any worse?