Episode Nine: The Gamut, Part I

“He is a surgeon. You can trust him,” Colonel Pell said.

Amelia looked rather than spoke her lack of trust in the good surgeon’s skills as he held the (quite keen!) blade against her naked palm and spoke in a somber, dusty tongue. Then zip! The edge sliced through her tender skin. She clenched her hand closed instinctively and gasped more in shock than in pain. The Councilman Amelia nicknamed Berserker drew her dripping fist over a small bowl to catch the blood for a few seconds, then pressed a chunk of cloth-wrapped ice against the cut to numb the pain.

What happened to Do No Harm, she thought, as she dipped the ceremonial raven feather quill into the pool of blood.

Two illuminated linen scrolls lay before her on the altar awaiting her signature: the first, her Compact designating her as a member of The Argonaut Society, and the other, the crew’s Charter. Amelia signed both without hesitation, afraid if she paused even for a moment, she would realize how mad she had become and fly the Mazarine back home. She didn’t know which madness was worse.

Colonel Pell, Monty, Guerrero, and Gavin followed suit, each with their own bowl and small crimson pool. Once all had signed the Charter, the Councilman poured all of the bowls into one, mixed in some sealing wax that turned an unappealing rust color, poured it on a space at the bottom of the Charter, and pressed the ceremonial seal into the wax, binding the team for life.

“Argonauts, step Into the Breach.”

Three sharp cracks of stone on stone. Before Amelia could move, her head was wrapped in a cloth and her hands bound behind her.

“From now on, you are more than a team. You are brothers bound in blood,” Councilman Glower said. “Your success depends on your ability to function as a cohesive unit. Solidarity forms through trial. The Gamut is a sacred crucible,” Glower said.

***

Footsteps slow, measured, circled Amelia and her bound and blinded crew. With her thumb, she rubbed the ornate relief pattern on the heavy metal cylinder someone pressed into her hand while en-route to wherever they were now.


“Aboard the Gamut, you will prove your worthiness to be called ‘Argonaut.’ In a moment, we will leave the ship,” a Councilman’s voice said. “The Captain will read your Charge, your sacred mission. You will then have ten minutes to clear the hangar doors before they close, locking you inside. You will not be given a second chance.”

A beat of silence.

“A life hangs in the balance. You and you alone can fulfill this Charge. Into the Breach!”

“Into the Breach!” the Argonauts replied, Amelia a scant second behind the others. Amelia’s hood whipped off her head and the cabin door closed and latched a moment later. She blinked, trying to take in the unfamiliar deck.

“Read our Charge, Captain,” Colonel Pell said.

With trembling fingers, Amelia unscrewed the cap on the cylinder and drew out the rolled parchment.

Captain Brinkley and Argonauts,

As you may be aware, the territories are not entirely satisfied with the elimination of the slave trade ordered by Emperor Germanus Pax. There have been numerous demonstrations of their dissatisfaction recently, including raids on native camps in an attempt to turn the tribes against the empire. One raid in particular involved the daughter of the tribe’s spiritual leader. The Society has been commissioned to retrieve the woman from captivity and return her to her people, preferably alive.

Your mission is simple. You are to fly to the provided coordinates, where territorial malefactors hold the hostage. Rescue the woman and return her to her father at the second set of coordinates.

The Council

“Captain?” Colonel Pell prompted.

She didn’t know where or how to begin, what to say. Though her eyes read and her lips formed the words, she comprehended none of it. I can’t, she thought. I’m not an airship captain; I’m a society darling with delusions of grandeur! She stood paralyzed, silently begging the scroll for assistance.

Pell gripped her arm, jolting her to the present. “Mr. Eckhart, Mr. Monterey, get us airborne immediately,” he said. “Mr. Guerrero, please see to munitions. Captain, come with me.”

The men jumped into action. Pell guided Amelia through the door and into the hallway.

“I can’t do this, Colonel,” Amelia said, struggling to hold back tears. “I don’t know what I was thinking, what I was expecting, but…” she leaned against the wall and gestured in frustration. “This isn’t it.”

“Forgive my impudence, Captain, but too bad. Gather yourself, madam. I will assist you, as will your crew, but you must take command. More than a young woman’s life is at stake.”

“What should we do? Where do I start?” Amelia asked. The engine whined to a higher octave. The floor rumbled. Amelia’s stomach lurched as the craft lifted off the ground.

“Your crew know their roles. All you must do is direct them and make the final decisions should the need arise. Your crew are resources. Make use of them.” Pell guided his captain back into the cabin.

“We’ve has cleared the roof, Captain,” Eckhart said, pulling levers and repositioning instruments. The hangar roof clanged and groaned into motion as the cabin cleared into the night sky.

“Thank you, Mr. Eckhart,” Amelia said. A large contraption nearby captured her attention. “What is this?”

“A BRIC,” Eckhart said. “Bilocational Radio Inter Communication device. You can use it on the ground to communicate with me here on the ship.”

“Extraordinary,” Amelia said.

“The Gamut,” Monty said with a smirk. “They’re making short work of us.”

Eckhart gestured to the parchment, still clutched in Amelia’s hand. “May I, captain? I should plot our course.”

“Yes, of course,” Amelia replied, distracted, then turned her attention to Monty. “What do you mean, ‘Making short work of us?’”

“The first mission any new Argo crew undertakes is on the Gamut. It’s a test to see how the team functions together,” Gavin explained. “Usually, the whole crew have trained for such, but most of the Gamut missions have been catastrophic.”

“Surely you’re exaggerating,” Amelia said with a halfhearted laugh.

“Men have died.” Monty tapped on a dial on the instrument array. Eckhart shoved his hand away with a murderous glare. “The ship exploded in midair once. I think this might be the third or fourth Gamut.”

“Fifth, actually,” Gavin corrected. “Long may she reign.”

“Amen,” Amelia muttered. “Are you implying they want us to die?”

“They don’t want a woman leading the Argonauts, I know that much,” Monty said. “If you die on the first mission...”

Amelia looked at her First Mate. “Lady Pell said our first mission was to meet the Emperor.”

“This is not official Argonaut business,” Pell replied.

“Then what was this for,” she said, holding out her throbbing hand and blood-soaked bandage. “Pigment?”

“Obedience to the Council is the foundation of the Argonauts,” Pell said. “That is a reminder of your obligation and your bond with your crew.”

"Bleed together, fly together, die together," Monty intoned with mock gravity.

Eckhart hissed something under his breath.

“Is there a problem, Mr. Eckhart?” Pell asked.

“I know where we’re going,” Eckhart replied, his face sour. “It’s in the forest near my uncle’s home. I expect my cousins are involved in the rebellion.”

“Then you know the territory?” Guerrero asked.

“Well enough, I suppose." Eckhart half-shrugged and pushed the wheel forward to lock it into position. "We weren't exactly close. One of my cousins is a sharpshooter, by the way. One of the best marksmen in the territory.”

“Then we should have an unanticipated advantage,” Pell said.

“How?” Amelia asked.

Gavin huffed in derision from his seat.

Ignore the neanderthal, she thought, remembering Ms. Boon’s advice.

“Unless the cousins know Mr. Eckhart is part of our crew, which they shouldn’t,” Pell began, looking at Eckhart, who shook his head, “we’ll know more about the terrain than they expect, and we know about their sharpshooter.”

“Then we have a chance of success,” Amelia said, tamping down her hopes.

Guerrero nodded. “But we will need a plan.”

***

Full skirts and evening shoes made for significant difficulties navigating the underbrush, even without the miserable cold mizzle.

“Blast,” Amelia muttered, tugging the last vestige of her dirty lace ruffle out of the brambles. Her hair, nearly soaked through, clung to her face in sopping strands. Altogether, she was in foul spirits, indeed. “Every dress I own will be shredded if I’m forced to traipse through the verge in this manner,” she grumbled. “At this rate, I might be better attired for tuppenny trash by the time we arrive at the cave.”

“I’m sure we can find you a suitable house of ill repute,” Gavin said behind her.

Guerrero shushed them from the front of the line.

“Or maybe our captors will trade the hostage for you,” Gavin muttered after a few minutes’ muddy slog.

“You’re prettier than I am,” Amelia shot back, “and I would pay them to keep you.”

Guerrero whirled and pointed between Amelia and Gavin. “They will hear your infernal bickering,” he spat.

“Forgive me,” Amelia said. Only it would be better had we left my eternal peanut gallery behind on the ship. But they needed everyone for the plan to work, even Gavin Bloody Graves.

“My apologies, sir,” Gavin said.

Once the Gamut had landed a safe distance from the coordinates, Guerrero had performed some dark-of-night reconnaissance based on information from Eckhart. The woman was held in the cave, watched over by a small group of rebels. A guard or two manned the front of the cave, and another inside guarded the woman. Others went about other duties. Guerrero had estimated 10 malfeasants in all.

Guerrero stopped just below the crest of a hill and looked down on the camp once more with his binoculars. Satisfied, he communicated to the others through gestures that he was going on to deal with the sharp-shooter. According to plan, Gavin and Pell would remain to draw the rest into the forest once the marksman was down. When the way was clear, Amelia would sneak into the cave and secure the hostage. All of them would meet once the hostage was in-hand and make their way back to the Gamut.

It seemed simple enough. Though Amelia doubted her ability to sneak into anything, nearly undressed as she was and female.

“I still wonder why we don’t just fly in the Gamut, swoop down on the camp and use the element of surprise. We can easily clear the area with the cannons,” Gavin said while watching the tiny camp, watched over only by the sharp-shooter and a single, droopy guard.

“Except we would risk injuring or killing the hostage,” Amelia said. “Guerrero already dismissed that idea as too risky.”

“Did it occur to you that maybe Guerrero has ulterior motives?”

“Not everyone is like you, Gavin,” Amelia huffed.

“More than you’d suspect.”

Pell hushed them and pointed toward a tree along the edge of the camp, where a single flicker of reflected sunlight told them Guerrero had taken out the sharp-shooter. He and Gavin went separate directions, leaving Amelia alone. She slung her rifle in front of her and clutched it close. The heft and solidness offered little comfort, since she had no idea how to use it aside from aim-and-pull-trigger. Guerrero had warned her that she might need to kill someone to ensure the success of the mission, but she didn’t know if, in the moment, she would be able to take a life. Murder wasn’t covered in the Code of Conduct.

Gunshot exploded into the camp from Gavin’s direction. The guard grabbed his shoulder and ducked behind a cart for protection. A group of rebels scrambled out of the cave and crashed into the woods in search of the shooter.

Swallowing her heart, Amelia crept around toward the tumble of boulders forming the mouth of the cave. She hadn’t noticed if the guard inside the cave had left, and the shadows in the cave’s low mouth revealed nothing. Guerrero would advise her to assume the guard had remained. She would need to be stealthy and quick. She was preparing to dart for the narrow opening when someone grabbed her from behind and pitched her backwards. She stumbled against a boulder and cracked her head, dropping her rifle. Her vision blurred. Something fleshy and foul slammed her against the rock, forcing the air from her lungs. A hand crushed against her mouth, silencing her as another hand pawed at what remained of her skirt. Warm, fetid whiskey breath huffed against her ear.

“A little far from the whore house, aren’t you?” he sneered as he kicked the rifle away. “No other tricks?”

Amelia shook her head, eyes wide as she tried to pull his hand off her mouth, pounding on him with no result. The man seemed to generate appendages that groped everywhere, no matter how she thrashed and kicked.

“Pretty thing like you shouldn’t meddle,” he said, jamming a hand between her legs. “You won’t like what we do to meddlesome cunts.”

Panicked and furious, Amelia clawed at the man’s eyes, her ragged nails leaving deep, bloody gashes on his face. The man yowled in pain and cracked Amelia’s head into the boulder in retaliation. Something zinged between them and ricocheted off the stone. Not a second later, another bullet tore through the man’s head, spraying blood and bone. He crumpled to the ground.

Amelia fell to her hands and knees, dragging in searing lungfuls of air, and looked her assailant’s grimy, wide-eyed corpse.

“You’d better not be Eckhart’s cousin.”

Episode Eight: Crash Course

With no further reason for delay, the Hesperus set out on its three-day transcontinental journey to the eastern seaboard. Colonel Pell took the opportunity to show Amelia and Alexander the basic layout of an airship and taught them the fundamentals of navigation. Lady Pell focused her lessons on self-defense and diplomacy, often simultaneously. Amelia also received a copy of the Code of Conduct to learn by heart and a history of The Argonaut Society for continual study and finished both en route. By the time the party arrived at headquarters in the afternoon of the third day, Amelia felt less fundamentally unqualified for her station than she had upon departure. In fact, the ease with which she learned provided much-needed encouragement.

A small, solemn group waited outside the hangar as the landing cradle lowered the ship to the ground and the roof slid closed. Amelia tried and failed to ignore the workers and machines that sprang to action around her. It wouldn’t do to gawk. Captains never gawk, she decided. The landing cradle staircase that folded down and in as the party descended didn’t astonish her. The sheer magnitude of the hangar itself left no impression. Her eyes weren’t wide as saucers and her heart didn’t flutter like a giddy school girl. Her hands were not shaking. Her hands were not shaking. Her hands were not shaking.

Colonel Pell introduced her to the Councilmen, whose names she immediately forgot and replaced in her memory with their dominant personality traits: Bombastic, Glad-Hand, Shrew, Glower, and Berserker. Bombastic presented her to Director Marsters, whose demeanor reminded her of an overworked but dedicated nanny minding her wayward and tiresome charges.

Her impressions of the men deepened over dinner. Despite all attempts by Marsters and Colonel Pell to steer conversation toward safe topics, arguments and antagonisms still flared, died and rose again many times over. Her opinion was irrelevant to the belligerent few commandeering first the dinner table and then the den when the party changed locations. Lady Pell remained largely silent for the duration of the gathering, and Amelia recognized in her compatriot’s weariness the capitulation after a long and fruitless war. She began to understand why it had taken them 32 days to decide on a course of action. Twenty-seven of those days were likely spent at each other’s throats.

“Gentlemen, I must retire for the night,” she sighed, rising (not satisfied when the men immediately shut up and scrambled to their feet). “The truth is, I am here because a majority of you decided it should be so, and I intend to move forward as planned until the majority opinion changes. You may continue the debate if you desire. You know where to find me.”

Alexander hid a smirk finishing his drink.

***
The next morning, brighter and earlier than necessary, the curtains snapped open. Daylight streamed across Amelia’s eyes and she growled her displeasure. The suite of sleeping quarters included two bedrooms attached by a common sitting area. After three fitful nights sleeping together on the Mazarine and Hesperus, Amelia and Alexander quickly decided sleeping separately would prevent midnight homicide. Since neither of the couple rose early, Amelia knew her beloved husband couldn’t have been the culprit.

“Good morning, Ma’am,” a young woman chirped as she unleashed another onslaught of sunlight. “I’m Bridget Loft; I’ve been assigned as your lady’s maid and assistant. If you don’t mind, I took the liberty of having your breakfast sent to the patio. It offers a glorious view of the sunrise and the lake. I didn’t know if you preferred coffee or tea, so I ordered both. I’ve also procured suitable attire for today’s activities. If you require anything else during the day, I’ll be happy to oblige.”

“How thoughtful, thank you,” Amelia mumbled, attempting a groggy smile. She’d never had her own lady’s maid before, let alone one possessing so much alacrity. But then, she’d never been an airship captain, either.

“I hope you don’t mind the early hour,” Loft continued. “Lady Pell trained me, and she’s quite the morning person. In fact, I expect she’ll have already returned from her dawn ride. She will join you for your first appointment this morning with the clothiers and weaponeers. That will take all morning and resume after luncheon. Then you will have the remainder of the afternoon to rest before dinner at seven when you will meet your crew and complete initiation afterward.”

“During which I sign away my soul with my own blood,” Amelia said, only partially in jest.

“Among other things,” Loft said.

Alexander’s revivified corpse joined her on the patio just as she was gulping down the last of her coffee. A quick kiss on the cheek, and Amelia dashed off.

After a series of measurements for wardrobe, an excruciating three hours passed under the appraising eyes of Master Weaponeer Mr. Plummer and Concealment Specialist Ms. Boon. While Plummer determined which overt weapons Amelia would wield, Ms. Boon demonstrated how smaller weapons could be hidden and where: a bustle-concealed pistol holster, knives slipped up long sleeves and down special sheaths in boots, poison jewelry, throwing sticks and stilettos in hair or used as hatpins.

“Sticking grown men with pins?” Plummer asked Boon. “Isn’t that what your people call acupuncture?”

“Ignore the neanderthal,” Boon said, cutting her eyes at Plummer. “He thinks he can beat people into submission with his big stick. A gun is the first thing your enemy will remove from you. Your knives next, if they know where they’re all hidden. But the cleverly concealed weapons will slip an enemy’s notice. And as a woman, anything you wear can hide a weapon.”

“Or you can just shoot them when they try to take your gun,” Plummer said. “You don’t want to get close enough to a sky pirate to use a dagger, no matter where you stick it.”

“Your first assignment as a new crew will include meeting Emperor Germanus Pax,” Lady Pell interrupted. “Guns aren’t allowed in the imperial palace, but that won’t prevent enemies from attempting to remove you, given the chance. Ms. Boon’s skills hold immediate precedence, then. We can begin overt weapons when you’ve returned.”

Unlike the sessions aboard the Hesperus, Lady Pell didn’t pepper Amelia with both strikes and diplomacy riddles. Instead, she and Boon focused on tricks to draw the gaze while unsheathing a blade, maintaining poise and patience so as not to attract attention, and mind-numbing amounts of repetition to make actions automatic and lightning quick.

“You must never think yourself helpless,” Boon said after she knocked Amelia’s stiletto out of her hand. “Find solutions. Even when these weapons are gone, you still have your mind and your body. Fingers to the eyes, a chop to the throat, an elbow into the solar plexus, a heel ground into the toes can incapacitate or give you space to escape. Use psychology. Let your enemies think you’re defeated. Then twist what hurts them most.”

***
Amelia and Alexander arrived early to the drawing room to await the arrival of the new crew members. Colonel and Lady Pell joined them soon after they arrived, followed not long after by two men deep in conversation. One, a middle-aged man whose attire met Code standards but barely, spoke to the other quite heatedly about the Argo’s speed and capacity. His interlocuter, or, rather, his willing ear, stood straight as a pin in a Pax Terran military uniform. His movements as he poured drinks for himself and the other gentleman were precise, efficient, and fluid.

“Captain and Mr. Brinkley, your Defender Lieutenant Manuel Guerrero, and your Mechanic, Mr. Jonny Monterey,” Pell said as the two men joined them. “Captain Amelia Brinkley, and her husband, Mr. Alexander Brinkley.”

Amelia extended a hand in greeting. Guerrero hesitated, seemingly perplexed, then bowed. “Forgive me. The Code does not address how subordinates should greet a female in command. We are in uncharted skies.”

“’Cause we’ve never had a woman in command, have we? But she isn’t curtsying, is she?” Monterey said, extending his hand to Amelia. “And you can call me Monty.”

“Monty,” Amelia said, taking his hand firmly, then Guerrero’s. "Lieutenant."

"Guerrero, please," her Defender said.

Another gentleman joined not long after, fitting all of the visual criteria for a pilot, including swagger to rival that of Gavin Graves without the plume of booze vapor. He introduced himself as Richard Eckhart.

“Mr. Eckhart has trained to be an Argonaut pilot for many years,” Colonel Pell said.

“I’ve dreamt of flying the Argo since I was a boy,” Eckhart said with a lopsided grin.
         
“I’m glad you have your opportunity,” Amelia said.

Monty leaned toward Eckhart with a conspiratorial smirk. “Just don’t wreck this one, a’right?” Eckhart’s jaw tightened, but he didn’t reply. Monty’s smirk deepened.

“So,” Amelia said as a diversion, “we have our Defender, our Pilot, our Mechanic, and our Captain-hopeful. We’re missing the first mate and the Chronicler, I believe.”

Colonel Pell made a short bow. “First mate, Colonel William Pell, at your service,” he said.

Amelia couldn’t express her relief. “And the Chronicler?” she asked.

“That position has caused me no end of consternation,” Marsters said as he joined them. “Merriday has thrown the Argonauts into a tailspin with his little stunt,” he said. “But I don’t blame you in the least, Captain. It might have been time for some new life in the ranks. With a new captain comes a new crew and a new vision.”

“The Director has wanted to shake things up for years,” Monty said, pouring another drink. “He finally gets his chance.”

“Merriday’s team was the oldest in Argonaut history,” Marsters said. “And public interest in the Argonauts decreased as a result. If the Society hopes to endure, it needs to evolve with the times.”

“I’ll drink to that,” Monty said.

“What wouldn’t you drink to?” Eckhart mumbled.

“Your health, windbag,” Monty retorted.

Marsters glared at them. “We had an individual set aside, but he declared himself incapable of taking commands from a woman. He flatly refused and relinquished his membership in the Argonauts in protest. In fact, all but one of our initial Argo crew candidates followed suit. I believe Merriday named you as his heir not to demonstrate his support of initiating women into the Society, but as a way to make his parting all the more destructive. It worked.”

I’m the wrench in the works, Amelia thought, her stomach sinking. Merriday intended me to fail and take the Society down as a result.

“There’s a reason we’re the team,” Monty said. “We aren’t exactly the Society’s prime stock. Except Guerrero here. But we’re all willing to follow your orders if it means joining the Argo.”

“The exodus meant we had to make some concessions when choosing the new Chronicler,” Marsters continued. “Some transgressions had to be overlooked.”

Colonel Pell scoffed.

“So our Chronicler has broken the Code enough to make him questionable as a member of the crew?” Amelia asked through another wave of panic.

“Haven’t we all,” Monty joked.

“Ah, here he is,” Marsters said, waving toward the door, but not quite hiding the tension in his face. Unadorned and uncharacteristically somber, Gavin Graves approached the group.

“That horse’s ass is our Chronicler?” Monty asked, then laughed and slapped Gavin’s back jovially. “Knew you’d weasel your way in somehow.”

“They let you in,” Gavin retorted. “Their standards have slipped a bit.” He turned to Amelia and extended his hand. “Mrs. Brinkley, please accept my most humble apology for my actions a few days ago. I had no reason to question your virtue. I allowed my anger to override my good sense. I would be honored to serve as your Chronicler.”

Amelia hesitated. He didn’t appear or smell drunk, but she hoped rather than believed his apology sincere. That meant he held all that rage coiled tight inside, set to a hair trigger.

He’s going to eviscerate me.