The Ides of March

My dear, courageous brethren,

May the spirit of the Sacred Lily protect and guide her secret servants; may the kingdom be restored in our people, and may they long be safe and prosperous.

We have spared few eyes for RhyDin, far as it is from our people in the Empire, and in these dark times it is difficult to extend our efforts abroad, when our kin at home suffer so much evil. But this danger is as real to us as the Imperial police on our doorsteps: the Winterbach machine is at risk. The building we chose for it continues to be in disrepair, and its owners are aware it is 'haunted,' as the RhyDinians call their lack of proper communion with the spirits of the house.

I propose we put the plan into action immediately. Master Rotobiko is young, but I believe he is ready: he will have to be ready. Of the three candidates for owning and protecting the property, I can confidently rule out two. The mercenary pilot Dagen Ilyaz has been killed on his most recent adventure to Cadentia, and it has come to my attention that Captain Morvan, while capable, righteous and in the market for new property, is commanded by a sinister man.

It must be Miss Rhysata.

My comrades and I can travel to RhyDin immediately to make the necessary arrangements, and with luck and the good favor of Fate, her realtor will lead her to the property, priced low enough for her to buy: I am confident I can pay the appropriate bribes to further lower the price, as well as one to the realtor to 'overlook' comparable properties.

I require three hundred silver in addition to the normal quarterly allowance. Previous quarter's expenses are the full one thousand silver, and one hundred and fifteen in loans, at a rate of six percent.

Anders was killed on 21 February in Lorica by Imperial agents; Ultha was last seen 3 March in RhyDin, suspected killed in weapons deal.

Forever your dedicated brother,

Akio Tanabe
Elder in the Brotherhood of the Sacred Lily
RhyDin Group

Autumn

The 22nd day of September, in the year 2011 of the Common Era

Esteemed Sir Colonel Janos Itobi,

It is my great yet unsurprising pleasure to tell you that your cunning suspicions have proven correct: the terrorists and instigators who defend the sullying of your great elven race have spread out far beyond the five Imperial realms, and among them are the friends and allies of the late Boris Rodovic, who took a woman of your people as his wife. As you know, Rodovic is widely thought to have been responsible for administering a cyanide pill to his long-time friend and one of our great researchers in charged ethanol propulsion, Jan Winterbach.

Since then, our research has all but stopped, and while Mr. Winterbach promised our great nation advanced rockets and sky carriers, and we seemed on the verge of a great breakthrough, since his death the great advances in technology we aspire to seem so far out of our reach.

I must relate to you what I discovered from one of your former colleagues, a colonel Petersen, who was in charge of political prisoners at the facility where Winterbach's research (and eventual death) took place. Under carefully applied pressure he provided me with documents proving that Winterbach had developed a small prototype rocket engine and had conducted two tests. However, after his death it was discovered all essential data had been destroyed, and the engine itself was missing, presumably in the hands of Rodovic and his treacherous comrades.

It is interesting to note that, while more precise details have been difficult to extract, my interrogation of Rodovic's network stretching into RhyDin reveal that they have been here since almost precisely the time of Jan Winterbach's death. It should also be noted that Boris Rodovic has a wife and son, and while the family's farm in the Southern Colonies has proven difficult at best to locate, his son Sergei Rodovic has emerged as a freelance pilot in RhyDin, flying a plane based on the designs of none other than our old colleague Jan Winterbach.

I am aware that few contingencies are in place regarding RhyDin. As such, if we move here, it will be better for us to ask forgiveness instead of permission, but forgiveness will be freely given if we can provide a working prototype of the Winterbach rocket, which Sergei Rodovic must have been sent to retrieve; it will not hurt our case if we provide a submissive and cooperative RhyDinian government on a platter, but we shall see what we shall see.

I am sending this message encrypted, by radio, in the hope that it will reach you swiftly, and that your anticipated permission to send my airship, the HIA Jager, onward to RhyDin, will arrive all the faster.

Sincerely, your servant,
Captain Maximilian Knight
Special Expeditionary Group
The Halban Imperial Foreign Police Service

Captain Knight

4 October 2011

Everything shone: his jackboots, the medals on his wool tunic, the sleek little semiautomatic pistol at his hip, even the bill of his hat gleamed. He could have been a soldier, distinguished from the office only by the badge pinned to his left breast pocket. It showed a fist and had a single Latin word printed around it, UNITAS.

The disciplined owner of the immaculate police uniform was not tall but looked tall and handsome, however cool and unkind his eyes were behind his polite smiles. He had stringy soft brown hair carefully parted to one side and fierce blue eyes. He doffed his hat the moment he entered and approached Daisy at the front desk, gracing her with a carefully measured smile and bowing to her in greeting.

"Good morning, madam. I am Captain Maximilian Knight from the Halban Empire, Foreign Police Commission. I would like to see the Governor of RhyDin at her earliest convenience on an urgent security matter. Thank you," he finished with the slightest inclination of his head. The man barely gave the poor girl a chance to speak.

The blonde at the lobby desk stared at him in a dawning combination of stupefaction, wonderment and anxiety. "Olleh..." she began slowly.

She picked up a pen. She put it down. She stared at his shiny medals, especially the one with the fist, which seemed shiny above all of the others. She could see a little, tiny Daisy in the middle of it, her nose at the nail of its folded middle finger. Her eyes crossed more and more the longer she stared.

Maximilian liked to believe he had many virtues, which may have been true; he also liked to believe patience was one of them, which was decidedly untrue. He leaned forward again and said quietly, "If you could be a darling and ring her for me."

Blink. He moved, and the mesmerizing view of Daisies within Daisies within Daisies was rattled. "Who?" She had the sweetest smile.

"The Governor Fionna Helston al-Amat, madam." His smile grew in a mostly pleasant way.

"Oh, I'm not a madam. You probably want Luscious Lilac's Gentlemens Emporium, three blocks past the marketplace down Grove Street. I'm Daisy, and this is the RhyDin Town Hall." She beamed at him, picked up the pen and marked a little 'x' in the corner of today's calendar in her day planner. That was one clever thought for today! She could already feel her prospects improving!

He let out a laugh, clipped and short. "I shall keep that in mind when I try to find my junior officers tomorrow morning. But while I am here, Daisy, I would like to see the Governor. It is most urgent," he emphasized.

She reached for a much-tabbed and dog-eared book containing a directory of the city employees and thumbed through it. "We used to file her under 'G' for al-Amat." It seemed important to have some sort of conversation while people were waiting, to make passing the time more pleasant. "But now she is under 'T'."

He stood upright, folded his hands behind his back, smiled politely... and waited expectantly.

She got to 'J' and lost her train of thought, which necessitated starting over. 'J' was such a nice letter. A dreamy sigh was loosed.

He was very still. His gaze never seemed to leave her face.

Oh, yes. 'A'...When she got to 'T', there was one entry on the page that was highlighted in yellow, circled in red and underlined in thick black marker. She dialed the number below it. "Hello, Trista?" A pause. "Tucker, again? Why do you keep answering Trista's phone?"

"You are making me very ssorc, you know," the scold was gentle. During the pause, she listened, and answered with an "Okay!" Tucker was, it seemed, used to this. He had the forward on speed dial. "Trista! You really need to stay at your desk more often." Pause.

Maximilian's head tilted by a few degrees. Just a few.

"Well, he said he was doing your work for you again, and that he really should get hazard pay and... huh? Oh!" she darted an apologetic look toward Maximilian, and turned one shoulder to him, whispering into the phone. It was, of course, perfectly audible. "A man wants to see the Governor." Another slide of her eyes. "I don't know... he has lots of medals... No, I don't think he is Mister Harris." Pause. "Because his hair doesn't remind me of Glurpy drinks and he's not trying to grab me - huh?"

"Captain Maximilian Knight, of the Halban Empire's Foreign Police Commission," he repeated carefully, one eyebrow climbing in a way that suggested he knew -- and controlled -- exactly how many millimeters it climbed.

She eyed him like a specimen found in the bottom of a Glurpy drink, and finally said, "Max."

He stiffened. He really hoped he at least got to interrogate someone tonight, if not outright torture, maim, or kill.

She cupped a hand over the mouthpiece and told him, "Trista says you can come up and see her. She's on the second floor, on the far end past the water cooler and the ladies' lavatory in the Governor's ante-office." She flashed him a winsome smile, still holding the phone and watching him the way a sparrow watches a cat who might be on the other side of a glass window.

Maximilian graced her with another one of his smiles, bowed his head, clicked his heels together on the floor as he turned and strode away from the front desk. In the process he very nearly ran headlong into something green, holding an awful lot of tacky-colored flowers, on his way in through the front door; thankfully, he had not actually made contact, else he would have been scrubbing his skin for hours once he returned to his room!

The police captain gave the creature a look of open revulsion, who winked saucily on his way to Daisy's desk. A monster and a homosexual. Maximilian shook his head and proceeded up the stairs.

His anger, he realized, was quickening his pace, and he slowed it on his approach to Trista's desk. Again he stopped short, brought his heels smartly together, and bowed his head. "I am Captain Maximilian Knight of the Halban Empire's Foreign Police Commission. I am here to see the Governor, please."

Trista was not Daisy. That much he could be relieved about. She was a trim brunette of about thirty, with penetrating blue eyes and a way of assessing the tasks before her with surgical precision. Which is what she was doing right now.

"Good morning, Captain. If you will wait a moment, I will check with the Governor and see if she has time before her next appointment to meet with you." There was a subtle stress there, a mild reproach that said, You do not have an appointment.

She motioned to a cluster of chairs ranged around a little circular table, opposite her desk. He was welcome to wait there, if he liked. She, in the meanwhile, started around her desk for the closed door in the room, leading into the heart of the office area.

In the face of professionalism, the Captain's thin patience seemed a little thicker. He nodded, murmured a 'thank you,' and chose to stand by the chairs instead of sitting, arms folded behind his back.

She nodded, and smiled pleasantly, and disappeared for a minute or two, during which he was welcome to peruse the Welcome Center literature, the latest copy of the Post, or the RBF posters featuring the stars of a local film cast warning people to wash their hands and get vaccinated.

The Captain seemed to approve of the RBF posters. When she returned, however, he was in the middle of examining the entertainment section of the RhyDin Post. Examine is the key phrase, here; he was looking at it as one would something unpleasant on the bottom of their shoe, and holding it at a distance.

When she emerged, she held the door slightly ajar and murmured, "You're in luck, Captain. You may go in." It made no effort to hide the fact that she was observing him and what he was reading.

Maximilian dropped it at the table, smiled politely and nodded at her as he passed by - perhaps he was expecting his smart uniform and high rank to have the same effect on ladies as it seemed to in the Empire - and entered the office. "Governor al-Amat, thank you for seeing me on such short notice," he said to her as soon as he saw her.

The door shut with a quiet click behind him, and Fionna closed the planner on her desk as she stood to greet her visitor. The Governor of RhyDin was tall for a woman, slender and pale, with a wealth of long hair gathered today in a thick knot at the nape of her neck. Her eyes were a mutable brown, and she had a surprising splash of pale freckles across her nose which a bit of powder almost, but did not quite, conceal. She looked to be about nineteen, impossibly young for the position, and her contralto voice, when she spoke was lush with a strange admixture of fin-de-ciecle New England burr and rural French lilt. "Good morning, Captain... Knight?"

"Yes, madam. Captain Maximilian Knight, of the Halban Empire's Foreign Police Commission, at your service." He bowed his head. "I am sorry to have interrupted your undoubtedly very busy schedule, but I have an urgent matter that my superiors and I feel should be brought to your attention immediately."

"Ah. Well then, of course, I am glad to see you this morning. Please, have a seat and tell me what this urgent matter is, and how I can be of assistance." While she did not offer her hand to him, since he did not extend his, she did gesture to one of the two leather guest chairs across from her.

"Thank you." He sat, carefully balancing his hat on his thigh, arm placed over the top and not so hard as to crush it. He valued precision and carefully maintained his appearance.

"The Halban Empire is rather far from your city, even when one uses teleportation and other means of rapid transport, but we have heard of your matchlessly productive port and many other great things." There was a smile, though brief. "Unfortunately, it seems we have allowed a shadow to fall over your fair city. We have received information regarding a dangerous terrorist who has taken up residence in RhyDin, a fugitive wanted for murder and the theft of dangerous military technology."

"Indeed... This is not something to take lightly. I am very glad you came. Who is this terrorist, and what is it he or she has taken that has you so willing to embark on the long journey to warn us?" With everything going on in the city, her first thought flew to Renna and Ravenlock, but they were long-known.

"I am afraid," he began carefully, "that he is an impressionable young man, misguided by his late father, a notorious terrorist leader named Boris Rodovic, and his mentor, Jan Winterbach. Both were responsible for unprovoked attacks on civilian convoys and military facilities across the Halban Empire until we put a stop to them five years ago.

"His name is Sergei Rodovic. I understand he has done a great deal of work in this city, including some in connection with your office. We would greatly appreciate your help apprehending him before he decides to do anything rash."

"Sergei Rodovic..." She tapped her index finger to her lip, for all the world looking like she was trying to place the name. "I will have to order a search of our contractors, if he's done business with the city." Pausing thoughtfully. "And what is it he has taken, that he intends to use to threaten us? So that I can comprehend the danger?"

"It is a precise delivery vehicle designed for explosive warheads," the captain replied, "which his father's old comrades -- scattered abroad, and we believe here as well -- could easily supply him with, if they have not done so already. One could strike a target with the greatest precision from up to one thousand miles away, with no conceivable means of stopping it."

He had in his tunic a folder with a series of photographs, including several of the man who was apparently his father with various groups of armed men in various uniforms (sometimes none at all), a few featuring Mr. Winterbach, and one featuring a younger Sergei with them. "This is the most recent photograph we have of the boy. Of course, given his young age -- according to our records, he is only seventeen years of age -- we would afford him the appropriate degree of leniency for his crimes."

"What sort of 'vehicle'?" Young and vulnerable, that was the aura she wrapped around herself as she listened to his story, her eyes widening with the precise measure of feminine alarm at such a ragtag band as he showed her in the photographs. She touched the edges of one of the prints, turning it to better peer down at the face of the young boy.

"A rocket, with higher speed, manuevrability and impact potential than many countries with technically more advanced rocketry programs than our own. Beyond that level of detail, Governor," he smiled, "I am afraid the information has been sealed by my government."

"I will, of course, alert our air and space guard commanders. It would be helpful, Captain," her eyes were a liquid brown as she slid the photographs back to him and turned her attention once again upon him, leaning forward ever so slightly, "If you could tell me what sorts of targets he might select. So that we might set the appropriate traps."

He did not expect her to be so specific. Perhaps because of this, or her proximity, he wet his lips with his tongue. "Aha. Of course. If he decided on a local target, I would pay close attention to chemical plants, oil refineries, oil tankers, and any military facilities you may have. These were, I am afraid, his father's methods."

"He sounds like a terribly desperate sort of man, his father. How frightening. Tell me, Captain. What will you do with the boy? I understand leniency for youth, but such crimes..."

"You do not need to worry yourself, madam," he smiled, leaning forward conspiratorially. "My police are highly trained professionals, and I am sure with the cooperation and support of your domestic police and security forces, we can bring the boy in before anything happens. As for the boy..."

He folded his hands together on the edge of her desk and tipped his head, slightly. "We are not monsters. We in the Halban Empire are civilized people. We will see if it is possible to rehabilitate Sergei Rodovic. I understand he is a young man of considerable talent, and someday we may be able to find a place for him in our great society."

"Rehabilitate? Forgive my ignorance, Captain Knight." A hesitation. "May I call you Maximilian?" She almost smiled, a shy and wistful little thing. She let her eyes trace down the front of his coat and back, as if she was impressed by the authority of the uniform and his decorations, appreciative in a way that neither Daisy nor Trista had been.

Maximilian leaned back again and smiled, relaxing, spreading his arms out over the armrests. "Of course," he replied with a little flourish.

"He is a skilled pilot and inventor. In time, if he were to show a remarkable improvement in his attitude and remorse for his actions, I believe he could help my country to develop advanced aircraft. Of course, were rehabilitation to fail..." He was feeling rather comfortable already, comfortable enough to let this slip as he watched his own finger draw a line back and forth along his armrest. "...we would not want to prolong the suffering that is captivity, and would mercifully put him to death."

She pressed a hand to the base of her throat, so pale and slender. Her long fingers were devoid of any ornaments of possession, and she drew in a tremulous breath, lips parted. "How generous and kind to make the attempt, Maximillian."

She either pushed it too far, or he'd had enough time to catch on. He was very still, blinked a few times, and cracked another smile. He leaned forward, replaced his hands on the edge of the desk, and said very precisely, "If you would be so kind as to give me the support of whatever police forces you have available, or if there are none, at least pledge not to interfere in our efforts to apprehend the boy, I can be on my way... and I am sure my government will be quite appreciative."

She smiled faintly, perhaps understanding his urgency. "If you will allow Trista to make copies of those photographs, I will certainly be sure to alert our air guard and Watch forces. Of course, you understand that your troops - regrettably - have no jurisdiction to act here. But you can be assured, Maximillian, that I will give this most disturbing matter my full attention. It truly is a frightening scenario you have presented to me." She did not let up, as it were, It could be entirely sincere. He could wonder, later.

He would have to. She was either going to help him, or she was playing for time; on the chance that the offer was legitimate, he could not afford to ignore her concerns over jurisdiction. There was nothing more he could do, and he realized it.

The captain nodded to her. "I understand your concerns over jurisdiction. I am sure this situation will be solved quickly, and without any innocents harmed." He selected the photographs from the file and left them on her desk, replacing the folder in his tunic, and stood up. "Once again, thank you for seeing me on such short notice."

"Thank you, truly." She sighed softly, letting her eyes roam over the clean cut of his dark uniform and then back to his face. She reached up to tuck a curl that had slipped loose from the pins back behind her ear, jostling it enough to stir the air. It was completely unstudied, the careless grooming gesture of a young woman of genteel upbringing. "Should you find you have other information that might help...? You may always return to see me."

He bowed his head again; she was charming, but he was on his guard now that he realized that, somehow, he had faltered. "Of course, madam. Be safe, and enjoy the rest of your day." He brought his heels together with a sharp click, turned and exited.

((Adapted from live play with Fio Helston, with thanks! It should also be noted that Captain Knight's disgusting views in no way reflect my own.))

The Hunter Departs

5 October 2011

It had been two weeks since Captain Maximilian Knight's arrival in RhyDin, and in spite of the less than ideal living quarters and the muddy streets, his uniform remained perfectly cleaned and pressed, his boots and the bill of his cap so carefully shined you could see your reflection in them. This time he had his sergeant telephone ahead to the governor's office, the moment he was alerted to his crew witnessing the patrol flying over their temporary garrison in Cadentia. Most of the crew, as well as the Captain's immediate superiors, now held no doubt that the 'terrorist' Sergei Rodovic had left town for ports further south, hoping to escape the long arm of the Halban Empire. The Captain himself, however, reserved the same caution he had learned as a famous hunter of ethnic radicals: this meeting would decide his course of action in the coming weeks.

Once the Governor's secretary allowed him in, he breezed through the doorway, doffed his cap and bowed. "Madam Governor, thank you for agreeing to see me on such short notice."

She'd been anticipating his arrival since the last time he'd visited and certainly since the pieces of their plan to deceive him fell more firmly into place; so it was, she'd taken special care each day to dress softly, femininely. She assumed he would have someone watching her, as simply as she assumed the sun would rise in the morning and the rooster on her roof would crow to wake the house before it did. Nothing could be done about her attire on Thursday, but she could explain it by appealing to ancient superstitions. She'd have to send Jaster some scotch for that.

"Of course, Captain. Thank you for coming. You must have sensed that I wished to see you. How are you this morning? Will you take coffee?"

"Thank you, no," he replied, though his eyes lingered on the outfit she had selected today for a few moments longer than he would have preferred; he would also prefer to stay and have coffee with this woman, discuss the beneficial role the Empire might play here in the future, and perhaps be stationed here himself, at least for a time... But he knew none of this was in the cards for him now. "As I am sure you have guessed, I must leave RhyDin at once. It was one of your patrols that flew over Cadentia at 10:15 this morning, correct?"

Her eyes widened with surprise and perhaps a touch of admiration. She brought the fingers of her right hand up to touch lightly over her heart, leaning ever-so-slightly toward him. "It was indeed. Our Air Guard has been diligent in checking all of the traffic in and out of the ports since your warning but had no sign of him until this morning. Even now, they are in pursuit. They say his vessel is very fast."

"Likely he is already far outside of your jurisdiction, madam. We shall give chase, and I assure you, it is only a matter of time until he is caught." He smiled at her, the most charming he could muster, and held out a gloved hand for hers.

"I do appreciate that, Captain." She came around the desk to offer both of her hands to him. "My great fear is that, given the nature of our location, he might have found a rift and is no longer on RhyDin. I do hope you find him, but even our guard holds out little hope."

"Let me assure you, I have never once lost any quarry," he said as he gave her hands a squeeze, just a little too firm; enough to hurt, eliciting a soft hiss and a ghost of a wince from the Governor, but enough to be passed off as an accident as well. He watched her eyes, smiled, and bent his head to kiss her fingers. "I will find the terrorist, and perhaps find time to grant my crew shore leave here on our return journey."

Then he let both her hands go.

Her wince softened when he bent over her long fingers with his mouth. Her right thumb bore a distinctive callus from her years playing the cello. "I shall pray for your safety, Captain, and that of your crew. If you are able to stop on your return, do send word. We shall prepare a dinner. Perhaps a dance."

He straightened, and smiled wider. "I look forward to it, Governor, and I thank you for your prayers. Until we meet again." He really was, honestly, in a hurry; he replaced his cap, turned on his heels (bringing them together with a distinctive click), and marched out.

He had come to a decision: the HIA Jager would leave RhyDin, but quietly, secretly, her daring young captain would remain and watch.

Her soft, bright eyes narrowed as she watched him leave. She listened until the click of his boots echoed down the outer hall. Then she murmured quietly to Trista, watching from the doorway: "Please see if you can get the Baron on the phone for me."

((Adapted from live play with Fio Helston, with thanks!))

11/11/11

10:15 a.m.

Captain Maximilian Knight watched the clear autumn sky race by through the truck's side window, and heaved a long, wistful sigh: "The weather was just like this, that morning in Hylla... over a year ago, now. Do you remember that, corporal?"

"I was there, sir," replied the corporal. He was behind the wheel of the deuce-and-a-half, carrying a small complement of soldiers who had drilled specifically for this kind of operation. For many of them, including the driver and the captain, this was not their first coup. They had reached the home stretch, the final three blocks to Town Hall, and the driver feathered the gas hesitantly when he saw the crowd of vendors and shoppers in the way.

Captain Knight got no further than opening his mouth to begin a reprimand. For a moment the corporal thought of reminding him verbally of his participation in Hylla, but insubordination against these secret police types always had the same outcome. A physical demonstration would drive the point home all the better. He revved his engine, honked twice, and the pedestrians got no further warning. Many screamed, shouted and cursed as they scrambled out of the way, and the driver felt the odd 'thump' as their bumper glanced a few unlucky people. He twisted the wheel, jerked the handbrake, and stopped the truck right in front of the Town Hall doors, creating an effective barricade while they carried out their mission.

The captain stared at the corporal for only a moment; then, after a swift, approving nod, he popped his door open and landed on his feet. There was no break in his march into Town Hall, not even hesitating when the guard approached him, raising his rifle and barking an order.

Maximilian didn't hear what it was, and didn't care. In one swift motion he drew his pistol, aimed it at the man's head and put a bullet through his brain. Then he shoved the front doors wide open, flanked by two soldiers with submachine guns. "Ladies and gentlemen!" he said, and fired two shots into the ceiling. "Please lay flat on the ground, do not resist, and you will not be harmed!"

Ooh. Daisy knew she did not like that man. He was not looc. With a little whine over mussing the pretty dress she'd worn for her date later, the receptionist clambered down onto the floor under her desk. It gave her a great view of the button under the counter. Trista had told her not to ever push it unless someone had a gun to her head. Well, they weren't pointed at her, but if this wasn't close enough, she didn't know what would make her happy. She snuck a hand up and pointed it at the counter, squeezed her eyes shut, and depressed it.

Nothing happened. At least, not in the lobby.

In the meantime, there was a general flurry of panic, dismayed cries, shouts. Most were quick to obey.

No one seemed to notice Daisy, perhaps because she was behind the counter and the button was underneath. It was likely that these men came from a time before silent alarms. Three remained around the truck, the driver and two men with a machine gun; three more, armed with carbines, stayed in the lobby and points nearby; the three remaining soldiers, armed with submachine guns, followed Captain Knight up the stairs.

A guard surprised them in the stairwell, a man with a pistol. His shots badly wounded a man in the arm and grazed Maximilian's cheek. He did not wince, merely waited for the guard to crumple under a hail of return fire, then stepped over him into the hallway, and down it towards the Governor's office.

Upstairs, those who could either locked themselves in their office, or exited down a back stairwell led by one of the auditors, who displayed, Fio thought grimly in one dim little corner of her mind, an exceptionally clear head. She insisted that Trista join them, thrusting a pen and notepad into her hand and telling her she needed her to get the names of those who'd gotten out and send them home so they knew who was accounted for.

The report of gunfire coming up the main stairs had her shoulders hunching as she stabbed her fingers down on the dialpad of her comm unit to try and get the air guard on the line.

Trista had just slipped out of sight when Maximilian sighted Fio, and levelled his gun at her, and a nasty smile. "Governor al-Amat, how good to see you." He jerked his head to the soldiers with him; two fanned out, and the wounded man minded the door, which Maximilian shut behind him. "Surprised to see me so soon?"

"Au contraire, Max. I have been quite expecting your for days. But really, so much trouble? Flowers would have sufficed." She left the line connected as she turned toward him, her hands empty and her expression smooth. "To what do I owe the pleasure?"

"Your lack of honesty is what," he replied, pulling the hammer back on the pistol. "I wondered if perhaps you were deliberately keeping me from my quarry. The insistence that this terrorist was outside of my jurisdiction, your naive manner around me in spite of your far different reputation as a governor, the timing of that patrol and its passage almost precisely over our airship in Cadentia... Each item could be explained individually, but together, it was too much of a coincidence. My airship left without me, and the terrorist emerged almost immediately."

He shook his head and laughed. "It could have been so much different, had you cooperated. The Empire looks favorable on those who aid their efforts, but now... you have forced me to seek a more suitable leader to replace you."

"Your efforts here are illegal, Max," she murmured, fanning her empty hands around at him and his men. "I would go so far as to surmise that this has not been sanctioned by your government, has it? Your superiors have no idea what you are doing, do they?"

Maximilian laughed again. "You have been doing your homework, Governor... which tells me everything I need to know about your intentions. And how much do you really think they will fault me when I offer them the terrorist, the device, and this city on a silver platter?" He paused. "Lord Marshal Maximilian Knight... I like it, don't you?"

He was levelling his pistol once more when someone on the other side of the door let out a strangled cry; then the door crashed open, his soldier nearly bowling Maximilian over, clutching feebly at the knife sticking into his throat. The knight planted in the office, Sir Malcolm Parr, was on the other side, but he was not fast enough.

Knight had stepped to one side of the door as soon as it crashed open, and when Malcolm entered, extending his hand to the Governor, Knight fired a single shot into his back, right through the shoulder. The captain stooped over Malcolm as soon as he fell, running the barrel of his pistol along his temple, turning his back on the Governor. "Ah... you are one of the Baron's, aren't you... how did you get in here..."

Sinjin Fai had laughed delightedly one starry midsummer night with Fionna in a field. She'd been Missie, then, and they'd been running, she, Sin and Ali. "You're really fast, do you know that?" he'd crooned.

She knew that.

A moment of inattention was all she'd needed to pluck the blade from the throat of the Halban soldier. Blood sprayed through his ineffectual fingers, filling the little antechamber with warm copper and adrenaline. She pivotted and - missed. Her intent had been to slash Knight's throat, but he'd bent to gloat over Malcolm.

She missed his throat... but not all of him. He heard the movement, turned his head... and the blade spun through the hollow of his right eye, splitting soft flesh before hitting bone and clattering to the floor.

He screamed. The blood streamed from his ruined eye, covering his face. Enraged, he fired blindly in Fio's direction, but at a distance or behind cover there was no chance for a hit.

There was more gunfire downstairs, and a small explosion. The Watch had arrived, along with a few of Malcolm's friends and several other citizens who were less than thrilled about having their government changed by force. One of the remaining soldiers arrived in Fio's office.

"It's time to leave, sir!" he shouted, but with his commanding officer temporarily reduced to bleeding and yelling, the soldier made an executive decision and dragged him out, covering his escape with an SMG levelled.

The door to the back stairwell slammed open, then shut again. Gunfire rattled. "Governor," Malcolm croaked from his spot on the floor, pressing his hand over the wound. "You alright over there?"

She dropped low as soon as the soldier burst in; with her unarmed and not fighting, the frightened youth with the machine gun ignored her as hje dragged Knight out. She was a woman, and no threat to them. He was right, but only because she didn't completely trust him not to shoot her in a moment of panic before she could wrap a glamour around the man, and because Malcolm was bleeding on her floor.

"I am uninjured. But you are not. Be still," she urged softly.

The sound of boots running on the terrazzo tile in the hallway, more shouts, another short burst of weapons fire downstairs - the world was chaos. But the fight was soon over: two soldiers escaped with their commanding officer. The rest were dead, wounded, or left to fend for themselves. Chaos still reigned, but mercifully, at least the shooting seemed to have stopped.

Malcolm lay still as instructed, but he cracked his eyes open, and gave Fio a grim smile and a quiet confession: "This isn't how I wanted to start my weekend."

((Adapted from live play with Fio Helston, with thanks!))

To Mr. Sergei Rodovic:

You may not know of me personally, but I assume you know my vessel by reputation, the HIA Jager, as well as the government I serve. I have been sent to this city to investigate serious allegations regarding a sensitive and dangerous device your father stole from one of our leading scientists, a man he subsequently murdered. This device was stolen with the intent of carrying out devastating terrorist attacks against our state and others, and I now have ample evidence that it has passed into your hands.

I have attempted to negotiate with the local authorities, but it has recently come to light that secretly they have been aiding your efforts against peace and stability, and illegally protecting foreign terrorists. You have had the opportunity to resolve this peacefully in the past, as have the authorities. Now you have your final chance, before we are forced to seek justice by any means necessary.

We have your accomplice in our custody, Kathryn Rhysata. She shall remain in our custody for one week; at that time, if you do not take the required steps to bring this to a peaceful resolution, she will face justice; if you do the right thing, I am prepared to grant her a full pardon, and you as well, in spite of your combined crimes against the Halban Empire.

Deliver the device to us at the abandoned airship tower in Cadentia on Friday the 18th day of November, by nine o'clock p.m. by the Eastern clock, or Miss Rhysata and yourself will never have another chance of escaping our justice. I swear to you, on my word as an Imperial officer, neither yourself nor Rhysata will be harmed so long as you cooperate and return to us what is rightfully ours.

Yours sincerely,
Captain Maximilian Knight

The letter had been stuck to one corner of the bulletin board in his private hangar and shop. It was his personal corner: there was a picture of his family at the farm in the Colonies, and another of Katt staring in open curiosity at the camera, with the Marketplace fountain in the background. The Sweet Maria was its own reminder, elevated in the middle of the room like an altar in a temple.

They were his most loyal supporters, as well as his fiercest critics. While he worked they reminded him of what he could accomplish, and what he stood to lose if he failed. His father had already been lost, ambushed during the War; his mother and grandfather might be facing new dangers, and yet as a fugitive from the Empire, Sergei knew he could never reach them; Katt, they held, and threatened her with "justice."

It was Thursday night, four days since he had received the letter, and he had spent almost the entire time in his shop working on the means to save the one person he still could; for the others, he could only avenge his father, and do his family proud. And show the Empire how Rodovics do justice! He pounded both his fists on his workbench, breaking the pencil and leaving an ugly graphite streak across the Winterbach engine schematics. In the corner, Will Taylor stirred on his cot; the mechanics the governor had lent to him, Xander Davisson and Phelia Aarthen, snorted in their sleep. They were good to their word, and worked as hard as he had, but the righteous anger burning in Sergei's belly kept him awake and toiling long into the night. Fio had helped him as much as she could, but the strange adviser she retained warned her against openly opposing an airship of the Halban Empire, even one run by renegade officers, in the wake of their attempted coup. She had given him everything he needed, money and mechanics and her best efforts to conceal him, but he knew he would be facing Captain Knight and the HIA Jager alone.

And, strangely enough, that did not frighten him.

At midnight Sergei roused the other mechanics, gathered them around the back of the shop. They all stood at as safe a distance as they could manage: the engine had been strapped to a dummy, with remote controls for its arms and the rocket itself. The dummy was tethered by a retractable cable, which with any luck would continue to hold against the rocket's strain. Sergei took three long backward steps, looked down at the remote, held his breath and flicked the red switch.

The engine emitted a whine; a fraction of a second later, it roared; then it hummed as the force of it struck the resonance plates. Thick vapor hissed from the vents in the base, scattering a layer of mist over the scorch marks dotting the 'launch pad' from a string of unsuccessful runs. Then it flew.

It began slowly, the dummy hovering several feet off the ground until Sergei opened up the controls; then sparks flew from the winch, and the wire raced to keep up as the rocket and its unwilling passenger shot up into the night sky. The arms extended, and it did a broad clockwise loop, then a tighter one, then a counter-clockwise figure-eight. In spite of the situation that faced him Sergei couldn't help but laugh and whoop with joy as the Winterbach engine flew. He kept it aloft for several minutes, manuevering as he could, and then eased it back to the earth.

"So what now, kid?" Phelia stood over Sergei as he knelt by the engine, checking a dozen dials hidden under a panel. "What's the next step?"

"You and Xander... you should get back to work on that helmet. I'll catch a little shut-eye... but wake me soon as you're done." He smiled. "I wanna take this thing for a spin."

.: Nov 16 - Late Evening :.

Captain's Quarters aboard the HIA Jager...

The days passed and only by the meals did she know how many. This was dinner number Five. Five nights...

Five nights not being in the apartment...

Five mornings that Edward was without his beignets...

Four days that her business was untended...

Ugh...

The door came sharply open and she turned her attention away from the window that she rarely left since her arrival. Her thoughts were broken by a man who stormed in far too stiffly. She had seen him on several occasions now. Bringing her food, drink, and asking if she needed anything. He was a polite fella, on in his late 20s with slicked back black hair and stormy eyes. Friendly enough but much like Maximilian she didn't trust this man. He was given a polite smile but there was no attempt to speak to him. She'd just turn back to the window and stare out.

He seemed to pause when he picked up the tray. Nothing seemed to of been taken, again. Drink or otherwise. He would inform the Captain of the little 'problem' that she wasn't eating or drinking. Would do them no good if their little prisoner didn't eat or drink right?

She had just very minimal and very carefully. She didn't trust Maximilian or his crew by any means. For all she knew there was poison or some sort of drug in the food. With a low tone in his voice he spoke out. "Would you like me to leave this a bit longer, Miss Rhysata?"

She blinked a little but slowly shook her head. "No thank you."

He seemed almost baffled by her respond but gave her a nod and left with the tray.

The click of the door made her sigh and she turned back to the window.

The Exchange

He'd been told to find the Jager, and so here he was, suited up and flying high. Of course, there were only so many place one could hide a giant airship, and none of them near Rhy'din. To the west was ocean, and to the east there was nothing but open plain dotted by lakes. Which left one direction: south. So here he was, well south of RhyDin, systematically sweeping the sky in search of a stealth-cloaked airship, his sensors actively scanning for anything anomolous. So far, there had been nothing as the black suit of armor swept the air and terrain below... until his sensors registered a magnetic anomaly just south and west of his position, towards the canyons. Turning in that direction, he began a more active sweep, dropping closer to the ground.

The signature was moving, slowly but surely. This could have discounted it as an anomaly, a glitch in the sensors, except that the path of the object was steady, moving west-southwest toward the nearest settlement: the ghost town of Cadentia. On the horizon there appeared to be nothing but a mirage. Which was odd, considering the time of night, and that the desert was already very cold.

The sensors were monitored closely as he narrowed the distance, keeping his own cloaking systems offline for the moment - they drained power like no one's business, and his suit's anti-reflective covering helped him blend nicely into the darkness. The sensor feeds registered something large, moving low and slow, though his eyes saw little more than a wavering mirage ahead of him. A slight turn put him on an intercept course with the moving sensor shadow.

As the large 'mirage' reached the outskirts of Cadentia, it suddenly decloaked, casting a deep shadow over the sleepy town. Every inch was black metal, dotted with lights from countless portholes, the broad glass c?ckpit, and spotlights on the deck. If it could be compared to anything, it resembled a pocket carrier... only it flew, accomplished by several engines that gave off a heavy electric hum. One of the spotlights illuminated what appeared to be an old airship tower near the center of town. A man with a backpack stood on top of it, silently awaiting the airship's arrival as it drew alongside, steeling his nerves.

Katt felt annoyed, watching Knight pace back and forth on the airship's deck, spouting orders that she wasn't even listening to. Around her stood a number of bodies who also received the same treatment. She was busy digging through her bag to make sure it was all there. Winter's wind nipped at her, chilling her core in that thin satin dress she was dolled up in. Blame Max for it.

As the ship decloaked the armored figure pulled up, arcing towards the sky, still some distance off, the subtle roar of thrusters lost in the airship's drone as he moves to a higher orbit of the scene, scanning over this new development.

The iron behemoth lowered carefully, stopping almost perfectly level with the top of the tower, and no more than a meter from it. Sergei Rodovic raised a hand to shield his eyes from the blinding spotlight, and the wind's icy bite. Safeties clicked and rifles c?cked as soldiers on the deck stared down their sights at the boy. He took a deep breath and hollered, "Give me Katt! Then you'll get your engine!"

Maximilian Knight was not so trusting, and certainly not without his wiles. He nudged Katt closer to the railing with his pistol until she was in sight of Sergei, and smiled at the boy. "She's fine! The engine first, Mr. Rodovic!"

No one on the ship seemed to notice the armored figure hovering nearby: he had kept a safe distance, and the crew and complement of soldiers were intensely focused on two things: keeping the ship steady alongside the tower, and what the boy, Sergei Rodovic, would do.

Her head snapped up at Sergei's voice. Flip. He actually came... Shouldering her bag she grunted when she was moved around. She didn't like being touched and quite frankly Max was lucky she didn't just do something nasty. She tensed, not because of being touched, however. Guns. She hated them, with a passion. Even if she did shift to her reevi form, they would hurt her. Turning her head sharply she snipped at Sergei: "I'm fine, Sergei. Get out of here. Take your father's things and go!" Hell, your safety's the reason I'm here!

The sensors were trained on this little drama from where he hovered, not missing a word, thanks to the finely-tuned, highly sensitive audio monitors. Both individuals were recognized, though the boy only from files. The sensors tuned and focused to the pack the boy was carrying, analyzing its contents for the armored man's scrutiny. Not much could be determined from this distance, though, and so he dropped down lower and began to close the distance.

Sergei turned his head to Katt, then back to Maximilian. He took another deep breath. "The Winterbach engine," he said, kneeling to put the backpack on the floor in front of him, "as promised." He removed it, held it away from his face at an angle, and flicked a switch on the top of it for a fraction of a second. Flames spat out of the thrusters, and stopped. "In good working order."

Maximilian's eyes lit up at the flare, and he motioned to one of his men, who lowered his rifle to stretch out his arms. "Toss it there, boy... carefully, now!" Sergei appeared to hesitate, worrying his lip; then he stepped forward and tossed the engine the short distance to the soldier, who promptly hurried away with it belowdecks. "I'm sorry, Katt," Sergei called loudly. He did not specify what he was apologizing for, that it was in fact what was about to happen.

Her brows furrowed a bit. "Sergei..." Crap... Why was he apologizing? She watched the engine exchange closely.

The black armored figure came to a stop a short distance away, still obscured by the darkness, along with the weapons that adorned his form. The only indication of their presence would be a faint whine as the minigun at his shoulder unlocked from its position at his back and moved to take aim on the door as he adjusted his position so that Sergei wouldn't be in the line of its fire, if it turned out to be needed.

"I'm sorry too, Miss Rhysata," the captain declared. He took two steps away from her and turned his gun on Sergei. "You see... I lied." He pulled the trigger.

Sergei turned and bolted, the moment he saw the gun. He made it halfway to the stairs when the bullet struck him in the back, and he fell.

That answered the armored figure's question in a big hurry. There was a surge of power and a sudden roar as he turned to rocket towards the airship, and the minigun opened fire with a barrage of bullets. Pinpoint targeting made it a warning only, bullets angling in to smack into the frame of the door in which the man with the gun and Katt stood, sending out a shower of sparks.

Katt sucked in a breath. She knew it! Her eyes rounded wide and she jumped from her spot, lunging for the captain. "You bastard!" Her voice rose up in a shrill of rage. For the first time since her captivity the shadows shuddered and reformed around her fingers in the means of wicked claws. Before she could even get close she heard bullets. She winced, but she didn't even attempt to stop. Whether she got shot or not... she wanted Max's head!

Maximilian scrambled for cover and cried out when claws dug across his shoulderblade. Someone on the deck fired a shot her way, but he called out, "Restrain her! I want this prize taken back to the Empire, alive! Kill that bastard!" he screamed, gesturing at the armored figure as he raced for the door, "and make for the Empire, immediately!"

In a moment the deck was swarming with soldiers and sailors, a number converging on the clawed woman in an attempt to subdue her with clubs and the butts of their weapons, the others training their weapons on the armored figure... including two anti-aircraft weapons on the deck, and a mounted machine gun. It wasn't long before they were spitting lead at a terrifying speed.

It took him mere moments to reach the tower, and he was revealed in the spotlight as a tall, broad, black armored figure, a minigun trained over his shoulder and aimed at the doorway, as well as his arms, both of which showed weapons - machine guns and rocket launchers. Stepping between the boy and the deck, he kept himself in between them to act as a shield as bullets bounced from his armor. One arm leveled towards an anti-aircraft gun and a rocket streaked out towards it, even as the minigun opened up to return fire with a steady stream of lead.

One of the club-wielding sailors found Katt seizing the club from his own hands. Whack! She slammed so hard that the man's skull probably cracked. Sergei should have run. He'd be safe. Her lips peeled, canines showing for the first time in a long time in simple animal rage. The swarm of soldiers was keeping her from her target, but she'd crawl her way there if she had to.

Boom. The rocket struck its targets, and men screamed as two bodies soared away from the explosion. The airship lurched up and away from the tower suddenly, rising and racing towards the sea with increasing speed. Maximilian emerged partway from his cover to observe the tower passing away into the distance, and his soldiers' effort to subdue Katt. "Sergeant! Fetch the doctor, and the sedatives! It looks like Miss Rhysata's grown feisty."

There's no way the airship can outrun him, but to be safe the figure reconfigured one of the launchers with something special Ed had devised for this particular mission, taking aim and firing at the tail section. The rocket streaked towards the airship's rudder, and struck true...but did not explode.

Even with the armor, the effect of being shot was dizzying, and also a first for Sergei. It took him a solid minute to come back to his senses. His fingers tensed against the cold metal floor. Felt it. He was alright... but you have to get up, Sergei. The Jager's getting away!

Katt needed to move away from the railing and was attempting to do that while closing on Max. It was hard to do. If she heard the firing of guns she didn't even show it. Thwap. She was hit and her attention turned momentarily to the familiar face of the guy who had brought her meals. His eyes went wide when she rushed forward, claws swiping out to shred flesh along the man's throat to ribbons. The blood flowed as he gurgled his way down to the floor.

Turning back to the boy on the airship tower, the armored figure knelt next to him and gave him a gentle shake, his computer-filtered voice slightly amplified to stir him. "Get up, kid."

Sergei felt the metal hand shake him, and blinked up at the figure. Sat up. "I'm up," he said, and not wasting another moment, grabbed the backpack and emptied its contents. Helmet, gloves, and the rocket engine. The real rocket engine, not the over-sized lighter those idiots had taken for the genuine article... As he began to pull on his equipment, two things happened: ammunition exploded on the deck from the earlier rocket strike, spreading fire further across the airship, and on its belly a hatch opened, spilling six fighter planes. They peeled away from the Jager and raced towards the tower and the source of the rocket attacks.

Sergei stood at the edge of the tower, one foot up on the low railing, and looked back at the figure. He didn't know who this man was, or why he was here... but he was helping, and that was enough for him. "We can do this together. If you can keep those planes occupied, I can get to the airship... get Katt to safety."

The grin on the man's face could not be seen, but it was there nonetheless. "Leave them to me, kid. Go get your girl." A look was given to the airship, and a moment later the rocket that had pierced the rudder and was buried there let out a flash of light as a pulse of electromagnetic energy was triggered to wipe out the any of the airship's systems that relied on conventional electronics. A moment later the black armored figure lifted off as the thrusters in his suit ignited, and hurtled him towards the incoming fighter planes.

The fighters were nimbler than they looked, using magnetic bursts to toss them around faster than their big diesel engines could otherwise. On the upside, they had no missiles, something the man in the armored suit seemed to have in his possession, among other tricks. They opened up as soon as they were close to the tower.

Sergei wisely didn't wait for the planes to arrive. He pulled on his helmet, checked the gauges strapped to his wrist, started the engine, and in a sudden roar and a jet of steam he was off. He hurtled well beneath the planes, just over the town's rooftops, zeroing in on the mass of now flickering lights that was the limping airship.

The armored figure didn't even make an attempt to fire as he closed on the aircraft, turning to head directly on a head-on collision course for the leader. He put on a burst of speed to send him hurtling right at the fighter, and at the last second he twisted nimbly to the side, missing the fuselage to smash through the port side wing, taking it cleanly off.

The plane lost its wing from colliding with the armored figure, and that coupled with a poorly timed magnetic burst from the pilot sent it zipping straight into the ground, ending in a fireball. The others kept up the attack, squeezing off rounds and struggling to avoid one another in the darkness while keeping track of their quarry.

The planes were more maneuverable than he had suspected... but they were still bigger than he, and clumsier even with their agility. Turning a flip in midair, the thrusters in his suit flickered, then re-lit with new energy as he rocketed towards another, arms extended. The minigun and both machine guns spat fire in a concentrated stream of bullets at his next target.

On the deck complete chaos had broken out. Only a handful of men risked their lives to subdue Katt, swinging at her with rifles and clubs, while a growing number rushed to the spreading fires with hoses and fire extinguishers. The ship was beginning to lose altitude, listing badly, the angle of the deck several degrees but slowly growing more severe. Maximilian scrambled for purchase in the doorway, fought to see through the smoke with his one good eye, squinting past his pistol for a target for his incredible rage at this monumental failure.

She was going to be feeling a number of those swings later. For now she just simply didn't acknowledge the pain. Spreading fires and smoke was noted and she growled out, clawing out to swipe at a few of the swinging items her way. "Maaaaax," she sang eerily as she advanced. She was thankful that the ones around her hadn't considered firing on her with those guns but she wouldn't be so gracious. Almost sluggish movements had her creeping closer, dragging those men along with her.

But suddenly, Maximilian was nowhere to be seen, vanished somewhere in the chaos...

The fighter planes were definitely not armored: the concentrated gunfire from the armored figure shredded through the target, reducing the plane to flaming debris mid-flight. Without warning three of the remaining planes broke away, far away, while the fourth came back around for another pass. This one looked a little different from the others... Two copper-lined rods lowered from one of the wings, and the air reeked of ozone the moment before it lashed out, electricity arcing towards the figure.

The armored figure was about to loop around to give pursuit when the bolt of electricity hit him in the back, sending a jolt through the suit's systems. A moment was all that was required for it to reboot, but that moment cost him altitude. Even so, he was able to get himself righted and the thrusters lit off, sending him hurtling back upwards with speed. Altering his flight path but a little, he burst up behind the one that had fired, arcing over it as he flipped over and shut the thrusters down, landing on the dorsal surface. The machine guns opened up as he aimed them downwards at the fuselage, concentrated fire at point-blank range nearly severing the tail end from the rest of the plane. Leaping upwards, he flipped over and the thrusters lit off, carrying him down through the tail to rip it clear off.

Another helmeted figure raced over the deck of the airship, almost too fast to be seen, scattering a thick trail of steam into the billowing smoke. Several of the sailors couldn't help but stop and stare, and in a few seconds the figure came back around again, standing upright and going a great deal slower, though still rather fast. He hit the ground running, fell over onto his side, then got back to his feet. "Katt!" he shouted through his helmet. "Katt, where are you!"

Katt's hand went out to the railing as the ship rocked. Oh that wasn't good, right? The explosion caused her to wobble, struggling to keep her feet steady. Is the ship going down? Not good. And stil,l all she wanted was Max's head. "Get outta my damn way... that worm isn't worth losing your lives for!" she warned the men that remained.

Sergei saw Katt, but a moment too late. He was racing across the deck for her, over bodies and around flames, when Maximilian Knight reached her first. "Maybe it isn't worth it, Miss Rhysata," he snarled, "but it'll sure as hell make me feel better!" He did not need much. He did not even worry about her claws. She was close enough to the railing that all he needed to do was shove her -- so he did.

More than a mile over the ocean and just as far out, Maximilian pushed Katt over the edge.

She swiped out with a hand, her claws catching Max's cheek, same side as his missing eye. It was her last act before she went spilling over. "Nhh!" She tried to grab the railing, but missed as she went over, and saw the black ocean beneath her as she hurtled through the air. "C-crap!"

The remaining three fighter planes zeroed back in on the armored figure for a final run. They coordinated their attack, coming at him from three angles at once, firing simultaneously.

Time to move now. The armored figure put on a burst of speed, breaking the sound barrier as he shot upwards, his black armor blending into the darkness. A moment later two streaks shot out of the darkness towards one of the planes - rockets, packing high-explosive warheads.

The warheads did the trick. They completely incinerated the targeted plane, and its two neighbors, converging too quickly on their previously planned attack, had no time to pull away. Both were caught in the blast, their flaming wreckage hurtling towards the ground.

Several miles away, out over the ocean, the airship could still be seen, most of its lights now gone out, illuminated by the growing flames instead.

Eighteen seconds, Sergei told himself when Katt slipped over the edge, though outwardly he screamed, "NO!" He counted down, seventeen, sixteen... Maximilian wheeled towards him just in time to catch Sergei's punch in the face -- he windmilled, then went over the edge with a startled cry, as Sergei mounted the railing... fifteen, fourteen... Then he dove over, picking up speed and zipping past the falling officer with a quick burst from his rocket. It was black out, and he frowned, doing his best to estimate his rate of descent against Katt's, and how quickly he could catch up to her, but there was nothing for it if he couldn't see her...

Boom. The fire reached the lower decks and the larger ammunition stores, and the ship went up like fireworks, illuminating the night sky, the surface of the ocean... and a lone figure dropping rapidly towards it. "Katt." Eleven, ten... Sergei fired another burst from his rocket to catch up with Katt, wrapping his arm around her. "Hold on tight!" he hollered over the howling air, and in a single motion tugged a belt out from his jacket around her, clipping it into the other side. Five, four...

The armored figure descended from the darkness again, looking towards the airship, now some distance from him. Falling figures were highlighted on his AR display inside the helmet, falling too fast for him to get to them in time. He was about to try anyway when he saw Sergei's leap outwards and down. He watched as he closed on Katt, then converged. Come on, kid, he thought to himself as they continued to fall.

Water. Was that going to hurt as much as the ground? She didn't flail or attempt to swim through the air -- of course now she wished she had her own means of flying. It was almost like she had accepted her inevitable death -- no leaping through the shadows over the water like this... Then suddenly, something grabbed her. Not something. Someone. She grunted at the sudden shift of her own person and a hand slapped onto a shoulder of the figure, claws digging in without realizing who it was. Vibrating deep in her chest was a growl.

She held on as tight as he had advised, even tighter, but there was no time to flinch, not enough attention left to spare for the pain. In the same motion he angled the rudders, kicked on the thrusters... come on, damn you... fly!

On the display, for a moment, water kicked up where the two figures had been -- and a moment later they receded, a swell created by the Winterbach rocket. It left a wide wake on the sea's surface until Sergei gained altitude, racing back towards land, headed for RhyDin.

The armored figure let out a breath he hadn't known he was holding as he watched the pair coming up again, a grin breaking over his features under the helm as he nodded, though they couldn't see him at all. "Good job, kid. Damn good job." Turning, he kicked power to his thrusters and rocketed off for RhyDin himself.

((Adapted from live play with Katt and the mysterious armored figure "Zulu," with many thanks! You guys rock!))