[h2]Zoe Spyroe & Mitunbaal Vasiliou[/h2]
[hr]

The steady thrum of the engines was the only noise in the cabins until it was broken by a gentle knock on Mitunbaal's door.  Waiting, politely, on the far side was Zoe Spyrou who, unlike the rest of the the crew who were caught up with more important matters (whether real or perceived), had remembered the other woman's request for a bowl of hot water and a coffee. She had both on a silver tray, a bone china mug to one side, a glass bowl on the other, separated by a neat hand-towel imprinted with the mark of the airline who had operated the Dirigible prior to its recent conversion to a military vessel, "I do apologize for disturbing your rest, Miss Vasiliou," she greeted amiable, "But here are the things you requested.

"You have my gratitude, Miss Spyroe" Mitunbaal replied.  "Please do come in."

Mitunbaal had clearly made herself a little bit more comfortable in the cabin, having taken a spare pillow or two and a second blanket from somewhere else aboard.  A portrait of Pavlos V had also been hung on one of the side walls. Small icons had been set up on the little nightstand beside the bed. A leather bound journal remained centered on the orderly, though now clearly used, writing desk while a lacquered wood-turned pen stood as a lonely sentinel in a little cup. 

Mitunbaal herself sat up in a light set of sleeping clothes. Her long black hair, usually kept tight under her headscarves, currently hung messily behind her shoulder.

Mitunbaal hid a yawn as moved to sit onto the side of the bed and gestured for Zoe to join her. "I imagine you have more than a few questions for me now, no?"

Zoe set the tray down carefully on the writing desk, her eyes flicking curiously around the icons, "I do have one or two questions," she confessed, though she didn't lead with one, "You know, there's stories one of my ancestors was gifted, though I've always been a bit skeptical about it.  Sometimes there is a grain of truth behind these stories.  At other times the stories are pure fabrications to allow a family patriarch to feel important.  Set it back a few generations and nobody knows!" she declared before adding, "You know Mister Carter and some of the others will probably want to leave and go running back to the Main as soon as they can. He'd want to take the ship no doubt, but that might be a bit difficult if we're putting down in Mitteland."

She didn't explain that.  She didn't need to.  The Mittelanders were allies of the Empire and were very unlikely to allow someone to waltz off with Imperial property, "Anyway," Zoe continued, "I have resolved not to flee.  Even though I am nobody of any particular importance in the grand scheme of things, I still have a part I can play," she paused for a moment before declaring,  "Getting a portion of the gold out of Calarian hands was my patriotic duty and I'm worried if I do half the things in my head, that I'll end up encountering people who really don't like me very much. Would you consider allowing me to hire you to act as my healer? "

"And what exactly are you planning to do, Miss Spyroe," Mitunbaal asked quietly. The Shariq looked over to Zoe with a mixture of surprise and genuine interest in the proposal.  "Someone of little importance usually doesn't need to keep a blessed healer on retainer. We are both patriots," she gestured to the portrait hanging to the wall. "I have no interest in losing one of my people's homes yet again, and I would surely find out once an agreement has been struck?"

"Oh I think I recognise that one," Zoe stood up to inspect one of the icons, carefully picking it up, "Pretty, wasn't she?" she remarked, turning it to Mitunbaal before setting it down again carefully, "With this ship and this gold, we have the potential to save the Empire... or destroy it.  I don't have everything planned out yet, but the first step is to make sure we have a like minded crew aboard."

"Andronika the Restorer. It's a face I have seen a lot of recently," Mitunbaal commented as she watched Zoe carefully. "The elgan cavalier served her as well. He's a fellow patriot and has been an interesting conversationalist so far, when he is so gracious as to entertain it." 

"Did he?" Zoe looked impressed, "That must make for a fine conversation.  I will have to convince him to invite me for dinner," she smiled brightly, "I'm not asking for an answer to my offer now.  Though I'd ask you to give it some consideration.  There will be a reckoning of sorts, when we land in Mitteland.  That country shaped the destiny of the continent once before.  Perhaps it will again."  She paused for a moment, before asking, "What is it like?"  there was another pause as she reached across for the coffee she had brought, passing it across to Mitunbaal, "The gift that is.  I think I'd be scared of it.  I don't think I could handle the weight of responsibility it carries.  Of needing to choose who lives and who dies."

"It is a blessing beyond all others, it be chosen by God in such away, though it's often a curse," Mitunbaal answered. She eagerly took the coffee from Zoe. The warm mug brought life to her now pale finger-tips, providing respite from the unpleasant, tingling numbness in her hands.  "I've endeavored to keep the gift secret the best I can. For concerns of my own safety, you see, not out of selfishness. The atheists or the anarchists, who have become so fashionable in certain circles these days, would likely kill or reject that which they deny.  Let alone organized criminals, who would commit unthinkable sins and extort me to lend aid until I bled white? Providence's blessing were vital in my travels in the rough country of Xaq-Shariq, the blight still lingers in some forgotten corners of my people's homeland."

"On a different level, I think I understand why you would want to keep it a secret," Zoe nodded emphatically, "Your gift makes you valuable to certain people and the value they apply to you motivates the unscrupulous and the greedy, some of whom we have on this ships."

"Indeed they are," Mitunbaal added after she took a long sip of the coffee. "I pray their greed is not our downfall, but I am capable of defending myself should the need arise."

"I am... not really," Zoe confessed with a shrug, "But Mitteland should change the equation."