Beneath The Endless Sky

The Blue Will Not Wait As You Learn To Fly

"Oh stop squirming, you giant baby," Anita said indignantly, as she wrapped a piece of cloth around Leslie's knuckles.

They were sitting in their ship's still unused mess hall, a room that combined a kitchen, pantry, and dining room into a single space. Anita had the captain's medical supply bag open, its contents spread across the long table.

"Not sure this will help anything," Leslie replied, but he kept his hands still.

"I see the captain do this often enough," Anita replied, as she folded another layer around his hands. She gripped his wrist to keep him from pulling away, admitting to herself that she had no real chance of keeping him in that spot if he decided to move. The man was only slightly weaker than the pistons that turn an airship's propellers. "And it didn't look any stranger than engine maintenance. Apply antiseptic, cover with dressing. Simple enough."

"Not sure engine grease counts as an antiseptic," Leslie said. He raised one of his hands so the bandages were facing her. As he moved his hand, she could smell the soap he carried in his personal stores. Rosemary and mint, a smell Anita always found comforting. It was a smell that kept her thoughts on her recent years, the best of her life. "And the dressing is clean when the captain does this."

"That ain't engine grease. It's gear lubricant," Anita insisted. "Not at all the same thing. And I'll have you know engineers near never get infected, no matter how many times we get injured."

Leslie opened his mouth as if he were going to respond, but didn't share the thought as he looked at her. The hand she was now wrapping another bandage around was idly tracing her forearm with his thumb.

Anita closed her eyes for a moment, caught up and carried away in a gale of her own emotions. She was nervous, tense, anxious, her breath was caught in her throat. Part of her wanted to run away suddenly, and part of her never wanted this moment to end.

Leslie had that effect on her, sure as coal in a furnace. And the years she had known him had not dimmed it in the least.

"Anyway, the risk was worth it," Leslie said, as he slowly drew his hand away. Her arm felt bitterly cold for a moment, as his caress was replace by the breeze. "I wasn't enjoying the prospect of living off half-portions of canned beans and peas for our first few weeks of sailing."

"It wasn't that bad, was it?" Anita asked.

"We didn't stock cured meat or butter," Leslie replied, and Anita shuddered. The idea of rationing food took her back to earlier years of her life, a time she'd prefer to never again recall. "Two hundred drachmas goes a long way to keeping us fed while we do whatever job the captain found for us."

"You mean you ain't going to be cooking for a while? My waistline might thank you."

"Ought to thank you for your waistline," Leslie said, almost too quietly for Anita to hear. His eyes widened, and he coughed once. Anita felt the blood warming her cheeks, and looked down at the table.

"Can't cook much until we get a proper stock of things like oil, eggs, and such," Leslie said. "Was looking forward to trying something I learned from some of the folks here at the Roost. They call it a sun bowl, and you can only make it in the weak pull of the far skies, when we're practically in free float. It's a lot like a pot pie, but you make the crust into a ball."

"You'll have to make it after we finish the job, to celebrate," Anita insisted.

"Rather doubt we'll have the time to be celebrating. Saw that ship that berthed here a few days ago?" Leslie asked.

Anita didn't need to ask which ship Leslie was referring to. "The Interdiction? Hard to miss a Volante frigate in a Wayfarer harbour, especially one that big. Is Commodore Nottle still in command?"