Steamworld

Chapter 2

Quentin checked his pocket watch for what had to be the 20th time, tapping his foot in irritation.  What was taking those two so long?  Five minutes late? 

Unacceptable.

The General would agree with him, he was sure.  Time measured out into productivity.  And if he could not produce what he felt to be a daily quota of effort, he found himself agonizing over it in a fitful sleep later on.  He leaned on the railing that overlooked the modest deck of the Fortunate and mentally went over his departure preparation checklist once again.  The envelope above slowly drifted from side to side as the chill breeze from the sea threatened harsher winds.  After another unbearable 5 minutes ticked by--his pocket watch confirmed--one of them finally came trudging up the ramp. 

Viska.  He swaggered with all the confidence of a madman who cannot see or feel the noose tightening; humming some tavern tune with hands tucked into his pockets.

“10 minutes, Viska,” Quentin said sharply.

“I’m sorry?”  He halted at the stairs leading below deck and looked up at him, running his fingers through his tangled mess of flaxen hair.

“10 minutes overdue.  We agreed on half past two, did we not?”

“Why yes, yes we did.  Is there a problem?”

“Well,” he said, trying put calm in his voice.  “I sent a bird to The General this morning assuring him that we would be docking at base in no more than 72 hours.  Every minute wasted here puts my assurance at risk.  Do you get that?”  Quentin was no fool, and he knew better than to cross The General’s clown, but his business was also The General’s business.  Making promises that could not be kept could mean a pay suspension.  Or worse.

“I understand, my friend.  Dolovitch and I were detained longer than intended.”

“And where is he?  Am I to expect a third passenger as you mentioned?”  The note brought by messenger at midday was brief, but clear:

Half past two, Dock 28 confirmed.  May board with new recruit  -V.

“Unfortunately, no.  Dolovitch is taking care of disposal and should be here any moment.”  Viska smiled.  Quentin could never stomach the sight of it.  Big, white teeth framed by unusually red lips.  And the eyes, the eyes on him.  Grey, like lonely stone, but big and constantly widened; the look confined to men in restraining jackets and padded rooms.

“He’s not with you?!”  Quentin burst out.  “Not only are you late but now I have to wait for that beast as well?  Do you have any idea how irresponsible that is?!”  He pulled off his dark purple sky captain’s hat and threw it to the deck.  “I mean, what if something was to happen to him, huh?  You don’t exactly try to recruit weaklings do you?  Why not stay with him to make sure your mess is all taken care of?”

Viska’s eyes never left Quentin’s as he slowly plodded up the aft stairs to the bridge.  He walked right up to the frantic man and stood with his face only inches away.  His breath reeked of madness, along with bread and salty butter.  “Listen, pilot,” he hissed.  “I don’t appreciate the tone with which you’re speaking to me.  I know full well the risks involved with possible recruitment.  I’m not worried about them.  You may agonize and fret about it all you wish, but,” he held up a finger, whispering, “do it in silence.  I would hate to see The General’s reaction to insubordination during such a crucial time as this.  Understood?”

“You don’t outrank me, clown.”  Quentin’s voice shook, and he found himself unable to exhale.  “You may be his favorite little pet, but according The General’s own code of conduct, the absence of a ranking officer aboard any military vessel automatically defers the chain of command to the vessel’s Captain.  That would be me.  When I say it’s time to leave, I expect my schedule to be followed…I would hate to see his reaction to a direct violation of orders.”