Hey guys, I'm sorry this chapter took so long to get up. I've just been sort of busy this last month with horse stuff (Oz is really a wonderful beast. He just doesn't like to show it.) and then I had computer issues so I wound up handwriting this and the next chapter (I'm going to post that one in about a week) and then copied it into a word document. I'm not going to try and make excuses though and I'm just going to get this movie into the street or whatever the saying is.
TornadoWierdo: I've actually got two such jailbreak sequences planned. One of them's epic, with explosions and stuff, the other's considerably less so. Thanks so much for the review and for the feedback.
Spadefire: Yes, I get the feeling you're going to like Mr. King. All I'm going to say about him is that if people are reading my nonsense, they've seen him before. Thanks so much for the review and thanks for the congratulations.
Xemlovezyoux11233: Thanks for the review! :^)
Disclaimer: Stand back everyone! Nothin' here to see! Just story owning problems and in the middle of it me! Yes, TheXGrayXLady's here, hair blowing in the breeze, this fic needs my disclaimer expertise!
Mr. Tohomiko Accepts Gifts from Strangers
2:00 PM, July 17, 2012, Imperial Air Force Academy, Boston, United States
"Class," Lady Ragnelle said, walking to the back of the classroom and flipping on the projector. "Tomorrow, you will begin the next phase in your training. Cadet Zekowski, will you get the lights?"
The red haired girl stood, saluted, flipped the switch, and returned to her desk. Moments later, the image of a Victoria Class airship appeared on the screen.
"As you well know, the twelve of you are the future of the Imperial Armed Forces." She paced to the front of the room, each word punctuated by the click of her heels on the stone tiles. "In order to facilitate your training as the leaders of the future, you will be shadowing a captain of an airship in order to familiarize yourself with the duties associated with the job."
His already flawless posture somehow straightened just a little more and he stopped fixing his pencils into perfect rows in order to better pay attention. He couldn't believe what he was hearing. His star was about to begin its meteoric rise. This was his chance. If he could show an airship captain what he was truly capable of, it could mean the start of a brilliant career. The captain would notice how talented and accomplished he was and request to keep him on as an officer after the apprenticeship was over.
He would start off as a humble second mate and then the ship would have a run in with one of the various rebel groups. His acts of heroism in the ensuing battle would win over the crew and they would demand his immediate promotion. He would, of course, turn it down because his respect for the first mate would be far too great to take his place, but the first mate would insist because he could not allow his talent to go unnoticed.
As the years went by, the captain's respect and admiration of him would only grow greater, the Emperor would even begin to take notice. Then one day, in recognition of his flawless service record, he would be called to the Imperial Palace and the Emperor would give him a ship of his own to command. It would be a custom ship, gleaming and straight from the assembly lines. It would be in the style of the old Victoria line, or maybe the Atlantis prototypes, he hadn't decided yet, and it would be fast, faster than even the African Swallow. Rebel groups would flee before him and the wrath of the Water Dragon…
"Cadet Greenberg, would it really be too much to ask for you to pay attention for two minutes?" Lady Ragnelle said, her sharp tone yet again cutting through his day dream. He gave an embarrassed shake of his head and tried to ignore the wave of giggles that passed through the room.
"Now, as I was saying, you will be assigned ships in order of class rank. When I call your name, proceed to the front of the room to receive your information packet then go to the front office where a transport shuttle will be waiting for you." Now was his chance. He was top of the class, he would be assigned one of the best ships.
"Cadet Rowley, the Solara." Good, his theory about class rank relating to ship quality was correct. The Solara was one of the first Victoria's produced and was more fit for the scrap heap than for active service. The only ship worse than it would be the Hamish, and that was cobbled together out of spare parts after the Holmes-Adler collision last year.
"Cadet Jones, the Resplendent." Lady Ragnelle continued down the class list, and as every student went up to collect their packet, his excitement only grew. Finally, after what seemed forever, but was really only five minutes, she came to the upper end of his class.
"Cadet Strider, the Clockstopper." As the blond boy went to collect his packet, he looked around the room at the rest of his competition, Cadets Potts and Pine.
There were three Victorias still in play, the Stark, Enterprise, and Hamish, and another three Avalons, the Excelsior, African Swallow, and Galaxy. Cadet Potts was most likely to be given an Avalon as they fit her precise, detail oriented psychological profile, so she was no real threat. Cadet Pine, on the other hand, was an act first, ask questions later sort of guy. That sort of adventurous nature would translate best into a Victoria ship as they were more field oriented. He would most likely be assigned to the Stark, it had the aerial finesse suited to a natural pilot like Jim. And he would wind up with the Enterprise.
That ship was an all-around performer, it didn't have the Clockstopper's speed, the Stark's turn radius, or the Watson's firepower, but whereas these ships were specialized, the Enterprise was by far the most versatile ship in the fleet.
"Cadet Potts, the Stark." Now that was unexpected. Perhaps Jim would get the Excelsior as it had the best handling out of all the Avalons. That's how it would work out. Then he would be assigned…
"The Enterprise." Damn. That still left him any of the Avalons though, the African Swallow was the fastest in the fleet, the Excelsior was still an option, and the Galaxy was another all-around ship, this wasn't a setback.
"Cadet Greenberg…"
"Please be the Galaxy, please be the Galaxy, please be the Galaxy…"
"The Hamish."
He wasn't entirely sure he heard correctly. He thought he was just assigned the ship made out of spare parts, but he could very well have been daydreaming. He tended to do that at important moments.
"Cadet Greenberg, please come and get your packet," Lady Ragnelle said, her voice sharp, but sweet and her impeccably manicured nails tapping on the edge of her desk in impatience.
"Excuse me, but I'm uncertain I heard you correctly. What ship was I assigned again?"
She gave an indulgent smile and her fingers rapped a little harder on the desk. "The Hamish."
"I don't understand. I'm the best in the class, how could I be assigned the fuckin' Hamish?"
"There is a wise old saying," she started, clearly reading from her desk calendar. "Any man can captain a good…" she glanced up at the clock, "Oh would you look at that? It's three already. You're no longer my responsibility. You can take your briefing or leave it, it makes no difference to me." With that, she practically ran from the room, a look of pure bliss at her now found freedom plastered to her face.
He cradled his head in his hands, resigned to his post at the vastly inferior ship he was given. He was most definitely not writing mother and father about this.
X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X
12:00 PM, July 18, 2012, Tohomiko Apartment, Tokyo, Japan
"Papa, I'm home," Kimiko said, placing dinner on the coffee table. It wasn't anything fancy, cheap take out ramen, but neither of them could cook and it was all they could afford. "How was work?"
"Same as ever," he replied, not looking up from the radio he was dissecting. "Did anything interesting happen to you?"
"I had to fish some lady's purse out of a toilet tank. Does that count?" she said, flopping down on the couch, wincing as one of the springs jabbed her leg.
"It's certainly unusual. How did it get there in the first place?" He pulled a few wires out and laid them on the floor.
"I've stopped asking," she said. "Anything in the scrap heap?"
When her father started work at the factory, the sheer monotony of performing the same menial task day after day drove him crazy. Then he'd discovered the pile of broken down electronics and spare parts behind the main building. Every day after work he'd pick it over and bring home bits and pieces. Broken machines, frayed wires, worn gears, borderline dead batteries, and other things unusable in the hands of your average untrained factory worker, but born again in the hands of a skilled, if somewhat eccentric inventor. Sometimes, if she got out early, she'd come over and help out.
"You're not going to believe this," he said, his eyes lighting up in a manner normally associated with small children when confronted with an especially large Christmas present.
"Papa, I regularly see the governor of Tokyo turn into a tiger," she said, she would pretty much believe anything at this point.
"This is far better than that," he said, walking over to the sink and carefully washing the oil and other such dirt from his hands before retrieving his coat from the rack. "This is my greatest find yet."
He sat down on the couch next to her and pulled out something wrapped in a hastily washed work rag. Slowly, he undid the atypically careful folds of the fabric. Nestled in the center was a tight coil of metallic blue wire. It had a slight curve to it, as if it were to be set in a circle.
"Papa? What is it?" she asked.
"You remember the generators the factory makes?" he started, the overjoyed look on his face never wavering.
"They're essentially perpetual motion machines, right?" she asked. This couldn't be a piece though. The factories weren't so careless as to throw away an essential part.
"Exactly. I was sorting through the trash when the red haired boy showed up again. He found this under a burnt out capacitor. He said he didn't want it and didn't know what to do with it so he gave it to me."
"No catch?" she asked. She'd heard him talking about this guy before, but she'd never met him herself. He seemed like a nice guy from what her father said, although Papa had a tendency to only see the good in people.
"No catch. He couldn't use it and I want to find out how they work." The only workers who actually got to handle the generator parts were generally less educated in order to prevent tech theft, even though there wasn't really anyone who you could sell business secrets to anymore.
"That is way cool. I can't wait to get started!" she said. She had to admit that she enjoyed her papa's research just as much as he did.
"I know. I just have to wait for them to replace the old meters and sort out that issue with Mrs. Soki then we can start running tests." Their landlady did not approve of her father messing with the walls and insulation so that he would have better access to the building's electricity.
"I almost hope I don't hear back from the Hamish," she said, picking up the coil and noting its feather weight. It should still be a few days until she heard back.
"Oh," her Papa said, giving a bit of a start. "That reminds me…" He walked over to his radio and picked up a manila folder. "The other day the red haired boy mentioned that he knew the head of HR for the Hamish. He said he'd put in a good word for you."
"Oh my god. Is that what I…Oh my god…Hahahahahah! Yes! Thank you thank you thank you," she said, placing the coil back on the cloth before jumping across the room to hug her Papa.
This was everything she wanted, a good hands-on job where she could really let her expertise shine. The Hamish was perfect for her too. It was an eternal struggle to keep that one in the air. She'd heard rumors that it was held together solely by a combination of the head Mechanist's force of will and dark magic. She was more inclined to believe the team of elite Mechanists working tirelessly to keep it in working order.
"Don't thank me. I know how much this means to you," he said, if possible grinning even wider than before. "Fix that bucket of bolts for me."
"I won't let you down," she said. Perhaps she'd been a bit too quick in judging the junk heap ginger. He seemed like an okay guy after all.
"That's one thing even you can't do," he said.
X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X
9:00 PM, July 17, 2012, Imperial Aeronautics Plant, Seattle, United States
He'd decided that there was nothing better than the sound of the finishing whistle. It wasn't a whistle really, it was more an out of tune trumpet had a baby with a dying elephant, but they called it a whistle and that was far more time efficient than calling it a dying elephant-poorly tuned instrument hybrid. Either way, it meant he could finally get those god awful gloves off his hands.
He turned off the hand welder and signaled to his belayer to lower him to the factory floor. The long trip down was punctuated with heart stopping drops and jerking as the obviously first time belayer struggled to control the rope, but by the time he reached the floor, he'd never felt better.
He never let on how much the high welding bothered him. With no solid ground below him, he'd never felt more vulnerable. If they knew the way his hands shook whenever he strapped into the harness, they might move him off the crew and that meant less pay to send home.
Slowly, he peeled the theoretically heat proof gloves from his hands, careful not to rub to hard against the heat blisters on his palms. He tossed them into his locker, along with the welding harness and breathed a slight sigh of relief.
They had a week of training starting Thursday. The new designs just arrived the other day, he didn't quite remember the name of the line, Atlanta or something, but he knew they looked complicated. The damn things looked to be built for speed and had all the angles and windbreaks associated with the faster ships.
In some ways, that was almost worse. The classes were just similar enough to slip back into old habits and just different enough that doing that made you make mistakes, and making mistakes got you fired, and getting fired meant that everything he'd done was for nothing. Constantly worrying about that was indefinitely worse than the shoulder soreness or blisters.
He tossed a couple of his dirtier jumpsuits into his bag in preparation for laundry night and was about to head out, when their supervisor's voice came through the loudspeaker.
"Would all shift B employees please report to the main floor," Mr. Fredrickson said. Damn. He tossed his bag back into his locker and idly wondered who left their harness on the floor this time. This probably meant another unpaid hour long safety lecture because some dead green numbskull left their things lying about.
"Yo Bailey," Jason Oggs said, running up behind him. "You know what this's about?"
"No idea," he muttered, trying to contain his frustration. He wanted to be back on his way back to his dorm, not towards lecture flats.
"I heard them talking the other day about a promotion," the brunette said, leading the way out the door. "Some big opening or something. You hear anything?"
"First I've heard of it," he said, ducking under the door frame.
"Would I ever steer you wrong?" he said, his trademark grin plastered to his smug face. Clay actually couldn't count on any number of fingers, toes, or other various limbs the times Jason was either ill informed, only had half the information, or was just making stuff up, so he wasn't going to get his hopes up on this. Tactfully, rather than tell Jason that he was full of it, he made a noise that could have gone either way.
It was a short walk to the main floor, but even with the idea that someone could be promoted, it seemed longer. That would mean better pay and better conditions, even if it was just to administrative assistant or something.
The sixty or so people of the B shift milled about the production floor, trading suspicions and worry, by the time they got there. Something massive was covered by a tarp in a back corner and Mr. Fredrickson stood on a platform above them, leaning forwards on the railing.
"Alright, everybody here?" he started. Without waiting for a response, he continued. "Let's cut right to the chase. They're looking for Mechanists on the Hamish and the head honcho wants them to come from manufacturing. Something about how you guys know these ships better than your random asshole on the street. Well, we're going to show him that we have the best random assholes in this damn street."
He bit back a comment about how that statement was self-contradictory. This was what he was looking for. Working on a ship meant that he wouldn't have to pay room and board on top of the slightly bumped pay scale.
"To pick which of you goes on the transport shuttle tomorrow, we've set up a little challenge for you," he said, gesturing at the tarp covered object in the corner. "As soon as I start the clock, that boiler's going to start overheating. Whichever of you stops it gets the spot." And he suddenly had a feeling that despite his confidence in their abilities, this wasn't one of Mr. Fredrickson's best ideas.
He was proven correct a moment later when the tarp fell back and the hoard rushed forwards to fix the boiler. He hung back, he was already at the edges of the group and he was nowhere near fast enough to get there first. He figured he'd swing in when they inevitably burned themselves on the metal.
With a few loud shrieks, the first few fell back, giving him a better view of the machine. He could see the problem, the machine was performing at a higher level than it should and the tank was too full, the pent up pressure had nowhere to go and the release valve was too hot to touch, but of course everybody just had to prove that they were strong enough for the job so they had to go sticking their hands on it.
There was an easier way though. All he had to do was follow the power cord back to the wall socket, pull the plug, and wait.
Mr. Fredrickson probably wouldn't care that it wasn't exactly what he meant by stop the boiler from overheating. They would be sending him to the Hamish for christ's sake. Even he knew that that ship was in worse shape than Uncle Otis after the bull riding incident.
Calmly, he walked around the crowd and to the back wall, waited for some of the participants to clear out, and yanked the cord from the socket. The boiler gave a sputter, but without power it soon stopped hissing and spitting.
"Bailey!" Mr. Fredrickson barked. He gave a slight start, perhaps he'd misjudged how seriously they were taking the test, but glanced up at the man's beet red face.
"Yes sir?" he called back.
"Did you unplug this?" He gestured to the boiler.
"Yes sir."
"Great. They need inventive guys like you to keep that piece of shit flying. You're hired."
Hahahhahahhahahhah...I'm not going to lie, this is most definately not my best work, but my hands hurt, I'm tired, and I'm more or less satisfied with it. This was more or less a filler chapter and was for all intents and purposes just getting people to where they need to be. Things are going to pick up from here I promise. I've got some good arial battles coming up and I've got yet more witty chapter names that nobody has yet commented on and they're my favorite part of this whole thing! Anywho, to cut to the chase...
Go ahead, run away, say it in a review! Tell the world, tell a friend, tell them the tale. Get a pic, do a blog, heroes are over with! Look at them, not but words, Raimundo and co. (In other words, review for me. Please. :^)