Chapter 52: The Scavengers' Success
It was a miracle, after the numerous illusions, failed attempts, and near-mutinies that the Polarians of the Sapfir had finally been able to fully reinforce the mast.
The wreckages they had come across were scarcely seen and provided little material that hadn't already been rendered useless by shipworm, but nevertheless, they persisted.
Following the rough blueprints that Decimus had sketched out by his own hand for the Polarians to reference from, the mast was surrounded by several layers of wood that had been securely fastened all around. The wooden structure itself was tiered, and firmly fortified at the base especially. If they were to become dismasted while at an angle in the skyway, then they would all be doomed, with no way to reorient themselves.
All that was to be done now was to test it – there were no more illusions, there were no more tricks. The wood had been cut and tied and fastened to the mast, and it was there, real as ever.
There was nothing more that they needed to look for, that she could taunt them with and then spirit away just as their hands had started to taste the victory of obtaining it, of obtaining the materials that would carry them to freedom and out of this damned hellhole.
Test it.
All that was left.
Sighing and clasping his hands behind his back, Aleks looked over the plans and then the crew and then the mast, making sure one last time that everything was in perfect, precise order.
He prayed that this would truly be all.
"All hands! All hands on deck!"
. . . . . . . . . . . .
Decimus and Vladimir sat just a few feet away from each other, perched on the box bed within Vladimir's cramped cabin.
Decimus had, over the course of his time as a stowaway, become less and less of an enemy and some emotionless creature to the crew, and more of an intellectually-based human – they saw him as something that lived and thought and breathed, even though he only actually did one of those.
Vladimir, however, was asleep – being mortal, he needed rest, and within seconds of sitting down and leaning against the wall behind him his eyes had closed and his consciousness had gone.
Decimus, just as silently, watched him, observing and calculating and making any note he could. He never needed to do this – to sleep, and to rest, as if recharging the current that ran through him and moved his frame in accordance with his processor.
He wondered if perhaps he would benefit from sleep – if his kind, the mechanical and the non-biological kind, would benefit from such periods of temporary dormancy.
Or perhaps that was native to humans, or to mortals, yes, that made sense – they had limited supplies of energy and required input constantly, something the clockworks did not need, something that had always given them an advantage over the enemy until now, where he was at a complete loss of understanding of those he needed to cooperate with to survive.
In that moment, he suddenly realized that he was at an extreme disadvantage to Vladimir – and to all of them, for that matter.
For one, they could die. He could not – not unless he was killed. And he could not let himself die, nor could he turn his blade or rifle on himself. These mortals, they had the option to quit their existence if they were driven to drastic enough circumstances –
But Decimus himself, no, he could not, as much as that would end the danger. It was impossible to even think of or to consider as anything else than something that was, outright, not allowed and wrong and it was a room he simply could never enter.
Matters would be so much easier, he knew, if he was human.
If he was human, he would never have had to undergo the process of erasing his own memory, of standing paralyzed as those hidden and buried memories were revived because he would have had the option to die, it would be something that was –
Within reach, reason, attainable.
And - ! He realized it with a start – and Dangler, Dangler the madwoman who was ultimately consumed by her obsession with perfection, with the perfect, most fragile, beautiful being, would not have pursued him because had he been human, he would have been much too flawed for her to even think twice about.
For the first time that he could remember, Decimus considered flaws to be strength.
Perhaps this was the human rhetoric – perhaps this was why they had fought against Kane's forces, against the Armada, why the Resistance was so quick to form because they did not see their imperfections as a problem, yet, here came an army of unfeeling soldiers, insisting that it was, and that it was something to be eliminated at that.
If he had the capability to, Decimus was dead certain that he would have wished, with all his might, that he was a human being – a flawed, imperfect human being.
How he envied Vladimir, in his own not-quite way.
All hands!
That was the Captain calling and Vladimir's eyes snapped open, he jerked up as if pulled by puppet strings.
All hands on deck!
"Let's go," Vladimir said, and sprinted out the door, having no doubt that the clockwork would follow. Having Decimus around had become routine, almost, and he looked to be very nearly one of them, wearing a heavy fur coat rather than his ruined uniform – so different from the image that the entire Spiral had learned to loathe and fear.
As they ran towards the staircase, Decimus could hear the ship coming alive, more footsteps joining their own by the second.
Here he was now, sprinting past the entrance to the brig, a flash of white amongst his dark clothing and very briefly he could hear the screams of the imprisoned Polarian, shouting curses at him in his native language.
He still could not forget how desperate Pyotr had become at the very end, right before the Captain had him dragged off. How he had pleaded, how he had begged Dangler to just take Decimus and leave, because he couldn't take it, her endless taunting and tormenting – he had snapped first, but the others had been close.
Decimus wondered if this was Dangler's goal.
To turn them all on him – to invert his sanctuary until there was nothing left for him except for her, only ever her.
When they finally came up on deck, it was apparent why the Captain had called them here – the mast, standing tall and proud, was complete, exactly according to his design. He had accounted for some discrepancies due to the chances of error, especially given that they were Polarian and therefore not skilled with the intricacies of Valencian technology. This, however, was much more than what he had initially expected.
He stared hard at the mast and made himself look over it for the seventh time because in the back of his processor all that he could hear were the curses and shouts of the imprisoned man.
Perhaps that was how they all felt towards him – all they needed was for the mast to work, and then they would no longer have use for him, and therefore would not object if his pursuer suddenly came down and swept him away, as long as she would then leave the rest of the Sapfir's crew in peace.
"You worry?" Vladimir said, apparently having been behind Decimus the entire time, and Decimus did not quite know how to respond.
He wasn't even supposed to feel emotions, let alone display them. Had he learned to mimic the external actions of humans to a habitual level?
"There is a certain level of alarm," he replied. And that, there was.
"You need not be."
And that was all. Without even waiting to hear his reply Vladimir made his way to the quarterdeck, where the Captain had beckoned him. However, he returned in a few short minutes' time, a sudden burst of energy having implanted itself in his step. Strange – that had not been there before, Decimus noticed.
"The Captain confirms it. The mast is done," Vladimir said, breathlessly, excitedly, and all around him the crew had clearly just caught wind of it too. The celebration of those saved from death was not quite present, however, but that was to be expected after their attempts had proven to be false lures so many times before.
"So you've joined us," the Captain said, his big, booming voice echoing into the nothingness as he carried himself towards them with heavy, thudding footsteps. "The work is of adequate quality, I trust?" His jovial tone told Decimus that his approval was not really needed – the Captain was already quite certain of the sturdiness of the structure.
"It appears to be sound."
"Then, my friend – " Decimus was not expecting that – "shall we give it another attempt?"
"As you please, Captain."
By now, they knew how to work the lever, they knew the sails and the ropes and the workings of the modified mainmast. Decimus only had to stand back, out of the way of the bustling crew, and watch as Aleks barked several orders in that rough, foreign tongue, setting his men into motion.
Like clockwork.
Not all that different, he observed.
Aleks himself had taken the lever, it was very much so the most vital component of this whole maneuver and had to be in steady hands. Decimus could have easily taken it himself, but he would not have been able to provide enough strength to hold it after a certain steepness had been reached, not to mention that by showing his trust – or at least that was how he had seen them show trust – in the Captain, the rest of them would not feel as uneasy around him.
It would lower the chances of them willingly sacrificing him, that was for sure.
The men were at the ropes and the Captain was at the lever – all poised for the takeoff as Aleks pushed the lever downwards. There was a great groaning from the ship, from the mast, and Decimus watched carefully for signs of fracture or bending, but saw none – and the ship lifted up, at an angle that was steep enough to be noticeable, but not so much that the crew was unable to keep their balance.
"Excellent," Decimus said, and the crew erupted into a roaring cheer. Now, all that was left to do was to wait out their slow ascent – finally achieved – to freedom.
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- Severina
