And The Sky Is Limitless Part Three

[laliandra]

Today is a good day! I have finished work and I go to the US of A in 5 days and I have finally finished editing this part \o/ Thank you for your comments, guys, and again, brimtoast is a superstar for fixing this mammoth part. Other members of my flist, I will totally post something that isn't an ATSIL part VERY  SOON. Anyway, on with the fic!

For summary, rating, notes etc please see the

Master Post

Part One   Part Two

&&&&&


It’s pretty crowded in Katy’s room, which Scott seems to have set up as a temporary hospital. Katy is leaning on a pile of pillows, looking so pale it makes Kris shiver. She’s talking with Michael, their sentences meandering and wandering over each other’s. Adam is sitting cleaning his cuts in the corner. He gives Kris a concerned look as he crosses over to the bunk, and Kris tries to look comforting. Trust Adam to be anxious about the engine.

“We have to keep each other awake, after our head injuries,” Michael tells Kris solemnly as he sits on the edge of Katy’s bunk, the bruise on his forehead now accompanied by an impressive lump.

“Status report,” Katy demands, her face pinched with worry.

“She’s fine. No holes in the side or anything, relax, love. Lost some panelling. The stabiliser is going to need a lot of parts to fix; most of it is probably decorating a field somewhere. We think we can get the signalling back, if we can land and get at the hull. Overall, not as bad as I thought.”

“She’s a tough girl,” Katy says, with a light laugh that makes her flinch.

“Status report?” Kris asks her in turn, and she pulls the blanket down so that he can see the top of a thick bandage at her hip.

“Bullet in the hip,” she says matter-of-fact-ly. “Well, not any more. I was looking at you and then, wham, nothing.” She tips her head forward, revealing a cut running across the back of it. “Hit my head on something on the damn array.”

Kris sees her fall again behind his eyes and can’t breathe. “Kat,” he manages, and takes her hand.

“Don’t even consider feeling guilty,” Katy says sternly, squeezing his hand. “Although I know you will.”

“It’s my job,” Kris says, and hears the click of the door as Adam slips out of the room.

“We all know the risks, Captain,” Michael says, with that slow, warm smile of his.

A few minutes later Lil comes in through the door, dragging her chair behind her. She still looks far from normal, although she seems to have stopped bleeding, which is something.

“The Commander came to relieve me,” she says, putting the chair in the corner of the room and slumping down on it. “Well, I say relieve. I mean, he came and said that I was going to go get myself looked at, no arguments, before I fell over. He said the Captain…”

Lil trails off as she notices Kris, and tries a sunny smile on him, “Never mind. He’s not bad, for a prince,” she finishes, brightly.

Scott tuts over the cut on her shoulder, sponging away dried blood. “It’ll probably need stitches, which will have to wait until we can get you to a proper physician,” he tells her.

“Do what you can,” Kris instructs him, and then he has to smile as Matt slopes through the door looking suitably hang-dog.

“The Commander yelled until I went to him, then he practically ordered me to follow Lil here. He is rounding us up like children,” he says, petulantly.

“If you can’t be trusted to come and get medical treatment by yourself…” Katy teases.

Matt’s face is wiped clean of its sulky expression, and he limps over to the bed. Katy pats the bunk, saying, “Come, sit by me over here in the shooting survivors corner.”

Kris stands so that Matt can sit by Katy’s head and look down at her, his face still softened by relief.

“You look better than last time I saw you,” he says.

Katy nods. “I feel much better. I have it on good authority that I looked like a ghost.”

Michael rocks forwards in his chair. “It was scary. She was whiter than her pillow. Awful, Lil all cut up like that, and Matt here looking like death. Even the Prince is full of splinters.”

“Well, I couldn’t let them steal all the limelight,” Katy says, smiling at Michael.

“It was that damn thing,” Kris says, pointing at the bright yellow jacket that Katy still has draped round her shoulders. “You stood out like a sore thumb.”

He leans across and drops a kiss onto Katy’s head.

Then he takes a steadying breath. “Right, I suppose I’d better go see about these prisoners then.” The room goes a little stiller than it was before.

“Do you want me to come?” Matt asks. He sounds determined, but Michael is right, he does still look like death.

“No, you stay here, talk logistics and bullet dodging with Katy. Michael, if you’re up to it?” Even with a bashed in head Michael could easily stop a would-be escape in its tracks. Kris has seen him lift a cannon before.

“Raring to go, Captain,” Michael says, and they go to see how Adam is getting along with the mercenaries.

The corridor is shifting and juddering, a side effect of the broken stabiliser, but Adam is rolling easily with the movement, Upgrade aimed unwaveringly through the barred window of the brig.

“Captain,” he says when he sees Kris, tone clipped and formal.

“Commander,” Kris replies. “Any trouble?”

Adam’s smile and Upgrade both flash menacingly as he moves back from the door.

“Not so much,” he drawls.

Kris looks in through the grill. The prisoner who took on Lil is curled up on the floor cradling his arm, with a taller man - the one who Adam had picked up - leaning over him. The last mercenary is standing straight, looking right at Kris. He could be problematic.

Kris says, “I am Captain Allen. Why did you attack my ship?”

There is a sullen silence.

“I’ll only ask like this one more time.”

“We’re hurt,” the small man says. “We want some fucking medical supplies. Then we’ll think about talking.”

There is a brief glaring match between him and the standing man, which, to Kris’s surprise, the small, injured, seated man seems to win. Very interesting.

“You are prisoners aboard my ship. You attacked us without provocation, damaging my vessel and injuring my crew. I can’t imagine why you would think you are in any sort of position to bargain.”

“What you going to do, noble Fleet Captain?” the standing man sneers, and Kris hears two clicks from behind him as he readies his Acoustic and points it calmly through the bars.

“Try me,” he says.

The man who had been leaning on the wall gets up and slowly says, “We were ordered to attack you. There. Question answered.”

There is a flurry of whispering between the three prisoners. Adam taps Kris on the shoulder and they move to the side, the prisoners busy with their hushed argument.

“They’re scared, but they’re putting on a show,” Adam mutters.

Kris nods. “I think they’ll talk. The small one seems fairly smart and he’s obviously in a lot of pain, but he won’t want to look weak in front of the mouthy one. Some sort of power struggle there, I think.”

“Divide and conquer,” Adam says with relish, and his eyes go dark and dangerous. Kris shivers ever so slightly.

“Right, we’re taking you two at the back to get seen to by our doctor,” Kris says and puts the key in the lock of the door. There is a tumbling sound as the gears and bolts shift, and he lets Adam open the door and go in.

He’s never though all that much about it before, but Adam is imposing. He wears his height so well that most of the time it hardly seems noticeable, but now he’s moving differently, with purpose, and he seems to fill the whole brig.

The man on the floor gets up, biting his lip as his arm moves, and steps forward unsteadily. The other man follows him, moving very warily round Adam.

Michael shuts the door behind them and Kris glances over his shoulder to see that Michael already has his gun trained back on the man inside.

He shepherds the two prisoners round to a storeroom, nearly empty apart from a couple of barrels of water, and flicks a light on. He motions with his gun and the two prisoners sit down on the barrels, faces looking even more drawn under the gaslight.

“You seem like reasonable men,” Kris says. “For pirates, anyway. You must know I have absolutely no obligation to even keep you alive. I could drop you overboard right now and probably get a medal for it. But if you tell me what you know, I will take you to the nearest prison.”

“Prison is our best deal?” asks the taller man. Adam clears his throat and it’s like a searchlight, you can’t help but focus on him.

“You should count yourselves lucky, gentlemen. A life of crime does not pay,” he says, each word perfectly enunciated. “So I would consider doing what the Captain asks.”

Kris says, “Prison and analgesics. Best deal. Final deal.”

The mercenaries exchange a look, and Kris can see them take in the bruises and the broken arm and come to a decision.

“What, exactly, do you want to know? We make no fucking promises that we can answer everything,” says the smaller one - the swearier one, in Kris’s head - and Kris has to fight a smile. From what he knows, most mercenaries are just petty thugs and thieves, so he’d expected them to crack pretty easily, but he’s still damn happy about how this is going.

“Who ordered you to attack our ship? And don’t say your captain,” he warns.

The small man gives his partner a pointed look, “Yeah, now is not the time to be a smart arse, Robert,” he growls. The taller one, Robert, gives him an irritated glance and then looks back at Kris.

“I don’t know exactly, but word on the ship was that it was some political thing. Someone from the Mansion.”

“Who? Any names? Description?” Adam asks, a harsh note in his voice, which Kris understands completely. This is exactly as bad as he’d feared.

“Dunno, but they paid us well enough, and they weren’t usual clients,” Robert says. He looks at the other prisoner, “Captain say any more to you?”

“Some fucking poncy foreign sounding thing. Wasn’t a name, exactly,” the man says,and Kris waits for him to say ‘Gokey’.

“Le.. Recar?” the mercenary finishes, unsure.

Adam takes a step forward and asks, “Le Renard?”

“That’s the one,” the man answers and looks hopefully at Kris. “Can I get something for my arm now?”

“Not yet,” Adam snaps. “Are you sure about this?”

“Well, yeah. I wasn’t supposed to know but the Captain, he was so fucking happy about the money we were getting and how his contact had told him we were working for this Le Renard, from the Mansion. He thought the whole thing was fucking hilarious. Hypocrites, just as dirty as us, he said.”

Kris looks at Adam, who has gone pale, the marks from the splinters standing out against his skin. Kris has no idea who this ‘Le Renard’ is, but it can’t be good news if Adam is letting this much show on his face.

“How did you get past the gun towers at Knavesmire?” Adam asks, tension wound into every word. Kris looks at him pointedly; he doesn’t need another strangling incident right now, not when they seem to be getting answers.

“We just flew right past them.” Robert smirks, and then jumps out of his smile when Adam makes an exasperated noise in his throat.

“We had information,” the other man says quickly. “The people who paid us said we wouldn’t have any trouble, and we didn’t. Not a fucking peep from either of them.”

That would take a serious amount of planning, money and influence to pull off. It’s like every answer they get is just the start of another trail of questions, and Kris just wants out.

“What were you being paid to do?” he asks the prisoners.

“We were to find the Conway. They gave us co-ordinates. And then we were to take the ship down, and everyone in it. Anything goes, as long as there’s nothing left.”

Kris feels the anger boil up and he’s stepping forward before he knows what he’s doing. He takes a very, very deep breath and says, “Is that right?”

“Yes. Apparently the instructions were very specific on that matter,” the small man says and gives Kris what is probably meant to be an apologetic look. “The Captain felt kinda off about that.”

“Oh good, mercenaries with a conscience,” Adam scoffs.

“Did they say why my ship was to be completely destroyed?” Kris asks, but they both shake their heads. The words come back at him like a blow, completely destroyed. The room upstairs, now filled with his brilliant crew all making jokes and making light of their injuries, could have be so much wreckage, and the crew themselves…

He takes a few more deep breaths. There’s no need to add to the crushing tension of this room. They’re all already battle-worn and injured, and it’s hurting them, Kris can see it on all three faces as he looks round the room.

“We don’t know anything else, I swear,” the small man offers, shifting gingerly. He looks like he’s about to keel over. Kris doesn’t actually want them to die, now that the anger has settled down into a slow burn in his stomach. There’s already been too much of that tonight.

“There’s nothing more useful you can tell us, is there,” Kris states.

The prisoners both shake their heads. They don’t look like they could lie right now, even if they tried.

“Right, back to the brig. I’ll send down some analgesics and something to tie that arm up with,” Kris says. Adam gives him a frustrated look.

Kris shrugs and gets the two prisoner back into the brig as quickly as possible.

As soon as the door closes, Adam whips round and hisses, “What were you thinking? We should have kept at them until we got some better answers.”

Kris pulls Adam round the corner, away from Michael. He tries to keep his voice level. “I don’t believe in torture, Adam. They’re no threat to us right now; there was no point in keeping them there. It wasn’t doing any of us any good.”

“We can’t afford to be soft. Do you know how serious this is?”

“Do you?” Kris snaps back, because he knows Adam is angry but he does not appreciate Adam using his looming trick against him, trapping Kris against the wall. “This ship is my whole damn world, do you think I would risk it for some mercenaries? They didn’t know anything else. We got plenty lucky as it is. Now let me past.”

Adam steps back. “Sorry,” he says, voice still conflicted, not quite tamed. “It’s just… Le Renard. This is not what I thought. Shit.” He runs his hand through his hair.

“I think,” Kris says carefully as he can, “that you and I had better sit down and talk. Because I am feeling two steps behind here, and I have enough on my plate as it is. We need to be on the same page.”

“We certainly work better together,” Adam says with a conciliatory smile. “I need to go sort out my Upgrade first.”

He raises his arm, his weapon; it’s covered in soot and splinters. “The last thing that I need is this jamming,” he says, not looking up from it, not meeting Kris’s eye before he leaves. Kris drifts back to Micheal, fighting down the rising urge to hit something, which leaves him just standing there, useless.

“I think maybe someone should check on Anoop,” Michael suggests, which is remarkably tactful of him.

Kris drops into Katy’s room on the way to the Bridge. Matt is fast asleep, lolling against the wall at the foot of Katy’s bunk. Lil has a partly shattered telescope spread out over the rest of it and she and Katy are talking quietly as they try to put it back together.

“When someone, anyone, has a minute, take Meg something hot to drink, will you?” Kris says, then considers his wording and adds, “Not you, Kat. Stay in that bed. I mean it.”

Katy just pulls a face at him. Lil promises that she will head down later, and then turns back to their repair job.

Everything is still at a slightly alarming angle, and when Kris makes it back up onto deck, it’s like seeing his girl get hurt all over again, her metal scorched and gouged, debris everywhere. There is glass all over the steps to the Bridge, but inside things are not too different from normal, apart from the occasional bucking of the controls under Anoop’s hands.

“How are you doing?” Kris asks.

Anoop looks at him a little wistfully. “Okay, but I do miss my messages from Meg. I don’t like not knowing how she’s doing. With the engine, that is.”

Anoop reaches for one of the levers but misses. He rubs a hand across his eyes, and Kris remembers that Anoop wasn’t even supposed to be on shift. He must have been awake for about 18 hours now.

“You go get some rest, I’ll take her from here,” Kris tells him, feeling rather guilty at having left him up here on his own for so long.

Anoop looks at him blankly for a few moments, as if he can’t imagine a world outside of the Bridge. Then his hand eases off the control by inches, making way for Kris to take charge.

As Anoop goes to leave, Kris says, “That was some fairly stellar flying earlier, by the way.”

“Just doing my job,” Anoop says, looking pleased nonetheless.

He and Adam meet just outside the doorway, and Adam claps him on the back. Anoop says something that makes Adam’s face light up and then disappears down the steps.

“Le Renard,” Kris says, and winces as he eases down the engine with the pull of a lever. He suspects that he’s wrenched his wrist somehow, on top of everything. “Who is it? Is it even a person?”

“It’s like something out of one of those sensational novellas,” Adam says, with a half-hearted attempt at lightness, crunching over broken glass as he comes closer. “It’s an organised group of ministers that no one is really supposed to know exists. They’re a powerful faction at Court. All very shady cabal, power behind the throne type of thing. Everyone knows about it, but no one talks about it.”

“I feel a headache coming on,” Kris says. This is the type of thing that makes him glad studiously he avoids politics, and also makes him wish he paid more attention. Then he wouldn’t feel so bloody stupid.

“I know it’s rather difficult to believe, but they do exist. I mean, I’ve never actually seen proper evidence, only the results. Things that could only have happened if there was such a group. And rumours, of course, it being the Court.” Adam instantly loses his natural, easy stance when he talks about the Mansion and the Court, and it’s almost painful to watch.

“Oh, and the best bit? Apparently, Minister Murdoch is, if not the head of it, then very high up. Minister Murdoch, my father’s closest advisor.” He looks up at Kris. “I can certainly see it, can’t you?”

“I may not know everything about politics, but if I learnt one thing from reading 1001 Cydonian Nights, it’s Never Trust The Grand Vizier,” Kris says and Adam laughs, bitter-edged. Kris wonders how all these new puzzle pieces fit together, now that they’re not trying to make the picture they had thought they were.

“He’s never liked me, that’s for certain. Not what he wanted in a potential Idol according to his crazy, old-man standards. And of course Daniel bloody Gokey would agree with him. God, I should have known he wasn’t smart enough to pull all this off by himself.”

“So which came first?” Kris asks, and Adam gives him a confused look.

“Who got who involved? Did Le Renard get Gokey to go along with their plans, or did he recruit them?”

Adam’s face shifts again, and Kris knows that look. It’s a horrible, desolate thing, and it never means anything good.

“Daniel could have gone to them, got them to help him. Just so that he could be the next Idol, next in line. It’s all he’s ever cared about. At Neil’s funeral he said, right to my face, that I should view this as an opportunity. Like I should be glad that Neil was…” Adam exhales, shakily, slumping down at the table. He gets out a cloth some gears from a pocket and starts to clean them, resolutely focused on the job.

Kris gives him a moment then says, “I don’t mean to. To presume. But, do you think that it’s possible that you are bringing in a lot of other issues into this? With all that’s passed between you.”

Kris feels disorientated, like he’s just flown unexpectedly into a cloud. He isn’t sure how to talk about what Adam said in the engine room, or even if he should at all. Adam remains someone who Kris is still trying to piece together, too many parts still unknown. Never mind the fact that Adam talked a lot about love and other men, which are subject areas that Kris has spent most of his life diligently avoiding thinking about.

“That’s unfair,” Adam protests,but the set of his mouth moves into uncertainty. “It’s possible that Daniel set this up. He’d think he was doing the right thing, deposing the feckless, reckless Prince Adam.”

“I see that, but would he actually want you dead?” Kris presses, and Adam makes a resigned movement, all breath and shoulders.

“Fine, maybe not dead. What difference does it make, anyway? Either way, he’s in on it. He had Allie kidnapped, for god’s sake, and then had the gall to lie about it, flat out, to everyone,” Adam says, building up into a teeth-clenched seethe.

“It does make a difference,” Kris insists, “because if he’s being controlled by Le Renard, we might be able to come to some sort of agreement with him without having to resort to something drastic to get the right person on the throne. That’s you, by the way,” he clarifies with a smile, just in case.

Adam gives Kris a look somewhere between shocked and charmed. “Your confidence in me is… well… let’s call it surprising.”

“Why should it be?” Kris asks at the same time as Adam says, “Not unwelcome, though.”

“Let’s just say there are probably a good few people in Court who would not share it,” Adam explains. “In fact, there are a good few who will be very firmly in agreement with Gokey. And Le Renard, it seems.”

Kris notices that Adam hasn’t touched the parts on the table for a while. He’s just been sitting there, threading the cloth through his fingers, and Kris knows that he’s not seeing the wall he’s staring at.

“Maybe it’s not about you. Not really. Maybe they want Gokey to be the Idol because that way they get to control him. That way they get to really be the power behind the throne,” Kris says slowly, another puzzle piece slotting into place. He looks at Adam, who is sitting bolt upright now, and adds, “I mean, they wouldn’t have had a chance with you.”

“Not nowadays,” Adam grants him. “Hell, maybe if I’d stayed uninterested in everything apart from the good life all this could have been avoided.” Kris rather wants to yell at Adam for the stupid half-guilty look that crosses his face. He can’t have it both ways, feel at fault for his past and for giving it up.

He settles for saying, “Don’t be an idiot. This was always coming, by the sounds of things. We need to focus on the here and now, work out who are enemies are and who our allies are. My training officer always said attack is the best form of defence. We need a plan of attack, and now.”

“So who can we trust, then? In the Fleet, who would you say isn’t involved?” Adam asks.

“Captain Cook of the Anthemic,” Kris says instantly. “There’s no way David’d get involved in anything as underhanded and traitorous as a coup. He’s just not the type.”

“You seem very sure,” Adam says, almost suspicious.

“We served together for a little while, before he got promoted. He’s a decent man. Besides, he has Archie to keep him on the straight and narrow.” When Adam looks like he’s not getting the joke Kris adds, “That’s his second in command, not a bad bone in his body,”

“Anyone else?”

Kris considers for a second. “Captain Clarkson. Good Southern girls don’t double cross people. And Major Dioguardi, she wouldn’t go along with any plotting.”

“And she likes me, so I don’t think that she would go against me,” Adam agrees. “I think she has a soft spot for people who have, how did Matt put it? An insubordinate streak a mile wide.”

“We should write all this down,” Kris suggests. He manages to get them steady at altitude, then realises that he’s not even thought about their current position.

Kris swears for a good while then says, “There’s always another bridge to count, right?” He locks the controls, sits down opposite Adam and gets the charts out.

Adam steals a piece of paper and writes “Good Guys” at the top of it. He puts ‘Captain Kristopher’ at the top. Kris adds ‘Allen’ to the end and Adam’s name underneath because apparently this is what they’re doing now.

“You should really ask Katy about names, you know,” Kris says. “I tend to focus on my own crew more than other people.”

Adam gives him a ‘Colour me unsurprised’ look. “What about Minister Cowell? He told you to come for me. Do you think he… that he knew they were sending mercenaries after us?”

“It’s hard to tell with him, honestly. I don’t think so.”

“So, that’s Minister Cowell on the ‘Possibly Evil, Definitely Inscrutable’ List then,” Adam says, shaking his head. “What a fun game this is. Let’s play ‘Who wants us dead?’”

“I think if Minister Cowell wanted me dead, we wouldn’t be talking right now. And if he wanted you dead, he wouldn’t hire mercenaries to shoot down a valuable ship. Not his style.”

“So what you’re saying is, we know he doesn’t want us dead because we are not, in fact, dead?” Adam saysand Kris nods.

“Well, that’s comforting. Here, let me at that list. I can think of a few Ministers I can trust. Less than I would like, but still, a list-worthy number.” Adam comes round to pull up a chair next to Kris, leaning over to take the piece of paper.

“You and Katy can cross reference,” Kris says, but his laugh comes out hollow.

He marks their position on the map and makes some calculations.

“We’re a good few miles from anywhere we could stop, but with some in-flight patches we could probably make it to Les Navettes for repairs,” he says, tracing their route so that Adam can follow it.

Adam’s smile finally sparks a light in his eyes. “I’ve heard about that place. It’s supposed to be quite a sight. The biggest fully automated Airship port in the world,” he sighs, sounding quite in love already.

Kris retreats back behind the controls, distancing himself a little from Adam and his blissful sighing. He says, “We should be safe there. It’s big enough that no one should be able to try anything, and it’s not run by the military, so even if we are somehow enemies of the state, they can’t take us prisoner or anything.” It’s something that he’d never thought he’d have to contemplate, one more to add to the many that have somehow become part of his life.

And then, because he can’t resist, Kris adds, “And yes, it’s incredible. The whole thing is made of metal, you know, and they have ships come in from all over the world.”

Adam shakes his head. “You know, Captain, we aren’t much good at maintaining a serious conversation.”

“I blame the shock,” Kris says seriously, but he wants to laugh too. Being with Adam is like opening a pressure valve. He feels oddly safe now, the Bridge a cocoon of warmth and light in the darkness of an unlit ship. His ship is flying under his command, and Adam is there, sitting at the table safe and whole, smile unfurling like a victory banner.

&&&

The next few days all merge into one, just an morass of endless repairs, days and nights indistinguishable from each other. They all stumble around, snatching food when they can get it. Kris catches sleep and exhausted conversations with Adam in the precious quiet of their cabin.

Kris can only truly remember a few clear moments, like photographs in amongst a line of watercolours - Matt throwing Katy's yellow jacket to the wind set against the sound of her laughter; the large hole just to the side of the main conversion pipe, millimetres away from a fatal explosion; and dark hair on white cotton, from the night he had lain for half an hour before falling asleep watching the turn of Adam's head on his pillow, too tired to stop himself.

Today he looks for - and finds - Adam in the engine room with Meg giving him orders, queen of her own domain. She and Adam are sitting on the floor with the deconstructed signal ordinator all around them. Kris starts to go over but Adam, without looking up from the parts in his hands, says, “Careful. She's threatened me with a blowtorch if I damage the ordinator. I'd maintain a safe distance, if I were you.”

"It's delicate and you are rusty at handling parts," Meg says. "Too much time spent as a military man," she adds with a disapproving sniff that makes her feelings about Adam's career choice very clear.

"I have nothing to say about this. Nothing,” Kris tells her. "I just wanted to let you know that we're nearing the Chantier Naval."

Meg and Adam turn to look at him, wide eyed. They both have grease marks on their noses.

"Already?" Adam asks. "But..."

"It's Wednesday." He sees the shock register. "I know. Well, I don't know, but it is. I haven't spoken to you since Monday," Kris says with a shake of his head. It had been a surprise for him, too.

"You share a room, how is this possible?" Meg asks.

"Oh, like you knew it was Wednesday," Adam scoffs.

Meg looks at the complex machinery in her hands and Adam gives Kris a victorious smile. “Wednesday has come as a shock to us all, clearly. Which probably means we’re all mad.”

Kris shrugs, saying, "We're all shocked and all mad, but we're flying because of it." It's something to hang onto at the moment - they're flying, every day they're still flying, everyone is still alive. Kris has been a military man long enough to know that sometimes you have to take the victories where you find them.

“The Chantier Naval is unbelievable. Really, you won't believe it. It's like a huge tree only better because it's completely mechanical.” Meg says. She puts the part carefully on the floor, running her hand over it like a pet that needs soothing.

“Meg doesn’t have much time for the beauty of nature.” Kris says with a grin.

Meg stands up, wiping her hands on her skirt. “They don’t have automated landing winches in nature.”

“The lady has a point” Adam says, letting Meg take some complicated looking arrangement of gears from his hands and place it down on the floor as well.

“I usually do.”

Kris decides he's not going to mention the grease on her nose, because it’s kind of sweet and besides, it makes it less intimidating to step closer to the precious parts on the floor.

“Right then, are you coming to see this marvel or not?” he asks, holding out a hand to Meg who takes it, using him to steady herself as she tiptoes between the parts. It reminds Kris of the way Meg is with her son, smiling and careful, so careful. There's only her, now, to support him. Kris always feels a knot in his stomach when he remembers that, guilt and pride and determination to do right by them all tangled up and pulling at his insides for a second.

Adam laughs, picking his way across the floor to Kris with exaggerated care. "Try and stop us."

They arrive on the deck to meet Matt coming down from the Bridge. “Anoop told me I couldn’t land us with only one arm,” Matt sulks. “I wanted to prove him wrong.”

“Did it go well?” Adam asks. He still looks a little guilty every time he sees the sling on Matt’s arm. As if that bullet had been his fault at all. Kris has tried explaining this, but Adam tends to just mutter darkly about people in glass houses.

“Not exactly,” Matt admits, “as you can see. I’ve never landed on anything like that, it’s not fair. Stupid Anoop. Stupid arm.”

“Yes, yes, very sad, but the Chantier Naval,” Adam says, drawing his voice out into a whine. All that’s missing is the foot stamp and he’s Kris aged five, wanting to go climb trees. Kris’s mother always said he was happier off the ground than on it.

Kris reaches out and turns Adam round by the shoulders. “Voila,” he says, a little smug. He hears Adam's intake of breath and looks up to catch the end of a wide, wonderful smile.

They all just stare out at the structure growing out of the horizon. It’s still an impossible view to Kris, something out of the dreams of a madman, or a genius. Or Meg.

“Come up here, it’s incredible,” a voice calls down from the lookout, and there is Lil, sitting happily on a fold-out chair.

They troop up the stairs and Kris says, “I distinctly remember giving you the lecture about rest and being off duty. Actually, I remember giving it to a few people standing here.”

Matt at least looks a little embarrassed, but Lil leans back in her chair contently. “I’m just here enjoying the view, Captain. Nothing wrong with that.”

“Mad but flying, remember,” Adam says, right into Kris’s ear, breath ghosting warm over his neck.

Kris looks resolutely ahead. “I think, on this occasion, just mad.”

Matt shades his eyes against the sun with his hand, never taking them off the horizon. “One day we’ll come here as tourists and spend our money on frivolities, not critical systems.”

Adam says, “You can bring the children, Lil, have a holiday. You said you wanted to take them somewhere exciting.”

Kris wonders, not for the first time, if Adam’s ability to learn about people’s lives and to connect with them is a product of years of training as a member of the Royal Family, or if it is just part of Adam’s nature. Something fundamentally good in him that people respond to.

“A proper holiday,” Lil muses. "Now that would be something. I'm sure they'd love it here." Her fond smile curves up to meet the harsh line of the cut running down her cheek. It makes Kris wince.

"Who wouldn't ? There are tea rooms on the decks and you can watch the ships come and go from them," Meg says dreamily. "And shops full to bursting with parts."

Adam and Matt sigh in tandem and then laugh at each other.

"You are really little boys at heart, aren't you," Kris says, with a shake of his head and a stupid flip of his stomach. Bringing people here, to one of his favourite places in the Kingdom, it's a treat - a real silver lining in an unusually heavy cloud.

"Don't you even pretend, I saw your eyes light up," Adam says. "It's okay to be happy about this, you know."

Kris relents a little, "Oh, fine then. And it’ll be good get our girl back on her feet. It's been a tough few days."

“There’s not far to go now, around half an hour's flying,” Lil tells them nonchalantly, like those kinds of calculations are easy. She pats the railing. "Now far now, darling."

Kris says, “Matt, take the deck. Adam, we need to go get ready, then,” and Adam snaps to attention.

“What’s the plan?”

“Well, we are all going to go put on our best dress uniforms, and then you and I are going to fob off our prisoners onto some poor unfortunate, using your regal authority.”

“Sounds like fun,” Adam says with a slight smirk. “I do so enjoy getting to use my regal authority.”

“And your dress uniform,” Lil adds, leaning across to bump Adam in the leg with her shoulder.

“That too,” Adam allows.

&&&&&

Kris hasn’t worn his formal Fleet jacket for some time, as evidenced by the amount of digging he has to do to find it in his trunk. He smooths his hands over the blue wool, remembering Allie polishing the buttons with her napkin at the Ambassador’s Dinner that he had been late to and unprepared for. He wonders if she wrote to Adam about it.

There’s technically a formal shirt that should go underneath it, but it’s starched too stiff and the collar is viciously tight, so Kris just slips the jacket over his normal, comfortable flannel.

“Done and done,” he says, turning back around. Adam is still buttoning his shirt, pale cotton over paler skin over well-defined muscle. Adam has freckles everywhere, Kris notices, before Adam pulls his shirt together, crossing his arms defensively.

“That was quick,” Adam says, eyes sliding away from Kris. He attempts some sort of contortionist manoeuvre to try and button his collar with one hand while keeping his arms folded. Kris sighs and looks down at his buttons. If Adam is going to be embarrassed - unnecessarily so in Kris’s opinion - about being partially undressed, then Kris can turn his attention elsewhere.

“Did Allie ever tell you about the Ambassador’s Dinner?”

“Hmm, perhaps. Oh yes, something about terrible shrimp and having to… Oh. Having to clean a Captain’s buttons with her napkin. You, I suppose.”

Kris says, “In my defence, things had exploded. Important things.”

Adam snorts with laughter, wonderfully undignified and says, “I like the blue jacket, by the way. Very symbolic.” Kris takes it that this means they are allowed to look at each other again. Adam is giving him a very considering, slightly unnerving, once over.

“Blue for the sky, for liberty, the possibility of the never-ending horizon,” Kris recites. Adam, if possible, stares even harder.

“Are my buttons dirty?” Kris asks, because Adam is making him feel all kinds of self conscious.

Adam frowns and shakes his head like he’s trying to clear it. “No, no, it’s… Blue for the sky and? Where did that come from?”

“It’s a Fleet thing. You know, they make you recite it at your passing out ceremony, and put it on the silverware. That kind of a business. I like it, though.”

Adam pulls on his own jacket, black like the one he was wearing that first night, what seems like a year ago. “I think our jackets are black so as not to show the blood. Far less poetic.” He wears it well though, as striking here, lit by sunshine, as he was in shadows and gaslight.

“Well, you should write something. When you're Idol you can implement a blanket poetry policy for all public services," Kris says. He likes to think that if he mentions his future enough Adam will stop freezing up every time it comes up in conversation.

"If, not when," Adam says, a little stilted, but at least he's talking. "One step at a time, Captain Allen."

They make their way to the brig,and it's still tough going through some of the corridors, the Conway listing under them unexpectedly. Kris puts a hand out without thinking and slides it soothingly down the wall, then looks at Adam, feeling caught out and prickly, again. Adam doesn't laugh, though, he looks understanding and rakishly charming in that damn jacket. Kris walks a little faster. Today is going to require his exhausted brain to be completely on the task at hand. He needs every bit of focus that he call muster, no distractions.

Michael moves out from his guard position and Kris peers into the brig, the prisoners only just visible in the windowless room.

"Okay, I need you all to put your hands where I can see them," he says, drawing his Acoustic. The prisoners step forwards, hands clearly raised. "We have weapons on you, so don't try anything." Adam says, and turns the lock. The three men huddle together a little in the light coming in from the open door, looking sullen and pale.

The smallest pirate, and doesn't it feel good not to be the shortest man in the room for once, is bundled in a suspiciously familiar coat. Kris raises his eyebrows and Adam's expression doesn't change all that much, but his eyes go a little wide and very caught out. "He was getting sick," Adam says defensively, giving Kris a very pointed look. "And someone kept going on about how we weren't to let them die or suffer..."

"I wasn't that sick," the man says. He and Adam both fix Kris with grouchy, defiant scowls.

"Fine, fine," Kris says. "If you want to take it back now, Adam. Unless you are willing to let him keep it?"

"God, no," Adam says, with a face like Kris has suggested throwing someone off the side of the ship. "Do you know what they do to clothes like this in prison?" He takes the jacket and runs his hand over the wool lovingly. Kris finds himself sharing a smile with two pirates, which is unexpected and disconcerting, but he is in some strange, impenetrable place beyond actual shock these days.

Kris nods at Michael, who snaps cuffs onto the three prisoners, quick and efficient. Kris is so grateful for the more stable elements of his crew some days, although he would never, could never play favourites. He's got a little brother, he knows better than that. The prisoners troop out into the corridor, looking even paler under the gaslight. It'll be a relief when they're someone else's responsibility.

The way back up to deck takes them through parts of the ship that have been untouched by the battle and the madness of repairs, and Kris is pleased for that, somehow. That these men will never know how close they were to their goal, never see the damage they wrought within Kris's ship. They hear the jarring screech of metal on metal, and the Conway has a full ship shudder. Michael's mouth crooks a little in concern, but he waves the prisoners up onto deck with easy confidence.

Adam follows them up the stairs, his arm unrecognisable under turning cogs, now not a part of him but a weapon, ready to fire at any moment. Kris almost runs up the steps, but on deck everything is the ordinary madness of docking, people shouting and swearing and throwing each other ropes. The branches of the Chantier Naval are closed in over them, the noise from other ships coming from all around. The intrusion of the outside world after so much time skyside is jarring, but not entirely unwelcome. Kris loves to get lost in the landless bubble of flying, but it's good for everyone, himself included, to get to ground.

Adam turns back as Kris steps out of the stairwell.

"For this, I can almost forgive those bastards," he says and gives Kris one of his best grins, wide and open and a little wicked.

The noise dies down and Kris realises that the crew have stopped, to a man,and are looking at the knot of prisoners gathered in the middle of the deck. They have grouped in tightly, all bravado and concerned looks at each other. Kris remembers the snippy, mean tension between the tall man and the one who Adam had lent his coat to, as he watches them move into a position that couldn't say more clearly, "I have your back."

"Right," Kris says, to swing the attention onto himself instead. "Michael, you're with me. Matt, you know Katy is in charge but I'm trusting you to see that it's from the safety of a chair. Everyone welse? I'd prefer it if you stayed on board until we figure out the lie of the land. Spread the word. The less we have to deal with the damn authorities the better."

There is a minor outbreak of smirking both from and at the pirates in their midst. "Understood, Captain," Matt responds with a businesslike nod.

Kris checks the prisoners' cuffs one more time.

He steps back and looks over the three men. "We're taking you to the prison here. If you try and escape, we will shoot you. So. Don't."

There is a pause. Kris raises his voice. "Are we clear?"

"Crystal," the tall pirate calls. Michael and Adam share a frustrated look and both stand up a little straighter in a stance that Kris recognises as two steps away from a fight.

Kris resists the urge to roll his eyes. Some days, he swears to God, he could be his brother, at home in Arkansay with a class of recalcitrant pupils. "Glad to hear it. Micheal, you take rear guard. Adam - point. I'll lead."

They proceed out of the gate and onto a metal gangway that leads onto a large wooden platform. Kris threads his way through stalls, over bridges and between docked ships. Some of the branches are huge, shops on all sides, while others are thin and precarious feeling, gratings over nothing but air and a very long fall. The whole place smells like oil and a hundred types of food and Kris feels, as he always does here, like he’s been dropped into another world.

When Kris looks back, Adam's face keep flickering into incredulous glee until he remembers himself and sets his expression flat and stern again. The constant contrast is sort of mesmerising.

The soldiers on duty outside the military wing of the Chantier snap to attention as soon as they see Kris and the group. More when they spot Kris and Adam's uniforms and rank insignias.

"Do your thing," he mutters to Adam as they get nearer,and Adam straightens his spine and fixes the two guards with a 'cower, mortals,' stare. They only wilt a little, to their credit.

"I am Prince Adam, Heir Apparent, and this is Captain Allen of the Airship Conway. We have prisoners to turn over to your commanding officer."

Kris glances at Michael, the very model of stoic intent, and lets his gaze flick over the two guards, who have-shock wide eyes.

"Your highness," the guard on the left stumbles out, and they both salute absolutely perfectly. "Your highness, Captain, if you would like to follow me."

The military base is built into what would be the trunk if the Chantier was a real tree, gangways and bridges becoming long gaslit corridors that curve round in ever-decreasing circles. The prisoners look paler with every step into the artificial light, keeping a suspicious eye out on all sides, as if they might be ambushed at any moment. Their soldiers leave them in a wide entrance hall with a huge metal door at one end. Kris is looking forward to seeing how it opens, so it's rather an anticlimax when a small, ordinary door to one side of it opens and a harried looking man strides out, hair sticking every which way as if he has just run his hair through it.

"Captain Lewisham, Commander of the Naval prison,” the man asks, brisk and businesslike. “And you are?"

Adam steps forward and stands by Kris. "These are mercenaries captured when they boarded the Fleet ship Conway. We are turning them over to your custody."

The man gives the huddle of skypirates a perfunctory glance. "On whose authority?" he asks Adam.

Adam says, "Mine, as Heir Apparent of this Kingdom. The second highest authority possible."

"Huh," the man says. He does not look in any way impressed or awed or anything else that he should be. That Kris was expecting him to be. Adam says, slightly more loudly, "So if you would take these men into custody."

"The thing is..." Captain Lewisham makes a considering face, "Sire? We've had no official confirmation of your status,and the general consensus is that Lord Gokey is the current Heir Apparent. So you don't really have the authority to make me fulfill your request."

Adam flinches. It's a slight movement, but Kris sees it all the same.

"I am still a Prince of the realm," Adam spits out. " And so you should still obey."

The Captain pushes his hand through his hair. "Look. I'm not getting on the wrong side of anyone by putting 'By the order of Prince Adam' on the paperwork. I like my job and I'm not risking it for you." Kris can see it's a fair position to take, in a detached way, but that doesn’t stop him from being angry. This was not how this was supposed to be. He needs rid of these prisoners, and he needs people not to stun Adam into silence. It's unsettling to say the least.

Time for the back-up plan. If they’d made a back-up plan. But Kris has a plan which usually works, and Adam still looks like he's in shock. Or possibly having a rage-induced blackout. Kris moves closer to the Captain, who raises his eyebrows.

"Captain... Lewisham was it?" It's childish, but if the man's going to put a questioning lilt on "Sire," he deserves it. "Firstly, thank you for apprising us of the political situation. As I'm sure you'll appreciate, it's hard to keep track of such things while skyside." Kris smiles his very politest smile.

"Whatever the situation regarding his highness might be, I remain a Captain of the Fleet. Which means that my rank is equal to yours, and my authority unimpugnable. Do feel free to put that on the paperwork."

Captain Lewisham blinks. Kris can see that he wants to argue, but that is the joy of this plan. Arguing with measured reason is nigh on impossible.

Kris sets his smile to icy concern. "And we've handed over these prisoners to you now. I would so hate for you to get into any sort of trouble for refusing to keep known pirates locked up, where they can't attack any other ships."

There is a moment and then Kris sees it - surrender in the man's eyes, clear as if he’d just ran up a white flag.

"I'm sure that whatever the political circumstances, no one will be anything but pleased that these men, these mercenaries, are locked up," Kris finishes smoothly, pressing home the advantage.

"Fine," Captain Lewisham says. "You're signing for them, though."

"Naturally," Kris agrees.

The Captain calls for his Sargent and there is a flurry of activity, men pouring into the room from the other door and from outside, orders being shouted in strident tones, a thousand and one forms to sign. It's like a perfect storm of everything Kris hates about the military. Adam stands in the middle of it all, a blank wall of shocked silence.

This most un-Adamlike behaviour continues - as they hand over the prisoners, as they leave the Military wing, as they make their way back - until Kris can take no more. He stops on a wooden platform that's set out like a hanging garden and asks, "Are you alright?"

"I don't think I've ever seen anyone use politeness as a weapon before," Adam says. In his black jacket he looks confused and out of place against the pale fencing and flower boxes full of reds and yellows.

Michael grins. "Oldest trick in the Captain's book. Well, I heard tales about him and Matt and their charming smile campaigns as Ensigns, but I've never seen the politeness thing fail."

Adam grins and suddenly he's laughing, buttons flashing bright gold among the colours that surround him; the world realigning and Adam slotting into place. He says, "Of course. I should have expected something like that from the good Captain. You just... You polited him into submission."

"I think you'll find it's a mix of polite, concerned and officious. We're very law abiding here on the Conway."

Adam looks considering. Kris shakes his head and says, "Oh no you don't. You have enough in your arsenal already. Not all of us can be dashing Princes of the realm."

When they reach the Conway, Adam saunters up the gangplank and holds the gate open for Kris and Michael. "Please, after you. I would hate for you to get stuck and fall horribly to your deaths," he says, nothing but serious and even toned throughout.

"Needs work," Michael tells him.

Practically the whole crew is still on the deck, trying hard to look busy. Anoop is ostentatiously polishing what appears to be a coal scuttle.

"It's fine. No quick getaways required," Kris says, letting his voice carry. He can almost feel the exhale of breath. "And so I want everyone to get to the medical wing as soon as feasibly possible. Yes, everyone," he adds firmly. Adam closes his mouth again.

Meg gives Kris an appraising look. "And then can I go parts shopping?" she says, eyes wide and hopeful in that 'slightly crazed deer' look that Kris both loves and fears.

"Yes, Meg. Then we go shopping. For things we need only."

"You say that now..." Matt says, with an eye roll and a half smile. Kris knows he spoils the Conway, can't stop himself, buys the most high-end parts they have in the workshop or yard, always looking for improvements. They're a team, he's always telling the crew, so he has to put his money where his mouth is.

"Do you want to come or not?" he asks, because as much as Matt likes to tease, he can be as hopeless as Kris is when it comes to their girl.

Matt grins, all knowing innocence, the kind of grin that had got him - and half the time Kris - into many flavours of trouble when they'd been midshipmen. "Of course."

He heads to the top of the stairs and yells, "Bring forth the invalids!"

"One of these days, Katy is actually going to kill him," Kris mutters. "And then who will be left with the paperwork?" He picks up a winch cover that someone has mended and goes to fit it back into place.

"You're a good mediator. I'm sure you'll work something out," Adam tells him, walking around the winch to start clamping the cover down on the other side. "Polite and concerned, right?"

Kris watches Adam's hands, quick and efficient on the fiddly catches. "Sometimes. It's all about making the rules work for you, you know," he hears himself say. Adam nods like that wasn't patently ridiculous and pretentious sounding. Kris thinks this time and says, "Well. I have to get ahead somehow with my limited skill set."

Adam nods again, all smiling serious. "Are you taking mental notes or something?" Kris asks. "Because this is not some sort of life plan." There seems to be some sort of commotion coming from downstairs but he feels caught on Adam's gaze, unable to look away.

"That's what you think. If this all falls through I'll write a book, 'Captain Allen's Guide to Success' and sell it door to door, like those miracle cure people who are always getting grievances brought against them. Only I would actually help people change their lives," Adam asserts with a stupidly compelling amount of confidence. If he came to Kris's door promising to change his life, Kris might not able to resist buying everything on offer.

Then the commotion bursts onto deck and reveals itself to be his crew in full argument. Katy is in the middle, being carried on a chair and yelling at people. Mostly at Matt and Michael, who look to be trying to help Scott and Anoop with the chair. At least Kris assumes they’re trying to help rather than to get in everyone's way - which is what they are mostly accomplishing.

They set Katy down in the middle of the deck, where she surveys her kingdom. Kris goes over to her, and she gives him an easy smile and says, very firmly, "No. You may not help with the carrying. I will not have this conversation with another injured person." She gives Matt a pointed look.

Kris thinks about looking indignant but Katy has known him a very long time, and Kris has had to deal with this meaning that he can't fool her for even a moment.

Scott grins. "This is exactly the kind of thing I joined the Conway for, anyway. Never a dull moment, you said..." He nods at Anoop and they lift up the chair again, Adam going ahead to open the gate for them.

"I thought we lured you here with our shiny equipment and sense of camaraderie?" Kris asks.

Scott gives him a deadpan smile. "Oh no, Captain. It was all for days like this."

People actually stop and stare at them as they go past, a circus procession of injury and makeshift bandaging. The woman in the reception of the Medical Wing quickly sorts them into various rooms and assigns them doctors. Kris discovers that he has a sprained wrist and more bruises than he thought, looking at them in the cold light of day. When they’re done wih him, he goes to wait for Katy. They seem to be taking an age with her, and it's starting to fray at his nerves. She been improving over the last day or so, he’s sure of it. Or at least he had been until they took her away to this special room that she still hasn’t come out of.

“That is the face of a brooding man,” Adam says as he sits down in the chair by Kris.

Kris feels Adam lean sideways, rest a little weight, shoulder to shoulder. He turns his head and gives Adam his perkiest expression. “Better?” he asks.

Adam grimaces. “Oh lord, did the doctor give you opiates?” he says, voice pitched low and teasing, for Kris’s ears only.

“If only,” Kris says, and pulls out his pill bottles. “She would only let me have some analgesics and some sleeping tablets. And that was under duress and only after she saw the ridiculous colour of the bruise on my side.” Even Kris had been kind of taken aback by that one.

Adam says, “Snap,” chinking his own bottles against Kris’s like a toast. He looks at the door across the way. “Still in there, huh?”

“It’s been half an hour,” Kris grumbles. Doctors make him feel prickly and unsure and it’s Kat trapped behind that door with them. The tiny blonde girl who lay on the grass at school lunches with him, watching the ships go flying overhead on their way to the nearby dock. And that's it, isn't it> He'll sit outside her door and feel sick with it, but they were always meant to fly, the three of them.

Kris tries to relax as yet more minutes tick past. Adam is unusually quiet, just letting Kris put more and more of his weight on him until Kris is basically listing sideways onto him. There's a small part of him that's pretty sure this is conduct unbecoming a Captain of the Fleet, never mind a Prince, but the rest of him is battered and worried and couldn't care less about conduct, resting on Adam’s side, feeling the steady rhythm of his breathing - alive, alive, alive.


Part Four