Chapter 2:

Very nervous, just remember

Luke knows that he’s late, again, because when isn’t he, but this time he’d like to think he actually has an excuse. If having your alarm clock stolen while you sleep counts as an excuse, and he’s never speaking to Des again, ever. So, with this these thoughts bouncing around in his skull, its understandable that he didn’t notice it was pouring rain until he was already soaked to the bone and back again, right?

And damn it if he isn’t wearing a dress uniform— this on top of yesterday, probably the cleaners are going to take out a contract on him.

But it’s already eight forty-five, and he should be arriving at the docks at this very moment, not struggling through knee deep sludge, and he can’t exactly get any wetter, so there’s no point in begging someone for an umbrella. Luke sighs, and swears, and scowls, but he’s all alone out here in this torrential downpour, because smart people are holed up inside, but Luke’s late, and go figure.

So he trudges on, and is that watery blob on the horizon the gates, because he thinks his eyeballs are about to float away, and what sort of Fleet needs a blind captain. “Rain, rain, go away, come again another day,” and great, he’s five years old again, but, he supposes, there are those that would argue he never advanced beyond that, and maybe, just maybe, he needs new friends.

He meets Commander Lawrence in the gate house, and, really, should have foreseen the great potential for abuse. “Luke, I hear there’s this great new invention they call the umbrella, maybe I should hook you up with one some time, if only to save the cleaners from a massive coronary.” Lawrence says, without even looking up, and probably he knows Luke a little too well.

“It’s August. We’re on Abevri. Forgive me if I failed to predict a flood. And Des stole my alarm clock.”

“Skaði flew out at seven.”

“Exactly. That’s the only way she’d be up before noon. Whoever taught her to pick locks needs to suffer.”

Lawrence rolls his eyes. “When you get yourself killed, be sure to make sure Jase knows I had no part in it. I won’t appreciate getting put in the hospital over your soggy carcass. And wipe your feet before you ruin the hardwood flooring.”

“Yeah, yeah, take digs at the drowned rat, how kind of you.” Luke says, treating the Commander with a nasty look before glaring at his feet. Though, in all fairness, it is a nice floor, and his boots are more likely to grow feet of their own then dry out. “How’s Julia, aside from the obvious problem that she hasn’t poisoned you yet, I didn’t have a chance to ask yesterday.”

“Good, she had a sniffle two weeks ago, but it went away without too much intervention from the doctors.” If it weren’t so serious a subject, Luke thinks he’d probably have to crack a joke about someone as tough and manly as George Lawrence using a word like sniffle. “Still, they said it was probably best for her to stay on the base as opposed to come with me for the Organization, with the weather being so unpredictable.” Lawrence glances up at Luke.

“They should probably leave the weather up to me in the future. This is predictable as eggs in a hen house, if you know what you’re doing.” Luke snipes, cranes his neck to try and look the commander in the eye, and fails miserably. “Would you sit down? Just because you’re a small skyscraper doesn’t mean you should take advantage of the fact.” He adds, somewhat pathetically.

“So you’ve said before, but I’m not the one who looks like he shrunk in the wash am I?” Lawrence says, but he takes a seat behind the vacant desk; the clerk ran for the hills as soon as he arrived. Luke follows suit, kicking off his shoes and pulling his legs up to his chest. “You do know your crew’s going to be here in about two minutes, assuming none of them subscribe to the same book of manners you do.”

“Well that’s a bit annoying.” Luke says, but looks like he couldn’t care less, eyes closed and hands behind his head, which, Lawrence notices, is dripping on his carpet.

“I hear from Lieutenant Lambert that you caught the cold that was going around last week ago.”

“Bella needs to mind her own business.”

“I assume there was no trouble?”

“None.”

“Does Dr. Charter know?”

“No.” Luke’s paying attention now, and his expression promises pain for whoever divulges his ‘secret’, but that’s nothing new, and Lawrence kind of wants to shake him right now. He sighs, he should be used to this stubbornness, because Julia can be the same way sometimes, and he has bruises to prove it. “Don’t you think he should? It could resurface and cause some damage if—”

Luke moves quick when he’s angry, and Lawrence files that away because he knows it could be important later, and the captain’s hands have slammed down on his desk before he can finish his sentence, which, probably, is a good thing. “I know all this, Commander, but the last thing I need is to be locked up in some hospital during the Organization. And what exactly would you have me do? ‘Oh sorry to disturb, Jansen, but could you let Jase know I have a touch of the bug going around? Thanks ever so.’ What the hell good would that do, aside from being beyond pathetic?”

Unfortunately, before Lawrence can read him the riot act, because someone needs to, because Luke’s being an idiot, and even if he already knows that, it bears mentioning again, unfortunately, someone knocks, someone who probably is wearing a clean pressed uniform and carrying an umbrella and will wipe their boots before coming inside. “Enter!” Lawrence shouts, because anything less than that won’t be heard over the storm, and because he needs to take out his anger on something if he doesn’t get to lecture Luke.

Two officers and three assists, in varying states of drenched, file in, each far too punctual for Luke’s liking. They gather around the desk, and while Lawrence gives Luke a look, clearly suggesting he get off his ass, the captain doesn’t budge.

“So— you’ll be flying Roc class Magni, as you all learned yesterday. The Roc class is our newest, an upgrade from the Phoenix class, which came into use over ten years ago now.” Lawrence says, and it takes a second for everyone to react and give him their attention. “Ten other Rocs are being launched this Organization, but so far Magni is the only one in Flight 7. We’re hoping to completely phase out the Harpy class, new in the forties, within five years.

“That aside, you will be setting sail for the Obesk Range, Löchen, to deal with some outlaws. Njord was there just over a week ago, but had to move out to the base hospital before the OLs could be captured—”

“Alright, hold up a second. Why the hospital, exactly?” Luke demands, leaning forward, hands on his knees, because Lawrence should have told him this before, should have maybe mentioned it before the flock arrived.

“There were injuries their lieutenant couldn’t deal with, which is perfectly understandable, so Captain Whim decided to make the landing, which I support.”

“You know I’m not saying they shouldn’t have checked out. I want to know why they went to the hospital; their lieutenant is Life, they shouldn’t need ground support.”

“Well, it would make sense to get ground support if the lieutenant was one of the injured parties, Captain.” Atlas Lane, their very own lieutenant, says. “I’ve been in that situation myself.”

“That’s exactly what I’m driving at, Lieutenant.” Luke says, and his teeth are at risk of shattering. “Well, Georgie?”

Lawrence sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose with one overlarge hand. “It’s nothing serious, Luke. They jumped him while he was fixing up a farmer who was crushed by a tree, but Whim, who was outside with the family, got them before much damage was done. Charter was unconscious, and Whim and Donett were injured as well, so they set for the hospital. That was two days ago.”

“And you didn’t think it necessary to let me know.”

“If the attackers were taken care of, Captain, isn’t it not really significant?” Lane asks, practical to the end, but he is really missing the point here, and really, really needs to stop, and Lawrence tries, tries and fails to communicate that to him. “While regrettable that the lieutenant was injured, it doesn’t make any difference to our objective.”

“Lieutenant, please—”

“Look here you—” Luke is on his feet, fists clenched at his sides and they’re shaking, and Lane looks a little frightened, and he should be.

“Captain, stand down.” Lawrence says sharply, and it’s a near thing, but Luke backs off a bit, no longer actively advancing on the taller, most likely stronger, lieutenant.

...

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Scene 2-I

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