Hearts of Steel

Hearts of Steel - Chapter 1

Chapter 1

                “Vice Admiral Andrew Cavanaugh.  That’s hard to believe, considering your background.”  I keep my voice deceptively soft as the wind whips past, forcing him to lean in closer to hear me on the howling deck of the airship.  My brother gives a laugh. 

                “Lady Tamara Cavanaugh.  Who’d have thought that a street urchin like you,” he clucks at my chin, “would one day be called a lady?”  Andrew leans closer and grins, all smiles and good humor.  His near black eyes, the same shade as mine, gleam as he studies the airship.  “She’s a beauty, isn’t she?”  He gestures around the deck.  And I have to admit, the Illyria is a beauty, though it’s bigger and slower than the skimmers I’m used to.  Top of the line, straight out of the Navy shipyard complete with the latest, most advanced anti-beast technology.  Or so I’ve been told.  We don’t really know exactly what it takes to bring down a beast.  

                My dark braids whip around in the wind, brushing against the glass of my goggles.  I watch the crew hustle back and forth, clicking the sharpened tips of my steel fingers on the bulwarks. 

                “Can you stop that?” Andrew says, nodding at my fingers. 

                “What?” I say, though I know full what his problem is.  My decision to graft knife-sharp points to my already existing nails was a personal one.  One that had nothing to do with Andrew, though he insists it is his fault for driving me to it. 

                “Just, nothing is all.”  I turn from him to end the conversation.  It’s an argument we’ve had many times, and one that will not be resolved anytime soon.  I carefully fold back each nail one by one.  By the time I am done, they are squared off, the points safely tucked back under and able to do no harm.  All that is left to show of the tiny daggers is their color, a metallic grey that shines even at night. 

                The sky is cold and iron grey, much like the water below us.  I shiver and pull the brand new blue aviator’s jacket tighter across my shoulders as we begin our descent.  Andrew bought it for me, though I’d have preferred something a little less form fitting and a little bit warmer.  He claimed the sister of a Vice Admiral deserved something better than a ragged bomber jacket, no matter how attached I was to the tattered old thing.  I claimed that all the Federation politics were making him a superficial arsehole. 

                Andrew takes charge as we prepare to dock, shouting orders like he knows they will be followed. 

                And they will.  Andrew rose through the Navy’s ranks fast, fast enough that the papers began to speculate as to whether or not favoritism had anything to do with it.  But it wasn’t favoritism that had my brother going legitimate.  It was the salary.  And the Federation’s attempt at saving face in the onslaught of our discovery.  Andrew gained the loyalty of his crew through hard work, determination, and ruthlessness.  He and our crew hadn’t always been in the Navy’s employ.  And I hadn’t always been a polite society lady. 

                We near the docking platform, massive hydrogen cells inside the canvas sails retracting to slow our descent.  My brother gives a shout at a midshipman as the final mooring lines are tied down.  Pneumatic pistons pump out steam as ramps bridge the gap between the platform and our still floating ship ten yards off the ground. 

                Andrew strides off the bridge as the crew lines up according to station for disembarkment.  He normally wouldn’t be bothered with such pomp and circumstance, but seeing as the press is here to document the last of Illyria’s test flights, he sticks to regulations.