Tales from the Ether

To my dearest friend, Paul Gauguin,

There is nothing more enlightening than to see the Earth as but another ball orbiting the sun. Such a view made me consider our last night together, and the unfortunate incident which brought me on my journey to this red planet. To a large degree, my letter to you now is an apology. But more than that, it is for you to take insight into my life now, to feel as if we never parted in Arles. I do wonder what adventures you are getting yourself into now. Where might you be? Have you traveled to America, as you always wanted? The island south of there? I hope one day we can meet again, and discuss our adventures in person. Such a meeting will be truly inspirational.

When I arrived to this planet, the natives greeted me with open arms. I have now learned a fair bit of Koline, the main language used by most of the Martians. However, the tribe I am living with now speak a far more difficult dialect. I can say some minor words, but learning a whole sentence seems to take me a week or longer. This planet is incredibly dry. Already I miss the rains in France, the ponds, the rivers, the blossoming trees that are surely out in such beauty this spring. The red planet does not have blossoming trees, but there are some desert-like plants that provide interesting subjects for my recent sketches. And the Martian people live off of these plants and harvest them with such care and discipline. It is remarkable. The Liftwood tree that everyone has spoken of and which we saw a sample of at the Exposition Universelle is amazingly beautiful to see in its natural growing fields. I have found a lot of this, and I have even seen the Cloudships. Tloki is one of my friends in the village. He can speak fluent Koline, and helps me communicate with the other Martians. He is a friendly fellow, very easy-going and lacking judgements about my humanity. Some of the elder Martians in this village treat me rather poorly. But who can blame them? I am sure you have heard news of savages being contained by the Belgians. Well, the Coprates isn't a far throw from here, and I know very well that these beings are not savages. All things considered, it is quite fair how these Martians treat me.

Tharsis is the region of Mars I am close to. I ask you to view it on a map, so you can feel that you are with me as you read this. The only thing I heard about these specific Hill Martians was a series of rumors and other tidbits of information from the crew of the Corbeau which I have since parted with. The planetological records show no sign of this tribe. But, Paul, I have seen their Cloudships and they seem mighty. They have banished all weapons from their culture, though, and use their Cloudships for peaceful purposes. I am looking forward to next month, when I have been offered an opportunity to ride aboard one of these magnificent vessels. It is far different from being in the steel and cold of an ether flyer. These are wooden ships with sails and they know the right routes to travel. I am looking forward to going out on the deck, breathing the dry air, and looking at the red sunset.

Ah, the sunset. My dear Paul, I cannot begin to describe to you how beautiful the sunset on Mars is. The reddish hills seem to be alive and breathing as the sun begins to set. All of the Hill Martians still appreciate the beauty of such a sight. They all go outdoors from their hill-side dwellings and eat their dinners on the red dirt. Some strange animals emerge at this time, as well. Already I have glimpsed a skrill flying high in the sky. The Martians I live with do not fear the beast, and so neither did I, with my friends around me. Watching that creature fly into the sunset was an amazing sight. I have also had the opportunity to get atop a gashant, though only for a small period of time. It was an interesting animal to ride, and my gashant was gentle and friendly. They have the lifting gland in them and can fly a bit. My gashant began to lift off, and at first I was frightened. But Tloki taught me how to control it in such a state, and eventually the gashant went back to the ground. The animal flies when it is frightened. Now that gashant seems to like me, and I have eaten a few meals amidst its presence. Tloki laughs when I do this, but I feel it is natural.

I have been a prolific painter here on Mars. The climate, setting, and the people around me are perfect subjects. I am sending this letter with a group of sketches. I miss the days when we would correspond with letters and sketches. I am trying to get back to a time like that, though I know it is difficult for you send anything back to me. Keep them to yourself and give them to me another day. I will get another letter to you as soon as possible. This summer (they call it the Surge season), I am to go with this tribe to a canal. They will be traveling with a group of ruumet breehr. I look forward to writing to you again, telling you about these adventures. I hope you are well.

Your dear friend,

Vincent van Gogh

The British Captain smiles to see the dirigible floating down, down, down coming in at the back of his lines.

“We are clear on cloud ships right now, you are cleared for approach," the lights flash on the ground.

“Roger,” replies Hugo, and his own heliographist begins flashing the response, Hugo's piloting goggles fog up. He pulls them up on top of his head.

Low flow season on Mars, it’s damn near impossible to get water when everything is caught up at the poles, the barren rusty land stretches out in front of the crew like an endless hellscape.

“If you had told me we were going to Mars,” Friday says, “I would have learned Martian.”

“Sometimes you end up on Mars,” Kurtz says with a grin, “What can I say? C’est la vie.”

Hugo calls up on the speakers to the rest as they sit on the observation deck, “We’ll touch down in five minutes, and they’ll unload the water.”

Friday looks at Kurtz as though maybe he should haul all the water down himself, massive ton sized barrels one at a time just to make up for the luggage incident.

Kurtz laughs at him as the red Martian soil looms ever more imposing outside of the windows.

There is no Zeppelin tower at the British front line. Although, Kurtz notes, this clearly isn’t the front line, for all he could tell there weren’t any Martians for miles and miles. Which dissatisfied him, he had come through the atmosphere with wild notions of aerial combat, Hans in the Howitzer, demolishing Martian fortifications while Kurtz, he remembered the mental image very clearly, he was to lean out of the window and snipe down individual Martian officers with his carbine.

Sadly, it is not to be, he reserves himself to postpone the fantasy.

They touch down behind the British troops; it does not take long for a crowd of soldiers to line up at the back of the Narcissus as the cargo bay swings open.

The barrels are already on their sides, eight on one side and two on the other, the soldiers cut off the ropes tying the eight together and one at a time they roll them down. Their captain approaches Kurtz.

“Sir von Arenberg, it’s a pleasure to meet you.”

The look of utter revulsion on Kurtz’s face is hard for the officer to comprehend, as someone who spent his whole life in the pursuit of social advancement, someone who was distinctly proud of his accomplishments and hoped to leave a good name for his son to inherit. Coming from such a mentality of course he can only respond with a look of puzzlement to match Kurtz’s revulsion.

“Call me Kurtz,” and he offers the man his hand.

“Of course,” the officer says cautiously, and treats the offered hand with equal reserve.

“How goes the war? Keeping the front lines well supplied here?”

Now the officer is the one who is offended, he had served his Queen, shot more than one of those weird Martian buggers in her name, and here comes a civilian, and on top of that a Belgian civilian, calling his valor into question!

“Well, as fast as they retreat, we can’t very well catch up to them.”

Whether or not that was an accurate characterization of the war or one of the defensive quips of that famed British wit, Kurtz could not tell, he soon became distracted.

“Leave those two barrels alone, they aren’t yours.”

The soldiers in the cargo bay pause, look at Kurtz.

“Her Majesty paid me for eight barrels of water, I’m here to deliver eight.”

The officer is all of the sudden at Kurtz’s side, trying to get an explanation for where the rest of that water was going, why he needed it, what the Belgians had up their sleeves.

It is important to note some structural points regarding the Narcissus. You see, there is one side entrance to the Narcissus. It is located about the middle of the starboard side of the hull, and is much too high to be reached from the ground; it is primarily used when they are granted the luxury of a proper landing tower. For ground landings and this is a particular touch of Hugo’s contribution to the design, the only ingress to the craft is located at the cargo bay, the doors open to the back.

Which, by no small coincidence, is where the range of both of the aft machineguns coincides.

So when the British officer yells out, “Leave that water in the name of the Queen!” it is enough for Kurtz to simply point at the imposing, swiveling turrets as the crewmen behind them look for threats. Kurtz takes one large step back, into the cargo bay.

“I apologize, but I only recognize the crown of his Majesty Leopold the Second.”

The other soldiers hustle out of the ship as Hans marches into the cargo hold toting his Nordenfelt at his waist, like he doesn’t even care what he hits or how. Kurtz offers the officer a salute as the doors close.

Hugo has already heard back from the gunners, and the Narcissus ascends again into the sky.

"Wasn't that a bit reckless?" Friday asks Kurtz.

Kurtz grins, "Give me a little credit, I got paid up front."

Captain’s Log:
We have been enroute to Mars for seven full days now, and this trip is proving to be more interesting that anyone could have expected. In addition to our scientific mission we are carrying a number of communication dispatches to the British fleet and forces engaged on Mars. The outbreak of this conflict just as we embark on this stage of our mission is exceptionally convenient; it will make our task on Mars all the easier.
-
Our port bank of ether propellers cut out around midnight, we limped on till 0300 until Cornelia successfully restarted the left engines. Now we’re back to top speed and back on schedule.
-
End Log.
----------------------------------------
“Lord Craven?” the words came with a knock on the cabin door.

“Enter” William Craven called out, the eccentric archeologist opened the door, William closed the book its leather bound cover embossed with golden letters that read ‘Ship’s Log’.

“Mon Capitan,” Victor Loret said in his usual French manor.

“What is it Victor?” The Earl said folding his hand in his lap and gesturing to the high backed arm chair next to his.

“No thanks, I have to get back to work, I just came to tell you that Ripper needs you up on the control deck” Loret said nodding his head and turning to leave, back to his books worlds long dead and buried were his passion.

“Thanks Victor” William said as he stood up, “Good luck with your research I’ll see you at dinner, I would like a progress report.” Loret disappeared down the corridor and William stood up and donned his jacket, his cabin door sliding shut behind him as he strode towards the Bridge.

As he made his way down the length of the ship he was greeted by a crewman “Good morning m’ Lord” Craven nodded at him, on a ship this size with so few crew members each became a close friend.

“Good morning Joff, how go the engine repairs?” William said to him pausing to exchange pleasantries with the man.

“She’s a Ship of the Line m’ Lord don’t you let those engine trouble worry you, this ship has never failed us before.” The engineering crewman smiled proud of their ship.

“Excellent, good work old chap!” Lord Craven said and waved farewell as he continued his journey to the Control Deck.

Three long corridors and two ladder climbs later the Earl of Craven emerged onto the beautiful bridge of His ship. The HMS Pinafore was there ever a more beautiful craft that sailed on this ocean or any other. The deck shined polished wooden decks clicking under his heels as he stepped into the room. The room was divided in two levels, a number of stations along the top ring some with high tech displays, gauges and dials providing any number of helpful variables required to travel at such speeds through the ether. Below was a large high backed chair and in front of this was the helm. From this chair, hands gripped on the controls a skilled pilot could navigate the depths of space, and guide them to their destination.

As William entered the bridge the chair turned. “Billy” the man said there sat his childhood friend, pilot, and famed military general, Jack Sterling. “Now that spot of bother with the engines is over we’re back on schedule.” and he paused.

“But?” said William sensing that there was something that remained to be said, he already knew that they were back on track there had to be some other reason Jack had called for him.

“Well I’m just not sure how wise it is to keep going when we know we have an engine malfunction.” Jack said knowing how his old friend would take this advice.

“Are you out of your Mind?” William exploded predictably, “If we turn back now it could be years before we have a chance like this again. The Martians and the British forces are already involved in a conflict; no one will dare question our actions!”

“But imagine the state we’ll be in if we have to limp on two thirds of our propellers all the way to Mars.” Sterling said reasonably “We’ll be in no shape to get back to Earth let alone complete our mission.”

It had been this way for years, when they were children the young wild lordling would shoot from the hip it had always been for Jack to reign him in, to make him see reason, or at least to try and temper his friends recklessness. All but that one time... In this however it seemed that he would not win, for the nonce at least Lord Craven would not be swayed. It would do no good to continue harping on the matter so their talk soon turned to more pleasant matters.

The bridge rang with the sounds of laughter as they sped onward towards the red planet, the friends sat talking and joking.

The three turned up at the expected time, fully dressed; their bags packed and ready to go. The large figure of Captain Seymor loomed ahead of them.

"Ah folks, good to see you well rested. Got all ure stuff? Good, 'cause we ain't hitting Earth for another coupla months at least. Just gotta wait fur the dockhands to load up the cargo, then we can break the sky. Come on, I'll give ya tour of the girl."

He first led them to a bunkroom, with a small table and kitchen area. "This is where we'll be sleeping folks - and you'll be working through there, Eagle. Nice, clean room, lotsa space fur ure microscopes and other sundries. If any of us or them folks we're ferrying get hurt, it's ure job to fix 'em up, at least 'til we hit civilization. May want to put ure stuff in here, gennelmen. I've called top bunk, by the way."

He then led them to the bridge, where there were two seats, one ahead of the other. "Jevees, you'll be sitting in that seat in front. One with the wheel and the tube to engineering and such. I sit here, givin' you orders. Heh."

He then led them down the hallway, carpeted and wallpapered, a stark difference to the exposed tubes and drabness of the crew section. "This is where the payin' folks will be. The rooms ain't much to look at the moment, but I'm hoping we'll accumulate curios to decorate the rooms with. Our current charges are a buncha missionaries to Mars, so they don't care much about not having fancy rooms."

Next, they came to a large space currently filled with boxes. "What are in the crates?" asked Nakamura.

"Oh, stuff going to that Fadath place. I reckon there'll be a siege, so they'll need stuff like food and guns. I'm hopin' we'll get some nick-knacks for rich idiots currently on some Martian art craze."

And finally, they passed the passenger area and came to Hideo's workplace, engineering. "Now, I was told this boiler is reliable, but pappy always told me never to trust a salesmen - course he was one, so he'd know. But some local folks looked over it and they said it should be fine. So you can focus one whatever's going on in your head."

After a half-hour or so exploring their new home, they all reconvened at the bunkroom table, which would serve as an impromptu meeting place for now. "Well, all the stuff's loaded, so we're ready to hit sky. Jeeves, let's git to the bridge and get this baby flying."

"Gentlemen, I think I have solved two of our greatest problems," Gabriele said, entering the office that was being shared at the moment by Miguel, René and Ritter.

"That is good," Miguel said. After a few seconds, he asked: "What problems?"

"All right. Problem number one: money. We have already sent word to the Royal Aero Force that we will be joining the war. They have told us to be ready in one week. So, what do we do in that one week?"

"Don't know, prepare for the fight?" René asked in a slightly sarcastic tone.

"Apart from that. We can find someone that wishes us to take things to Mars. And I have found three possibilities. One, a company wants us to take several pieces of machinery to Mars, they want to start a small factory for a better extraction of liftwood. Two, the British Army wants us to bring a special brigade with us, one that they feel will be useful for some strange thing about shadow wars. Three, the British Government wants us - and everyone else - to bring supplies to Mars for the battles and the population."

"Hmm. That would be a good source. Not sure if helping that company would actually be worth it, though," Ritter stated.

"I am with Ritter. If we are going into a war, then we can't actually do work for something that won't help us, even if it is indirectly." Miguel looked at René. "And, please, don't say you actually support Gabriele if the only reason you are doing it is because Ritter isn't supporting the idea."

"Then I'm sitting on the fence on this matter. That company's money would surely be good for us, but, as you said, if we are going to war, we have to prepare for it. I will abide by what you decide."

"Looks like I am defeated. Anyway, we will still earn much money by bringing supplies to Mars and helping in the fight. Which takes us into something I believe we should spend a bit of that money, just so that we can gain an edge on some technological advances and earn even more money, starting with an initial investment."

"Start to talk, Lele, and don't leave anything out," Ritter said, the merchantile part of him taking over his mind.

"OK. Well, you remember that the Harbinger was destroyed by that anarchist, Ravachol?"

"Yes. Quite the idiotic thing to do from him. It only serves to anger the British and just puts things a bit more difficult for the army, but in less than a year the British will have replaced the Harbinger and all problems will be mended."

"Well, I think I can make something that will, if correctly applied, mean that we will not need orbital heliographs anymore."

"Are you serious?" René asked, astonished.

"Quite a lot. And it would be far more easier to use than the heliographs. So far, I have only thought of how to use it as a telegraph, but with some more work it could be possible to communicate with voices. Anyway, based on a couple of physical theories, and several works, I have been working on something that would be like a telegraph, but without wires. Wireless telegraphy, you know?"

"Is that possible?"

"Oh, yeah, it is. It is based on some electrical components that would be able to emit something similar to light, but that can not be detected by the human eye. That invisible light would theoretically be able to hold information, and a pair of other electrical components would be able to receive the signal. It'll take me some time and money to build that, and your help as well, Miki, but when we have that we could convince the government to fund a factory and then we could be selling wireless telegraphy receptors-emitters everywhere."

That left everyone speechless. Miguel was the first to talk. "How much do you guess you will have to work till you have that wireless receptor-emitter?"

"I am not sure. It could be weeks or months. I would have to make lots of tests, and also try how it would work at longer distances, but it is very much feasible, and once we get it we will patent the wireless under our names and we will be raking pounds by the thousands."

"I'm in, Lele. Something this good will be worth the expense and the wait," Miguel said, shaking his friend's hand.

"When you need something, just ask me, I can try to find sources for whatever you need at better prices," Ritter said.

"I'm not sure of what I could actually do, but I guess that I could just help patch you up if something happens to you," René mused.

"Thank you, my friends. Now, Miki, come with me and we will keep up working with our invention."

-------------------------------

You know what's the funny thing? I know how to make a radio receptor.

Martian dawn on the observation deck of the Narcissus, everything is wrapped in the solemn silence of early risers. On a small table there is a compass, and a topographical map that someone else had done, a warm cup of Coffee imported to Belgium from distant Columbia and then again hauled across the vacuum to an alien planet. It sends up plumes of steam.

Kurtz puts down the field glasses. Makes some notes on the other man’s map, adds more details to his own. He can see plenty of Gumme trees down in the valley, and he knows better than to think they had been consciously cultivated by the natives, he would not ignore them. Kurtz learned the art of cartography for the purposes of mapping out wild new terrains on unknown planets; Mars had already been picked over by so many map makers. But none of them, and this fact shocked Kurtz to the point of scandal, not a single one had bothered to actually mark out where the resources that were actually of human use were located.

And War-times came with their own particular opportunities for maps. Hugo had slipped around the northern tips of the Martian lines, letting Kurtz get what information he could from the fires on the ground, but it had not been a very profitable pursuit after nightfall. They had seen it later, after Friday had finally convinced Kurtz to give it a rest and to eat dinner with the rest of the crew, when the dishes were still dirty and while Hans kept hustling back down to the gunner station in the Howitzer, not out of fear of attack, others kept watch for that, but because Hugo became quite irate whenever Hans so much as looked at a match inside the main compartments of the ship.

It had been Hans in fact who had first noticed it, snubbing out his cigarette half smoked and rushing back up into the ship, “Kurtz, you’ve got to see this,” he had said.

There were huge towers, whole fleets of Cloud ships, bright lights, a City. Kurtz had pulled out his papers immediately “Crocea,” he had muttered to himself looking over the other man’s rough map. He would be the one to add detail, add it right now, troop numbers and formations, cloud ships, everything. He was jotting it all down furiously as he noticed his own ship spinning, “Damn it Hugo,” he had shouted, running towards the helm, “what am I supposed to write down if you’re so ready to flee.”

Hugo had pointed at the fleet of Cloud ships, large spotlights mounted on their masts, all searching out for a dirigible that they had heard tell of from the land, now their heliographs became searching eyes. He had replied simply and calmly, “Here there be dragons, I thought that’s how you people did it.”

Three banks of five propellers each had all engaged, the coal powered Martian ships hadn’t been able to keep up, eventually someone had convinced Kurtz to get, “At least a little sleep,” the phrase hung with him still, but the hour had been so late that this morning, drinking his coffee, George would be hard pressed to identify who had shared those words with him.

Now morning had come again, more than a few encampments were marked on his map and as soon as they made it to the Corporates Kurtz intended to let the British know anything he did, but he had other business first, in the distance the Fadath lay before them.

-

Kurtz is involved in this unloading, although a few human missionaries help them roll the huge barrels of water directly to the door of her Majesty’s palace. Kurtz had dressed up for the occasion, as his wire from North Star had directed him to, and he wore his full suit with a neat tie around his neck and his bowler on his head, he felt out of place rolling massive barrels of water down desert streets from outside the walls, but he would not abide any more of this criticism and so he had jumped into the task. As they finish, Friday in his loose fitting clothing, his dreadlocked hair bouncing in an upbeat fashion just grins at him.

“Tell her it is a gift from his majesty Leopold,” Kurtz tells the missionaries, handing them also a copy of his own fresh map of the closer Oenotrian lines, “God smiles upon your struggle, and I have it from a source the utmost repute that his Holiness himself is planning a visit, when everything is settled here.”

The missionaries look shocked as they attempt to explain these things to the palace, but a great roar of approval came from a small group of the Martians, the most pious, Kurtz smiled to think, the social climbers. He had no idea if the Pope was planning anything, in fact if he were a perfectly honest man then he would not have ever tried to convince them that the Pope himself showed such favor to their cause.

Kurtz would never have made it this far if he were an honest man, and he would never have worn a suit. Not that he fancies himself a pirate or one of the mysterious black clad warriors he had heard legends of from distant Japan. But even proper Western business attire carries its own sort of officious deceptions.

As they reenter the Narcissus through the cargo bay Friday asks him, “was it really necessary to lie to them?”

Kurtz shrugs.

“It just seems terribly ignoble,” Friday continues.

“Ignoble?” Friday and his oversized vocabulary, Kurtz laughs, “Friday, I am the descendant of the greatest line of thieves and murderers the world has ever seen. Those Nobles you refer to, the only thing that separates them from the common criminals is their extensive repertoire of connections.”

Kurtz remembers being deeply moved by Marx’s manifesto. He saw in it a mirror to his world; it gave form to notions that had long haunted him as shadowy generalizations or instants of deeper perception. He had long suspected that the only thing that separated his own family and those other European families who had so dominated the history of that continent, and now the fates of so many continents and planets from the other perpetrators of injustice was their complicated moral and legal justifications for their monopoly on crime.

“Tell Hugo to set the course for Copratia.”

When he read Marx’s blueprint it was all so obvious. He saw the moral and legalistic justifications for every manner of injustice, theft and tyranny in that manual and he knew that it was not the step forwards that the author had hoped for, it was a step backwards, it was exactly the sort of excuses that people like his own family had used to justify their various usurpations. The simple fact that this "revolutionary" manifesto was just like all the others, no less Machiavellian than the Prince itself, It had completely changed his life. They were just another bunch of Khlysts, trying to get closer to God with their sins. Crafting elaborate excuses to justify doing what they ought to just have had the nerve to do.

Since that day he never bothered to make an excuse again.

Friday gives him a strange look, and Kurtz shrugs and smiles, he feels quite good. Hauling that water really did the trick.

He rarely has occasion to feel this self righteous.

Bad story, but I figured, better get something in

The Salon of the Serenity looked out into the vastness of the Ether. Thomas McCready stood looking out into the darkness, as his crew assembled behind him in the comfortably furnished room. Turning, he glanced at them: Jonas Freeman, the genius mechanic, as always holding a piece of machinery in his hands and fiddling with it, Susan Smith, glaring suspiciously at those gathered around her, and Dr. Simon Middleton, looking, as he did usually, as if he had accidentally wandered into the wrong room, but quite liked it here, and was going to stay, thank you very much. Behind them were the sundry crew members who were off duty and able to attend the Captain's briefing.

“Men and Women of the Good Ship Serenity,” Thomas began, “We are all good American folk here.” A light cough gave him pause. “Except for the good doctor, here, of course. As I was saying, As proper Americans, it is our duty to ensure that Liberty and Justice blossoms in the dark places of this sky. And I have heard news, grave news, of a dreadful injustice and affront to Lady Justice herself. As we speak, as these very words come from my mouth, the Martians are holding captive a shipment of goods dedicated for the front against the British. It is our god-given duty to Liberate this cargo from the hands of the fiendish Oenotrians. So, I called you all here to let you know what our first job as this fine crew of this fine ship would be. Dismissed.” Thomas smiled at them, and the crew shuffled out murmuring excitedly.

Thomas looked at those that had stayed behind and said “They're good men, this is what they signed on for, to get away from the work at the docks and make a bit more money to send home.”

“Captain, do you think this is a good idea? Nobody likes pirates.” Susan asked.

“That isn't exactly the truth. Nobody likes pirates as get caught, but, I don't aim to get caught.”

“I like it, Tom.” Jonas said.

“Captain, I'm behind you the whole way, but I don't like it.” Susan added, and with a gleam in her eye. “Huh, bet my dad would love to hear that I was in a pirate attack.”

“Good, then, Susan, we're set. We'll be coming upon the transport ship from above, which is a place no one ever looks for an attack from. From what I've read, the Oenotrians don't tend to send escorts with their shipments, trusting that no enemy will be able to get close enough to reach them. I do want the Guns armed and loaded, just in case. Susan, I'll need you, as soon as we're in range, to shoot away their steering and directional system. Once they're adrift, we'll board and take everything. Any Questions?”

“Tom, While we're on Mars, I think I can get the old girl running even more smoothly if we buy up some liftwood and change a lot of the paneling.”

“Why? We've got the hydrogen cell, right?”

“Yeah, we do, but I don't trust it so much, to be honest. I'd rather some good solid liftwood rather than what's little better than air to keep me up.”

“Alright, Jonas, if we can do it cheaply, we'll look into it. Doctor? Do you have anything to add?”

“Hmmm?” the doctor turned from his absentminded daze. “I think hitting the martians is a splendid Idea.”

Click to expand...

OOC: I don't have the time for this anymore. I'm going to drop out for now.

The Lost Moon & the French Empire
Part I

The Parisian Sky Captain Society is one of the only known private sky captain academy known to Europe, though surely it is common knowledge that many exist and are kept under extreme secrecy. The Parisian Sky Captain Society, however, had made its presence known by employing many pilots to ether-liners, merchant-convoy ships, and civilian science vessels. For these purposes, the Society was very well-known and well-liked by all, both government agent and civilian alike. For it was the Society which had a clean name, sincerely and genuinely providing pilots for all just causes. And oh, what pilots they had produced. Their pilots were consistently well-liked, talented individuals, capable of some of the most wild stories told only after a drink. Some were bordering on fantasy, but to assure you: these tales were not fantasy.

Jacques Meissonier is no exception. He is a golden boy for the Society, proving his worth in many of the Society's most beloved "arts". To the Society, he is the perfect man for a task that needed doing, solely because of his pure, raw talent as a pilot. He has proven himself time and time again to be reliable and disciplined. Yet there is one flaw in him for the task at hand. It is his virtuousness. Meissonier is an honest man, and for this task, the Society needs someone corruptible. Despite this, Captain Meissonier was still chosen for this task, but the Society kept crucial information from him. This was the compromise. Get a talented man, but don't tell him everything that could come of this.

Within the French "colony" on Mars, a small (but quickly growing) trading outpost called Idaeus Fons, Meissonier and the crew of the Corbeau landed their flyer on the red dust, opening the cargo bay. From the cargo bay came massive amounts of supplies to the colony. And of course, there were Canal Martians present, greeting the crew and trying to bargain for some of their own supplies. Meissonier ignored them, but Alexandre Dodart, the inventor aboard the Corbeau spoke with them. They spoke lousy French, but were friendly enough. Dodart met with these Martians for the next few days, exchanging knowledge and culture, and giving them water and other supplies in the process. Though the Canal Martians were more after tobacco, something they had become addicted to recently, for Idaeus Fons did not have much of a water shortage compared to more populated European colonies in the dry season. Dodart was happy to oblige, knowing that he could get more tobacco from the stockpile he and the other crew members had brought upon the Corbeau. Tobacco was technically illegal to bring to Idaeus Fons because of the developing addictions of the Martians, but of course Doctor Laffitte had smuggled some through government checkpoints and inspections. It could be smoked freely in the colony, simply not carried in. It was one of many unreasonable laws the French Magistrate had established as of late.

Captain Meissonier went off on his own. And so did Doctor Laffitte, a sordid mess of a man. Walking through Idaeus Fons, he harassed Martians who were dressed poorly and blew smoke in the face of others. His smoking pipe bristled with flame, and in those moments, one could tell sinister thoughts were brewing with it. The Corbeau had docked at the High Docks, which was near the bazaar area of town, which was on the way to the French Quarter. Dr. Laffitte eagerly wanted to get to the bazaar. He had heard of wild bars and parties there, and didn't care for the cultural quiet of the French Quarter or even the Old City. The wicked doctor walked with a limp to the bazaar, his pipe going, and pulled into a bar called Moulin de la Fons, or the Fons Mill. It was this cabaret that was the centerpiece of the tiny red light district in Idaes Fons.

Doctor Laffitte sat down and ordered absinthe, something he had developed a taste for while in Paris. He carefully arranged the small cube of sugar over the metal spoon and poured his bottle slowly, savoring the smell and the feeling of the bottle. After a few glasses, he was still not fazed, having quite a tolerance for liquor. After two hours of sitting and drinking, the sun had set completely and the late-night crowd was beginning to gather. Two men walked into the Moulin de la Fons wearing bowler caps and trench coats. They sat down on either side of Doctor Laffitte and ordered whiskey. After a while, Doctor Laffitte had become a little bit tipsy, but the two men seemed fine after imbibing several liters of whiskey. Doctor Laffitte was twisted, but he was not stupid. He became a tad suspicious, and the two men realized that he was wising up to their presence. They nodded to each other, as one man pulled a pistol slammed the butt end of it on Doctor Laffitte's head, knocking him unconscious. The two men thanked the bartender and showed their Magistrate badges. They dragged Doctor Laffitte from the Moulin de la Fons, just as the dancing began.

The bridge crew was running smoothly on the Daitan Sendatsu’s maiden voyage in the ether. Captain Arata stood and called out to pass the watch to the xo. They exchanged salutes and he walked off the bridge. He checked his watch, he was running late. It was supposed to be a nice evening with just Nanami, but somehow the simple and private dinner had gotten turned into a gathering of all the notables on the Sendatsu. Captain Arata had to stop himself from grinding his teeth in frustration; the diplomatic team had quickly turned themselves into a serious pain. First at the reception the diplomat, Danshaku Tono Tadashi, seemed to act as if he was the highest noble short of the Emperor himself. The attitude was wearing enough but was insulting when applied towards Captain Fushima Arata and Mori Nanami. Nanami’s father is a Shishaku and Education Minister, while Fushima Arata holds the title of Koshaku as the heir of the Fushima family.

Sadly thought Captain Arata as he walked to the officer’s mess the irritation had only started there with this diplomat and his entourage. The then began to demand to bring on so much personal baggage they would have had to unload some of the supplies going to Mars. Hojo Kosami threw a fit and began to order all the diplomat’s luggage tossed over the side before Captain Arata had stepped in calmed him and explained, in rather direct terms, that there was a weight limit as had been explained several times before and that the weight limit would be strictly enforced.

Once the flight to Mars was underway Captain Arata thought things would settle down and be much calmer since the diplomat and his lackeys would be limited in where they could go and what they could do. He couldn’t have been more wrong. One of the lackeys, Captain Arata didn’t even bother to learn his name, apparently thought of himself as a big shot scientist. Specifically he thought of himself as a physicist. So he decided to go and educate Nanami that she couldn’t possibly know physics properly and should instead return home. It was a good thing the moron didn’t speak English…and that Nanami prefers to insult people in it rather than Japanese. At least Kanjiro had been nearby to forcefully escort the offender back to his cabin.

And now this. He paused outside the mess and took a moment to straighten his uniform. It still was odd not to be in a proper Imperial Officer uniform, but the commanders decided this should be a more off the books effort to allow for exploration and hopefully fruitful discovery. He was wool gathering and knew it so he took a deep breath and entered the mess.

“Why, hello Captain.” Arata looked up and nodded at Kanjiro. “Sorry about this…sir.” The sir being added as an afterthought not meaning disrespect but he simply wasn’t used to it.

“Not your place to apologize Kanjiro.” Arata replied calmly. “After all it isn’t your fault the ‘diplomat’ decided to ruin, I mean take advantage of our private dinner to make a spectacle of himself.” Kanjiro’s expression did not change, but he obviously agreed with the distaste rolling off Captain Arata’s tounge.

“I know, but why did they pick this particular diplomat?” Kanjiro asked.

“Simple, he is one of the few actually fluent in the major Martian dialects. And his father is an up and comer in the diplomatic corps.” Captain Arata paused and sighed. “I need to go break up that moron from upsetting Nanami again.” He walked over to Nanami and kissed her hand. “Good afternoon, my lady.”

She turned her glare upon Arata and took a moment to calm herself before responding. “Good afternoon to you to Koshaku Arata.” She responded with a glint of maliciousness in her eyes. The barb struck home from the withering expressions of the diplomat and his lackeys. Apparently none of them had bothered to learn the lowly Ether Flyer Captain’s family name. He sat next to her and the dinner proceeded smoothly after that.

Notes:

Prince or Duke (kōshaku)
Marquess (kōshaku)
Earl or Count (hakushaku)
Viscount (shishaku)
Baron (danshaku)

I am sure these are not perfect translations, but they are what I am going to be using.

The Bull of Heaven

May 21, 1889
Ohuedle Polijuya, Western Ishtar Highlands

Angela watched out of the window as the Skybeaker came in for a landing, all guns ready, just in case. This village have been apparently been friendly three weeks ago, when the last government group had been here, but a lot could happen in that time.

The Skybreaker was here working for the Kolonie government, running “trade goods” to the natives. Though it was never said, the fact that this region was far closer to the British colony then the German clearly showed the meaning. The British never give you anything, yet here we are asking for so little. Angela snorted at the concept, but it seemed to have its merits, and it cost rather little, mostly metal arrow heads and the likes. This time, however, the load included twelve Modele 1777 smooth-bore muskets, and odd thing to give the locals, but they were more likely to be used on the British then the Kolonie, and Karl assured her that the humidity would rob them of quite a bit of power.

As she finished that thought, she glanced around the cargo hold. The governor’s office had sent some of its men with her, to prostylize, protect the goods, and to keep her running-off with them. There were a handful of officials, both human and Lizard, and a fairly hefty guard: eight human Jaeger, and sixteen kolo-Jaeger. The human Jaeger all had new Gewehr 88s, while all but three of the Lizards had Mauser 71s, and those three had Dreyse needle-guns. Still, better than the average colonials, it seemed half of them had muzzle-loading rifles, and quite a few had smooth-bores.

“Ishtar Highlands, eh?” Maria said, coming-up beside Angela, then switched to English.
“If thou openest not the gate to let me enter,
I will break the door, I will wrench the lock,
I will smash the door-posts, I will force the gates.
I will bring up the dead to consume the living.
And the dead will outnumber the living.”

“What?” Angela asked in German, confused, wondering if he spoken English was worse than she thought. “Who were you quoting, that Poe fellow you talk about? Or that “Louis Riel” person?”

Maria stared open-mouthed for a second, than burst out laughing, switching randomly between languages to say what Angela could guess to be rather unflattering. Finally, she composed herself enough to speak. “I-if Louis Riel geh ha ha!, could command an army of the dead, th-there’s no way he wa-would have lost! Hah ha!”

Angela began to ask who it really was, but was cut-off as the Skybreaker lurched slightly, signifying the landing. As the crew and soldiers hurried to unload, Angela walked down the ramp onto the soft ground, looking around at the village. The building had a wooden frame, she knew, but from the outside they looked to be made of grass, with all the fronds pointing towards the ground. Angela couldn’t be certain, but she was fairly certain her ship dwarfed all the buildings

Most of the lizards were hiding, save for the few who had come out to deal with the officials, one of whom had pulled out a poster showing a caricature of Queen Victoria kicking over a local burial chamber, while a more realistic image of the late Kaiser Wilhelm I (obviously the poster was a year old) shielded the fleeing villagers. She couldn’t blame them, even with the handful of guns they had, the Skybreaker could kill them all and raze the village without much effort.

A few minutes later, the officials had finished trying to woo the locals, had stuck-up some water-proofed posters and handed over the gifts, and the Skybreaker was lifting off. And Angela was still trying to figure out what Maria had said, and starting to feel slightly disturbed for some reason.

The ship’s velocity was reducing slowly as the HMS Pinafore approached Mars, everyone was at their stations preparing the vessel for the transition to atmospheric flight. In the Engine room the atmospheric power plant roared to life as coal was shoveled into the furnace, the steam in the boiler spinning the turbine. Cornelia flitted about checking dials and gauges shouting commands to the crew members assisting her over the cacophony of both of the engines. Like a hundred other missions before the ship slid smoothly into the upper atmosphere the rust colored dust of the Martian plains flashing past beneath them as the craft continued to descend.

Crewmen hustled back and forth with hand trucks carrying the shells out of the armory, two large crates of 1-inch bullets headed for the Gatling guns on the port wing, two more to the starboard wing. Conveyor belts carried the huge howitzer shells fore and aft clanking as they were loaded into the securing clamps. At the bow and stern of the ship other men would be quickly moving the shells from the belt and storing them in the turrets. Victor oversaw these preparations were undertaken to ensure the safety of the ship and crew in the dangerous Martian airspace. He relished the work, he was often shunned in the academic community as ‘uncouth’, and he didn’t care. His peers could keep their business suits and he would keep his gun, at the end of the day, it was he who had found fortune and glory.

In cargo hold B with a clipboard in one hand and a pen in the other checking off items stood William, among the other items in the room he was checking the large crates of tobacco and tea, supplies for the British. Other crates were being carried through into other cargo rooms, only this room was for the colony the rest of the cargo space held other supplies for trade. Lord Craven’s intelligence had told him that the uncivilized Martians clans would be fascinated and willing to trade for the trinkets, tobacco, and spirits he had brought in large quantity. Among other things he had purchased more than a hundred beautiful silver pocket watches, phonographs, cigarette lighters, and other technologies and trinkets that would impress and placate the natives.

Jack sat in the pilot’s chair, his hands on the controls, guiding the ship down through the atmosphere towards the British colony city of Syrtis Major. The hull of the ship was designed to take the heat and pressure of atmospheric flight, but was nowhere near as maneuverable in atmosphere as it was in interplanetary space. Turbulence shook the deck plates and the chairs slightly it was a distinctly different feeling than the smooth hum of the solar boiler and the ether propellers when the ship travelled through space. At long last the ship slowed over the air field and descended, Jack performed the necessary adjustments finally coming to rest alongside a raised docking platform.

Light spilled from the cargo bay as the large doors were unlocked and slowly slid open.

.......................................................

The Lost Moon & the French Empire
Part II

Doctor Laffitte awoke feeling awful. Not from the absinthe, but from the gash in his head. He had been hit on the head by the butt end of a revolver, and his migraine was an indication of the lingering pain. He was sitting in a blank room. The walls and the floors were made of wood. There were no windows, and the doctor had no clue what time it could possibly be. He wondered about the Corbeau. Would the crew be looking for him? All of the doctor's possessions were gone, including his travel bag, which he always kept by his feet while drinking. Had Martians taken him hostage? It is true that Doctor Laffitte did have enemies on Mars, no less within Idaeus Fons. There had been many occasions that he had casually ripped off a poor soul, perhaps selling bhutan spice for a bit more or buying it for a bit less, sometimes through use of force. Those days were long past, though, and the doctor couldn't imagine anyone holding a grudge for as long as this. Laffitte stood and paced for about an hour, his head looking at the floorboards. He was not tied, which made him think his captors were at least somewhat benevolent. Laffitte tried to open the only door in the room, but to no avail. It was sealed shut. Even his banging would not even shake the heavy wooden door.

After what seemed like a few hours, the only door to the room opened, and the same two men in bowler hats and trench coats walked in. Behind them, a few soldiers could be seen outside the room. They were French! Surprised, Laffitte looked at the men and spoke. "This must be some mistake. I am here with the Parisian Sky Captain..." his words were abruptly interrupted.

"Silence, dear doctor. We know why you are here and who you are here with. We are from the Society, and we know Captain Meissonier more than you think." One of the men walked forward and strolled around the clueless doctor. "But still, you have a history of crimes against the French state, which I am sure you are aware of. I don't think I need to tell you what kind of trouble you could be in..."

"Nonsense! I have cleared my name with the French government. That was years ago. What is the meaning of this?"

"You cleared your name with France, perhaps, but not with us. You'll have to do more for us, dear doctor."

"I will not discuss this and I will not do anything for you. Who are you? I question your loyalty to the France you speak of. You are keeping me from my duty, which is serving as a doctor for one of the Society's finest frigates."

"We thought you would say that," the other man spoke, "Yet we are simple men, just like you. We will pay you a hefty sum now, just to listen to our proposal. If you accept, we will pay you more tonight. If you succeed, the payment will be grand. You will never worry about money again and you will be a hero to the French Empire. Come, dear doctor, we know that if anything interests you, it is money." This sudden turn in conversation was interesting to Laffitte, who turned his head at these words. The doctor had never lost his penchant for "earning" money, especially through means that are not necessarily... legal. He could sense already that these men, while they might be from the Society, are not exactly asking for upfront favors. Laffitte was not a stupid man, but pure hard cash was his one weakness. His intelligence would quickly drop at the sight of it. His whole life he had worked his way up from a poor family to go to medical school, dabbling in crime as a youth and stealing from homes to fund his earliest experiments.

"So this isn't about my criminal history?" asked Doctor Laffitte. "A clever, but pointless, bargaining tool. Just talk about the money, and I'll listen." The doctor grinned as the two men looked at each other. The first man began to speak again.

"As I said, we are from the Society. And we take pride in our captains, such as Captain Meissonier. He is a fine man, honest, and full of promise. Your assignment, as I am sure you know, is to deliver supplies to Idaeus Fons, which you have already done. The second part of your assignment out of Paris was to go to Juno. I am sure you know this already, as well. We are well-versed in Meissonier's techniques and we know how he likes to conduct his operations. But Captain Meissonier only knows a piece of the whole puzzle that is his task in Juno. There he will be picking up several crates of... artifacts... and he will deliver those crates from Juno to Paris." The man handed the doctor his pipe, filled it with tobacco, and lit it for him. He continued, "Those crates have things of great importance within it. Captain Meissonier believes that they are priceless Martian relics headed to a newly-opened Museum of Martian History near the Louvre. I am sure that Captain Meissonier has been pondering why he, such a fine pilot, has been chosen to deliver this cargo headed for a museum. It might seem a bit strange for his talents. We informed him that this cargo is coveted by pirates who operate within the Asteroid Belt. This is all Captain Meissonier knows, and I'm sure all you know... at this point."

The man pulled forth a photograph from a small case. "We found this in a cavern on Juno, buried underneath a ruined city that we believe to be an old military outpost of the fabled Vulcans." The photograph revealed a strange figure, human in nature, lying in the dirt of a dark cavern. It was completely machine and gearworks, and the head was crushed on the left side. In the photograph, the figure looked human-size.

"I have no idea what this is," Doctor Laffitte responded. "It looks like a costume."

"It looks to be man-sized, but actually, my dear doctor, it is a bit taller than the Eiffel. I am sure you saw the Eiffel before departing. A magnificent structure, yes?" Doctor Laffitte nodded, with a shocked look on his face. A giant machine shaped like a man. "We uncovered several of these in this cavern, but this one was very much intact. My dear doctor, this can be a weapon of unfathomable destruction and power. It is a game changer for the French Empire."

The other man began to speak in a harsher tone. "I'm sure you understand you cannot go back now. Were you to reveal your knowledge to anyone, we would discover you, and kill not only you, but your family. And everyone you talked to, we would kill them, too. And don't try to hide anything from us, Doctor Laffitte. You will notice a small hole in your left arm. I'm sure you know what that is." The doctor quickly rolled up his sleeve and looked at his arm. Sure enough, an injection had been made a few centimeters below his shoulder. It stung to his pressured touch. "That is something that you have not seen before, and you don't want to know what we can do with it." Doctor Laffitte was a crooked man, but he was also a loving son to his family, a group of peasants he had been somewhat estranged from. Despite this, he had given them regular monetary gifts for several years now.

"You claim to give me a choice, but I have none?" Doctor Laffitte asked nervously. His shoulder began to throb as the men grinned at each other. He felt a pricking in his brain, and he started to drool. As instantly as the pain came, it vanished. One of the men walked over with a handkerchief and wiped the slobber off of the doctor's undershirt. The other man began speaking again in a brighter tone. "We don't want to hurt you, you see, and we feel you are a man up to our task, and like I said, we are willing to pay you most generously." Doctor Laffitte looked at the floorboards again, and thought for a moment.

"I will cooperate. Give me what you said you'd give me, and we'll keep talking," the doctor replied. The two men smiled at each other, left the room, and emerged shortly after, assisted with French soldiers. Barrels of bhutan spice, cases full of cash, and even boxes of liftwood.

"Not only this, my dear doctor. But when your task is finished, you will also receive your own flyer. You can do with it what you will. The Society is fully prepared to accept you to the academy."

"Why me?" the doctor asked. "Why not anyone else?"

"You are in the right place at the right time. You are close to Captain Meissonier. And you have a knack for the criminal arts. You are a perfect match. In addition, your education as a doctor will be useful for this mission."

"What do you need me to do?" Doctor Laffitte eagerly asked. The two men laughed.

"Patience. We can leave this room and sit down for a drink. But first, tell me doctor, what do you know about Alexandre Dodart?"

It was, by all meanings of the word, a miracle. Then again, both men were of the opinion this was a civilised place for the locals had taken heart to an obviously superior human religion - of course, inferior to Protestantism and... whatever Nakamura believed in. Ross put no thought to what the little man believed in - it probably wasn't God, but it was a damn sight better than whatever silly little folktales the Martians believed in, by way of being created by a human. But their opinion of Fadath and each other increased when they found a teashop.

"Bloody awful stuff. Must be local." Ross was under no apprehension that some Martians passing by must have understood the insult, but he was an Englishman in a strange land, and thus it was his prerogative to be rude about the locals.

"Yes, but at least its tea. And we should be thankful for it."

"I suppose. I suppose. Not a mark on the best Indian leaf, mind you."

Nakamura had tried some 'Indian leaf' before, and it had not gone down well. He preferred home-grown stuff, but he doubted sticking up for his country would go down well with the louder, far more patriotic man. So a simple "Mmm, yes" sufficed.

After a silence disturbed only by the noises of a busy Martian market and sips of tea, Ross spoke again. "Say, Rabbit, why are you on this little sortie, hmm? I want to pilot a ship, the Captain wants enough money so he can see Jupiter and I'll be damned if I can get more than a mumble out of Hans. But you, I haven't spoke to."

"Well, we do work at the opposite ends of the ship."

"True, true." He took a sip of his tea, which was starting to grow on him. "But you didn't answer my question."

Nakamura took two sips while having a long think. "Do you know of a British man named Charles Babbage?"

Ross didn't, but he wasn't about to let the little foreigner know that "I've heard his name bandied about. What is he? Some raconteur? A young fop with adventure in his belly?" Or your boyfriend, he thought to himself. Yes, I'd put you down as a degenerate.

"No, no. He was an inventor. I mean was, he died..." in the pause, Hideo didn't notice the other man relax a bit, relieved in finding he wasn't spending time with a homosexual, "...about 18 years ago. He invented the cow catcher, you know."

"Did he really? My, my." The Brit was losing interest.

"Yes, but his best work was something called the Difference Engine. It was an automatic calculating machine. Imagine that, a machine that thinks! Of course, it can only do the basics, sums and such, but it could revolutionise space travel! Well, maybe not that drastically, but you know, make things easier, like calculating the positions of other objects! The work of the pilot or navigator could be cut in half! Or more! That's why I'm with the Worthy Endeavor. To get enough money so I can get the plans and make and improve on the design on my own. Maybe if I'm a staunch ally, when Captain Seymor is wealthy and owns his own asteroid or something, I could have a school where I could teach children about these things, and the design will improved on some more! Because ideas always need an outsider's touch, you know."

But that man he was talking to was only half listening. Part of his mind wondered what sexual deviancy the Japanese man was suffering from, if not the Gay. The other part was watching the crowd of Martians. "Sounds fascinating," he said, in an attempt to show he was paying attention.

"When are we next landing on Earth?"

"What, hmm? Oh, June, I expect. The Captain made himself clear he has no intention of being in a warzone, so we're leaving as soon as our ship is full. Which shouldn't take too long. Then on to Venus and Mercury, seeing what we can flog there. We'll be getting gun for the ship after that, apparently. Of course, this is all barring 'opportunities' arising."

"Hmm. I think I'll have enough the third time around." But Nakamura said in a mumble, so Ross didn't hear, but neither did he particularly care.

It was at that point the Captain and the Doctor had returned. The Captain had been buying cheap crafts from the locals, plus some liftwood. He could get passengers travelling light back in Styrgis Major, he had reasoned. The Doctor was getting some local supplies.
Passenger Ship - Fadath to Styrgis Major.

"So, Captain, do you think those missionaries are going to be OK?" Ross asked as their cramped conditions made talk necessary sooner or later.

"Eh, I wouldn't worry about 'em. Got the Lord on their side an' all. Plus, they made the choice of goin' into a potential warzone fulla aliens."

"How did trading our stuff go Captain?" This was Nakamura who talked.

"The 'fficials were pretty damned pleased. Food, weapons and stuff. Plus, some other folks had the same notion we did. Took the last of their liftwood, more or less. Probably not enough to sell to the Krauts, but who knows, may some rich idiot'll pay us for it to finish off his own private flyer or something."
Yeah, I plan on being back on Earth by the start of the season.

I don't have time to write enough stories to keep up, I'm really sorry. Dropping this, thought I really wish you the best of luck

Hans sips his Trappist Enkel Ale as the ship floats out of the Hydrogen fueling station at Copratia, “Only a damn Martian would worship the dirt,” he says.

Friday guffaws at him, he doesn’t have a particularly high regard for Christian astro-theological beliefs himself, but he is also too smart to pick fights now.

“Won’t save them now,” is what Kurtz tells him, getting out his compass and charts, he’s handed all of the information on the Oeneterian lines up at their Embassy in Copratia for them to telegraph back somewhere it could do some good. Now he had more to chart out, Gumme plantations and rebel lines, up there could be liftwood aplenty.

And Kurtz only wanted 20 tons of it, although tons seems to be a strange way to measure such things. However much liftwood it took to fill the cargo bay.

Hans hustled down to the gunners bubble, carrying his beer with him.

As he goes down Friday says, “I’m sure that’s safe.”

“He can’t point it up.”

Friday laughs, “I’m more worried for the poor civilians in Melas.”

Friday flips through a Koline to English dictionary, trying out words in his mouth, silently wording them as the ship thrusts forward to the Rebellion.

After a couple of hours of silent flight, the sun beginning to sink below the distant horizon the Howitzer roars to life.

Friday looks up suddenly, shocked from down the ladder Hans yells, “Cloud Ship? More like a Cloud Raft!”

Out the front, one of the first floating scout ships for the High Martian rebels goes down fantastically.

And three more, much larger ships quickly take notice.

“Goddamnit Hans this is not a Battleship!” Hugo is in a full panic at the helm, turning around, trying to find a good place to land closer to Melas, this ship is not well armored or armed enough to engage in aerial battles and he knew it. It was designed to get them in, and then haul the loot back, not to dogfight.

Kurtz cannot resist the temptation, and though the shots goes wild he does take a couple of them out the window.

“Lunatics!” Hugo shouts, “A Bunch of damned Lunatics!”

A Howitzer round to one of the cloudships pushes it hard enough to ram into a second, but it only hits true because Hugo is not turning the ship fast enough, one of their engines catches afire, and both ships are suddenly an inferno, Martians leaping off them to float to the ground.

And the forward motion completely stops while he tries to just turn abruptly in the air, the Cloudship moves closer, the armor is enough to hold against the small arms, but the Zeppelin has only succeeded in facing away from their attackers.

The Martian captain smiles, behind him two Captains who had rivaled him for promotions his whole “career” went down in flames while he instructed his crew to throw up lashes, pull this “dirigible” closer.

They would board it, take all the Earth goods, bring them to the Worm Priests as tribute, it would be glorious.

They pulled closer to the cargo bay, a whole army of Martian rebels on the front of the ship prepared to blast the doors open once they reached arm’s length.

Only a few more seconds, some of them reached out across the sky.

Inside the Narcissus, behind the trigger of one of the Nordenfelt’s, Hans grins, out of breath from his run.

The machine guns open fire.

The lashes, machine gun fire is hardly precise enough to cut through rope in an organized manner, but those lashes are all tied off to the ship, and machine gun rounds make quick work of that wood.

This is to say nothing of the Martians, their blood soon pools into a wide thick slick, dripping down the side of the ship as the lashes gave way.

Hugo, cold sweat all over his face, looks over at the reassuring grin on Kurtz’s face, “You did good kid, you did real good.”

“Thanks,” Eckner replies, trying to bring the ship down as the last Cloudship, a Ghostship now, floats aimlessly through the Martian sky unpiloted, unmanned and unknown.

They land in a clearing, drawing the attention of a small Belgian corps. The Belgian officer and his men run up to the Narcissus and Kit barks at them as Hans is strapping dynamite into his belt and Hugo is testing the feel of his sabre.

Kurtz meets them with a grin, “George Antoine Kurtz at your service gentlemen. I presume we are allowed to keep what we kill?”

“Welcome to Mars.” The man in the uniform said “Should I have some lads attend to the unloading of your cargo?”

“That would be excellent” Lord Craven said as he doffed his hat and turned to head back to his bridge. Before he left the cargo bay several dock workers had hustled into the room and began lifting crates onto wooden trolleys that sat hovering a few feet off the ground. He stepped out into the corridor and checked his pocket watch; this one was silver, specially adjusted for the longer Martian day. The heels of his shining black boots clicked on the polished decks as he his long strides took him closer to the bridge.

“William!” an angelic creature stood with the rest of the crew on the bridge, “I’m so excited, I’ve never been to Syrtis Minor” Cornelia’s platinum blond curls bouncing as she bounded towards William and embraced him.

“Darling” William said he stood a foot taller than her; he leaned forward and gave her a quick kiss on the cheek. “It is a beautiful city, I’m quite sure we shall all enjoy our stay.” It was rare to see her on the bridge she spent most of her time with her engines, and it was an even rarer sight to see the whole crew assembled there on the bridge. “Alright lads” Lord Craven said to the crewmen “Victor, Cornelia, Jack, and I are headed into the city on business. Keep the ship in order and we will be back as soon as possible.” He took Cornelia’s hand and beckoned to Victor and Jack to follow, they walked as a group towards the hatch leading to the dock.

They walked the length of the steel docking platform and descended to ground level, the three others waited while William entered the offices of the ship yard. When he exited the building he had a large thick envelope held in one hand, and a broad grin on his face as he handed the envelope to Cornelia. “We did quite well Admiral Field was quite generous for the communiqués and even more so for the supplies.” Cornelia opened the package, reached in, and drew out a stack of crisp twenty pound notes.

ARMS RACE PICKS UP IN EUROPE

It seems that every week, another story surfaces that escalates the growing arms race occurring in Europe. Not only has progress in aerial flyer technology been great, but other technologies are beginning to surface. Aerial forts are popping up over major cities and air-lanes. Cities have begun investing in anti-aircraft cannon technologies. Perhaps one of the most impressive new land military technologies is Britain's "battlesphere", a small but powerful armored fighting vehicle designed to protect the front lines of infantry. It is a steel ball with a steam-powered locomotive. It is armed with dual rotating cannons, though it is rumored that there are many designs and variants.

Germany has unleashed several new battle zeppelin variants, armed to the teeth and participating in military parades and military flyer exhibitions. Meanwhile, France's private flyer corps has released three new frigates and has promised to release more. They are considered light-weight and quick, designed to outmaneuver zeppelins. Russia has even unveiled an ether battleship, though its clunky design seems inferior to more streamlined British models.

There is no question that Europe has entered a new era with the discovery of the ether and the innovation coming from inventors. This has resulted in many new peaceful technologies, but it is sincerely hoped that the machines of war that are now being produced will never see action in a true continental war.

BRITISH ARMY RECEIVES MAXIM MACHINEGUNS

The British Army has been using the new Maxim machineguns throughout the Oenotrian War. These machineguns have proven to be the most successful machineguns yet. One person can fire the gun, but it is usually operated by a team of men. The cooling mechanism of the weapon needs a constant supply of water in order to produce a continuous stream of fire, and several men are needed to move or shift its position. The required supply of water has made its use tricky on Mars during the dry season, yet shipments of water from Earth at the beginning of the dry season were largely used on the machineguns, which decimated the Martian lines.

British Players: Any Gatling gun can be replaced by a Maxim machinegun of the same caliber and weight (so there are many variants of the Maxim). They are more efficient than Gatling guns, yet do require some water to be used effectively.

RAVACHOL FOLLOWERS ESCAPE PRISON

In London, as trials commenced on a group of followers who helped Ravachol conduct his "suicide mission" on the HMS Harbinger, unknown agents infiltrated the heavily guarded prison complex and released the prisoners, helping them escape via aerial flyer. Their current whereabouts are unknown. They are considered extremely dangerous. An investigation is underway, and the situation has become a national embarrassment for the British Empire. Meanwhile, rumors have surfaced that Ravachol is indeed alive and well somewhere in the solar system. Whether or not these are factual or propagated by Ravachol's followers is unknown.

GRUESOME MURDERS IN BERLIN: A LIZARDMAN ON EARTH?

During Spring of 1889, seventeen murders occurred in the German capital city of Berlin. The murders all indicated fierce struggles, bloody scratch marks, and disgusting mutilations. The evidence clearly points to the work of a Lizardman. The Alien Accord of 1869 stipulates that all signed members agree that no alien is to come to Earth unless they are closely guarded and their visit is approved by the government of the host nation. It is a serious offense to bring an extraterrestrial to Earth without consent of the government. The rumored Lizardman running amok in central Berlin has caused the German government to launch strict and thorough searches of aerial checkpoints and docking locations. In addition, the search for the killer continues, with many detectives on the case. It has proven to be a difficult search, and it is rumored that the Lizardman may no longer be in Berlin at this point. The whole of Germany awaits the next killing, and thus the next clue, to the renegade Lizardman's location. Interviews and crackdowns on Venus have all resulted in high respect for the Lizardfolk communities within the Venusian Kolonie. The civilized tribes seem beyond senseless murder, though no one knows what a Lizardman might do amidst human civilization. The more likely scenario is that it is a member of one of the vicious barbarian Lizardfolk tribes. The German government seems mostly concerned with finding the culprits responsible for bringing the beast to Europe.


THE OENOTRIAN WAR

To sum things up, the Oenotrian War goes well for the British. The Battle of Avenel was a bloody one, which ended in a victory for the British and resulted in one of the fiercest aerial battles Mars has seen. Cloudship by cloudship suffered at the hands of British flyers. Fires in Avenel burned for days. This was indeed a major victory for the British, but any gains they have made since have been rather small. They have not yet been able to launch a major offensive against Oenotria itself. Meanwhile, the Oenotrian Empire is finding itself fighting a two-front war, though Fadath has proven itself to be more defensive than anything else. The Oenotrians seem to be testing their defenses, though Fadath has succeeded in winning a few minor skirmishes against their Oenotrian aggressors.

The British Empire is not doing as well in the Astusapes Highlands. They have attempted more gunboat sieges on kraags but have found that many kraags have either been emptied or dug in further. Moreover, many of the High Martians have united under Hattabranx even more than before and have begun to torment British outposts in the highlands. Cloudships filled with European arms have been able to reach the High Martians from Oenotria, making bloody guerilla warfare a grim fact for the Astusapes region. Where these arms have come from originally is a mystery, though British investigations are beginning to reveal that American arms merchants have been a bit more brave in their dealings than they once were.

CLOUDSHIP PIRATES

Because of the Oenotrian War, pirates have developed a highly attuned sense of bravery in the face of the British and Belgian presence on Mars. While not officially siding with the Oenotrians or the Copratian rebels (because sometimes it is their own cloudships that are raided!), the pirates have been a huge nuisance to British aerial shipping lines. Weapons, food, water, and other supplies have been taken, and now pirates have more advanced weaponry and have been able to trade their weapons with more barbaric High Martian kraags. The pirates tend to be a mixture of many kinds of Martians, but they are mostly renegade Canal and Hill Martians. All flyers on Mars should take caution when seeing unidentified cloudships. Pirates are extremely mischievous and often hide cloudships behind hills or mountains. Victims often see a single cloudship hovering, approach it, and are ambushed. Many pirate ships now have British weaponry, as well, making them all the more dangerous. Some pirate ships also have hostages.

A GREATER WAR?

There is some talk on Mars that the Oenotrian Empire and the Copratian Rebels have begun to openly cooperate with one another. This is simply a rumor, yet the prospect for such an alliance is indeed a dangerous one. Were the Oenotrian Empire to unite with the Copratian Rebels, and also have the aid of Hattabranx and the Astusapes kraags, it would indeed be a dangerous coalition. If they were somehow able to coerce the gangs of cloudship pirates currently marauding the skies of Mars, it would be even more dangerous. The prospect of this series of unholy alliances has prompted the British and Belgian governments to work closely together in forming their lines and forming supply chains. Most of this work has been extremely clandestine, yet most of the Martian clans fighting for their planet rarely separate Earthmen from one another and have already assumed that these two sides are working together.

FADATH AND A CONVERTED CATHOLIC PRINCESS

Fadath's decision to break free of the Oenotrian Empire has made grand headlines in Europe and has garnered the Martian city-state much respect from Britain, which has given Fadath British arms and aid. The aid to Princess Anraabu from Britain has further angered the Mrohzanji priests, which have begun to isolate themselves from the affairs of Fadath, much to the dismay of its citizens. The priests claim that the off-world cult responsible for Princess Anraabu's conversion and subsequent decision to go to war with Oenotria has poisoned Fadath and turned Martian against Martian. Their rallying cries have mostly fallen on deaf ears, though some within Princess Anraabu's advising circle have noted the danger the priests are posing.

CULT OF THE WORM

The infamous Cult of the Worm has gained more attention the last few months due to organized attacks on Europeans in some major city-states. This has resulted in the city-state of Melas going under lockdown, with Belgian troops constantly patrolling the streets, looking for perpetrators. Gruesome murders have come in the name of the Cult. Several Belgian civilians have gone missing and are suspected to be in the highlands around the Coprates, kidnapped by High Martian rebels. The different species of Martian are uniting in a show of force against Belgium, resorting to desperate actions. Belgium, however, is not budging and has simply ordered more troops to the Coprates.

THE MELASIAN MASSACRE

The gruesome murders taking place in the city-state of Melas prompted the Belgian colonial military to launch a wide-scale search of priests from the Cult of the Worm. These searches began to be looked down upon by local leaders in the city-state of Melas and resulted in widespread protests. The Belgian military became afraid of open rebellion and opened fire on a crowd of Martians, including rounded up suspect-priests from the Cult of the Worm. The bloody massacre left over two hundred Martians killed, and the Belgian military has since tightened its hold over Melas Lacus. The deposed Prince of Melas, Prince Lyast, has fled the red planet aboard an international civilian ether-liner. His exile was approved by the Siamese government. Prince Lyast now resides in Siam, which has been officially protested by the Belgian government.


THE BLUE ARGO

During Spring, the Blue Argo and its crew traveled to Mars and delivered crucial supplies to British troops amidst the Battle of Avenel. Their supplies came at such a critical time for British troops that they were rewarded handsomely and paid £200. In addition, they were given a few panels of liftwood, about half of what would be required to make the Blue Argo float in a stable manner. After bringing supplies, the Blue Argo received an optional assignment from British commanders there, which involved heading into the Astusapes to scout High Martian kraag locations for the more heavily armed British gunboat fleet. The scouting would be an extremely high-paying, yet dangerous, task. Though the Blue Argo, which does not look like a ship of the line for the British Empire, would be a perfect scout ship for the Astusapes and the scouting mission would save thousands of lives of British soldiers. Since hearing of this job proposal, the crew of the Blue Argo has had its suspicions, but has also realized their need for money to fund their amazing invention which should be unveiled in the coming seasons. Beware of a British Empire that has a thorn in its side. Be even more cautious of the force causing that pressure, the High Martians. Should the Blue Argo accept this mission, the rest of the liftwood required to make the Blue Argo float in the Martian atmosphere (and every other planetary body other than Venus) would be provided, giving the craft a good backup from its hydrogen power. However, this other half of the liftwood amount would be on loan only and must be returned to the British Empire after the scouting mission.




THE SKYBREAKER

The Skybreaker landed safely within the Venusian Kolonie and delivered supplies to a lizardfolk village. For their delivery, the German colonial council awarded the ship and its crew £50. In addition, the Skybreaker received many gifts from the lizardfolk. These include totems from their religion, priceless objects that should fetch a fortune in Europe with cultural dealers. Yet the objects are quite heavy, taking up a total of five tons of cargo space. The totems are currently stored in wooden crates. They are about 3 meters tall each, though some are smaller and others are taller. They have intricately carved depictions of dinosaurs and other beasts and are embedded with jewels and other fabulous ornate decorations. Paint from many of the colorful flowers in the Venusian swamps was used to paint them and they are made from the same sturdy wood that the lizardfolk make weapons out of, called Oma Jolima. In their quick visit to the lizardfolk village, the crew of the Skybreaker made many acquaintances and "friends" with lizardfolk officials and German colonial officers. They were so impressed with the Skybreaker's speedy delivery of supplies so much so that they have recommended the ship to be placed in the list of craft that the German colonial council can trust. This could mean future assignments that are a bit more clandestine. German colonial officers did express to the crew of the Skybreaker their general malcontent involving the Russian acquisition of Cytherian Orchid growths and how the Russian Empire could potentially use their discoveries of that flower to propagate their colonial presence on Venus. The crew of the Skybreaker took notice of this worry. In addition, the German colonial officers were constantly discussing the threat of wild lizardfolk natives encroaching on the Venusian Kolonie. The colonial officers present also offered to employ to the Skybreaker one of their pilots currently on Venus.




THE NARCISSUS

The Narcissus has had quite the eventful season. Kurtz and his crew successfully stole two barrels of water from the British Empire. They have not been officially pursued, though complaints have been filed through all of the "appropriate channels", no doubt from the bastard of a British officer present at the time. Yet the Oenotrian War continues, and there is very little cause to chase after Kurtz and his ether flyer. Kurtz and the crew was awarded £25 per barrel of water, and thus were given £200, even though they only gave six barrels to the British lines. On their way to the Belgian Coprates, Kurtz made a miraculous discovery. Gumme, which was thought to only grow in the Coprates region, had been found around Crocea. The single source of gumme which was mapped out by Kurtz is now his closely kept secret, though it is sure to be a valuable one. The Belgians still have a monopoly on gumme, having subjugated the Coprates for the sole purpose of creating gumme plantations, which they operate using harsh methods of labor for Martians eking a living from Belgium's colonialism. Were the British to realize that a small area around Crocea is capable of growing the resource, they would be able to have their own supply of gumme, however small. Kurtz, being at the same time clever and dangerous, has taken great consideration as to what to do with this newfound knowledge.

In addition to the water shipments, the Narcissus entered into aerial battle with several cloudships, destroying many and gaining prestige from the Belgians in the Coprates who witnessed the entire battle. For their bravery, the crew of the Narcissus has received so much respect from that small Belgian corps, that the machinists in the Coprates have (with the permission of the Belgian military) added two tons of space to the Narcissus, which can be used for additional weaponry. This weaponry will be given to the Narcissus by the Belgian military.




THE DAITAN SENDATSU

The Japanese Daitan Sendatsu has landed in Japanese Euxinius Lacus, the scientific research outpost on Mars. Here they were welcomed by a small yet proud group of Japanese civilians hoping to expand their colony. The Japanese craft also brought water with them, fetching £20. The current situation at Euxinus Lacus was interesting, especially amidst the Oenotrian War. The Martian locals, mostly semi-sedentary Hill Martians, have taken quite a liking to the Japanese scientists and civilians, and have even separated them from their human counterparts (Europeans). The Japanese still naturally find themselves superior to these "savages", but have taken care to not upset the delicate balance of trade between the Japanese and these Hill Martiand (and some smaller villages of Canal Martians). Trade has mostly been in liftwood, which grows in abundance within the Arcadian Highlands north of Euxinus Lacus. Hill Martians often obtain this liftwood from battles with High Martians, or even their own cultivation and shipment methods which involves convoys of ruumet breehr. The Daitan Sendatsu successfully shuttled a group of politicians from Japan to the research outpost and was awarded 1/2 of the necessary amount of liftwood it would take to stabilize the craft's lift (as a backup from their hydrogen power). It is clear that the Japanese scientists here do not know everything yet about the Arcadian or Amazonian Highlands and that there are more growths of liftwood to be discovered. This could be a great boon for Japan on Earth, which is trying to unleash new aerial gunboats and flyers to show their dominance in Asia. Finding more liftwood resources independent of the sometimes scarce trade deals with the local Hill Martians would also enhance Japan's influence on Mars and might even bring more colonists from the Land of the Rising Sun. Yet there are plenty of other interesting exploratory missions for Japan to be found throughout the solar system.




THE HMS PINAFORE

Ah, the HMS Pinafore. Where would the British morale be in the Oenotrian War without such a fine craft? Deliveries from the Pinafore all resulted in cheers from British soldiers and civilians alike. Tea and tobacco fetched a pretty penny for the crew of this light, yet fast, flyer. The crew was awarded a total of £200 for these highly coveted luxuries. In addition to the money, the Pinafore was given 1/4 of its liftwood amount in exchange for trading items to Martian locals in Parhoon. The specific items that interested the Parhoonese were mostly tobacco products and liquors. Yet the Parhoonese did not have much liftwood because of the current war and the High Martian presence in the Astusapes. Therefore, they also gave the crew of the Pinafore £50. The Pinafore is currently docked in Syrtis Lapis, the capital city of Syrtis Major, and is considering its next move. The crew has learned much about Syrtis Lapis and the Martians of Parhoon. Through their dealings with the Parhoonese, they even made friends with the Martians most capable of speaking English. The result has been that now major crew members now have a beginner's knowledge of Koline. The Parhoonese have asked certain favors of the Pinafore. Apparently, many Parhoonese traders have been harassed and even killed by some of the High Martians in the Astusapes. Their plight has been conveyed to the crew of the Pinafore, but what will happen is yet to be seen.




THE WORTHY ENDEAVOR

The Worthy Endeavor spent much of its time in the city-state of Fadath, trading goods to the Martians there. Specifically, the Martians in Fadath were interested in Catholic trinkets such as crosses, bibles, and other such oddities, due to their princess having converted to Catholicism. The Worthy Endeavor, having heard of this strange obsession, brought several Catholic trinkets which were traded for cash (£30), and a few panels of liftwood (specifically, 1/4 the amount that might be needed to provide stable lift for the Worthy Endeavor, yet it is more plausible the crew will sell the liftwood to wealthy German private aeronauts on Mars in the Western Dioscuria region). In addition to selling Martians Catholic trinkets, the crew of the Worthy Endeavor was also able to deliver food and weapons to the British in Syrtis Major, acquiring another £50. Perhaps one of the most interesting discoveries made was the existence of Fadath teashops, something that certain major crew members of the Worthy Endeavor (specifically Captain Seymor and Nakamura) thought was a bit strange. Through further research, it was learned that the north pole of Mars actually has quite decent tea-growing conditions, something initially thought to be a completely absurd notion. But apparently, the tea is grown and harvested during the flow season and then dried and drank during the dry season using clean water left-over from surging canals. The result is a very expensive tea and only of decent quality compared to what Europeans are used to. However, it is a sort of novelty beverage and is considered an "acquired taste" by connoisseurs, who argue that while Mars has a seemingly counter-productive climate for growing tea, the north pole at a specific time of the year creates a unique blend that is unlike anything humans have put into their bodies. Thinking that it could fetch a nice sum on Earth, the crew of the Worthy Endeavor traded Fadath teashops for two tons of the stuff, which added 2 tons to their cargo and took up space in addition to the other goods acquired and being taken to Earth. Fadath specifically sends trade cloudships to the Martian north pole to harvest this tea and they are one of the only Martian city-states to have perfected the methods of growing, harvesting, and brewing. Some Martian nick-knacks were also acquired, which are basically beaded jewelry pieces, strange earrings, and other such oddities (feel free to use your imagination here).




THE L'INTERNATIONALE

(Karalysia posted a fascinating, well-written story, but there is little to update about involving the L'Internationale. There is probably one or multiple Lizardman/men aboard the craft at this time, which will prove to be an interesting progression. I believe the ship is headed towards Venus, or may be on Venus at this very time. Once more details are learned, this post will be updated with some more information on the whereabouts and status of this mysterious anarchist ether flyer.)


THE SERENITY

The Serenity is a sad story. The ether flyer learned that many British goods had been raided by cloudship pirates. The gunboat crews and their goods had since been taken hostage, and the weapons headed for the British were now being used against the British in the Astusapes and at the Oenotrian lines. The Serenity attempted to take back these goods. When the ship arrived to the Astusapes, they were ambushed by High Martians and more organized Oenotrian Canal Martian cloudships. The result was a destroyed Serenity. The entire crew is dead or missing.

So, the option for my new character is Pilot and anything I can justify for career?