[h3][b]James E. Carter & Aden Robertson[/b][/h3]
[i]Co-write between [@InfamousGuy101] & [@Terrans][/i]
[hr]
Carter had drifted down the corridor with the low hum of the engines filling the quiet. The laughter and clinking glasses of the party faded to a faint echo behind him, replaced by the steady pulse of the ship. Maybe it was the drink getting to his nerves, the noise, or maybe it was the unease still gnawing in the back of his mind, but his steps had carried him further than he’d meant to go. Past the cabins, past the lower stairwell, down toward the hold.

He stopped at the last turn, the air was cooler here, behind the sealed door lay the crates of gold, every ounce of promise and trouble they’d dragged out of that castle. His fingers brushed the latch, hovering there as his thoughts turned. He could almost see the bars stacked in the dim light, each a possibility of new life. He recoiled then, turning around and ready to head back. 

Then a faint sound broke the stillness, metal shifting, or maybe the thumping of a boot against the deck. Someone was in there. Carter straightened, the fog of drink thinning in an instant as his hand slid to the door handle, pushing it open just enough to slip through.

The hinges creaked faintly as he stepped into the hold, eyes adjusting to the lamp glows spilling over stacked crates. And there stood Private Aden, half-turned, the faint glow of a cigar in his hand, and his other hand near his holster.

Aden’s hand brushed the grip of the Krausser. The slightly worn metal and wood a second away from drawing. 

Recognition and sense however took hold; the scout letting his hand fall away and sticking his cigar back in his mouth. 

“Carter.” A few puffs as he eyed the captain.” What brings you down here? Away from the revelry you started?”

Carter’s gaze flicked briefly to the pistol at Aden’s side before settling back on the man’s face. He gave a small, easy shrug.

“Could ask you the same, Private. Though I figure you came down here to clear your head some. Can’t blame you for that.”

For a beat he went quiet, thumb brushing the edge of his belt before he spoke again.

“Listen,” he said, his tone softer, “about earlier with the toast. Didn’t mean to put you on edge if I did. Just words to pass the glass, that’s all.”

“Just words….” Aden let out a scoff. Gaze flicking from Carter to the gold.  “Just like this is just metal right?”

Carter gave a low scoff of his own.

“Maybe,” he said casually, “Words only carry as much weight as what a man does with ’em. I got called a war hero back home, got medals, parades, speeches about sacrifice and honor. All hollow as tin when you know what it really cost.”

He took a few steps closer, his eyes moved past Aden’s to the open crate. The gleam of the bars reflecting in his gaze.

“Funny thing, though,” he murmured, half to himself, “men would bleed, kill, and build empires over it. But like you said, it’s just metal. Doesn’t feed a man, doesn’t keep him warm. Yet here we are, guarding it like it’s holy.”

He let the thought hang, then he seemed to wake himself up from his own thoughts as he looked back to Aden, "Any thoughts of what you'd do with your share?"

“Share?” Aden sounded surprised. “I’m a private of the Empire that owns this gold. Most likely I will exit this ship and be either charged for desertion or given orders for the front. Wherever it might lay.”

“Can’t fault you for duty, Private. World’d be a steadier place if more men kept to theirs.”

He glanced again at the gold, “Still, let’s not sell ourselves short. That pile there didn’t just haul itself out of the castle. If it weren’t for you and the others on this ship, it’d be melted down into bullets or sitting in some Communalist vault by now. That’s worth something, hell, if there’s any justice left in this world, it ought to count for more than a pat on the back and new orders.”

He leaned against a crate, “Don’t see you getting hauled up for desertion either. When I was in the city, most soldiers either bolted or switched sides soon as the tide turned. You stuck it out and are still here. That says more than any uniform ever could.”

Carter then made a snall shrug as his eyes moved to a longing distance, the faintest grin returning, “As for me… I’m no hero. Just a man trying to make right what’s gone wrong. Gold like this, my share of it at least, means putting food on the tables of the families my crew left behind and getting a fresh start of my own. New ship, clean slate, it's truly a breathtaking thought.”

“What’s your plan to get back? I don’t see you being able to buy an air ship so soon after disembarking.” Aden replaced the lid of the crate. Giving it a few shoves to ensure it seated properly.

Carter went quiet, his eyes tracing the lines of the cargo bay in thought.

“Fair question,” he said at last, “But that’s my business to sort once we’re on solid ground. All I want is my finder’s fee and I’ll see to the rest myself. Commonwealth’s got an embassy in Mitteland, and if not, there’s always someone who’ll trade coin for passage.”

He pushed off the crate, brushing a bit of dust from his sleeve. “This isn’t my war, never was. I plan to keep it that way once we land. As charming as some folk on this ship can be…” he smirked faintly, “while others make a man remember why he prefers the sky.”

“Well you’ll be carrying a small fortune in gold.” Aden redid a latch. “Mighty tempting for whoever takes such passage. Especially with the times of today.”

Carter grinned slightly as he tapped the worn grip of his holstered Harlan .45 with the flat of his palm.

“Tempting, sure,” he said humoringly, "but I don’t carry this 45. for show.”

"Anyone keen to try their luck’ll find out quick I’ve got a stronger sense of ownership than they do of self-preservation, speaking of which... what's that there you carry?”

Aden glanced down slightly to his pistol. 

“Krausser P-15.” Aden said unapparent the leather. Pulling the pistol out with a gunslingers twirl; a slight from in his face. A click as the magazine dropped out and the round chambered falling out to Aden’s free hand. 

“Replaced my revolver a few months before the war.” 

The pistol held butt first to Carter.

Carter took the offered pistol with a faint raise of his brow, it felt lightweight settling into his grip. He turned it over once, studying the shape. Slanted grip, tight precision at its lines, sharp knurling at the grip and the barrel stood out from the plate, a peculiar choice.

“Krausser huh,” he echoed, giving an appreciative nod, “Fine piece of work. Smooth balance, good weight for a sidearm…” he nodded to Aden’s earlier twirl, “Seen men lose fingers tryin’ half that trick of yours too.”

With that, Carter reached for his own worn holster, drawing the Harlan .45 with a smooth motion. The metal caught the light, scuffed but well kept. Holding Aden’s pistol in one hand, he deftly thumbed the mag release and cleared the chamber on his own with the same thumb, the motion crisp and unhurried, he had done it countless of times.

“Had this one since my army days,” he said, offering it to Aden grip first as well, “Swapped in a heavier recoil spring to keep her steady on the second shot, and filed the trigger catch for a cleaner pull. Old girl’s never jammed on me yet.”

Aden took the pistol. Giving it another gunslinger twirl and aiming it an imaginary foe on the bulkhead. 

“Too much heft for me.” A test fire caused his brow to wrinkle. “Single Action?”

“Yep, she’s a big girl,” Carter admitted, “Single action indeed, the slide hammer cocks back on the follow-through though. Takes a bit of getting used to if you’re used to lighter pieces, but it gives you consistency. You can feel every shot and eventually control the kick and keep her steady.”

A hint of pride crept into his tone as he added, “Best of both worlds, if you ask me. Kicks like a mule but ain't nothing getting back up from what comes out the barrel.”

Aden thought back to the few times he had used his pistol. The desperation for the draw; the hasty jerking of the holster. 

“Prefer just pulling the trigger.” Aden passed the pistol back. Both men ending up with their respective sidearms. “Besides I prefer hitting them long before I would have to use my pistol.”

Carter let out a quiet chuckle as he took the pistol back, loading it and sliding it neatly into its holster.

“Fair enough,” he conceded, “Can’t argue with a man who likes to keep his distance. Still, this is what the boys back in the Main swear by and it works for us, so I stick with it, simple as that.”

“Though now that I’m a rich man, or soon to be, maybe I’ll treat myself to somethin’ finer. Always wanted to see what the fuss was about the Equaterra hunting rifles, figure if I’m ever gonna hunt again, might as well do it proper.”

“Don’t think I’ll take up hunting.” Aden replied. Hand touching the pocket his notebook was stowed in. Among his journal entries and sketches was his shot log. Clean mathematical calculations of his shots taken. 

And shots hit. 

“Spilled enough blood so far. Don’t see any sign of it letting up soon.” Aden gave a sigh and another puff of the cigar. “Killed a lot of people for Inbur. And I’m not even Inburian. What a world.”

Carter’s expression softened, his posture easing as he leaned a little against the crate beside him. 

“Yeah,” he said quietly, “I get that.”

He rubbed his thumb along the ridge of his nose, “Did my time for the Commonwealth. They called me a hero too...  pinned a few bits of tin on my chest, threw parades, speeches, all because I dropped bombs on a city full of civilians...” He gave a long silent stare for a moment then a humorless smile, “Never felt like one, not once. I didn't come out of a war with pride, just a longer list of ghosts and things I wish I'd done different.”

His gaze shifted to Aden, "So yeah... What a world."