The Scholar's Tale (Original Fantasy)

Book II, Chapter 9

"The child who is burnt by the village will tear it down to escape the warmth."-Yvharnii proverb;

The Ib lookalikes were suddenly surroundings us, their arrival rattling every bone and organ I could feel, and definitely those I couldn't anymore. The sound of their movement only reached us several seconds later.

I remembered being unharmed as I rose to my feet, gritting my teeth as my insides healed and realigned. The Fleet was clearly bursting with care for us, or maybe they were this gentle with all visitors.

I glanced at Mharra, to see how badly he'd been shaken, expecting him to need healing as well.

But the captain was right as rain. If anything, the only thing that seemed hurt was his pride.

About seven years ago, I was at an invention fair. Mages displaying their constructs, mechanics with their contraptions, children with trinkets their proud, smiling parents in the audience definitely hadn't helped them with.

A geomancer had made a perpetually-erupting miniature volcano, only to realise, to her disappointed rage, that more than half of her opponents had imitated her.

That was who Mharra reminded me of as he looked up at the blue Ib copy. He had often said our grey friend was one the strangest, most marvelous beings he'd ever seen, and now...

'Libertas?" Three blurted out, the corners of his mouths twitching. 'The Free Fleet made something named after liberty? You lot just can't escape it, can you?'

***

Raymond Kane was the Free Fleet's current Admiral-Elect. At the relatively young age of forty-four, his raven hair was already more grey than dark, and his skin was like coal, in both complexion and texture-I don't think there was a spot on his face that wasn't covered by either wrinkles or scars, and his hands were more calloused than my whole body.

And I hadn't exactly led a peaceful life.

Kane's given name was meant to signify he'd be a ray of sunshine, lighting up his parents' world. Given the gimlet look Mharra received for smiling, I imagined they had unique standards for cheerfulness.

The Fleet's Electoral Council-so named because they were the Captains who chose the Admiral- had gathered on Kane's ship and the Fleet's current flagship, the Resolve Stalwart.

My crew and I were standing in the middle of a hollow, round metal table, surrounded by Captains whose expressions varied from mild interest or apathy at me, Three and the captain, to horrified disbelief at Ib.

The table's shape was meant to signify that no elected leader here was above their peers, not even the Admiral, so it had no head to sit at. Instead, Kane looked us up and down from between a couple of grizzled, grey-maned Captains, the women's matching scowls and scratched rings sure signs they had been together enough that they had started to appreciate the separation duty brought.

'Libertas?' Kane started, rubbing his chin with fingers that had been broken more often than my nose. 'I know you are confused, and expect you to be angry by the end...but please, it is not the floor's fault.'

Ib's pacing had worn potholes into the reinforced steel-the level of energy he'd restrained itself to after realising its stomps were shaking the thirty-kilometre, twelve trillion ton ship. It might have been fine if it fell apart, but most of its passengers would not.

'As you wish,' the giant said tersely, body reshaping into a sphere so it could put itself between us and the Council. 'In the unlikely possibility there's anyone on this wretched tub who deserves to live.'

Kane smiled indulgently. 'If I said the only occupants are us and the Freed crew, would you sink it?'

'...No.'

'Good.' The Admiral's smile disappeared as he drew himself up in his chair. 'Because that would be a lie. You...have grown more restrained since the last time we saw you, Libertas.'

'I'm sure you wish that had been the last time,' the giant's face and voice morphed to match the Admiral's, grey substance shaped into a moue of detached interest. 'But if wishes were wings, no one would sail.'

'This dramatic nonsense is all very entertaining,' Mharra chimed in, his smile more edged than usual. 'I know all about drama. I love a good farce. But, you know what would be even better? Not teasing my friend until it decides you'd look better as half the man that you were. So...' the captain's hands were in his pockets as he rocked back and forth of his heels, eyes darting between Captains. 'Would you mind spitting it out?'

The smartguns Lieutenants and above wielded fired projectiles that were over a dozen times faster than sound, crossing a league in a second.

And yet, as soon as the bald, eyeless Captain's bullet left his gun barrel, Ib was standing over him, pinching the smoking round it had plucked out of midair, like a child with a lazy butterfly, between two fingers.

'You dropped this,' the giant said. 'By all means, have it back.' And it slammed the bullet into the wall behind the Captain's, millimetres from his ear. 'Are we still measuring sizes and trying to kill each other over petty slights? Which, I feel I should add, is why I vaguely remember being cast out?'

Kane glared at the bald Captain, whose nametag read Lars, his eyes promising pain later. 'The Free Fleet does not murder guests. We execute enemies. Which is why I would advise your captain to lay off with the insulting comments, lest this discussion degenerate into-'

'Ray,' a thin, androgynous voice filled the room, somehow being heard over the Admiral's baritone and the Captains' grumbling. 'Please. This circus has dragged on long enough.'

Kane looked hesitant for a moment, then as if he wanted to sigh, but valued his dignity too much to do it. At a chopping gesture, the smooth, featureless wall behind him slid away, revealing a sterile, colourless light, and a glimpse of devices whose purpose I couldn't even begin to discern.

The figure who slipped out of the room was just as androgynous as their voice. Some sort of skintight coveralls that showed lean, but muscled arms and legs, soft features on a pale face and shoulder-length pink hair with blue highlights.

That last detail put me in mind of my own green hair, and...the one who had still believed in me, right until the end.

The technician, judging by the strange tool belt surrounding a slim waist, approached the table with quick steps, passing through the metal like it was air. They stopped in front of Ib, their blue-grey eyes showing no fear as they looked up, only slight apprehension, regret, and...joy.

'Hello, Libertas,' they said with a guilty, sheepish smile. 'I am sorry you were dragged back into this world. But then...it's my fault for making you.'