NOVEL NEXT Book 4, Chapter 11
"No meth," Volex said, crossing her arms.
"Look, how else am I going to get all these castings machined on time?" I demanded.
It was the second day of refits, and I'd absolutely inhaled my breakfast in order to get back into the machine shop faster. I'd also pulled out a bottle of pills that I'd gotten from the Grigian quartermaster, which Volex had promptly taken from me, because apparently I'm not allowed to be productive around here.
"I can do it," Envy said, as she began casting a spell, purple fumes emanating from her hands as she walked her way through her somatic mnemonics to keep the spellforms straight in her head.
"...Envy, even with Occult skill-generation, I seriously doubt you're going to be able to work faster than me," I said, quirking an eyebrow.
"Oh, this isn't that," Vanessa said. "I recognize this spell. Faith, you're going to want to see this."
"Why?" Faith asked, before Envy finished the spell.
The purple smoke exploded from her hands, and, in a motion very familiar to me, and really all the Bad Chicks, the smoke quickly coalesced from the bottom up into four identical, ectoplasmic clones of our very own Envy Valentine.
"...I mean, that's definitely cool," Faith said. "I'd love it if someone I was sleeping with cast that spell, for sure. But why did you...?"
"Cat might not know the spell, but Envy does," Vanessa explained. "You see, Faith... she's the one who knows how to cast Summon Buxom Women."
"Oh goddammit," Faith muttered.
"Okay," I admitted. "Four decent machinists probably are going to be faster than me."
"It'll mean I can't finish as many missiles today, but that's fine," Envy said. "We're already halfway through. You can spend today on the rest of the refits."
"Well. Fair enough."
---
Thanks to Envy's Occult clones serving admirably as apprentice machinists, the refits managed to get done in just under a week, leaving us with four days to complete a shakedown cruise and then go kill a whole bunch of pirates.
The biggest change was the installation of a dozen or so heavy electric motors with propellers for not only improved thrust but also improved maneuvering, all wired up to a central battery bank and control system, which was kept charged by a bank of engines and dynamos that I'd had to fabricate myself. It was what took up most of our time in drydock, although thankfully, a lot of it could be done by a team of dwarven mechanics, who'd tried to give us a discount-
---
"So you're Shathur," Thorbold Armstrong said. "I've heard about you from your old master, kid. You do good work, I hear."
"Not on a rush job I don't," I said, shaking my head. "The engines I've built are probably gonna tear themselves apart in a year or two. But hey, it's not my ship."
"Ah, I see. We call that 'soap,' here."
"Some Other Asshole's Problem," I said. "Master Ironborn taught me that one, yeah."
"Mmm. Well, tell you what- our initial quote was aimed at the military, but if we're working for you, well, we can't go fleecing you like that, can we?"
"Oh, I'm not paying," I said, smiling faintly. "Our contract with the Joint Admiralty includes a clause saying they'll pay for expenses incurred in the completion of this contract, on top of what they're already paying us as a reward. So don't you worry, Master Armstrong. You're still on the Emperor's dime, here."
---
-but I had, of course, shut that nonsense down immediately. Can't have dwarves thinking I expected discounts from them; friends don't make friends work for cheap.
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Anyhow, the smaller and much faster redesign was with the helm, which had been moved out of the aftcastle engine room, and also completely redesigned. For one, the helmsman now sat down, strapped into a well-padded seat, which was fully enclosed in a cone-like windshield of strong, tough alchemically-synthesized glass to protect the helmsman from wind, bugs, and shrapnel, while still allowing a far clearer and more comprehensive view of the surrounding skies without the need for a single periscope.
One last addition we made, at the suggestion of Admiral Abbondanza, was the installation of some overhead lines strung up above the deck to clip safety harnesses into. Now that The Harpy was wildly overjuiced for an airship, there was a genuine risk of evasive maneuvers being violent enough to throw deckhands and gunners over the railings, which would be a far more serious problem in the sky than it would in the ocean.
The shakedown cruise went pretty well. One of the engines blew a gasket and lost compression, but that was an easy enough repair- some of the bolt-holes had come out oversized from the casting, and so I simply filled 'em back up with molten aluminum, then re-drilled 'em to the correct size and cut the threads. Aside from that, though, we didn't find any other problems, and were ready to leave port tomorrow.
"Come back safely," Melody said. "If it's a choice between my daughter and the mission, you pick my daughter, alright? I'll still sign off on the Rite of Absolution, as long as Emily survives it."
"Duly noted," I said. "We should be fine, after all those preparations, but..." I sighed. "...I can't promise Emily's safety, Melody. If you wanted that, you shouldn't have let her join the Adventurer's Guild."
Melody sighed, closing her eyes. "I still have doubts about it, but... Well. No backing out now, is there?"
"There is not," I said, shaking my head. "All I can promise is my best effort. It's my neck on the line too, after all."
"Be careful, alright?"
"Can't. We'll have to be dangerous, instead."
---
"Here," Primogen Thompson said, the night after our shakedown cruise. "You, Sir Ironheart, have been chosen to be the Honorary Captain of this mission, which comes with the appropriate honors and insignia." He held out a square wooden hat box, opening it as he did so to reveal a white officer's cap and the epaulets of a Captain in the Imperial Navy.
"We are also offering these insignia in the style of the Grigian Navy, if you find the aesthetics more to your liking," Admiral Abbondanza added, producing his own wooden hat box, and opening it to reveal not only a grey officer's cap and Captain's epaulets, but also a sheet of paper with all the ranks and insignia of the Republican Military on it.
I inhaled deeply, and then sighed loudly.
"Gentlemen," I said calmly. "I am a High Elf. We did not have a state with a centralized military and standardized ranks. If you are attempting to appeal to a boyish admiration for all things military, and my desire to wear the insignia and be an officer without the hardship of actually being in the military, you have sorely misinterpreted me. I am a Mage-Knight- that is not a declaration of my aspirations, that is not wishful thinking, that is a statement of fact. So. If you want to press an 'honorary' commission onto me, and put your insignia on my shoulders so you can take the credit for my sweat and blood? You are going to pay for that privilege." I smirked coldly. "So. What does a Captain's pension look like, from you gentlemen?"
Thompson was the first to break the silence. "We're already paying you ten million dollars for this."
"You're paying me ten million for our original contract," I said calmly. "Our original contract said nothing about us flying your flag, and therefore, that costs extra."
"You would do well in the Grigian Navy," Abbondanza said.
"I'd do well anywhere, Admiral," I said flatly. "What can the Navy do for me?"
---
The ensuing bureaucratic pissfight ended in a stalemate, when neither party was willing to pay me an additional million dollars to accept an honorary commission in their military. A good thing they didn't, because I was confident that if I did accept an honorary rank, they'd take that as license to make me do further missions for them without the typical Adventurer's Guild contracts and fees, and use that commission I accepted as grounds to court-martial me for non-compliance if I told them where to shove it.
Besides, like I said- to the extent that I did retain the typical boyish admiration of all things military, my idea of a heroic military didn't look anything like the Imperium or Republic, and so their accolades meant nothing to me. The military heroes I had looked up to as a boy were the Mage-Knights, and according to no less authoritative a source than Napoleon 'The Green Devil' Ironheart, I was now one of them.
"Everyone went through their checklists?" I asked, the next morning.
"Aye aye, Captain!" Talia said, a smug grin on her face.
Unfortunately, there was still fallout to deal with, like the fact that 'Captain' was the new shorthand for 'I'm gonna bust Catherine's chops for the next minute or two.'
I sighed and rolled my eyes.
"Right, well," I said. "Envy, you turned out to be our best pilot, so you've got the helm. Faith, Nicky, you two are on the guns for this watch, so harness up and clip in. Everyone else, get below deck, and await further orders. Remember the plan, everyone; let's do this by the numbers."
There was a chorus of assent at that, and people did start hustling to do as I'd told them. I suppose I really was the Captain, even if I didn't have any particular respect for any navy that's ever existed.
I sighed again, heading below decks and settling into my battlestation, where I'd watch an illusory map and bark orders to the helmsman and gunners over a headset, calling shots and headings.
Just a few more days of this, and I would either be dead, or off of The Harpy, with millions more dollars to my name. Either way, I'd no longer have to deal with this shit.
Just a few more days...