InfamousGuy101

Empire of the Clouds

James E. Carter

Carter kept his head slightly down, the streets felt longer than they should've been, his wet jacket slung over his good arm, he finished the last bite of the sandwich as he walked. Pork and mustard, he couldn’t complain, he’d been colder and hungrier before.

He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and kept moving.

The directions the fishermen gave him were simple enough. Straight up then park with the kiosk, Foreign Quarter to the left. He repeated it in his head while his boots slapped the stone streets.

It didn’t take long before he realized how badly he stood out. His clothes were damped, dried blood stained his arm despite the rag. The people here wore pressed coats and polished shoes, women carried parasols and men walked with canes they did not need. All the while he wore a blood stained white shirt while dragging a similarly stained blue jacket with him, not the best look.

A couple paused mid-conversation to stare at him, one woman drew her child slightly closer.

Carter didn’t break stride however, he reached the park a few minutes later.

It was clean, with timmed hedges and a fountain at the center, large kiosk adorned the edge surrounded by iron benches. There was a bandstand further in and families moved lazily through the pathways.

And there, exactly where the fishermen had said, a sign posted sidewats facing the road against the main park entrance, it read Foreign Quarter.

Before he pressed on he noticed two policemen standing directly across the street from the parks entrance, their caps low as the pair watched traffic without appearing to.

Near them, a candy vendor worked a bright spinning machine. Cotton strands building into pink clouds on paper cones. Several well-dressed children waited in a neat line, their parents hovering close.

Carter crept out of sight at that moment into a corner.

He began thinking things our. Cross there and he’d be seen, the cops were close enough to notice him. The kids would point, parents would shout and he'd be caught. The park was too open.

He turned away casually and slipped into a narrow alley less than a block away from the park.

Five boys stood there, older than the children by the candy stand. Their clothes were patched and their faces grimy. One of them shook dice in his palm over a crate.

They spotted Carter immediately, two of them stiffened like they might bolt.

“Hold it,” Carter said quickly, raising a hand.

They hesitated.

“I’m not here for you.”

One of them narrowed his eyes, noticing the man's holster and bandaged arm, “Then what are you here for mister?”

Carter jerked his head toward the corner, “See those two officers?”

The boys exchanged glances.

“I need them busy.”

Suspicion deepened.

“And why would we help you?”

Carter dug into his pocket with his good hand and pulled out a handful of coins.

“Ten coppers each,” he said, “You cause a distraction and get them running.”

The boy holding the dice tilted his head.

“Twenty.”

Carter stared at him as if baffled, he had very little choices left.

“Twenty..." the boy repeated, calm.

Carter exhaled through his nose.

“Fine.”

He counted out the coins carefully. His hands weren’t steady, but he made it work. The boys watched the money more than they watched him.

When he handed it over, their mood shifted instantly.

One grinned.

“Watch this.”

They ran past him.

The boys burst from the alley like a pack of feral dogs. Two ran directly past the officers, shouting nonsense. Three veered straight for the candy machine.

One shoved it hard.

The spinning bowl tipped and sugar exploded outward. The vendor shouted in outrage as pink strands collapsed to the pavement.

Two boys grabbed handfuls of cotton candy and ran.

The officers reacted immediately, one swearing loudly as they chased after the fleeing kids.

"Halt, halt at once!" One blurted while another sounded a whistle loudly.

Within seconds the corner was chaos.

Parents shouting in upload, the vendor yelling in frustration and children crying. The policemen sprinting after the boys down the street.

The crossing stood momentarily clear and Carter stepped out of the alley.

“Money well spent,” he muttered.

He crossed at a fast walk that turned into a jog once he reached the far curb. He didn’t look back, cutting left rapidly and following the road toward the diplomatic quarter. As he moved he noticed blood pouring through his bandage, a few drops of blood stained the ground beneath him.

The buildings grew taller ahead as he adjusted the rag on his arm and kept moving.

---

Itzi Ku

The Langford rolled slowly around the diplomatic quarter, engine humming low.

Itzi watched every passerby.

After a moment she glanced at Ambassador Crane.

“You said diplomatic channels are slow,” she said, “What does that actually mean?”

Crane did not answer immediately. He tapped ash from his cigarette out the window.

“It means,” he said evenly, “that Mitteland is presently preoccupied with the war brushing against its own borders. An airship incident involving foreign nationals is… inconvenient, but not urgent, unless the Inburians make it urgent.”

He shifted slightly in his seat.

“Speaking of Inbur,” he continued, “they're not especially inclined toward cooperation.”

“Because?” Itzi asked.

“Because we have not been especially accommodating to them of late,” Crane replied evenly, “The war has not been kind to Commonwealth investments. Evig had contracts in Inbur; shipping, rail extensions, warehouse financing. Some of that capital has… evaporated.”

The car turned another corner.

“When losses accumulate,” he continued, “creditors become attentive. There have been discussions about repayment schedules, deferred obligations. Inbur’s government does not particularly enjoy being reminded of such matters.”

Itzi frowned faintly, “So it’s money, you're demanding money while they're at war.”

Crane raised an eyebrow, "The Commonwealth’s firms operate abroad on the assumption that agreements survive political turbulence so when they do not, confidence erodes. And when confidence erodes, so does future investment.”

He gestured with his hands as of giving a lecture, he pretty much was.

“We trade with the Old Continent. Our firms insure shipments, finance ports, build engines but we are not obligated to underwrite every war that disrupts a balance sheet.”

“So you stand by and watch?” Itzi asked.

“We observe,” Crane said calmly, “And we safeguard our nationals and our interests where prudence calla for it.”

Crane glanced at her, “The Commonwealth’s first responsibility is to its own stability. Prosperity at home requires predictable routes, reliable partners, and markets that do not erupt into artillery fire.”

He continued.

“The Evig Trading Company,” he added, “employs tens of thousands of our citizens. Its ships, its rail contracts, its banking arms, they form the backbone of our export economy. When the Old Continent destabilizes, shipping rates spike, insurers panic, capital hesitates and that ripples back home faster than most voters realize.”

Itzi studied him, “So you’re protecting trade.”

“We are protecting continuity,” Crane said. “War between Inbur and Calaria disrupts more than borders. It interrupts contracts, it freezes port and makes every shipment a gamble, I'm sure the company you worked with likely had Evig capital sponsoring it, now lost to a pointless war.”

He paused, choosing his words, "When firms of that scale begin expressing concern, it informs policy discussions.”

The car slowed briefly at a crossing.

“The ideal outcome,” Crane continued, “is that this conflict burns itself out quickly. A contained war with limited escalation. Trade then resumes and there's no entanglements.”

“And if it doesn’t?” Itzi asked.

“Then we'll do what we must to secure our interests and pull them out, as I said, no entanglements.”

He leaned back.

“We have no desire to be drawn into another continent's war. Tensions with the Confederacy are tense as is..."

“And what if the Confederacy joins the war?” Itzi pressed.

Crane scoffed, “They know better than to try that, we nearly wiped them out in the last war."

“That's not what I heard...” Itzi said with a dismissive frown, the ambassador raised an eyebrow.

The Langford rolled forward again.

“Be that as it may,” he concluded calmly, “we're ready, and for now our priority is securing our citizens and their interests, that includes Mr. Carter.”

Itzi turned back to the window, scanning every face that passed as the car continued its circuit.

Empire of the Clouds

Itzi Ku

Ambassador Crane was already moving by the time Itzi caught up to him in the corridor and shrugged into a dark overcoat as they walked, adjusting the cuffs with ease. A staff attendant stepped forward and without explanation, handed Itzi a plain white coat.

“For you,” Crane said over his shoulder, “Best not to stand out.”

She stared at it, “From what?”

“From yourself,” he replied mildly and continued on.

That did not answer the question. She thought in annoyance. Still, she slipped it on, the fabric felt smooth and clean, it felt strange over her oily damp clothes.

They descended a narrow stairwell at the rear of the embassy and emerged into a compact garage. Two automobiles waited there. They bored lacquered bodies with brass lamps and narrow wheels. One was adorned with small polished emblems near the grill and carried itself with obvious diplomatic pride. The other was darker and stripped entirely of embellishment, less noticeable.

Itzi stopped for half a second to admire the two vehicles. Crane noticed.

“Langford touring cars,” he said with fondness edging on pride, “Early models... I like 'em better. Acquiring them required a great deal of patience. Fortunately, the Evig Company appreciates discretion.”

“You have two,” she said.

“One for being seen,” he replied, nodding toward the polished one then gestured to the darker one, “And one for not.”

Before she could respond, the garage door creaked open behind them. The same corporal who had stood silent at the library stepped in, now without his blues but rather in a simple dark suit, sleeves rolled slightly.

He looked different out of uniform, but Itzi recognized him immediately.

“Alright,” she said, irritation surfacing again, “What is going on?”

“Diplomatic channels are slow,” Crane wasted no time, “And Mr. Carter’s situation is deteriorating by the minute. If he is injured and moving through the city alone, he is vulnerable. Our best chance is to locate him before local authorities do.”

“You’re going after him?” she puzzled.

“We are going to attempt to intercept him,” Crane corrected, “The corporal knows the city exceptionally well.”

The corporal gave a small nod but said nothing.

“Time is the deciding factor,” Crane continued. “If we move quickly, we may prevent this from becoming… complicated.”

Itzi did not argue. The corporal opened the rear door of the darker Langford and Crane gestured for her to enter first. She slid into the back seat, scanning the garage entrance as if Carter might stumble through it.

Crane followed as the corporal closed the door behind him and took the driver’s position, cranking the engine and the vehicle rattled to life.

Moments later the rear garage doors opened and the automobile rolled out into the narrow service alley behind the embassy, turning toward the broader streets.

Inside the car, Crane settled back against the leather seat.

“You are far from Hunya,” he observed.

She glanced at him but kept her attention on the passing streets.

“How did such a determined young woman end up here?” he asked.

Itzi hesitated, then answered plainly.

“I grew up on a farm outside the capital. Big family. Not much schooling. We worked from when we could walk.” She shrugged lightly, “It wasn’t bad... Just too small for me.”

"And I suppose you preferred to venture out into a larger world?" Crane inquired.

“My parents didn’t like it,” she said, “But they liked the idea of money coming back home.”

"I convinced an air captain to take me on despite not being able to read at the time. I kept sending wages home and returned when I could.

Crane listened without interruption.

“I was in Inbur when the Calarians shelled the port,” she finished. “Warehouse next to our ship went up. I wasn’t aboard...”

She kept an empty gaze for a second, Crane noticed.

“And the gold?” the ambassador prompted.

She exhaled lightly, “Wrong place, rght time, or the other way around maybe. We helped move it, we fought to protect it. Now everyone wants it nd Carter thinks promises won’t be kept.”

Her eyes shifted to the streets again.

“He’s not wrong to be angry, but he isn't the smartest...” she added quietly.

Crane studied her profile for a moment, then seemed to reconsider whatever remark he had been preparing.

He tapped lightly on the driver's seat, “Circle the quarter first,” he instructed the corporal, “Then widen out.”

The corporal acknowledged with a brief nod, adjusting the wheel as the Langford turned down another street.

Crane retrieved a slim cigarette case from his pocket, opened it, and lit one.

The smoke curled through the cabin as he spoke again, tone more resigned than before.

“We are now operating on minutes,” he said. “If Mr. Carter is thinking clearly, he will head toward us. If he is not…”

He let the thought hang.

Itzi leaned forward slightly, eyes fixed ahead as if she could will Carter into view.

“He’ll head here,” she said.

The car rolled steadily through the city streets, blending into the traffic.

Empire of the Clouds

James E. Carter

The stone maintenance platform along the embankment was narrow, damp, and stained green in places from years of algae accumulation. Two older Mitteland fishermen stood near the railing with their lines cast out, buckets beside them, boots planted carefully on the slick surface. This had been their go to spot for years, ever since being kids, many things had changed since then but this platform remained virtually untouched. A small pillar to remind them of better times.

“You hear about the Calarians?” one of them asked, adjusting his cap, “Word is they pushed through another front...”

The other shrugged without looking up from his reel, “They’ve been ‘pushing through’ for weeks now. Doesn’t mean we’re marching tomorrow.”

“If Inbur folds entirely, we won’t have much choice.”

“We always have a choice. Whether anyone asks us is another matter.”

The first man snorted softly and spat into the river.

Their lines drifted in silence for a few seconds before something disrupted the current near the wall. At first it looked like debris, maybe a sack or broken crate. Then it moved wrong.

“Hold on,” the second fisherman muttered, leaning closer, “That’s a man.”

The figure moved closer and a hand slapped against the stone edge, followed by another. The soaked figure dragged himself up onto the platform, coughing hard and collapsing onto one knee.

The two fishermen moved without hesitation.

“Easy there boy,” one said, grabbing the man under the arm, “Don’t fall back in.”

They hauled him upright and eased him against the embankment wall. Up close, they could see blood mixing with the trail of water beneath him, it was also running off his clothes.

“By the Dawnbringer,” the first man muttered, “You’ve been shot.”

Carter didn’t answer immediately. He pulled off his wet jacket with a stiff groan, revealing the graze along his upper left arm still leaking red. It wasn’t deep, but it hadn’t stopped bleeding either.

The second fisherman closed in to examine it with a squint, "Few inches either way and you’d have had real trouble. You’re one lucky kerl.”

“Luck’s not the word I'd use,” Carter muttered, his Mainer accent stood out immediately.

The first man noticed the pistol still holstered at the man side but didn’t comment directly. Instead, he began tearing a strip from a clean rag in his satchel.

“You want to explain what kind of trouble drops a man into the river bleeding?” he asked while pressing the cloth gently against the wound.

Carter gave a dry breath that might have been a laugh, “The kind you don’t stick around for.”

The fishermen exchanged a look but didn’t press further. The rag was wrapped tight enough to help slow the bleeding.

“You need a doctor,” the second man said.

“I need directions,” Carter replied, “Ardellian embassy.”

That got a pause, but then the first fisherman nodded slowly. “Once you’re up top, head away straight up the street, then may a left at Saddenter park, the one with the big kiosk. The foreign quarter's up that road. Blue-and-gold flag on the building, hard to miss once you’re near it.”

Carter absorbed that, steadying himself against the wall as he stood up. His left leg wobbled before catching his weight.

“You should sit a few minutes,” the second man advised, “You’re still shaking.”

“I can’t,” Carter said simply.

The first fisherman dug into his bag again and pulled out a wrapped sandwich, “Take this then, it's pork. You look like you haven’t eaten.”

Carter hesitated only a second before accepting it, “Thank you.”

“Try not to bleed on the stone,” the second man said dryly as he prepared himself a smoke.

Carter gave them a brief nod of gratitude, adjusted the bandage once more, and started up the narrow stairway leading off the embankment and back toward the streets.

The fishermen watched him go.

“He won’t make it far if they’re looking,” one said quietly.

“Maybe,” the other replied. “But he’s still walking.”

And they returned to their lines.

Paradise Lost

Mark A. Lopez

Mark didn’t get the relief everyone else seemed to be clinging to. Sure, the ship had peeled away from the station and the bulkheads weren’t vibrating with imminent collapse anymore, they had survived, at least for the time being. But then the word came down: movement in the vents.

Maybe it was only a handful of metacer, maybe it was “probably nothing.” Either way, if something small and hungry got into the wrong crawlspace and chewed through a line it shouldn’t then it wouldn’t be the bridge eating the blame, it would be engineering, or rather whoever was left in charge of it. So in others words it would be him, elbows-deep in singlehandedly trying to keep a barely-crewed colony ship from turning into a floating coffin.

So Mark made due with what he could. One of his maintenance drones sat on a work cradle under a harsh strip lights, its chassis scraped and dented from the mess back at the cargo ramp. He worked silently, replacing a scorched servo and reseating a cracked camera housing, reattaching a plate that had come loose and started to rattle like a bad tooth. It was all typical repair work he was used to but then he reached for the rifle at the side of the table.

“Yeah,” he muttered, “That’ll do.”

He wouldn't pretend this idea was elegant, it was a crude solution to a stupid problem, but the ship didn’t have the luxury of perfect.

He rigged the drone to carry it in a way that didn’t fight its balance, kept the barrel clear of its own frame and adjusted the setup into the drone’s existing control loop so he could make it work without needing a second set of hands. He didn’t need a sentry that looked good, just something that could go into a shaft and stop a bug before it became a nest, he was not about to go in there himself. He also refitted the flare launcher, light and heat still seemed to be effective ways to keep those things at bay.

By the time he was done, the drone looked like an amalgamation of military equipment welded to a maintenance frame. Mark wiped his hands on a rag and stared at it for a second, he felt rather proud of his little contraption.

“Whole ship full of geniuses,” he said to nobody, “And I’m the one chasing bugs in the damn vents.”

He keyed the comm.

“Bridge, Lopez. I’m pushing a sweep through the service shafts now. I’ve got a drone running eyes hunting for anything with more than two legs. If you’ve got reports of movement, give me deck and section. Out.”

He then switched to Ginny’s channel.

“Sokolova. I’m doing your sweep. If you hear anything about vent movement or hot spots, send it fast. I can only drive one of these things directly at a time.”

He launched the drone into the maintenance corridor. Its camera feed popped into his display: narrow metal conduits illuminated by its set of LEDs. The drone crawled into a vent junction and Mark leaned closer to the screen, his thumb and fingers making tiny corrections like he was flying a shuttle through clutter.

Somewhere under the irritation, another thought kept gnawing at him, this was going to keep happening. Not just with bugs but with everything. There weren’t enough hands around, not enough skilled crew. Every task was going to be triage, patchwork, improvisation and he could already feel how thin the margin was.

Mark watched the drone’s feed slide deeper into the ship and felt his annoyance forming into a possible solution. When this was over he was going to start building something better. Something that could do the job without him babysitting every meter of hull.

Because if the ESS 3822-01 was going to stay alive, it couldn’t depend on one exhausted engineer manually driving a metal bug-catcher through a maze of vents forever. He exhaled through his nose, thumb steady on the control.

“Alright,” he murmured, “Let’s go find your friends...”

Empire of the Clouds

James E. Carter

The rope burned through his gloves faster than he expected. Carter slid the last few meters of the rope line uncontrolled, teeth clenched as heat tore into his palms.

When he couldn’t hold on anymore, he let go.He crashed down onto a canvas tent stretched beneath the mooring post. The fabric sagged, snapped, and collapsed under his weight, cushioning his landing. He still felt the impact of his landing as the tent poles clattered and the whole thing gave way. The world turned into a tangled mess of canvas with shouting voices, and flailing hands as soldiers underneath stumbled back in confusion, more startled than ready.

“What the hell?!”

Carter rolled on the canvas as realization hit him, he came up coughing and dusting off canvas fibers. Pain flared through his arm and thighs but he forced himself upright before anyone had the presence of mind to grab him, the mess of canvas still on top of the soldiers at the tent.

He ran, his boots pounded the ground as he sprinted along the base of the tethering post, favoring his left side but not slowing.

Shouts rose behind him, “Da-halt, stop him!”

A patrolling soldier stepped into his path, half-turning a corner of crates with a rifle still slung over his shoulder. Carter drove a punch into the man’s face as he passed him, his right knuckles crunched against the soldier’s cheekbone, he went down hard, skidding onto the ground.

Carter veered around another stack of cargo crates, nearly losing his footing as he clipped a corner. He bursted straight through a cluster of unsuspecting engineering staff, they wore overalls and gloves. They scattered in panic as he shoved through them with muttered curses and startled cries following him.

“Out of the way!” he growled, pushing one of them to the side as he landed clumsily onto another pair of patrolling soldiers.

“W-what, halt!” One of the soldiers yelled out as he slungung his rifle from his shoulder.

Carter didn’t heed as he bolted over a service barricade and out of the port and into the city proper, as he did, someone behind him fired. The shot went wide, landing against a stone wall only meters away from him.

He immediately made his way into the narrow turning streets. Civilians scattered at the sight of a bloodied man running full tilt and gunshots coming behind him. He turned once, then twice more, his lungs burned and his leg screamed in pain with every step, the street then opened abruptly onto the river embankment.

With no hesitation Carter vaulted the stone edge and slid down the steep moist slope, his boots scraping uselessly against damp stone as he hit the water and went in feet first. The cold currents slammed the breath out of him as they seized him immediately. He went under, came back up choking, then forced himself sideways into the flow as shots began to crack behind him once more. He gulped air, then let himself sink again, angling with the current as it dragged him, the ones taking potshots at him would lose sight of him.

Once the current had swept him further away he rose up, gasping for air as he did, pain flared everywhere at once, arm, hip, hands, but he let the river take him, pulling him downstream into the city flow.

---

Itzi Ku

The room they brought her to looked more like a private library than anything official. Dark wood shelves, most of them only half-filled. A globe sat near the corner top a small table with a lamp. A heavy desk was pushed against the far wall below a seemingly fancy looking painting, it all reeked more of appearances than work.

A single Commonwealth marine stood near the door. Blue uniform and polished boots, hands relaxed but his holstered pistol made it obvious he was not unarmed. He hadn’t said a word since she’d been led in.

Itzi glanced then crossed her arms tight against her ribs.

“Well…” She began, “I’ve been sitting here for a while,” irritation crept into her voice. “So what exactly is going on? Because from where I’m standing, you’re all wasting time.”

The Marine didn’t react. The door opened before she could say more.

A man entered, he looked every bit the diplomat. Late forties, maybe older, with hair thinning at the crown carefully coaxed by a thinning patch. He bore a neatly trimmed mustache and brown suit, tailored to his fit by the looks of it.

“Miss Ku,” he said pleasantly, closing the door behind him, “My apologies for the wait.”

He turned his head slightly toward the Marine, “Thank you, Corporal. I’ll take it from here.”

The soldier nodded once and stepped outside, closing the door softly behind him.

The man gestured to a chair across from the desk, “Please. Sit.”

She didn’t immediately, but after a second she did, her fingers tapped against the armrest as he set a small stack of folders on the table and took the seat opposite her.

“Ambassador Edwin Crane,” he said, offering a polite smile. “Commonwealth of Ardell, obviously.” He said as if telling an uninspired joke.

She nodded, unimpressed. “Then you already know why I’m here.”

“I do,” Crane replied calmly, “And I appreciate you bringing the matter to our attention.”

He opened one of the folders, glanced at a page, then folded his hands together.

“To be clear, we are aware that an Ardellian citizen may currently be in danger. Unfortunately, at present, we do not have confirmation of his whereabouts.”

“That’s exactly the problem,” Itzi shot back, “He was on the airship, there was shooting and now-”

“And now the situation has become complicated,” Crane said gently, but firmly.

He leaned back onto the chair, “We are dealing with overlapping jurisdictions. Mitteland authorities, Inburian military elements, a port still in partial lockdown and the ongoing collapse of civil order further east. I don’t expect you to comprehend all of that immediately but I assure you, the matter is being addressed.”

She clenched her hands together, “How exactly? Because it doesn’t look like anyone’s doing anything.”

“I will be speaking with both the Mitteland officials and the Inburian representatives,” Crane replied, “As soon as channels are properly cleared.”

“That might be too late.”

He studied her for a moment, then softened his tone, “You’re from Hunya, yes? South of the Main..”

She nodded.

“A long way from home,” he said. “I do appreciate your concern. Truly. It speaks well of you.”

That didn’t comfort her.

“You should remain here, for the time being,” Crane continued. “If there was violence aboard the ship, it’s possible others involved may also be at risk. Including you.”

She shook her head. “I’m not worried about me.”

“I am,” he replied evenly, “And so is the Commonwealth, insofar as you are currently under our roof.”

Itzi leaned forward. “You don’t understand, he could be hurt, maybe dead, all because he tried to do what he thought was right.”

Crane exhaled quietly through his nose.

“Miss Ku,” he said, choosing his words carefully, “the Commonwealth is not presently in a position to intervene broadly in Old Continent affairs. Especially not for a single individual. We still have citizens in Inbur, Calaria, and beyond. People in business, missing relatives and expatriates, detentions by those barbarous Communalists. We cannot mount rescue operations for every case, however regrettable.”

“So you’re just going to let him die?” She said accusatory.

“No,” Crane said firmly, “But there are limits to what can be done without provoking a diplomatic incident.”

“Carter didn’t want to provoke any of that,” Itzi rose her voice, “he’s stubborn and reckless and probably getting himself killed, but he’s brave and—”

Crane’s eyes sharpened, “Carter?”

She hesitated, “James Carter… Yes.”

The shift in Crane was noticeable, his eyes widening slightly. He reached for the folder again, flipping pages faster now.

“James E. Carter?” he asked.

“I guess,” she said, frustrated.

Crane closed the folder, “I see, that was information not made clear…” he said quietly.

He leaned back again, but this time there was calculation behind it.

“That changes matters.”

She blinked then raised an eyebrow, “It does?”

“Considerably,” Crane replied. “Mr. Carter is… a known figure. A war hero from the last Commonwealth–Iktani war.”

He pressed his hands onto his knee, “The Commonwealth has no interest in seeing one of its veterans die abroad or worse, become the center of an international scandal involving Imperial gold and foreign troops.”

He met her eyes then rose slowly. “Please come with me, Miss Ku. I’ll need to make several calls.”

Itzi looked at him puzzled as the ambassador then offered her his hand and guided her towards the door.

“You were right to come to us,” he said. “We will… reassess our options.”

---

Urses Mallory

The ringing in Urses’s ears hadn’t faded yet, not from the shot, not from the shouting, not from the way the whole damned hold had turned inside out in a matter of seconds. His gut still throbbed where the crowbar had struck, a sick ache that made every breath feel like fire.

He stood there with the rifle half-raised, half-forgotten, staring at the empty space where Carter had been moments before.

Now he was gone.

The realization hit harder than the blow to his stomach. He’d let it get away from him. No… he’d pushed it there.

Urses swallowed, his throat felt tight. He could still feel the recoil in his shoulder, still hear his own voice spitting threats he hadn’t thought through. He had been guarding gold, yes, but somewhere between duty and fury he’d stopped guarding his senses.

His eyes flicked to the others in the hold. Aden had gone stiff with exhaustion. The woman chugging out orders. And then the Captain Le Marinier, as always infuriatingly calm and standing there but as a tired man trying to keep a bad situation from becoming a catastrophe.

Post Captain Le Marinier

Telagrams and Talks.
.455 Hot
“Private, Mr Urses. Permission to approach the guard.” He said much more calmly and returned his gun to his side but he had a round in the chamber. Ready but also not actively a threat. “Put your rifle on safe, the horse has bolted the stable. Condition 1 or 3, dealer's choice. Zero, this is a thin hull, and thats a powerful round.”

It took a great force of will to place a hand on the man's rifle and gently press the barrel to face the deck. Away from the others in case he got jumpy. He with his other hand returned his revolver to its holster as a show he did the same. “A drink? Medicinal.” He gestured to where he took a drink from a hip flask engraved with the Favis national crest on one side and a Navy cypher on the other. His sister least knew about alcoholic gifts.

Hopefully someone came for the captain, he could ask for permission to secure the Ramp with Favis Marines until someone came up with a better idea. Risky but someone had to secure the gold…until it could be taken to the vaults of which the treasury was chosen.

@PrinceAlexus

Urses felt suddenly, acutely young.

The captain’s hand pressed the rifle barrel down. Grounding Urses back into reality.

For half a second, Urses almost resisted as his pride twitched, the reflex to cling to the one thing that still made him feel in control. But then the control slipped anyway from him as his arm sagged. He exhaled a long shaky breath.

“…Safe,” he muttered, more to himself than anyone else.

His fingers fumbled with the mechanism, slower than he meant to, then he let the rifle go. It clattered softly against the deck.

“I lost my head, sir” Urses said, his voice dry, eyes fixed on the floor, “Thought if I held the line hard enough… none of this would spill over.”

He pressed a hand to his gut and hissed through his teeth, the pain finally catching up now that the fire had burned out.

“All I did was make it worse.”

His face turned to the Captain, sunken and resigned.

“Do what you have to, sir,” he said quietly. “I’ll answer for my part in this disaster...”

Empire of the Clouds

James E. Carter

“I’m not a threat,” Carter called again, his voice hoarse. He leaned just enough to peek past the edge of the crate, one hand still raised, “I’m not pointing a gun at anyone. I don’t want this to end with somebody dead.”

He saw Aden then, advancing toward the ramp with his pistol still up, knife drawn in his other hand. The sight twisted something in Carter’s gut as he quickly took full cover again.

“I’m not running at you,” Carter said, louder now, trying to cut through the whirlwind coming into the bay from the opened ramp, “I’m not here to hurt anyone.”

Before Aden could reply, Urses shifted from cover and moved directly behind the Inburian, angling himself to Aden’s flank, rifle shouldered up.

“Don’t listen to him,” Urses snapped, talking over Aden, “He already attacked once. He’s a thief, he’s desperate, and he’s lying. Carter, this is your last warning. Drop everything and lie flat on the deck!”

Carter’s jaw clenched, he still had his hand out from cover.

“I’m not—”

The rifle fired. The bullet tore past his exposed hand, close enough that the air narrowly brushed his fingers and the sound rang through his bones. Carter recoiled instinctively, his breath tore out of his chest and without thinking he shoved himself hard against the crate he’d been sheltering behind. The stacked boxes shifted then toppled down with a violent clatter. Gold bars thundered loose as crates smashed into one another and the orderly rows collapsed into metal and wood clattering against each other.

Carter broke from cover as this happened.

He sprinted down the ramp, boots slipping on the deck as another shout went up behind him. He didn’t look back, the open mouth of the ship laid ahead and at the edge, he slid down.

As he came out of the ramp his hands caught rope instead of air. The impact ripped a grunt from his throat as the burn tore through his gloves and into his palms, the sleek blood of his injured hand almost making his hold slip. He wrapped an arm around the line, teeth clenched as the rope burned and slid, his wounded arm screaming in pain.

The airship began to loom above him as he slid downward toward the port below.

Empire of the Clouds

Urses Mallory

Urses pressed himself tight behind a corner, gut burning with every breath. He refused to lower the rifle, the pain only fed his anger. His knuckles were white around the stock.

“Do not move!” he called to the others. “Carter, you hear me, you idiot! Throw the weapons out first. Then come out slow with your hands up. You do that, you might live long enough to see a cell!”

His eyes flicked toward the others, the Inburian soldier and the lady who carried authority in her voice he had not come to expect and then the old captain trying to make a case for a thief. It was too many opinions, too many questions and too much talking. Urses did not care, he had been ordered to guard this cargo and someone had tried to steal it.

He lifted his chin and barked again, louder, forcing his command through the chaos.

“Carter. Surrender, now!”

---

James E. Carter

Carter’s vision pulsed with the beat of his heart. He looked down at his arm and did not like what he saw, blood was still flowing down. Maybe it was not fatal, but it was hard to ignore any longer.

He forced himself to breathe, looking around frantically. Then he saw it, the cargo ramp lever near the bulkhead, half-hidden behind a stack of crates and a coil of rope that helped tether the airship to the ground.

He moved quietly, crouched down and reached it and gripped the handle tightly, then he yanked.

The mechanism groaned and the ramp began to lower with a heavy metal whine. Cold air rushed in and daylight with it, the sudden brightness was like a flare being thrown into a dark void.

Carter holstered his pistol and showed one hand out to the open lane of light, still taking cover against the stacks of crates.

“Enough!” he yelled out, still in cover, “I’m not here to steal this damn metal for myself. I’m here because there’s no one else in those meetings who gives a rat’s ass about what we were promised.”

He swallowed, trying to find the right words.

“I want one crate, just one. A finder’s fee for keeping this ship in the sky and getting that gold out of enemy hands, I'm making sure the people who bled for it are not thrown aside once the uniforms start stamping papers. That’s it.”

He paused for a moment, the blood from his arm began to drip down to the metal flooring beneath him.

“I’m not going to shoot my way out and I’m not trying to kill anyone. But I'm not going to stand here and let the whole venture get swallowed by ‘orders from Grendell’ while the crew goes home empty.”

He took a careful glance the ramp’s edge, his good hand was still up. The rope lines were there, tethering and stabilizers the ship to ground. Carter gulped again.

“If you’re set on hanging me for this,” he said, breath tight, “then you can do it after I’m off the ship.”

Empire of the Clouds

Urses Mallory

Pain burned intensely through Urses’s gut as he staggered back, his world narrowing into a struggling breath and an guttural rage. He slammed the butt of the rifle against the deck to steady himself, teeth bared as he sucked in air that refused to come easy. Every muscle screamed, but the discipline of a soldier within him helped him up.

He worked the bolt hard.

Clack-chunk. Clack-chik

A fresh round seated into the chamber and Urses raised the rifle again, shouldering it tightly, his eyes scanning between the crates looking for the fugitive.

“You stupid bastard…” he snarled, voice breaking into a rasp as he tried (and failed) to sound composed, “You’ve just signed your own death warrant, Mainer. Should’ve stayed a hero instead of a thief!”

He advanced a step, then another, rifle sweeping low and ready despite the pain surging at him. Then a pair of voices echoed from the entryway.

Aden

“Inburian Army. Everyone freeze!!!!”

@Terrans

Giogoula Giorgios

"Whoever fired that rifle, come out with your hands up!"

@Badarby

Urses halted, chest heaving. Relief flared for half a heartbeat before pride and anger wrestled it down. He backed toward the light, his rifle visible as he revealed himself to Aden and another person, a woman with a revolver.

“Attempted theft,” Urses said sharply, breathing hard, “That mainer tried to steal the imperial gold. He resisted order and attacked me.” He gestured briefly to his abdomen with the rifle barrel. "He's armed and still inside.”

---

James E. Carter

Carter pressed his back against the crate, jaw clenched as blood ran warm down his arm and soaked into his sleeve. The pain came in waves, an intense burning sensation followed by a cooling off with adrenaline keeping his hand steady around the Harlan’s grip.

He breathed slow through his nose, fighting the cold sweat pouring throughout his body.

Idiot… idiot…

He hadn’t meant for it to go this far. The kid was just a soldier doing his job, same as he once had been.

Then his voice called out.

“You stupid bastard…” Urses' voice echoed through the hold, “You’ve just signed your own death warrant, Mainer. Should’ve stayed a hero instead of a thief!”

Carter’s expression hardened. Death warrant, he repeated to himself in his head. His fingers tightened slightly on the trigger of his gun. If Urses found him again, there wouldn’t be room for restraint, he knew that now. He didn’t want to kill anyone but he would not die here either.

Then new voices cut through the hold. Aden, followed by another voice, female by the sound of it but strangely authoritative, it definitely was not Zoe's.

He managed to hear Urses explaining what had happened.

Carter stayed low, silent, breath shallow. Alright, he thought grimly. Now it’s everyone’s mess.

Itzi Ku

Itzi ran. Her breath shallowed and ragged as cobblestones clapped beneath her boots. The city rushed past in streaks of color and banners, flags of kingdoms she barely cared as all she could think about was Carter’s face when he’d bolted for the ship. The panic in his eyes and the shot that had ranged out soon afterwards.

This was wrong, all of it. All because of that stupid gold. She then skidded to a halt so suddenly she nearly slammed into a lamppost, catching herself with a sharp gasp.

Post Captain Le Marinier

In a new clean uniform, the fit was a little out but better than he could expect on this time line. He saw the sun still shining over the city and the shade cast by the great air ship masts. He had done his duty to pass on what he knew and had seen, the whole battle for the fort, the escape, the valley, the gold. So much had happened in a short time.

He left the embassy feeling lighter with a sea bag, a promise of new clothes and access to contacts and links back home again. He would have to send the young private down to pass on what he could add, what could help them to make the best of what was a growing and ever difficult time.

@PrinceAlexus

A man stepped out of a building just ahead, in a seemingly fresh uniform.

“Captain!” she blurted, recognizing him a split second too late. “Le Marinier! Carter’s in trouble. On the ship. They’re going to take the gold and—”

She didn’t wait for an answer as her eyes darted to the one place she hoped to find help, the Embassy of the Commonwealth of Ardell.

Turning on her heel, Itzi sprinted again, straight for the building with the blue-and-gold flag hanging over its doors.

She bursted inside, nearly colliding with two guards in crisp navy blue uniforms who looked up in shock, rifles in hand.

“I need the ambassador,” she said breathlessly, half demand, half plea. “Now! It’s an emergency. One of your citizens is about to get himself killed.”

The room froze, the soldiers glanced to one another before one of them looked back to Itzi.

"Come with me..."

Empire of the Clouds

James E. Carter

The meeting wrapped itself up with polite words and softer hands than Carter cared for. Musings of hospitality and awaiting instructions. All of it rang the same in his ears, he’d had his fill of that kind of language.

Pity for Arkadios and the Inburian cause ebbed as he rose from his chair. War or no war, neutral or not, Carter knew exactly where this road led if he let others steer it. Precious resources such as gold had a way of becoming state property the moment it sat still long enough.

He offered a brief nod to the room, then turned and walked out before anyone could think to stop him.

Outside, the breeze hit him with a scent of coal smoke and morning damp. Folks walked around him, carts rolling, soldiers boots marched past, life going on as if a fortune hadn’t just floated in not long ago. Carter set a brisk pace toward the port, his blue coat pulled tight, mind racing ahead.

If the Mittel commanders took custody of the gold there’d be no bargaining after the fact, Arkadios certainly was in no capacity for it. Finder’s fees didn’t survive paperwork, he’d seen that trick pulled before, it didn’t matter how many civilians bled to make it happen. If these slimy officers wanted it, they'd take it no matter what.

A flickering thought of Zoe crossed his thoughts. She was a clever one, always smiling and with a plan rolling on her head by the looks of it. But perhaps it was just that, look… or maybe she had something in mind? She hadn't dragged them all into this on charity alone so whatever she was planning, it wouldn’t involve waiting patiently either. Maybe she’d already made her move. Maybe she was counting on the same confusion he was trying to outrun.

For half a block, he considered the Ardellian embassy. Make his claim for damages and perhaps get protection and a flag to stand behind and enforce his claim, but then he thought of the paperwork involved. Too fucking slow. He thought.

First things first.

The zeppelin mast came into view through the canopy of buildings, the great shape of the ship looming above the docks like a massive stormcloud. Carter didn’t slow down, whatever arguments were coming, he wanted to have them aboard his ship, with the gold still where he could see it.

One way or another, he wasn’t letting his fate get filed away under pending instructions.

---

Itzi Ku

Itzi had caught herself smiling at nothing for the third time that morning. Nuwa’s laugh still echoed somewhere in the back of her head, the way he’d spun bottles and coins through the air like gravity was a suggestion rather than a rule. The warmth of fancy liqour flowing down her throat, the sway of the deck, the reckless joy of it all. Ridiculous, really, how a stranger who’d quite literally fallen through her roof would stay in her mind so much.

She shook her head and forced her attention back to the present. The ship loomed above her, vast and scarred, like some wounded beast being coaxed back to its feet. Crews moved along the hull and gondola, Mitteland engineers shouting measurements, riggers hauling lines, sparks flashing where plates were being cut and fitted.

Itzi folded her arms, watching it all with awe. She’d flown ships before, smaller nimbler ones, bht nothing like this. At least not only now, and she was also overseeing repairs she barely understood, trusting strangers because there wasn’t much choice.

It was impressive, she had to admit. The Mittel knew their craft. She was mid-thought when hurried footsteps caught her attention.

It was Carter. He approached at a brisk pace, his coat half-buttoned, eyes wide and restless like he’d just seen death in the eyes or something worse.

“Hey,” she greeted, pushing herself off a crate, “You’re back already. How’d the meeti-”

“Has anyone been here for the gold?!” he cut her off.

The question caught her dazzled.

“What? No,” she said, frowning. “Why would they? They’re still inventorying the damage, and-”

“We don’t have time,” Carter said, already glancing past her toward the ship, “We need to move, now!”

Itzi blinked, her face incredulous, “Move? Carter, slow down, we’re docked… it's a friendly port. No one’s shooting at us, what’s got you so wound up?”

He exhaled sharply, scrubbing a hand through his beard, “I should’ve done this earlier, that’s on me. But if we wait then it means we lose out on what's ours.”

She opened her mouth to argue, then noticed movement at the edge of the port. A column of soldiers rounding the corner, Mittel uniforms by the looks of it.

She nodded toward them, “Carter… you seeing that?”

His jaw tightened, “Yeah.”

“They’re probably just here to secure the dock,” she said, though even to her ears it sounded like a bad lie to oneself. “Look, if you’re worried about claims, the Ardellian embassy’s only a few streets aw-”

“No,” he snapped, stepping past her. “That’s a dead end, we do this ourselves.”

He grabbed a crowbar from a nearby crate, "distract them if you can, I'll make sure we get what we deserve!”

Without another word he started for the gangway up the airship.

“Carter!” Itzi called after him, he was already out of sight.

The soldiers were closer now. Close enough that she could see the set of their faces, the way their eyes kept drifting toward the zeppelin.

She stayed where she was, torn between following him and doing the one sensible thing left.

Her gaze shifted toward the city beyond the docks, then back to the ship.

“Idiot,” she muttered, already turning away.

---

James E. Carter

Carter moved carefully, slipping back aboard the ship with a crouched pose and slow steps. The zeppelin was alive with activity, Mitteland engineers crawling outside, voices echoing down corridors, tools ringing against steel. He timed his steps between them, ducked through the corridors, taking careful turns to avoid being seen.

One gondola, then another. Down a narrow ladder. The deeper he went, the quieter it became.

The cargo section was ahead, dimmer than the rest as always, lamps turned the atmosphere into an orange tint. Carter slowed, hand tight on the crowbar and his other hand resting on his holstered handgun, he hoped not to need it. As he crept in furtjer he heard no voices of steps. There seemed to have been no sentry posted yet. Either they hadn’t gotten that far or they assumed no one would be stupid enough to try this.

He stepped inside. The crates were still there, filling the hold in orderly rows and each carrying the promise of either ruin or salvation. Carter went straight for the nearest one and quickly jammed the tool under the lid and leaned into it until the wood groaned and split.

Gold bars packed tight, their dull yellow glow catching the lamplight and throwing it back at Carter's eyes. For a moment he just stared, breath shallow. One crate, he thought, one out of hundreds. Enough to settle accounts, make things right, more than enough to give the others their share as well.

He shut the lid again and braced himself, muscles straining as he dragged the crate free. It barely budged at first as he grunted, he adjusted his grip and hauled it inch by inch toward a nearby cart. Sweat beaded at his brow. The thing was heavy as sin, but he then managed to get it onto the cart. He let out a tired sigh and readied to move, that’s when he heard it.

A soft, unmistakable click behind him. Metal on metal.

“Put the crowbar down,” a voice said evenly from the shadows.

Carter froze.

---

Urses Mallory

The party had come and gone in muffled echoes through the bulkheads. Music, laughter, the clink of glass. None of it mattered, Urses had not left his post snd would not do so until he was properly relieved, the cargo was his responsibility. After Inbur, after watching discipline collapse into panic and panic into slaughter, that much still meant something to him.

He stood in the dry provisions alcove, rifle slung, smoking slowly. The cigarette tasted like cheap paper and worse tobacco, but it steadied his hands. His thoughts drifted far from the steel ribs of the airship to the salty air, grey stone streets and the great water ships, back to Favis. A world that still made sense.

At least for now. The war didn’t feel contained anymore, it felt like a tide creeping outward and swallowing borders. He had hoped that the Isles would be spared, that he’d go home with Captain Le Mariner when this was over. But some part of him knew better, a war like this wouldn't stop politely just because he wanted it so.

A noise then cut through his thoughts, it sounded like wood scraping and metal shifting.

Urses frowned, flicked the cigarette away, and crushed it under his boot. He stepped out of the alcove, rifle coming free of his shoulder almost by instinct.

Down the hold, a figure moved between the crates. It didnt seem like one of the Mitten workers. One crate had been dragged out of line, half-mounted onto a small cart. The man held a crowbar in one hand.

Urses worked the bolt. The sharp clack echoed unmistakably through the hold.

The figure froze.

“Put the crowbar down,” Urses said, voice level, rifle already shouldere and aimed at the figure.

The man didn’t turn or run. Just stood there, shoulders tense.

“I’m just taking my share,” the man said calmly, though clearly tense. “That’s all. I am not stealing.”

Urses advanced slowly, rifle never wavering. He got close enough now to recognize the coat and the man's complexion.

It was the Ardellian, Carter.

“Drop it,” Urses said again. “Hands on your head.”

Carter finally turned his head just enough to glance back, crowbar still in hand.

“Come on,” he said, frustration bleeding through his voice, “You know me, you know what we did. This ship didn’t fly itself… You didn't escape Inbur by yourself… I’m not robbing anyone… I’m taking what’s owed.”

“That’s not your call,” Urses replied. His finger rested along the trigger guard. “And it’s not mine either. I was ordered to guard this cargo. That’s what I’m doing.”

“You think the generals are gonna remember the crew, or you?” Carter snapped, “You think widows get paid in gratitude? I’m doing this for all of us.”

Urses didn’t waver, his finger shifted to the trigger at that moment, “Drop the crowbar now. Hands on your head.”

For a moment, it looked like Carter would comply. His shoulders sagged slightly as the crowbar shifted in his grip.

“Alright,” Carter said, “Alright.”

He moved as if to let it fall, but then he hurled it back.

The crowbar spun end over end and struck Urses hard in the abdomen. Pain flared through him as the impact knocked the breath from his lungs.

His rifle went off as he fell. The shot cracked through the hold, deafening in the enclosed space, the round slamming into steel as Carter dove aside. Urses staggered on the ground, boots scraping, fighting to get back upright as pain and adrenaline collided.

The crate cart rattled. Gold bars clanged against one another and in that instant, the quiet order of the hold shattered completely.

Giant Slayers

This is intriguing. I'll see about making an app when I have free time.