Skies of Mars
Victoria did all she could to ignore the itch where her eye used to be. The prickling fire ate at her, and she clenched her fist, lest it try to claw at her eye-patch. Slowly, her will loosened the grip on her hand and let it prove her trust. Fingers gently pressed against her face. She drug them along the scar tissue as if they were wrinkles in a bed sheet that could simply be smoothed out. Her hand resisted the urge to fiddle with the eye-patch and obediently returned to a warm coat pocket.
Victoria’s other eye was taking in the breathless view of the Martian morning. The distant sun crested the ocean of white clouds that stretched to the horizon below. All of which was blushed with the orange tint of the clear sky above. A frigid wind sent a uncontrolled shudder through Victoria, and she pulled her war-coat tight against her body. Cursing, she pushed her reflexes aside, and soon welcomed the numbing cold. It provided respite from the maddening itch of something no longer with her.
A moderately discreet cough behind Victoria tore her out of her indulgences and back to reality. She clenched her jaw, straightened her back, and turned to face the interloper treading on her precious moment alone. The chief engineer stood patiently at the hatch leading out to the conning tower. A veteran of many campaign seasons, the grey had started to creep its way up his sideburns. His coveralls were streaked and stained with years of grease, grime, and gods knows what else found down in the engine room; an engine room that the Chief rarely left. The fact that he had ventured above deck, made a poor attempt at combing his hair, and was patiently waiting for her was not lost on Victoria. This was not bad news. Bad news can be relayed. Worse news had to be given in person.
“Captain?” asked the Chief.
“What is it, Chief,” said Victoria.
“Good weather we have,” said the Chief. He looked away from his captain and out over the edge of the ship. The winds were blowing steady from the southwest, which would mean very little chop from updrafts or swells from the deep. It was perfect weather. All of this was obvious and typical of smalltalk aboard a skyship. Victoria opted not to give the Chief this conversational retreat.
“You going to tell me what’s on your mind?”
“It’s been a month, Captain,” said the Chief quietly. Victoria stared back silently until the itch in her eyesocket returned and she turned her back on him. Four weeks. Four weeks and not a single sighting of prey. If this were a military vessel then the quiet would be welcome amongst the crew. Pirates had the opposite attitude. Every minute they weren’t raiding a ship for bounty was a minute a pirate was losing money. The crew not only wanted action but demanded it. The captain had the responsibility to find them prey to sink their hungry teeth into. A long time without plunder made the crew edgey. Too long, and the crew would find themselves a new captain.
“My lieutenant making noise, is he?” said Victoria. The Chief grunted an affirmative.
“Understood. Thank you, Chief,” said Victoria. The old airman hesitated then nodded and went back below deck leaving her alone with her worry once more.
The itching grew into a burning that seared the inside of Victoria’s skull. Prudence would have taken her along a different course but something inside her had whispered that this was the heading to take. So onward they cut through the sky, taking them away from the winds thick with ice tankers, algae haulers, and passenger ships. Onward into virgin clouds and an almost certain mutiny. Victoria wondered if Lieutenant Fawkes would slit her throat himself or give the task to someone closer to her.
There was a hiss and an explosion of steam in the distance. Victoria’s remaining eye dilated and staved off the pain as the air whale breached the surface of the cumulous cloudbank before flopping back below it. Quickly, she ripped the scope out from under his coat and put it up to her eye. The brass fittings clicker-clacked lenses into place and soon Victoria had a visual of poetic motion. It was not of the humpback airwhale but what was creating the wake that the animal played in.
The cargo skyship slothfully plodded its way through the air, emerging from the surrounding clouds like a fat cow filled with money. Then the second ship came into focus…. And then another. And another. Supply ships ferrying goods for the empire’s war effort. Supply ships without a destroyer escort to be seen. The Lieutenant’s knife would have to wait a bit longer.
Victoria breathed a heavy sigh and felt the burning fade with the cool wind on her face. But as she yelled orders down to the decks below, and the ship sprang into the chaos of battle stations, Victoria swore that she felt something under her eye-patch wink.
Copyright JJ Kahrs, 2007