Episode Eleven: Plunge

With hostage rescued and rebels imprisoned, all that remained was returning the woman to her people. The young woman had rescued herself, really, shooting her guard and beating him senseless with the rifle while Amelia could only watch in barefaced awe. All the crew had done was speed her journey home, and that hardly merited recognition.

And considering her own state of dishabille after the rebels removed her disguise, Amelia feared shocking the tribal leaders. If she as captain was the face of the Argonauts, then at the moment, the face of the Argonauts looked like a tuppenny strumpet. Half undressed and tattered, hair in wild disarray, face smeared with dirt, pallid from a resounding thump of a headache, and a throbbing, sliced palm inflicted during the initiation ceremony that took place less than 24 hours prior.

Was this still the first week of her honeymoon? She’d lost track of time.

The gentle jolt of the landing brought Amelia back to the present. She joined her beleaguered crew at the hatch to await Director Marsters’s arrival.

Failed attempts at adequately pronouncing the young tribal woman’s name resulted the crew calling her Eva. She tolerated the compromise with the same scrim-veiled derision she’d shown when Amelia “rescued” her. She had spent the whole of the journey in front of the viewport or attached to the periscopes, transfixed by the landscape gliding under the ship and asking dozens of questions. Now, however, Eva paced the floor in front of the loading hatch, agitated, impatient.

“Let’s get this over with,” Monty grumbled. The hatch wheel groaned and whined, the mechanism stuck. Muttering imprecations, Monty thunked the door open with a solid kick and it flew down. “Welcome aboard, Marsters.”

“Mister Marsters, if you please, Mr. Monterrey. We must always remember our social protocols,” the Director admonished, then looked about with admiration. “Miraculously in one piece. Crew and ship. You’ve exceeded our expectations,” he said.

Monty leaned in as he rejoined the group. “Except they expected us to…” He made a discrete gesture of explosion.

Miss Loft joined Marsters, leading a line of assistants bearing special rolling steamer trunks bearing each crew member’s name emblazoned on the front in gold lettering. Once matched with appropriate crew members, the accompanying assistants opened the trunks like elaborate origami puzzles to reveal uniforms and accouterments.

Amelia’s stomach sank at the sight of the bustled skirt of her costume, but appreciated the accompanying concealed pistol holster Ms. Boon had contrived. She watched the hatch, expecting Alexander to enter at any moment beaming with relief and pride. She imagined, quite unironically, running into his arms, trading witty, heartfelt barbs. Instead, more assistants with boxes and paraphernalia filed aboard. Stung and disappointed, she asked sotto voce when they’d become a traveling circus side show.

“Become?” Monty asked in reply.

Marsters bowed to Eva, who eyed him suspiciously, but nodded in return.  “Shall we return you to your people, my dear? All in good time. Our physician will see to your injuries, first, while we prepare for your reunion.” He spoke overly loud and slow, compensating for lack of language with abundance of noise.

“I am very grateful for your help. But I’m not deaf,” Eva said, her frustration evident. Nonetheless, she followed the medic. Had she been left to her own devices, Amelia speculated, she might have returned hours ago.

Slightly stung, Marsters moved on to his plan for the reunion ceremony, including uniforms, rank order for disembarking the ship, and an address he had arranged for Amelia celebrating the partnership between tribe and Society.

“Why all the hullaballoo?” Monty asked, frowning at his uniform display with disgust. “Can’t we just walk her home and float off into the sunset?”

“The Council has impressed upon me the importance of good relationships with the various tribes should current circumstances…well, that is beyond the point,” Marsters said. “A ceremony solemnifies the occasion and demonstrates our dedication. We mustn’t scrimp.”

The shower apparatus on Marsters’ ship the Benedict caused several moments’ consternation as Amelia figured out how to start warming the water. Once working, it fairly sang with hums, hisses and soft whistles. She made the mistake, however, of turning on the water too soon. The shower head issued a faceful of frigid water that caused an immediate cry of alarm followed by a frenetic fit as Amelia tried to escape. The water warmed up quickly, though, and the tangle of pipes and instruments overhead that supplied the hot water provided an ample source of contemplation as she washed away the reek of ripe rebel with sweet-scented soap.

As a woman, Amelia’s more specific needs apparently included an array of mechanical oddities. One article, labeled Automatic Corset Adjustment (Every Shape and Size!), like a rampant spider, all spindly arms and reels, filled her with dread. It guaranteed a specific waist size and fashionable shape, though, without needing two people and a sturdy bed post to achieve it. Miss Loft assured her all women would soon rely on such machines, as they saved time and allowed for more independence.

Her assistant also insisted upon using a hot air bonnet to hasten Amelia’s hair to dry, despite all Amelia's warnings against it. She then lamented the frizzy and untamable result for a full quarter hour when her barrage of products failed. The Automatic Corset Adjustment (Every Shape and Size!) tightened the laces so quickly and with such vigor as to render Amelia breathless for several moments until Miss Loft could adjust the tension and release her.

Death by corset, she thought as she gasped for air. What a legacy.

Once more smelling alive and female helped her tolerate the stiff and uncomfortable uniform, all bustle and brass buttons, clearly intended for show rather than functionality. It even included a jaunty hat she loathed immediately. She looked forward to filling the dress’s clever hidden sheathes and practicing with the bustle holster, though, and once fitted with ceremonial saber, she had to admit she looked and felt quite dashing. As long as she didn’t have to move.

“Is all this really necessary?” Amelia asked Colonel Pell once she returned to the Gamut. “I’m sure Eva would like to return to her family as soon as possible.”

“Marsters appreciates a ceremony,” Pell replied. “And it should look and read well in the papers. Of course, our part will remain anonymous until after our official debut.”

The pair of photographers were setting up their cameras and equipment nearby.

"Papers," Amelia said. "Of course."

“So, this was an elaborate publicity stunt,” Eckhart said, his hat cocked at a roguish angle Marsters would likely frown upon.

“It’s all an elaborate publicity stunt, airhead,” Monty said, gesturing to Everything. “Always has been. We risk our lives, the Council counts the cash.”

“We’ll have reunited a young woman with her family,” Amelia said, “Eventually. And her captors are behind bars. I can rest with that knowledge.”

“Keep track of the easy outcomes, captain,” Monty said. “They’re few and far between.”

Marsters directed his assistants off the ship once preparations concluded and carefully inspected the results of their handiwork. “Right,” he frowned. “Hats should be worn at their proper angle, Mr. Eckhart, and jackets should be fully buttoned, Mr. Monterrey. These uniforms are to be properly worn at all times when on duty.”

Breathtakingly unlikely, Amelia thought.

“Not long now,” she said to Eva as they waited to disembark. She couldn’t imagine what Eva was thinking or feeling, finally being so close to home, only to be hindered by someone else’s bureaucracy. Well, perhaps she could a little. But then she remembered watching the woman plant the butt of a gun against her guard’s head and figured she would take matters into her own hands if necessary.

“Thank you,” Eva replied without her usual derision.

When all preparations finally met Marsters’ approval, he ordered the hatch door opened. Daylight and fresh air spilled in. “Remember, decorum at all times.”

The ramp hadn’t fully deployed when the young woman darted for the opening, dropped to the ground and ran to the cluster of people waiting for her.

Marsters gaped, dumbfounded. “Perhaps she didn’t understand the timing.”

“Or she didn’t care about your ceremony,” Monty said, unbuttoning the neck of his jacket. “No point in pageantry now.”

The crew disembarked as a group and headed into the camp, leaving Marsters and his elaborate plan behind.

***

Once more aboard the Gamut, after an afternoon of celebration, the crew found a box of food and wine with a note of congratulations from Marsters, as well as the admonition to return to headquarters posthaste to conclude the initiation process. Gathered on the deck for an impromptu picnic around an empty crate they grazed on nibbles and drink and toasted each other for their cleverness, the grand dilapidated ship, the tribe, and the insurgents’ demise.

“I would like to thank the man who saved me today,” Amelia said, raising her glass. “Which of you shot the rebel who attacked me in the woods?” The men looked at each other, confused. “It had to be one of you. The man had me pinned to the boulder, choking me.” Her throat constricted at the memory. “I’m sure he intended to kill me. But someone shot him in the head. Mr. Guerrero? Gavin? Surely, if you had saved my life, you’d want to hold it over me for eternity.”

Both declined.

“Fine,” Amelia said. “Keep your secret if you must. But know that I’m indebted to you all the same.”

An explosion rocked the ship, tilting it on its nose and sending bodies and repast reeling.

“That was from the back,” Eckhart said, struggling with the wheel to right the vessel. Monty headed to the engine room at the center of the ship while Pell and Guerrero took to the top and bottom periscope viewers.

“I can’t see anything from the ground,” Pell said. “We need illumination, Mr. Eckhart.”

“I’m trying, sir; I think the floods are out.”

Another explosion bit into the ship.

“Is someone trying to shoot us down?” Amelia asked.

“Trying, hell, they're doing it,” Eckhart said. The ship lurched, then began a precipitous drop. “They’re taking out the balloons, and we don’t have mail to deflect them.”

“Crankbow bolts,” Guerrero said from the lower periscope. “And cannon. I can see them.”

“Monty, can you compensate for the lost balloons?” Pell shouted into the bell. The ship dipped and lurched as more balloons burst.

“I’m doing the best I can, but flyboy should get ready for another crash landing,” Monty replied.

“Already on it,” Eckhart muttered, pulling levers with one hand, gripping the spokes of the wheel in the other. “I’m taking us down as slowly as I can, but you’ll want to hang on to something.” He yanked the bell toward him. “Monty, I’m releasing the sweep wings. Direct everything to the central balloons and get up here fast as you can.”

In a series of drops and glides, the ship approached the ground at a staggering pace. Another hit rocked the ship to the side.

“They’re targeting the wings now,” Pell said.

“We need to close the iris,” Eckhart said. “Unless we want to be skewered. I’m aiming for the woods if we can make it, and the glass isn’t going to hold.”

“Crank won’t move,” Gavin grunted. Guerrero and Pell added their hands to it, but it wouldn’t budge, locked with disuse.

“One balloon left before we fall,” Monty said through the bell as the ship dropped faster.

“Get your ass up here, now!” Eckhart shouted at him.

“On my way!”

Another blast took out the other wing. No longer gliding, the ship shuddered and lunged forward. Amelia clung to the map table attached to the floor, unable to keep her feet. An arm wrapped around her waist and hauled her to the wall, thrusting her hand through a leather strap attached there.

“Now you owe me for saving your life,” Gavin said.

Like a death knell, the last balloon ruptured.