Chapter Text
LEPMarine wasn't allowed to surface much, these days. Not like when she had first signed on as a medic, patrolling the same seas as William Kidd, Bartholomew Roberts, Edward Teach, and John Rackham. That had been an exciting era, even if she never met the scoundrels. For the most part, LEPMarine monitored the People's fishing practices and escorted pods of whales around human death ships. They couldn't save every one of the large mammals, of course, but many a calf was kept alive to further the species.
The People had long since mastered submarine travel, which they used to disappear when the more observant of Mud Man vessels noticed their presence. On those nights, warlocks specializing in illusions would throw up the image of black ships with tattered sails surrounded by a sea of mist. Then, when their own lookouts reported that the spyglass was being transferred from one human crew member to another, the fairy vessel would sink soundlessly beneath the waves. Sprites, elves, gnomes, and pixies would then converge around the speakers, which picked up the goings-on from the other crew, giggling madly as the opposing captain reprimanded his sailors for drunkenness and lack of spirit as they railed on about ghost ships and curses.
Now, though, things had changed. The Mud Men, so long relegated to the earth and the waves, were beginning to delve underneath the latter, and there were fears they would soon attempt to conquer the former. They had their own (laughably primitive) submarine vessels, and development of sound-based navigation was likely to follow. There were rumors among the service of a young centaur who was already hard at work finding ways to outmaneuver the curious humans, but there were also whispers that the Council would soon give orders for the LEPMarine to slip forever into the depths, only guiding their aquatic charges from afar.
The doctor had been thrilled when the SPS Oberon had been told to surface, but the orders from LEPMarine Commander Arame had the crew on edge: "Surface at 41° 45' North, longitude 50° 15' West. Turn off all lights. Observe Mud Man vessel to northeast. Do not make contact, under any circumstances."
Fresh air! After weeks breathing oxygen recycled by the ships systems, she was going to breath in the tangy, salt-filled air of the Pacific ocean. Despite all of her irritation over the service's exile from the surface, she suddenly felt enormous gratitude for the Mud Men, and silently thanked them for whatever they had done to give her boat time above the waves.
As the hatch was opened and she stepped onto the hull, teeth instantaneously beginning to chatter in the frigid air, the elf regretted her gratitude. They were quite far off from the human ship, but the cold air and calm waters helped the Mud Men's cries drift across the waves. Many of her fellow officers were taking personal spyglasses out from beneath their uniforms to get a closer look at the humans, but she didn't bother. It would waste precious time. The doctor moved quickly, pushing aside the gaping fairies until she found her commanding officer.
"Captain Caltrop!" She cried, not even bothering to stop and salute. A few hundred years ago, that would have earned her a week's worth of cut rations and double shifts at the watch, but she was a bit too entrenched in the LEPMarine to get such a punishment. Besides, everyone was in disarray, so she herself could not be singled out for a lack of military discipline. "Requesting permission to form a rescue party and take the Huon to assist." She stood ram-rod straight, but her entire body quivered, cursing the man for not having given the order already.
"Denied, Lieutenant," he murmured, not even bothering to remove the binoculars from his eyes. A small green light glowed on the lenses, showing that his night vision was on. Most of the spyglasses would not have this feature, as was apparent by the mutterings of the other sailors, who were not getting much more information from their magnified views than they had from the naked eye.
"Sir!" She whipped her head about, long red hair flying in the frigid ocean breeze, again taking in the sight of the far-off ship. The lamps were flickering, obviously close to failure, but there was enough light between them and the bare sliver of moon to see the stern was slowly rising into the air. She turned back to her superior officer. "Sir, I respectfully ask you to reconsider your decision. That ship is sinking. The nearest Mud Man vessel is over ninety kilometers away. There is no way they can get here in time. We must assist them."
Groaning, the captain finally lowered his binoculars, but he did not speak. Instead, he began to rub at his eyelids with thumb and forefinger, shaking his head. He muttered something about women being bad luck on ships before straightening. Now in full captain-mode, he addressed his medical officer in a clipped voice. "Short, we have our orders from the Commander. We are here to observe this ship, and under no circumstances are we to approach."
"Sir!" The woman cried, chest puffed out and chin held high, trying to meet him in formality, but failing utterly. She was already formulating her crew, thinking of every officer she knew that was near-full on magic and at least neutral to the humans. "They will die if we don't help them."
"Then let the bastards die!" he roared, causing Short to take a step back. "Did you see the reports, Lieutenant? Over 22 knots! In waters filled with icebergs! That isn't chance or bad luck or the will of the gods! It's plain stupidity! We are not responsible for saving the Mud Men, and we are certainly not responsible for saving them from their own negligence and hubris."
Coral felt like she could pick out individual cries from the water. It tore at her stomach, making it roil in a manner she had not experienced since she first stepped onto a boat so many centuries ago. Even worse, those cries were growing softer, one by one, to be replaced by new voices as other passengers on the doomed ship entered the deadly waters. "That may be true of the crew, sir, but that is a passenger ship. There are women and children out there!"
The captain looked into her hazel eyes and made sure they remained locked as he spoke. "That is none of our concern."
"Sir! If one of our cruise liners was to fall into the same situation, would you not wish for the humans to save us?" It was a last-ditch effort, and she knew it. His reply only confirmed how flimsy her argument was.
"Our ships know better than to throttle their way through dangerous seas and, even if some captain was daft enough to risk the safety of his vessel, wehave enough lifeboats to evacuate everyone on board. The Mud Men will learn a lesson from this incident, I assure you. It will not happen again."
"But it is happening, now. Just let me assemble—"
"Lieutenant Short!" he boomed, catching her with the words half-formed on her lips. Now most of the crew was watching them, torn between the orders of their captain and the desires of the head medical officer. "If you do not leave off on these wild ideas, I will have you thrown in your cabin for the duration of the night's observations and put before Internal Affairs on charges of insubordination and conspiracy to mutiny against your commanding officer!"
She came back at him with fire, taking the few strides needed to meet him face-to-face, teeth snapping. "Respectfully, Captain, fuck you! I am taking theHuon and picking up every Mud—"
She did not have time to finish. The larger elf grabbed the doctor's nape, putting a foot out to her side and wrenching to the left. She tripped over his leg and crashed to the ground, not even given enough time to put up her hands to shield her head. It cracked against the metal hull. Dimly, her physician's brain informed her that the crack she heard was likely a fracture of her frontal bone, possibly her parietal bone. The light that flashed in her vision was the result of the sudden jarring of her eye against the orbital bone, though the quick return to normal sight was promising. She tasted salt, and at first she knew it was just what was left over on the hull from their surfacing, but then there was iron in the puddle and she knew she was bleeding. That would take quite a bit of magic to heal, and she would probably have a nice scar over her right eyebrow. A concussion, too, no doubt about it. Hopefully her apprentice would remember to keep her awake until they were sure her magic had fully kicked in.
"Ensign Black! Throw Lieutenant Short in her cabin and stand watch at her door. If she tries to come back out, restrain her by any means necessary."
Coral scowled. She hated Ensign Black! He shoved carrots onto his incisors and pretended to be a walrus at dinner, for Frond's sake! She tried to yell at him to leave her alone, slowly regaining her motor control and wits as blue sparks shot around her head. The wound stung from the salt water, but Short reassured herself that it was a good thing. Not that fairies ever had to worry about bacterial infections, but the salt water would do no harm to her systems. She took advantage of his arms so she could stand, blinking back the water and diluted blood from her eyelids as she turned to the captain.
Before she could get another word out, a meaty hand covered her mouth and another grabbed both of her wrists, holding them behind the woman's back. She screamed against the palm and tried to kick backwards at her captor, but it was to no avail. Black should have been in Retrieval, but had been forced into LEPMarine by his seaman father. He retained the martial arts skills learned at the Academy, and now used them to escape Short's feeble attacks, dragging her back down the hatch and into the crew's quarters. Without a word on his side—and no discernible words from her covered mouth—he elbowed the doctor's cabin open and thrust the doctor inside, pulling it closed behind her.
Short managed to fall with her torso on the thin bed, but her legs could not support her weight without the help of the other officer. Curling her fingers around the green sheets—made with perfect forty-five degree hospital corners—she heaved, but nothing came up. After the first bout of seasickness when her service began, she had never vomited, but she wanted to now. Perhaps that would expel some of the horror and shame she felt.
Eventually, her healing sparks stopped, but a mental prodding at her powers showed that she was nowhere near empty. She had so much magic to spare. Fairies rarely got injured in LEPMarine, so surely she could have...
Coral dragged herself onto the cot, sitting with her back to the wall, legs pulled up to her chest. She wrapped her arms around her knees and tucked her head between them, gagging every few seconds. Just do it...just throw up. Remember what you tell the pollywogs. Just a little, and you'll feel a lot better. She even tried to encourage the bile by rocking along with each flip of her stomach, but to no avail. She couldn't make anything come up. And—though they could not possibly make it through the thick hull of the Oberon—Short was certain that she could hear the voice of every woman and child that had trusted to that enormous ship to take them to a new world rise in despair...and finally fail.
"The sounds of people drowning are something that I can not describe to you, and neither can anyone else. Its the most dreadful sound and there is a terrible silence that follows it." -Eva Hart, Titanic Survivor