DeathWatch No. 81 – Are you fucking done?

Posted on August 22, 2015 by Catastrophe Jones

This is Issue #81 of DeathWatch, an ongoing Serial. Click that link to go find ‘A Beginning’ and read from there, if you need to catch up.

Happy Reading!

PREVIOUS

* * *

The blow connected, and the followthrough spun Kieron around on his toes like a dancer. He staggered back, his expression a bit like that of his mother’s favorite terrier upon being confronted with a mirror, and put one hand up to his eye. It came away bloody, and he looked up at Nate, stunned, hurt. “Tha’s not–tha’s not funny–” he slurred, and then he dropped to his hands and knees.

“Quarter!” came the cry from across the deck. Hana ran toward Kieron, looking shocked.

Nate took a step toward the fallen cadet, his hands still clenched in fists of rage.

Kieron flinched back, lifting a hand to shield himself. “I’m sor–I’m sorry–” he began, trying to blink the blood out of his eye, trying to clear his vision.

“You–” Nate began, choked with fury, his eyes wide and wild. “You did that to her. And you fucking joke about it–” His hand slipped to the holster at his hip, and his fingers began to curl around the butt of his pistol.

“Nate–please–” The words hurt just as bad as the fists, but Kieron had already tried to take the blame for it with Jules, and as he knelt before the man he considered his closest friend, he realized he deserved the fury. Nate said he didn’t blame Kieron, but Kieron knew better. There was no one else to blame. He went silent, and dropped his hands. He didn’t try to stop the quartermaster; he just waited for it to be over.

He closed his eyes.

A shadow passed in front of him.

He didn’t flinch.

Nothing happened.

When he opened his eyes, Sha was between him, and Nate, one finger pointing at Nate, thrust against his chest. “Don’t you fucking dare! Your wife’s a big girl — you know damned well Brody didn’t do anything on purpose!” She marched Nathan backwards toward her cabin — to keep the drama off the deck and away from so many people.

Hana helped Kieron up off the deck and turned him so she could look at his face. “Ohhh. You’re gonna have one heck of a trophy in a little while,” she said. “Get down to meds, so the surgeon can make sure Quarter didn’t crack your head like an egg.”

Kieron nodded, shamefacedly going wherever Hana directed him.

Nate tried to lean past Sha, out her door, seething at him as he went past, “She could’ve been p–”

Kieron flinched away again, wincing when he tried to close his eyes.

“Well she wasn’t!” Sha shouted back in Nathan’s face, putting her palm to his chest and shoving him inside her rooms. She kicked the door shut, so she could shout in private. “She fucking wasn’t, O’Malley and if you think for one second I will let pity stop me from hauling you down to the brig, or throwing your ass over the side if you beat on your own soldiers because you’re having a fucking tantrum, you’d better think again!”

He jabbed a finger back at her, venom in his voice. “Just because you didn’t want to have my–” He stopped, suddenly, facing down the barrel of the long pistol in Sha’s hand.

Each of them looked surprised — Sha at Nathan, and Nathan at himself, too.

“Are you fucking done?” Sha wondered, her expression grave.

He nodded, wordless.

“You can’t make this anyone’s fault,” she said lowly, withdrawing the gun. “And if you ever bring that up like that again, Quartermaster, I’ll make sure your transfer off this ship is fast enough you will need a chute but may or may not get one.” Her eyes flashed, hot and dark, glittering not with malice or hurt but pure fury. She burned bright as she snapped out the words, “I didn’t want to have anyone’s baby, Nate. If it was going to be anyone’s, it would’ve been yours, but I wasn’t ready. But we both know it was a bad time, and I made the best choice I could and I’ll be damned if you’re going to shame me for that. Throwing it in my face because you’re mad at the universe for not making you a father yet? Well how good of a fucking father do you think you’d be if you’re going to throw punches at the young men who fucking idolize you, huh?”

Nate listened along, no longer willing to be actively raging, no longer willing to cause damage. And when she spoke of young men idolizing him, he slumped, and put his face in his hands, scrubbing at it, wiping at his eyes. He cleared his throat and stood up straighter, lifting his chin and trying to collect himself. Finally, he looked back at Sha. “Captain,” he said, his voice low, urgent, “Permission to go below.”

“Denied. Stay up here. I’ll go check on that boy,” Sha told him. “You’ll be lucky if he ever gets within arm’s reach of you, Nathan.”

“Please — Sha –”

“Your Captain’s the only one here right now. Your friend is about to go comfort the kid you concussed,” Sha said. “Maybe take a little time. Get some fresh fucking air.”

“Yeah,” Nate sighed. “Yeah, I can do that,” he said, his shoulders slumping in resignation. He nodded to her, and waited for her to step aside, and let him out — he didn’t try to make any more excuses, and it was the only reason Sha even let him go.

* * *

Sha Onaya, Captain of the Jacob, the ship that had once been called the Ivory Goddess, wended her way down decks until she got to the surgeon’s room. Before she walked in, she could hear Hana’s voice, calm and pleading — and Kieron’s trembling tenor.

“Let him give you the anaesthetic, Brody,” Hana said. “That looks painful.”

“The needle isn’t–”

“No,” Kieron said. “Just… stitch it, please.”

The surgeon sighed, saying, “Son. It’ll hurt like a sonofabitch; you –”

“No,” Kieron said firmly. “Sir. Please. Just stitch it.”

“Listen to the boy,” Sha said. “And when he cries for his mother, don’t mock him, just give him the lido and move on.”

“Captain!” Hana said. “Could you please tell Brody that–”

“I’m not telling Brody shit,” Sha said. “Cadet, I’ve got it from here. Get back up to comms, or Timekeeping, or whatever it is you’re supposed to be doing.”

“Aye-aye, Captain.” Hana hurried out, without further comment.

As soon as she exited the room, Kieron laid back and sighed up at the surgeon. “You can get started,” he said, sounding resigned.

“All right, then,” the surgeon murmured. Without further delay, he proceeded to stitch the cut up. Kieron’s face was swollen, and the cut was more of a split, from Nate’s knuckle against his brow.

While Sha looked him over, Kieron sat in silence — but she could see the tears welling. “Take the fucking lido, Brody.”

“It’s not that,” he said, reaching up a shaking hand to wipe the one eye he could get to without causing trouble. “I just — where is he? I need to tell him I’m sorry. Please, Sha, he was so angry. Please, just tell him I’m sorry. Please,” Kieron said, the tears beginning to fall in earnest. “Please — he hates me. I don’t… I don’t want him to hate me, Captain. He was my friend; I need — I need to apologize.”

“You need to — what?” Sha said, sounding astonished. “He gave you a fucking concussion because he was pissed off that Jules wasn’t knocked up. How in the fuck does that translate to you needing to apologize?”

“Nathan did what?” came a voice from the doorway. Jules was standing there, looking shocked.

* * *

NEXT

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DeathWatch No. 80 – When You Died

Posted on August 21, 2015 by Catastrophe Jones

This is Issue #80 of DeathWatch, an ongoing Serial. Click that link to go find ‘A Beginning’ and read from there, if you need to catch up.

Happy Reading!

PREVIOUS

* * *

Jules came to, screaming, reaching to put her hands over her face. She stopped, going silent, and looked up at Brody in bewilderment, and then relief.

And then… her expression crumpled, and she sobbed, gasping for breath as fat tears rolled over her cheeks.

Kieron rubbed her back, waited a moment, and then lifted the bucket, sighing quietly.

Jules stared at the bucket for a moment, as though not comprehending. Without any other warning, she suddenly retched, vomiting until she was red in the face, spitting to clear her mouth, and then slumped against the bed, panting. “My name was Waylan,” she breathed, coughing. “I died on an airship. A pulley hit me, knocked me off the rails. Might’ve crushed my skull before I fell. I pissed myself,” she said, rapidfire, letting it spill out of her. After a moment, she looked over at Kieron, fear and anguish on her face. “I can’t do this,” she whispered. “Why did this happen?”

“You are doing it. You’ll be okay. I don’t–I don’t know why, Jules, but I think I know how,” Kieron offered. “When you–when you died… after the Maxima exploded?”

“You said you shocked me back to life,” Jules remembered.

Kieron looked pained, then, and said, “Yeah, I think–I think the aetheric dust–my touch. I don’t know. I really don’t. But something happened. That seems as likely a point as any.”

“Are you trying to tell me you did this to me?” Jules’s voice was far from accusatory, but her expression was pained as she looked up at Kieron.

“Yes,” Kieron said, and then took a deep breath, “I understand if you’re angry; I had no idea it would happen, but I have to admit that I would’ve done it, knowing, because at least you’re alive, and–”

“Shut up, Brody,” Jules said, reaching up a hand to cup his cheek. “Seriously. I’d kiss you, except I just threw up. You saved my life. And it’s not like you can control this thing, whatever it is. I’m not mad. I don’t hate you. Right now I kind of hate my eyeballs, because they hurt — everything hurts, really, but I don’t hate you. I don’t blame you.”

“Well, that’s kind of you.” Kieron looked relieved; he held his hand over hers, briefly, and then said, “You’re likely to have these episodes when you come back. Nausea. Pain. At least through your first few slips. Then the pain comes and goes. Sometimes it’s worse. Sometimes not. I can’t figure out a pattern on that — but the important part is, at least for me, and Sha said for her brother, the aether engines make it less-so. I think you’re just going through growing pains, and then it’ll even out.”

Jules laughed darkly, and nodded. “Okay. Good to know.”

Kieron released her, and moved to get up, taking the bucket.

“Where are you going?” she wondered, trying to sit up. Her expression turned confused, and then her lips greyed out.

Kieron stepped forward with the bucket, and waited until she was finished. He set the bucket down so he could help hold her hair out of the way, and rub her back. “I was going to empty that, but it can wait, if you still need to use it. I’ll get you a toothbrush,” he offered. “And I’ll spell Nate, so he can come down and be with you?”

“Toothbrush is good,” she said, nodding. “Nate is…” She pursed her lips and frowned, looking up at Kieron as he stood in the doorway, feeling awkward. “Yeah, Brody, that… that’d be really nice of you.”

Kieron nodded, rummaging for only a moment before he snagged Jules’s toothbrush from where Nate stored them, handing hers over.

“How do you know where my husband keeps our toothbrushes?” Jules smirked at Kieron, one brow lifted in amusement. “I know you’re best friends and all, but did he forget to tell me you two are sleeping together?”

“Ah, uh… I–” Kieron began to stutter.

Jules couldn’t keep a straight face long, and laughed aloud, saying, “I’m sorry — I’m sorry, Brody. You’re just so easy to fluster, I–” For a moment, her lips were nearly grey again.

Kieron snagged the bucket, saying archly, “That’s what you get for trying to fuck with me. Instant payback.”

Jules’s eyebrows shot up, and she said, “You’re going to tease me while I’m throwing up?”

“I’m taking asshole lessons from your husband,” Kieron quipped.

Jules’s expression was priceless. She laughed all over again, delighted. It made her look even younger, and happy — until she got queasy again, at least. She hiccuped, grimaced, and shook her head. “Mmmno,” she said, gritting her teeth. “Okay. No laughing just yet. Laughing makes my stomach hurt. I’m going to brush my teeth and crawl back into this here bed.”

“I’ll leave this for you,” Kieron said, nudging the bucket closer to her. “And I’ll go get Nate.”

“Okay — and Brody?”

He stopped in the doorway, swaying with the motion of the ship as it sailed along through the sky. “Yeah?”

“Thank you. I mean it. It’s… I’m glad I don’t have to do this alone. I’m sorry you’ve had to for so long,” Jules offered.

Kieron couldn’t think of anything else to say as his cheeks darkened pink. He cleared his throat and withdrew, managing to return a quiet “You’re welcome,” before shutting the door.

* * *

The deck was still busy; people were rushing about, doing their jobs. It could’ve been any given morning, except that the rush and hum this time wasn’t caused by the sheer joy of it, or the need to get back over the Ridge as quickly as possible. Instead, they were skimming through low lying cloud banks, trying hard to get to the source of the distress calls they’d received — calls back in the direction they’d come, between them, and the fallen Maxima.

“Cadet! Where’ve you been?” Nate snapped irritably as Kieron ran up to him on deck.

“In bed with your wife!” Kieron crowed back, looking flushed and pleased with himself.

“What?” Nate’s expression grew unreadable.

Determined to give as much as he got, Kieron smirked as he went on, “Oh, yeah — after she left you, she was falling all over me, so I took her back to your room, one thing led to another, we ended up on your bed, she said she wanted to kiss me, a–”

When Nate swung his clenched fist, Kieron never saw it coming.

* * *

NEXT

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DeathWatch No. 79 – You Thought I Was What?

Posted on August 20, 2015 by Catastrophe Jones

This is Issue #79 of DeathWatch, an ongoing Serial. Click that link to go find ‘A Beginning’ and read from there, if you need to catch up.

Happy Reading!

PREVIOUS

* * *

“Steady! Steady on!” The deck of the TS Jacob was near chaos; comms had picked up a distress call several klicks to the southeast, and since they had already turned around to head toward the wreckage of the Maxima, it wouldn’t be hard to go check that out first — they just had to act fast. By this point, the crew, cadets and all, were a fine-tuned machine. Nate, Sha, the ‘gator, the boatswain, comms, the Timekeeper, and everyone else called out as needed, and the crew responded, like an extension of any one of their bodies.

“You thought I was what?” Jules shouted to Nate, in between his giving orders.

“Not the time, Jules!” Nate shouted back.

“Seriously? she said, looking shocked, and more than a little irritated.

“I thought I was dying. Losing my mind and dying; I catch your eye, and you duck out to go find your new best friend–”

“–don’t bag on Kieron–”

“I’m not. I love the boy,” she promised, “but I needed you–”

“You had Sha. And I came right back–”

“The two of you get off my fucking deck if you’re gonna jibber jabber instead of call orders,” Sha said, shoving past them to give directions to a few more people.

“Sha–” Jules began, looking put out.

“Aye-aye, Captain,” Nate called, looking somewhat relieved.

Furious, Jules turned and walked away.

“Jules, don’t–” Nate began, looking impatient. “Jules, come on, Jules–” he cajoled — but it was no use. He couldn’t leave his post, and she wasn’t coming back. He growled his orders at the others, furious and frustrated.

“Hey. If having your wife on board’s going to mean you can’t be a good Quarter, I’ll tell brass to replace you with her, and you’ll be a fucking powder monkey. Stop laying in to the cadets. They’re doing good. You’re just pissy,” Sha snapped.

Nate lifted his jaw and leaned in to say, “You know damned well I’ve got reason enough to be upset.”

“Do your job, Quarter,” Sha spat back. “We all got reason enough.”

Kieron saw the exchange and followed after Jules, trying not to dog her heels, but he didn’t want her to shut herself away. One of the worst things about being the way he was was the loneliness. That no matter how much Jet had held him, he never knew what it was like to die again and again and again.

When Jules went around a tight corner, she wheeled around and bared her teeth, “I don’t want your fucking apologies right n–Brody!” Her eyes were huge, and she blushed red, and took a couple steps back, laughing nervously. “I’m sorry — I thought–”

“–I was Nate,” Kieron finished for her. “I’m sorry; I didn’t mean to hound you, I just… I wanted to talk to you. After Nate brought me to you yesterday, I wasn’t sure how to react. I thought you might want to be alone to recuperate,” he offered, looking sheepish.

“Well,” Jules sighed, shoving her hands in the pockets of her flight suit. “I don’t… I don’t know what I wanted. At any rate, it is what it is, right? Sha’s a little pissed. Nate’s… I don’t know what Nate is.”

“Disappointed,” Kieron said. “At least — that’s what it looks like.”

“Yeah, he won’t tell me what about, though,” Jules says. “Mule-headed idiot.”

“Well, fuck him.” Kieron shrugged, dismissively.

Jules’s eyebrows shot up, and she burst out laughing, saying, “I thought you two were–”

“He’s my best friend here,” Kieron said easily. “But he doesn’t know what this is like. He doesn’t know what this is. He can’t. And that’s great for him.” Kieron’s voice suggested it wasn’t ‘great’ at all, or if it was, that he wasn’t happy for Nathan, regarding it. “I came to talk to you because I want you to know if you’re scared, or angry, or confused, or anything at all, I want you to know you can come to me. I know I’m just a kid, and that’s fine, but in this? In this, I’m the only expert around,” he said, shrugging. “I’m good at whatever the Captain wants me to do. I’m nothing special, though. But in this? I can help you. If you want my help.”

“Brody?” Jules said, frowning slightly. “That’s probably the sweetest thing anyone’s ever–” Jules’s voice stopped.

As the redhead’s eyes glassed over, Kieron reached out and folded her into his arms, kissing her forehead. “Well, good for me,” he whispered, shaking his head. “Hang on, Jules. Just hang on.”

He carefully lifted her up — she was little and light — and walked her to Nathan’s bunk room. The door wasn’t locked; he laid her down in the bed, and turned her to her side. Kieron’s post-slip agony and nausea were abated by being within the aetheric field of the engines, but these were Jules’s first travels — no doubt she would be in pain through them, no matter what.

He put a bucket on the floor in front of her, and then quickly fetched a washrag, returning to her. While the deck was chaos, and Nathan dealt with his heartbreak on his own, Kieron wiped her face, and soothed the faint frown that showed up there.

* * *

Everything was beyond chaos. She stood on the railing of a ship she recognized (except she didn’t) and watched rain and hail batter the boards. One hand held in the rigging. Two feet were planted, but she knew better than to stay like this (except she always did, but this time, she didn’t feel steady) and she was just about to get down.

Just about to.

She stared at the woman on the prow, the figurehead. Water ships had mermaids — big busted carved things with shells in their hair, looking serene and peaceful.

Airships had figureheads made of clouds and lightning, women born of storm, ready to sunder the sky.

This one was painted in silver leaf, with purple glazed hair, and eyes made of black glass.

Jules felt her heart swell with love, with pride, staring at the figurehead.

She looked around, twisting, and turning, trying to make sense of what she saw, trying to make sense of how the world had gotten more than a little upside-down, when she heard “Waylan, LOOK OUT!”

Just as she turned, she caught sight of the pulley block swinging at her. She didn’t even have time to throw a hand up to pretend she could shield herself. The massive metal thing crashed full into her face, and threw her from the railing.

The block crushed her skull; she pissed herself, and noted with an odd sense of curiosity that it felt different, to do it as a man.

The last thing she could comprehended was the sound of her cheek and teeth as they shattered, and were driven through her eye, into her brain.

She died within seconds, before she even fell out of the sky.

* * *

NEXT

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DeathWatch No. 78 – I’m forgiving Danny

Posted on August 19, 2015 by Catastrophe Jones

This is Issue #78 of DeathWatch, an ongoing Serial. Click that link to go find ‘A Beginning’ and read from there, if you need to catch up.

Happy Reading!

PREVIOUS

* * *

“What in the name of all the fucks are you doing?” Jules wondered, and for all the harsh words, her tone was gentle. “Djara left the thing on auto pilot to take a piss and get a meal. Do you even know how to get it out of–”

The ship shuddered, briefly, and groaned as it turned.

“Nathan,” she murmured laying a hand on his shoulder. “Nathan Einin O’Malley, what are you–”

“You know I’m older now, than he was, when he left? N’we’re all still children,” Nate answered.

“What?” Jules said, looking bewildered.

“What in the ever loving fuck are you doing, Quarter?” came a roar from the doorway.

“I’m forgiving Danny,” Nathan said, grim determination on his face. “And we’re going back for anyone who went down on the Maxima. If this is war, Captain — I can’t let them be the first prisoners. Abe was wrong. Straight-out wrong. But he doesn’t deserve whatever those people are going to do to him if they catch him. There were lots of chutes in the sky. But they didn’t fall far. Many of them should’ve survived.”

“What inna holy fuck–” spat Djara from the doorway. She stood there having rushed back when the ship started moving, holding a mug and balancing a sandwich on top, staring at the cluster of people in and around her seat. “Captain?”

Sha stared at Nate, and said, “Get out of the chair, Quarter. Pilot can fly better than you.”

“Aye, Captain. But will she hold the right course?” Nate wondered. He looked at Kieron, and then back at Sha.

“She’ll hold the fucking course I tell her to,” Sha snapped. “Djara. Next time you want to leave your seat, make sure his ass isn’t ready to sit in it.”

“Aye-aye, Captain,” Djara said, glaring hot death at Nathan.

He got up, his expression all apologies. “I’m sorry. I just, ah. I’m sure you’ve got it.”

“Nathan. Jules. My cabin,” Sha sighed, shaking her head.

When Kieron tried to follow, she gestured back to the pilot’s room, saying, “Keep with her, cadet. You need more time with the crew, less with command, right this second.”

“But–” Kieron began.

“It’s a personal fucking matter, Brody, all right?” Sha said, irritable, and shut the door in his face.

Red-faced, Kieron quickstepped back to the pilot room, and sat quietly near Djara, listening her talk him through the correct way to bring the ship about.

“Do ya ken why we turnin roun?” she asked him.

“Ah. Yes?” Kieron said. “We’re going to see if we can find any survivors from–”

“Brody,” she said, rolling her eyes. “What kinna stupid ya take me fer? Why he look at you, cadet? Why he look at you?”

* * *

“Okay,” Jules said, shaking her head as Sha shut the door to her rooms. “The two of you had better–” Her voice trailed off.

“Jules?” Nate wondered, cocking his head to the side. “Honey?”

Jules blinked, frowning, and looked down at her hands, and then at Nathan, then Sha and said, “My tongue feels–”

“Shit,” breathed Sha, her eyes widening. “Nate, catch her.”

* * *

Jules felt strong arms around her; her throat was on fire — her tongue could taste nothing but copper. Her limbs felt heavy. Dead. Someone laid her down, pillowed her head. She tried to speak, but even breathing was difficult. There were voices around her; they felt familiar. They felt right.

But she couldn’t recognize them.

“I am not certain there is anything I can do. The poison would not have been as damaging had he ingested it in its initial form, but once the body has acted upon it, and put it in the bloodstream, it becomes fatal.”

Poison? Fatal? Jules tried to reach out, but everything felt heavy. She tried to cry out, but all that came was a low moan.

Those strong arms wrapped around her again, and she felt warm hands cup her cheeks. Tears rolled over them, and then an unfamiliar face was close to hers. Unfamiliar, and yet — and yet.

“Brother,” the man said, tears on his own face. “Do not. You cannot. You must fight this. You must. Please–”

A woman’s voice, furious, full of hate, “We will find that ship. That last ship. We will burn it out of the sky. I will light every last milk-skinned pig on fire.”

Something blossomed, along with pain, in Jules’ chest. Love.

She loved this woman.

She turned her eyes to the man who held her.

She loved him, as well.

She tried to speak, but her throat would not work; finally, she could barely breathe. Panic set in. A heavy weight settled against her chest; she tried to cough, but all that came was a runnel of blood. She felt it gag her, and then when she could not breathe at all, she grabbed for each of them, grabbed at nothing, and felt her body convulse.

The man and woman wept for her, held her close. “Immanis!” the man cried. “Immanis!”

“My brother!” sobbed the woman.

The darkness that had been threatening Jules finally swallowed her.

* * *

“–funny,” Jules finished after a heartbeat of silence, and then she convulsed, mouth wide open in a silent, breathless scream, clawing at the air.

“Please be wrong!” Nathan’s was full of anguish as he caught Jules in his arms. “Fuck, Sha don’t be right about this.”

“Help me!” Jules sobbed.

Nathan pressed his cheek to hers, and one hand reached to lay over her belly, protective as he cradled her..

“Help me!” she screamed, folding herself in, struggling.

“I’ve got you — I’ve got you!” Nathan promised, trying to hold her close, tight, to let her know she was all right. “Jules! Juliana! STOP!” He sat, laying her in his lap, and cupped her face in his hands so she had to look right at him. “JULES!”

Jules stared at her husband, until something finally registered, and then she sagged in his arms, accepting where she was. Her eyes went wide as she whispered, “I wasn’t me. I wasn’t me. I was dying and I wasn’t me–” She groaned, twisted away from looking at Nate, and promptly vomited on the floorboards, breakfast and blood and bile, all at once.

“Fuck,” Nate said, shaking his head, rubbing her back.

“I know. I know,” Sha said, reaching to pet her hair. “It… Jules, has this ever happened before?”

“I’ve been having dreams,” Jules said, panting. “Bad… bad dreams. This was like that; they come when I’m not sleeping,” she confessed, looking at Sha, then at Nate, then back to Sha again, fearful. “Is this — this isn’t…it can’t be–”

Sha helped sit Jules back up, and got her a glass of water, and a glass of scotch. “Here,” she said. “Doesn’t matter what order you drink ’em in; you’re gonna need both.”

“But what about the ba–” Nathan began, and then he stopped, as the pieces came crashing down, and everything made a terrible sort of sense.

Sha looked to him, her head cocked, her expression concerned.

He shook his head, and cleared his throat, glancing away from Jules, who had downed the scotch and was working on the water, heedless of whatever Nathan had begun to say. He blinked, rapidly, to clear the stinging feeling in his eyes, and said to Sha, “You, uh. You take care of her.” He carefully released Jules, and moved to stand up, deftly avoiding the mess on the floor. “I’ll get Brody. Maybe he’ll have some answers.”

* * *

When Nathan O’Malley walked into the pilot room, the look on his face was such that Kieron thought someone had fallen overboard. He got up and went to him, all wide-eyes and worry. “Nate? What is it?”

Nate motioned for Jet to follow him, but turned away without a word. He led him out onto the deck, and back toward Sha’s quarters, silent the whole way until just outside the door, where he finally paused, and said, “I don’t think it was your fault, Kieron… but I can’t let you leave to find your friend until we sort this out.”

“What?” Kieron said, shocked.

“It’s Jules, Brody,” Nathan said, opening the door and ushering Kieron in to where he could see Jules in Sha’s arms, much like he was often in Jet’s, pale and weak, sick-stomached and trembling. “She has visions like Jacobs. Like yours.”

Jules stared at him, glassy-eyed and grey-faced, throat working, muscles spasming.

“You mean–” Kieron’s heart all but stopped.

Nate nodded, cutting off Kieron’s words. He said nothing, himself, for a moment, letting the silence reign long enough for cold fingers to draw shivers down his own back.  When he did speak, his eyes were wet with unshed tears, and his voice was low, and rough with grief. “She’s a deathwatcher.”

* * *

NEXT

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DeathWatch No. 77 – I could keep you as a dog

Posted on August 18, 2015 by Catastrophe Jones

This is Issue #77 of DeathWatch, an ongoing Serial. Click that link to go find ‘A Beginning’ and read from there, if you need to catch up.

Happy Reading!

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Battlefield tents had been brought; it was not yet fall — they would suffice for temporary shelters, even in the worst of the summer storms through the farmlands. They would be given to the survivors while the village was rebuilt, before new settlers were brought out. It was in one of these that Immanis held temporary court. Though it was but a thin chair upon a pallet, with thin torches instead of massive braziers, with beaten mud and rushes instead of marble, it was regal. The man who waited was a pacing lion, hungry and furious, all at once.

When the guards brought forth their prisoner, he sat, quietly folding his hands in his lap, waiting patiently once more, while Jet and Lucida stood one step behind him, watchful.

“Kneel,” said one of the guards.

The man did not kneel. “You are Prince, hmm?” The man’s voice was a guttural rasp.

The guard drove a booted foot against the side of the man’s knee, wearing a triumphant sneer.

The joint gave a groaning creak, but it did not break. The man turned to look at the guard, and spat at him, swearing darkly.

The guard raised his weapon, but Immanis lifted a hand, and the guard froze.

“You have the look of a Kriegsman,” Immanis said softly.

“Family is Kriegic,” snapped Abramov. Tongue is Kriegic. Heart is free,” he growled. He had been a massive man in his prime, no doubt, but the last few months had seen him overwrought with grief, and the last few weeks had seen him destroyed. His clothing — a uniform, was in tatters. He had been reduced to eating char and filth, but he had survived. He had fallen out of the sky and survived in the midst of the devastation he had wrought. Though it appeared as though he were coming down with wet-lung, he still looked formidable. “You have the look of a monster,” he growled.

Jet was half-impressed, and half-disgusted. His hand tightened on his sword.

Immanis nodded at the comment, but did not otherwise speak to it. Instead, he said, “They tell me you were the Captain of the ship that–”

“The Maxima,” Abramov interrupted proudly. “It is my ship.”

“It was your ship,” Immanis countered. “It is nothing more than kindling and scrap, now.”

Abramov sneered. “As is this village. Nothing more than scrap and kindling and bones. So many little bones, Ilonan.”

Immanis’s hands tightened on the armrests of the chair in which he sat. “Do you provoke me with intent, Kriegsman?”

“Could be true,” Abramov growled. “Do you? You sitting there, in fine robes. You drink children’s blood. You do this, so I paying you back in measure. I hating you, and every other of your countrymen. I kill every one I see. I burn them. I burn their fields. I burn their children. Your children. Every one of them. To make you pay for mine,” he snarled, taking a step forward.

Immanis’s eyes flicked up to meet Abramov’s, and he said, quite clearly, “No further.”

Abramov stopped where he stood, and his expression grew baffled, briefly. “I do not wanting to be closer to you, monster,” he snapped, coming up with his own reason for why he stopped.

Immanis rose, then, and shed the robes he’d been wearing. He stepped off the pallet and walked to Abramov, and stood before him, proud, without fear. The glimmering tattoos whorling over his flesh caught the torchlight, and made his skin shine. He took a knife from his hip and held it carefully, delicately twirling it with dextrous fingers.

Jet trembled, only steps away, ready to carve the Kriegsman’s into pieces, while Lucida watched, sleepy lioness eyes taking in everything, simply biding her time.

Abramov leaned back from Immanis, almost baring his teeth, looking distinctly uncomfortable.

“I ask you again, Kriegsman. Do you provoke me with intent?” Immanis wondered, conversational, blinking slowly.

“Yes,” Abramov growled.

Hate shone in his eyes, but Jet saw, for a moment, a flicker of something that was more akin to love. Oh, Eisen, he thought, remembering the way the Kriegsman’s eyes had shone with adoration. And then he looked down at his own hands, and then over at Lucida, who caught his gaze, and looked solemn. He questioned himself, then — what am I doing? — and felt his heart rise in his throat as he looked back to the exchange.

“Yes, monster. I provoking you,” Abramov snarled. “You deserving it. Killed my boys. Killed our people. Killing everything I love,” he hissed. “You are animals. Worse than animals. You are beasts. Monsters. All of you. I provoking you, monster, to finish it. All of this, all of your dead farmers. All of your land poisoned. All your dead children! ALL OF THEM! I do all of this, and now there is nothing more for me to do. Maxima is gone. My Yana is gone. Everything is gone. You taking nothing more from me. Nothing!”

“Oh,” Immanis said, and his eyes lit up, though the smile at his lips did not touch that wrathful gaze. “Oh, how little you comprehend, Kriegsman. You think there is nothing more I can take?”

Abramov snarled, spitting at Immanis’s feet, and shouted “I having nothing left! You already taking everything! You–”

Both Jet and Lucy came to stand beside Immanis, to watch. They knew what was coming.

“Silence,” Immanis hissed.

The sound of it sent a cold chill up Jet’s spine. He knew he could speak if he wished, but he saw Abramov close his mouth so suddenly, he bit his tongue. Blood ran from his lips in a slow line, and Abramov’s eyes went wide in shock.

“I will take from you one last thing, Kriegsman,” Immanis murmured. He lifted a hand, and gestured for Abramov to kneel. At the same time, he said, “Sit,” as one might speak to a dog.

When Abramov knelt before Immanis, Jet found himself smiling with pride. Here was the monster, brought to heel.

“I could keep you as a dog,” Immanis whispered, leaning over Abramov. “Would you like that, Kriegsman?”

There were tears in Abramov’s eyes as he nodded, and they ran with the blood, and dripped from his chin.

Immanis reached down to touch Abramov’s chin, to make the Kriegsman look up at him. He ran his thumb over the blood and tears on the man’s cheek, and then painted his own cheek from the temple to the corner of his mouth. He licked the last trace clean from the pad of his thumb, and said “I have no need of a dog. I have hounds aplenty.” He turned away and walked back to his chair

Abramov’s shoulders slumped. He looked defeated. “No,” he begged. “No, please. You cannot sending me away, my Prince. I will be hound. I will be hound! Let me be hound!”

Lucida laughed darkly, rolling her eyes and shaking her head. “It is a pity he does not truly know what you have taken.”

Jet thought it a mercy, one the massive man did not deserve. “All those innocent people,” he said, shaking his head. “It would be a more perfect punishment for the man if he knew how he was being degraded, yes, but I would rather him dead. I would rather kill him a hundred thousand times,” he said. “Brother,” he called, staring down at Abramov, who knelt, looking pleading. “What shall we do with him now, get him a collar? Have him docked?”

When there was no answer, Jet turned, half-smiling. What he saw put fear into the pit of his belly, nearly quenching the fire that lived there now.

Immanis lay within reach of his pallet, grey-lipped and trembling, one hand reaching out as he frothed, choking, legs kicking at nothing.

Jet flew to his side, turning him over, holding him. Kieron’s episodes had sometimes come with seizures — the only thing to do had been to wait them out.

“No,” Lucida cried. “No, NO!” Whirling on Abramov, she howled, “WHAT DID YOU DO?”

“Poison. I poisoning my blood when you catch me,” he told her piteously, howling to see Immanis convulse. “Is only poison for blood-eaters. Monstrous beauty. Oh, no, my Prince!”

Senseless with rage, Lucida drew her own sword and in an instant, wrapped herself around the Kriegsman and drew the blade tight from ear to ear. She sawed it close, and the edge caught in the cartilage of his spine. When she jerked it free, the head fell back, and she kicked him over, dancing neatly out of the way of his falling body, and its outrush of blood.

“Get him to the airship,” she cried. “We have brought a physician. She will save him!”

Jet picked Immanis up and held him close, tears in his eyes to feel the lifeless body of his brother. His heart ached; this was no monster. The man in his arms was his blood. He ran past the guards, snarling, “Burn the tent. Burn the body.”

“What of the other ship, Guardian?” one of the soldiers asked. “The Ivory Goddess?”

Jet’s eyes lit up; the inferno within him roared as he declared, “Find it. And burn it, as well.”

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