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« on: September 14, 2014, 05:00:44 am »
Ah, looking for something to entertain yourself, hm? Perhaps I'll have the remedy for you're stagnant state. I don't like to speak on other's behalf, so my story may have to do. Pull up a chair wanderer, and hear a coward's tale.
~~~~
"Johnathan Likkly, you stand before the court accused of high treason against the Yesha Empire, its people, and its navy." Standing in the midst of what felt like the very center of the world, I had held my cap in a respectful position, as I had long been trained to do. 'Had held' being the opportune words, as once my fines were posted, it instead bounced lightly off of the ground below, the face guard of my captain’s attire rattling within it.
"Tre... Treason?" My posture had failed me, the shock putting me on the defensive. The high counselor sat before and above me in a tall backed and rather imposing chair. The counsel chamber's high stand was as tall as a guillotine, or there about. Each of the counselors' starched and pressed suits looked suffocating in the temperature of the building. Or perhaps it was just me that felt as such.
"For three counts of murder, on behest your crew, two counts of forgery, your falsified reports, and six counts of man slaughter, of the innocent in which you stole your vessel from. Your punishment… is death."
The guardsmen swooped in from both sides, giving me no time to react. They carted me backwards as though I were a patient in a sanitarium. I remember hearing my own voice, yelling out from the walls, crying for retrial, for anything. They sounded more mocking on their return.
--
Two days prior:
The wind was fair on this day, the sun shining over the barren waste of the desert, the wreckage that lay within were scattered throughout, ranging in sizes and shapes. The Goldfish, an admirable but small airborne vessel, in which he had been entrusted, bobbed as the wind rocked it, pushing them slightly off course, as though the course were really what mattered.
"Captain, the dust storm approaches quickly, we should land or take shelter from it before she lands, Sir." The crewman who looked back from the fore-gun was a seasoned veteran, one with an opinion that mattered. The engineer to the aft of the vessel was lesser so.
"I think she'll be fine, we can manage the storm, ‘Cap." Johnathan grimaced beneath his face guard, turning slightly as to better face the engineer who now stood on the stairs leading to the balloon compressor.
"You would do well, Mr. Monroe, to remember your place upon this ship. The Artileriest made a call, in which I agreed. Speak out of turn again, and punishments will be dealt." This was not the first time the engineer had spoken out of turn. It would most likely not be the last, should punishment never come. He was beginning to try Johnathan's patience.
A startled and injured expression crossed the young man's face, but was immediately replaced with a more stern expression. "Aye, Cap'n."
The Goldfish, in which Johnathan had lovingly named 'The Lucky Storm', turned its bow toward the nearest large wreckage, and began to descend. The forward motion of the wind changed slightly, giving the feeling of freedom in which each crew member aboard loved dearly.
"Sir, the engines are beginnin’ to fill with dust, Sir. Best find that spot quickly." The older engineer stood by his engine, mumbling to himself as he always did. When he did speak up, it was wise to listen.
"Understood. Engineers prepare for a fuel burn; we'll be heading to that wreckage on the horizon." It stood at least a mile high into the air, foundation firmly wedged in the sand like a daunting guardian, now little more than bones, to the inhabitants of the wastes. What did remain was intimidating. It spoke of a vessel able to carry thousands, if not millions of people, guns large enough to decimate whole cities. In any case, it now stood as a reminder to something no one could quite remember. These thoughts sauntered through Mr. Likkly's mind, and were violently interrupted by a sudden lurch from his ship.
"Mr. Wong, what appears to be the issue?" The older gentlemen popped his head up beside the hull's armor component, obviously dismayed.
"The engines have given sir, we're not moving any time soon." Dismayed, Johnathan looked about, below lay nothing but sand, but about a hundred yards to the right stood a lonely turbine, one that could offer some shelter.
"Aye! Boys prepare the ropes; we'll walk this ship to that wreckage there and set it down for the time being."
--
Johnathan had left the older engineer in charge of steering his vessel. He was too old for such hard labor as what the other three were now doing. After an hour or more of work, and with great struggle, the ship finally sat in a location they could moor.
"Mr. Wong, lower the ship if you'd be so kind!"
The dust storm had caught them as they were finishing their work, not a moment too soon he supposed. As the ship lowered, it first bobbed off the sand, than began to sink into the soft material, sliding backward and covering the stern deck with a thick layer of sand. The mooring ropes began to swing over the side, and the crew set to work binding the vessel to the turbine, the rusted metal offering only sharp and corroded footings for the rope.
"Right. We'll have to pull a watch to make sure she doesn't get carried off in the night." After a brief explanation of shifts, the crew settled in for a long, and drawn out wait. The storm appeared to be as vast as the very distance they had already covered.
The first shift, and every other shift thereafter, would be Johnathan’s. It wasn't healthy for any one person to be up so much, but his crew had worked hard, and had earned the rest. Of course, it was the captain's job to ensure they were rested, and therefore it fell to him to take the additional shifts, no matter how much they fought it.
--
After his third watch, Mr. Wong had insisted that he take a longer rest, and though he fought, the elderly engineer wouldn't have any of it. So, with disdain, he rested.
And with dread, he awoke to the sight of a pistol to his forehead.
~~~~~~~~~~~
I'm afraid that's all I have within my recollection for now... But, perhaps a shot of... Whatever that dreadful liquid is... Ahem. Perhaps a drink could refresh my memory.
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