Air Traffic Concerns
The rock had no advice for dealing with pirates, especially ones that come flying out of the sky.
That’s why the rock where Sairxe had lived for twenty-five years was now thousands of smaller rocks and the charred remains of a turnip farm, and she was on a skyship full of pirates.
#
Sairxe plants both hands on the railing, swings a leg over like she owns the place, and lands with a THUNK in front of one of her so-called rescuers.
The wind whips at her riot of red hair. She shoves it back. “It’s not a rescue if I lived there!”
The man looks at her like she’s the confused one. “Who lives on the back of a moving mountain?”
She grips the rail, jaw set as the rubble of her home is swallowed by distance.
“It was a golem,” she snaps. “And you just blew it up.”
The golem never spoke, but she knew it knew her name. Every morning would bring a new pile of debris curated just for her: a waterlogged seed manual. A battered map. Once, a goat and a two-string fiddle. She never figured out where it found the books, or how it always knew what she needed.
The cliffs they walked together slowly fall away into soft, rolling clouds. From above, the sea of mist that stretches into the horizon is almost beautiful, but she knows better. Nobody has ever returned from below the thick, vaporous layer. People cling like stubborn lichen to the few islands that jut above that deadly shroud.
Or they careen through the sky and blow up living homes like these idiots.
“You the captain of this floating washtub?” she snaps at her captor/rescuer.
“First mate,” he says. “Alar.”
“So?” She looks him up and down. “What now? Nobody’s gonna give you a ransom.”
Alar sighs like a man who does not get paid enough for this. “We’re not—” He pinches the bridge of his nose. “We’ll drop you off at port.”
Her brown eyes burn like embers. “You don’t get to scrape me off at some random-ass port like I’m moss on your shoe. You made me a problem. Now you’re stuck with me.”
“We’ll drop you off at a nice port.”
“Only if I get to decide what’s ‘nice.’”
He clenches his jaw. “Fine. I’ll inform the cap—”
CLANG.
Silence.
A muffled curse. Then, slightly strained: “Inform me of what?”
Sairxe whirls around.
The captain(?) steps through the door, rubbing his forehead where it just collided with the frame. He’s too tall to afford absentmindedness and clearly too stubborn to duck. The gray at his temples suggests stress is winning.
Alar gestures at Sairxe. “Stray debris.”
“Ah! A guest.”
“Baggage,” she growls.
The captain pats his pocket. Frowns. Pulls a small wrench out and blinks at it like he has no idea how it got there. A moment later, he shrugs and tucks it back away.
Sairxe watches with increasing concern.
Three and a half pockets later, the man produces a wrinkled handkerchief and smears soot across his face. Possibly deposits more. Then he smooths his hair, checks his alarmingly immaculate mustache, and extends his hand.
“Captain Vincent Evermeer. Vincent, please. And you are?”
“Sairxe.” She points irritably at the clouds below. “And you just blew up my rock.”
Vincent straightens. His lips twitch, like he’s trying to find the least disastrous way to frame this. “Well,” he starts, “technically, it wasn’t just one rock. It was a collection of several rocks bravely attempting to defy physics. And some deeply unfortunate turnip greens.”
Sairxe stares at him, expression unreadable.
Vincent adjusts his cuffs. “But yes, I see your point. I did rather make a mess of your—”
“Home.”
“Yes, of course, your home.” His gaze darts to the sky beyond. The faintest flicker of guilt crosses his expression. He hesitates, about to apologize, then tucks it away like a man who can’t afford to carry anyone else’s weight.
Vincent turns back to her with an infuriatingly calm smile. “I must admit, I did intend to blow it up, but in my defense, I didn’t realize you were living there. I thought we were rescuing you. Before things became even more… inconvenient.”
She raises her brow. “Inconvenient how, exactly?”
Vincent sighs, as if he is the one suffering here. “You see, the trouble with airspace—it’s surprisingly limited. And when one plants an immovable object in the middle of it, one tends to cause navigational issues.”
She stares at him, slow disbelief dawning in her expression. “Navigational issues.”
“Yes.” He gestures vaguely. “Several skyships have had to alter course due to, well, the unexpected mountain in the sky.”
He pauses, waiting for shouting, tears, possibly violence.
Instead, Sairxe plucks the soot-smudged handkerchief from his fingers, scrubs a bit of dirt off her arm, and deposits it back in his hand. “You blew up my home because it was causing traffic problems?”
Vincent looks at the handkerchief, then at her, then back at the handkerchief. He tucks it away with dignity.
“The Atolian Chamber of Airtrade filed three separate complaints,” he replies with a small, wry smile.
Sairxe folds her arms.
The captain—tall, sooty, possibly concussed—watches her expectantly.
Finally, she exhales. “I don’t know whether to shove you overboard or set this whole ship on fire.”
Alar shoots Vincent a look. “...Should we be concerned?”
For the first time that afternoon, she smiles, all teeth. “You should be terrified.”
Vincent leans on the railing, unbothered. “Delightful.”
“You’re still on thin ice,” she warns.
“Well then. Alar, be a dear and fetch our guest some coffee before she pitches me overboard.”
“Gladly,” Alar says, with all the enthusiasm of a man escaping a burning building.
Vincent’s expression softens as he turns back to Sairxe and asks, “Food, coffee, or a place to yell first?”
“I’m fine,” she retorts, not giving him the satisfaction of seeing any emotion. There’s currently nowhere to go but down, and below that sea of clouds is nothing but a burning planet.
Which means she’s stuck with them.
“As long as you’re serious about the food, I’ll let you off the hook.”
Vincent, knowing this is the closest to a thank-you he deserves, smiles. “You’re welcome.”
Sairxe shoves off the railing, striding away like she’s already decided what happens next. “You’re gonna regret letting me stay!” she calls back.
“Oh,” he chuckles to himself. “I’m counting on it.”
