Approaching the Airman's Bazzar on a quiet gust of wind, the lighter you'd rented from the aerodrome thrummed quietly. You were taking Jacob to the market to scout for more pilots, or so he thought. The new pistol harness digging into the side of your leg said otherwise, though, and the lantern you were steering for was well past the market's landing pad.
"Color me surprised you're actually going through with this, Captain." Jacob said, his face in a light sneer. "Never took you for the type."
"This is very much a temporary arrangement." You shot back, hands steady on the tillers. "I need a pilot, and if you betray me to the Guild then I'm hosed. Not a kind fork you've left me in."
"You knew I was a mercenary bastard when you met me back in Detroit." He countered. "Business before pleasure, I'm afraid."
"Quite."
As you brought the lighter forward carefully, Jacob moored you to the small tower you were docking at with an expert floor, before jumping out with feline grace. Taking a minute to loose the cover on your pistol, you followed. On the solid ground, you looked carefully. Nobody on this rooftop it seemed, but a steady glowing light the next over had what you hoped to see on it- a pair of constables, smoking happily as they observed. Pulling out a cigarette and lighting it, you watched Jacob watch you carefully.
"I don't understand how you smoke." He muttered. "Seeing as how we live in a firebomb waiting for a place to happen."
You chuckled. "It's an acquired skill. Much like making friends."
When you'd explained the situation to Mustafa and Ayse in the back of her family's lighter yesterday, she'd nodded along sympathetically and mentioned her cousin Mirac had some friends in the naval police while Mustafa agreed to brief the lawyers. A telegram to Mirac had gotten you the address of Asden, who'd directed you to Duboy who happened to agree with you wholeheartedly and also wanted the prestige of bringing in a foreign criminal engaged in… well, you said illegal finances and conspiracy to commit crimes with Greek nationals. You also suggested roughing him up so he couldn't talk, though, so you hoped Duboy was a creative soul.
While Duboy might not have spoken English, you'd drilled him in recognizing that phrase, the signal for him to come out and take Jacob into custody. You'd expected a pair of provosts.
What you got was ten rifles pointed in the general direction of you and Jacob, along with Duboy coming out with a swagger stick and a grin. "Jacob Young, you are under arrest!" he yelled, broken English prompting a moment of confusion, before he switched over to French. "You, conspirator! On the ground!"
It took a minute before you realized Duboy was talking to you. "What are you talking about?" you asked, frowning. "It's me, Captain van Riebeck!"
"Nonsense! This was authorized by Mustafa bin Iskandar; he made no mention of a van Riebeck!"
"Cut the shit, Duboy! You saw me in person this morning!"
The cop grinned crookedly. "You'd need to remind me."
Gasping, you sputtered. He had the gall to demand a bribe now? This wasn't cooperation, this was robbery!
Sighing, Jacob interrupted in his broken French. "How much?" he asked, dryly.
"Oh, three hundred drachma should do it."
Damn, damn, and double damn! If Duboy was asking for drachma, he was either Greek or a conspirator himself! You couldn't tell from the face, but you knew this could go sideways at a moment's notice. You needed a plan, something to get you out-
"Fuck that." Jacob hissed, before walking up to Duboy. The cop didn't step back, but raised his stick threateningly before rushing in. A deft twirl put the corrupt policeman in front of Jacob, though, and there was a knife at his neck.
"Now that we're on the same page-" he said, grinning, before a gunshot rang out. You'd seen the opportunity for what it was, drawing and firing in a second to put the shot right under your traitorous pilot's arm and through his torso. Falling, he jerked the knife a little to scribe a red line under Duboy's chin while you shifted your aim point a few inches to the right.
"Grrk!" Duboy choked out, before falling and grabbing at his neck. The slice wasn't deep enough to be worrying, or his blood would be pooling out on the rooftop with Jacob's. Stepping closer, you kept the Mauser trained on him as he coughed and pissed himself in fear and shock.
"I believe we may be in a position to renegotiate." You said carefully, mad as hell. "You'll take responsibility for the body and we'll make our separate ways. In return, I won't explain to Sanjek-bey Iskandar that there's a rat in the Naval Police."
"Η Αθήνα ποτέ δεν θα πεθάνει!" he growled, before his deputies' rifles trained on him. Spitting on the downed man, you went back to your airship, climbing in and unmooring in a second. Puttering off back towards the Dardenelles, you heaved a sigh of relief as the ship started jittering slightly. Was something wrong with the boat?
No. Just your hands shaking like leaves for what you'd done.
----
Sitting at your desk on the Cruiser 12, you hissed and rubed your arm carefully. The shaking in your hands hadn't calmed down any, and you were getting tired with sloshing your drinks. A neat whiskey shouldn't be jostled like you were prone to, right now.
As you were about to reach for the decanter on your desk, there was a knock on your door. Folding your hands on your lap, you smiled disarmingly and called out for them to come in. Entering cautiously, Elizabeth slid in like a cat before shutting the door behind her.
"Hello, Captain." She said, coming in to sit by your desk. You kept a spare chair for just that reason, the light thing easily moved so Elizabeth could sit next to you. It was unusually forward of her, you noted offhand as you suppressed your jitters.
"You can call me Alek, you know." You said calmly. "I can't call you Navigator all the time, after all."
"Alright, Alek." She said meekly, pouring a tall glass of the whiskey out. The tumbler on your desk was nearly overflowing when she finished, too full to safely pick up right now. "So, where's Jacob?"
You froze. She didn't.
"You were going with him for business, supposedly to pick up new pilots. He wanted to leave, though, I know that much. So, where is he now?"
Reaching out to get that too-full glass, your hand stopped when Elizabeth picked it up with both hands, sipping lightly. "I didn't like him." She said, setting the drink down. "He was brash, cocky, and rude. He wanted to be king of the skies, unchallenged, unconquerable."
"You're not wrong." You said, moving the tumbler quickly enough not to shake any of the amber liquid loose. A sip made you more comfortable holding it, and you lowered it for another set of words. "I needed a pilot, and not some hack. Someone who could handle the ship."
"Yes." Elizabeth muttered. "Someone with strength."
You took another sip.
"The strength to hold a woman down, and tell her she was coming with him whether she wanted to or not."
The first drops sloshed over the rim. You were struck dumb.
"The strength to try and get through a Navigator's clothes, through her dignity, through me." Elizabeth said, a tear falling from one eye as she took the glass in both hands, downing it all and spilling some onto the high neck of her dress. "The brute!"
"What did he do?!" you asked, a heat to your voice. If you hadn't shot Jacob dead not two hours earlier, then his blood would stain your hands for this.
"He wanted me to Navigate for him, on a new ship." Elizabeth muttered, standing up to pace angrily. This was the most emotion you'd seen on her doll-like face, and the rictus of rage made the petite woman look like a snow leopard, wroth spilling over. "A clipper he said, Italian make and fit with a rough Aether rig. I denied him three times, so he went for my skirts."
"Did he try-" you began, standing in anger as Elizabeth slammed your desk to cut you off.
"No, he wasn't going to sate a lust!" she shrieked, sending the empty tumbler flying. "No, I could read him better! He wanted a child- some pet Navigator! I will not found a bloodline out of wedlock or my own desire!"
Crashing back into your chair, the ramifications started to make themselves clear. The Navigator Houses were few and far between, and Elizabeth herself wasn't a legitimate cadet branch of one. Cook was an alias- she'd been born Elizabeth St. Charles, to a mother who swore her father was Arnold Cook, an unmarried navigator who at the time would have been in Montreal to do the deed.
"Tabernac." You muttered. "That bastard!"
"What would have been my bastard!" Elizabeth roared, slamming your desk again as you moved out from behind it to catch her arm before she broke her hand on the wooden fixture. Catching it, you felt the liquid courage ease your movements, before Elizabeth fell into you from her own alcohol destroying that precarious sense called balance. Holding her like a feather, you leaned her against your desk carefully.
"Do you need anything?" you asked, trying to focus as your vision swam. How much had you drank? "Anything at all?"
"Sec-!" Elizabeth said, hiccupping. "Security! I'll stay by you, tomorrow, and make sure that rat has what's coming to him if he tries again!"
"Agreed!" you roared, false courage in your veins.
"To your bed!" the Navigator called.
"What?" you asked, as Elizabeth toddled through the door to your bedroom, before you heard a too-small poomph! as something hit your bed. Moments later, light snoring came out the door to your confusion. Did… did your Navigator just claim your bedroom to herself?
VOTES
Elizabeth?
[] (Write-in)
Flight Route to Tabriz, East Azerbijan
[] Aether Route; Constantinople to Lake Urmia, local flight to Tabriz
[] Local Route; Constantinople to Kars, Kars to Van, Van to Tabriz
[] Direct Route; Constantinople to Tabriz at high altitude
[] Write-in (Subject to GM Veto, max altitude for normal transit is 8,000 feet Above Sea Level, can move to 10,000 for short periods)
