Newkirk had no love for the old count, but even he held him in respect and would be first to tell the tale of how he stood down a force of over two hundred men with nothing but an old walker cannon and a freshly sharpened sabre. He would speak of how the old soldier managed to cull more than two thirds of that number before he fell. The old Wildcount died hard, but died well with a smile on his lips, a spark in his eyes and with his sword buried in his foe.

It took a further two weeks of steady travel to cross the Plains of Silence and reach the Saviours Pass a long, mostly flat, road that held multiple tracks for trains and for caravans of pack animals and vehicles. It was a masterstroke of engineer that during the height of African colonialism connected all the major ports of the continent. It stretched from deepest south the furthest north and joined the east and west together in a distorted cross that had been pressed into the land by the sweat of men and Mammothine.

Branching out like the nerves along a spine were smaller roads leading to multitudes of now independent towns, mines and farms that once formed the bed rock of a mighty colonial power, but now left to their own devices and in some cases abandonment as plague and banditry force people away.

Before the Collapse the Saviours Pass united the mineral rich continent under the heavy boots of the British, Dutch and Belgium empires. These once proud and pious empires are now nothing but dust and legend as the lands they once ruled are now left to the people they once enslaved. Warlords rule the lawless hills outside the Freestates's borders with harsh regimes that follow great ambitions to rival the ancient empires of the Mali and Ghana. The western ruins of Africa are held by the bloodthirsty tribes of the Ivory Coast that hunt with stolen vehicles now transformed into foul monsters of metal that prowl across the dry scrublands while their drug-fuelled drivers cry blood curdling war chants and worship the roar of the V8.

The southern trail is slowly being consumed by the marching forests and watched by the Jungle Queen whose warriors blend into the mist and mud of the dense rainforests of the darkest Africa and wield weapons of old made of wood and sharpened stone. They compete with the self-proclaimed rulers of the southern kingdoms who dominate the expansive veldt on the backs of painted elephants. Only the northern plain and eastern track remain safe to travel, however with the fall of Cairo the desert road now leads to nothing, but smoking plague-ridden cities. Africa was always a wild land even with the rise of man and now with its fall the wilderness had reclaimed what was stolen.

The St Clair being the size it was could not directly follow the trail but instead merely used it as a marker to follow to the Freestates capital of Berbera. Once a distant British outpost on the edge of an empire now revolutionised by a great influx in Clanker and Darwinist technologies had seen the city grow from a few hundred thousand to over eight million in the space of twenty years. With its army of mechanized armour and fleets of airships it is the strongest African province on the continent.

The Saviour Pass took the St Clair down near the dark mystery of the African interior as they skirted the border of Ethiopia, moving through the Kenyan lowlands. The Steenbok at Cassandra's request had been tethered to the St Clair to conserve its hydrogen batteries. Alek's trust towards Cassandra was a fragile thing yet the woman had remained honourable to their deal.

Alek knew that without her help during the battle the fires that engulfed the St Clair would have spread and would have crippled them and the raiders would have shown no mercy. However, even at the promise of the Freestates surrounding territory being bandit free Alek still had round the clock watch and scout bikes sent out regularly.

The days were long and hot under the sweltering gaze of that African sun. In off hours both the crews of the Steenbok and the St Clair shared the massive walker's forward deck and wallowed in the heat. Gambling and trading was commonplace as was the mingling between the refugees and crews who had been allowed up onto the deck as well. Smoke and dust tuned the sun into a deep orang at night and a rising crimson star at dawn sending an eerie glow across the homeland of mankind.

At times the St Clair would stop at the many towns and trading posts along the Saviours eastern road that serviced the hundreds of caravans and trains that passed through on their way to the heart of the Freestates. It was a strange sight: a battleship crawling across the land like a spider with a flying whale above basking in the in the hot days and dozing off in the cool nights.

Children came running from their family homesteads or wagons stopping at a distance shyly staring in wonder at the size of the Mann O War and daring one another to get closer to hulking metal monster. Their more serious minded parents haggled over the price of supplies while cautiously eyeing the hulking turrets and the swirling black mass of what looked like to be starlings but where making noises like screaming demons dance around the airship above.

In the air flew strings of sky trains that snaked through the air with their white envelopes looking like a necklace of pearls in the day and then shifted to soft amber bulbs at night as their running lamps pulsed in the breeze. Airships of all sizes drifted lazily though the air with some smaller military vessels pulling alongside the Steenbok at random interval using the massive ship as an improvised carrier.

At each major trading post of town was a marked area just on the outskirts that was rolled flat for the airships to land as well as some tall mooring towers that rose above the ground like the fingers of long buried gods.

Great fabricated beasts hauled even greater carts of goods along the dusty highway. Massive bulls and camels moaned and groaned at the weight of their cargo as the smell of manure and dirt all baked under the hot sun filled Alek's nostrils.

Long ago he had thought of the travelling rogues and their unrestrained lives with childish wonder. Their freedom sounded like a fantasy and while this illusion had been tarnished with time and the cost had been high there were moments where he found himself smiling at the freedom he now too enjoyed.

In front of him Newkirk loaded another six rounds into his Winchester before raising it to his shoulder, "Pull!" he shouted and then narrowed one eye tracking the clay disc that had been launched from the catapult next to him.

"It's gone too far," said Alek with a yawn as he reclined into the deck chair. Newkirk didn't answer instead he simply moved his aim a fraction left of the target and fired before turning round to face Alek with his gun cocked on his shoulder just as the clay disc and bullet impacted each other.

With a smile Newkirk said, "You were saying." Out of the corner of his eye Alek noticed a handful of people within the watching crowd exchange handfuls of money. He reloaded the catapult and accepted the gun from Newkirk's outstretched hand moving past him and into position. He brought the rifle up to bear adjusted the sight just a tad, cleared his throat and took his time through all of his little preparation just to annoy Newkirk.

"Pull!" he shouted and immediately started tracking the clay pigeon as it spun out into the air. He pulled the trigger and waited for connection.

The disc didn't break and kept flying. As one man the crowd of watchers leaned in expectantly.

In a fast flick of his wrist he snapped another round into the chamber, aimed again and fired. The tiny speck that was vanishing against the background of smudged brown and green hills shattered into a cloud of brown dust. His audience clapped with a few cheers and then proceeded to collect or pay off various bets.

Alek handed the rifle back to Newkirk, "So?" he asked.

Newkirk shrugged in the way of someone who knows they've won.

"I thought it was a rather good shot," said the approaching figure of Captain Ardis. She turned to the onlookers and with a hard gaze and arched eyebrow sent them grumbling away, "I hope I haven't interrupted, but we have something important to discuss before we reach port."

"May I ask what it's about?" asked Alek. Cassandra looked about her before answering.

"This would be better in private. And if Deryn could accompany us," she said. Alek looked back to Newkirk who gave a reluctant nod as he hefted the rifle down from his shoulders and walked up to Cassandra.

"This way," he said gesturing for them to follow. They moved from the hot daylight to the tight corridors and bulkheads of the ships interior. Crew members stepped aside and saluted sharply to Newkirk and Alek while some passed uneasy looks in Cassandras direction. They descended deeper and came across a large open room from which came a roaring and whooping of crowds. The room was mainly used for storage of some unimportant supplies, but had now been invaded a by a crowd of about thirty who now formed a loose semicircle around what for a better word an arena.

In the middle of this 'arena' under a halo of light were three figures, two of which were sweat drenched and stumbling with frustrated punches and jabs while the third dodged each every one almost appearing to simply flicker from one spot to the next. Several men sitting around the ring of the fighting pit were watching the fight intently while there hands moved fast over a variety of currencies and tradable goods. The bets were on.

Alek pushed aside several watchers making a hole for Newkirk and Cassandra to see past the bodies of bystanders. A cheer went up as a figure fell to the ground.

"Whose winning?!" shouted Cassandra over the din. Alek turned to her and simply pointed to the third figure who was standing dead centre of the light. Deryn Sharp stood there with fist clenched and held low at her hips while she moved her legs into a slayed position readying for another blur of movement. Her opponent was staring dumbstruck at the muscular man who had just fallen and then back to Deryn who gave a confident grin and raised one arm making a 'bring it' motion with her fingers.

The man gathered his wits for a final push, spat a gob of spit to the side and charged Deryn who side-stepped him, grabbed his vest, lifted him up and sent him flying into the crowd. A man who was apparently umpire went over to Deryn and raised her arm in victory. The crowd gave a cheer as those who had not seen Deryn fight before stared in disbelief while the more experienced laughed and accepted their winnings.

Another challenger entered the ring. A man who stood a good two-feet above Deryn and with biceps thicker than her waist. Deryn simply readjusted the bandages over her knuckles and brought her fists up to bear facing her opponent. She shifted her legs bracing for moment. The giant raised his meaty fists and charged Deryn.

He ran hard and swung fast and…wait…was she holding his fist in place. The giant was not familiar to people standing after he hit them. Deryn had simply forced out a splayed palm and caught the momentum of the man's charge and swing. His feet shifted as if he was trying to push against a wall. With inhuman strength she pulled the man towards her and with her other hand braced it against his chest, and hauled him over and slammed him hard onto his back. He struggled to get up but his body decided it best not to and the ox of a man fell into unconsciousness. As one the crowd went wild, hooting and crying their praise.

An over-enthusiastic man beside Alek leaned to him and said without recognising who he was talking to, "She must be a wild one in the sack," he proceeded to roar with laughter while Alek simply smiled politely and replied.

"Don't I know it," and then he walked out into the centre of the arena just as the man's face fell with recognition.

The crowd's celebrations petered out fast as Alek entered with most knowing who he was and started packing their winnings away quick.

Alek took a small moment to evaluate his audience.

"Right you lot," roared Alek in a commanding tone yet there was a smile hiding in the corners of his mouth, "You know what I've said about having fighting pits on my ship," around him people began trying to look anywhere but at Alek with their heads downcast and grumbling to themselves or suddenly finding interest in their finger nails.

"We really don't have time to be putting a bunch of bloody louts in the nursing ward with some broken bones just for a couple of pounds," said Alek sternly, "Crewman Russel, did I not say to you not six months ago what a fool someone would be in betting against her," Alek jerked a thumb in Deryn direction as he spoke to a awkwardly smiling man in a grubby boiler suit.

"Aye, you did, Sir," said the man as he scratched the back of his shaven head while with his other hand he tried to hide a small bag of winnings,

"Even after a very eventful demonstration," a few chuckles from those who remembered the drunkard who made a pass at Deryn, "I would ask that you not indulge her further. Take it from someone who knows you will never win," said Alek as he turned to look at Deryn with a small smile.

"Aye, well Sir you see some of the Airheads," the man gestured to several unhappy looking men in aviator clothing, "didn't believe us and so well…" the man simply shrugged.

"Really, well I hope this puts your doubts to rest gentlemen," said Alek rounding on the grumbling airmen, "Now, I really don't want to start issuing punishment duties to stop these activates considering how close we are to Berbera, but in any case if I hear of another one of these events happening without mine or any of the other officers permission and without medical care on standby then those persons involved will find themselves on latrine duty for a month. Do I make myself clear?" he stared around the room in the silence that followed as slowly the audience nodded and muttered their understanding.

"Right, now clear off," he said and his audience began shambling for the exit.

One of the bookies ambled over to Deryn and handed her own purse of coin. She accepted it and tucked it away into her cleavage and continued with unbandaging her hands. The man left and tipped his hat to Alek and Newkirk as he passed as well as handing Newkirk a purse of winnings.

"What? I have an expensive habit," he said to Alek who was staring at him with a disapproving expression.

"You know it would help if you wouldn't encourage this sort of thing," Alek said.

"I'm not encouraging it. I'm simply taking advantage of a unique situation where I know what the chances of me or in fact her winning are," said Newkirk in defence.

"So really those coppers are mine then," said Deryn from over in the corner.

"Hey, you already got yours as it is," said Newkirk quickly stuffing the purse into his pocket.

"You know when I said I would keep your secret from my superiors I did also sort of mean you not expose yourself to my crew," said Cassandra as she pursed her lips.

"Who's going to believe some desperate refugees and puffed up airheads about a girl with a super human speed and strength," replied Deryn, "Anyway I doubt any of them would admit to losing to a girl."

Cassandra shrugged.

"In any case what did you want to talk to us about?" asked Alek.

"There are somethings I need to show you and discuss so if you could follow me Commander Hopkins will be waiting for us," she replied before leaving the room the others ambling after her.

Alek moved back beside Deryn and muttered to her, "I though you said you wouldn't be a part of this again."

"Alek, I sometimes everyone needs to just let go," she said, "I've been like this too long for you not to understand why I need to release sometimes."

"You're right, sorry," he said head bowed.

She stopped and turned to him lifting his head to face her and kissed him deep. Cassandra paused for a second and looked back at them her expression never leaving that calm look before she tuned back and kept walking.

Deryn broke the kiss and considered his eyes, "Don't ever feel like you need to apologise to me. Not ever," and she moved off.

They travelled through the tight corridors towards the rear of the ship. The cylindrical elevator sat on the platform much like it had on their first meeting. Before leaving Alek informed his officers of where they were heading and silently handed Newkirk a pistol from a concealed gun cabinet in the wall before embarking onto the elevator. The accent was quick and smooth with the sensation much like that of a normal building elevator accept this one seemed to rise at an angle as it climbed the bending cable.

When they reached the airship to all three it was like stepping off into youths. The detectable sway of the airship and breezy feeling of being held aloft against the wishes of gravity. As one they breathed in and the warm feeling of nostalgia briefly overrode their concerns.

Cassandra seemed to carry herself differently as if simultaneously trying to not to show off but also couldn't help herself. This ship was everything to her it was clear. Aviators hustled across the gangways and catwalks that crisscrossed the expansive void where the open hangar doors dropped away to the St Clair below. Above in the rafters War Hawks cried and glided in and out of narrow slits.

Alek walked out from the elevator bordering platform and onto the large central walkway that ran through the centre of the hangar placing a hand onto the strong wooden railing and peering over the edge. Childhood glee couldn't help but bubble up at the sense of his stomach dropping at the sight of his ship from such a height.

The distinct Darwinist sinuous design that was woven into the wooden supports and structures was clear and familiar to him, but to Newkirk and Deryn it was more that familiarity. In a way both had just come home.

"Not to interrupt, but if you could follow me," said Cassandra gesturing for them to follow her across the hangar. They moved through the gait space as the wind tousled at their hair and clothes in swift gusts.

They crossed and moved into the collection of gondolas that massed between the bridge and hangar. The moved through the corridors of the gondolas eventually coming to a small room in which there was only one light that illuminated a waist-high round table that was covered by a detailed map of the known world. They entered and Cassandra shut the door behind her.

"Captain, welcome back,' said a gruff voice from the shadows.

"Thank you Commander," said Cassandra as she approached the table. Hopkins emerged from the far side shadows withdrawing from his salute.

He was without his armour and instead was dressed in a full body grey flight suit with zip down revealing a white vest stretched over his muscle bound body. His blond hair was cut short with a well-trimmed beard and despite the lack of several inches of battle armour the man still cut an imposing presence.

He nodded to Alek, Deryn and Newkirk. "Welcome aboard," he said and while his face never left its neutral expression there was a hint of pride in his voice.

"A fine ship it is," said Newkirk and to both Alek's and Deryn's mild surprise there was sarcasm in his voice, "Shall we begin," he said turning to Cassandra.

"certainly," she walked over to the table joining the commander on the other side and leaned onto the table over the map, "Before we enter Berbera I need to know some things and you need to know some things, but I'm going to need for you to understand that it will require your absolute honesty and trust that whatever is said in this room cannot leave it," she stared at each of them with a hard expression.

Alek leaded forward and mirrored Cassandras pose examining the map on the table, "the St Clair was found abandoned in dry dock just eight miles behind the Miracle Mile," Alek said pointing to the eastern fringes of the German border. The map was old from before the Collapse with countries such as Romania and Serbia still adorning it, "It took six months to get just two engines working but we managed."

He looked up and met their faces. The answer he had given them was a minor one compared to the glaring one they wanted. Who was he? That was the burning bit of knowledge they demanded.

Who was this young man who stood before them with a loyal crew, a tamed monster and a powerful vessel?

"You know what I want, Alek," said Cassandra softly. "You are not simply a merchant who came across that ship. Someone must have given it to you and for them to that you must have had something of unimaginable importance."

He met their eyes and then tuned back to face his friends. Newkirk shrugged and moved to lean back against the wall. Deryn stared at him and gave a subtle nod.

He turned back arms crossed and then his posture changed into one that he had nearly forgotten. Straight back, hands dropped to his side and head held high. Drilled relentlessly into him by his tutors.

A prince must look princely.

His face relaxed into a small smile and then he spoke.

"My name is Prince Aleksandar of Hohenberg, son of the murdered Archduke Franz Ferdinand and Princess Sophia of Hohenberg of the Austro-Hungarian Empire. This is Deryn Sharp last survivor of Project Berserker and Eugene William Newkirk former Midshipman of the HMS Leviathan." Hopkins eyes narrowed and Cassandra raised a single quizzical eyebrow.

Newkirk grinned and Deryn smirked while Alek he just kept staring at Casandra and Hopkins.

He sighed and looked back down at the man and in a quiet voice he began their story.

"It all seemed so easy after everything I'd seen in the war. We had our whole lives ahead of us, but then we saw the Plague victims with their tears of blood and then the blinding fire and that black smoke rising above everything…"

On the farm she was happy. But her father sent to school anyway.

Time passed and she was happy, but then a man in an officer's uniform came to her school and gave everyone a test.

Years later after she left school and returned to the farm the man came back and this time for her.

They'd watched her grow he said and wanted to offer her something.

Enough money to get her parents out of the dirt and well on their way to a comfortable coffin.

She didn't want to go but her mother's health and fathers failing bones made her go.

The man smiled at her and offered a gloved hand to take her away.

That smile though. It was not a nice smile.

It was a smile used by people who never smile.

A smile that told her she was nothing. A lump of clay that could given a proper shape.

"We have need of that mind of yours girl."

They taught her well.

Perhaps too well.