Part Three:

The Hunt

"But rest assured, this will be nothing like your legendary failure at Bae-Sing-Sae."

"I hope not, for your sake."

-Admiral Zhao to General Iroh, prior to the Invasion of the North

The sky outside of the window ripples with a random intensity that can only be explained as chaos. It moves with a hidden desire, uncontrolled by the will of nature or man. The grass underneath it – the grass I can see – waves complacently in the noon breeze. The grass that does not wave is mindlessly crushed underfoot as sky blue and silver uniforms scurry back and forth, carrying boxes, large tubes, and the occasional sack.

I watch as one man, probably only in his twentieth year of life, starts to set his sack down. Before it touches the grass, another man, moving in the opposite direction, sweeps up the bag and turns back around in one fluid motion. I watch as he comes to deliver the sack to its final destination. Efficiency, I think to myself. I would smile, but it would be a futile action: no one could see it.

As the stream of bodies and materials below me slows, the stream around me has done the opposite. Figures, all shorter and smaller than I, move around and sit at their stations, immediately to flick switches, press buttons, and deliver commands and information across the room.

A faint reflection in the window catches my eye. Two figures, both shadowy blurs, cross the elevated walkway that leads to where I stand. As they get closer, I see that they hold themselves upright with authority and pride. I hear the refined clack of their boots against the metal floor.

"Admiral," One of them says, his voice crisp and precise. "We have finished loading the ship."

I turn around, smooth robes gliding over my skin as they hurry to catch up with my swift movement. I look at the two officers, an action I know they will not see, but will assume to be happening. I look at their uniforms and insignias, and then at their badges.

The other officer, a female, swallows before she speaks. "Reactors One through Six are all functioning at thirty-five percent." Her voice trembles and cracks ever so slightly, almost indistinguishable from the calm and collected guise she tries to maintain. "As you predicted, Admiral."

Fear? Awe? I can't determine which she is plagued with. Either one, I can use. I suspect that whichever she has is spreading fast through the crew. "Prepare," I say, taking a deep breath through my mask. "To fire all primary engines." I walk past the two officers, who quickly part and salute my back.

As I walk to the other end of the bridge, a few things jump out at me from the crew stations. The communications crew takes about one and a fifth of a second to notice when signals are being received, as the crewman watching the radar sees and recognizes the larger blips before he does the smaller ones. The navigation officer has difficulty reading the small print on the glowing charts, and has to lean forward a few inches before he can determine what they say. The security officer is unable to answer a question from someone under his command about quarantine procedures.

Time, I sigh to myself. It heals all things.

At the end of the bridge, a large grey seat waits for me. I sit down in it, relaxing as the few cushions mold and harden to match my posture. I place my hands on the curved armrests and look out the window across from me. The world seems so far away now, even though I know it will soon be closer than ever.

The female officer approaches my command seat. I look at her and notice in the determined set of her jaw that it is awe that she is experiencing, not fear. Good.

"Captain?" I ask. "Is my flagship ready?"

The captain briskly brings herself up to her full height and touches her fist against her chest. "The Scyllaea is fully at your command, Admiral."

I feel a memory stir inside my head of an identical scene, with different uniforms, different people, and different motives. Time may change what it may, but duty and tradition are everlasting. "Prepare to launch the fleet, and set a course for Destination Two-Lambda Septem."

My words quiet the bridge, and the clipped notes of my voice echo through the minds of all their listeners. I sense, immediately, a descending fear of the unknown, a growing desire to disobey the order: the thoughts of a virgin.

Click.

The noise is faint, but immediately recognizable as the flicking of a switch. "Directing power to engines one, two, three, and four."

The entire bridge bursts in a bustle of activity.

I hear a faint click as a switch is flicked at a distant station. "Directing power to engines one, two, three, and four."Arms, mouths, and heads are moving with precise speed and intention. Switches go up and down, pings and beeps spurt from every electric display, and capped officers pace back and forth along the span of their crew stations.

I am snapped out of my observations as a firm voice declares, with every degree of certainty, "Engines at full, beginning launch."

I look out the far window as the green mountainside begins to fall below us. I feel the ship pushing upwards against the force of gravity, and I hear the low hum of the engines denying natural forces.

I smile, and then I realize how futile the expression is. No one can see it. It slowly fades from my face. Wasting energy on something no one can see is not efficient.

I tap a few symbols on the arms of my command chair. I wait as a crystal orb, suspended from the ceiling above me, begins to glow with rainbow light. Then the light projects into the air in front of me, and I watch appreciatively as the map of the area, as well as the positioning of my fleet, is displayed.

Five ships, each only a third the size of my personal flagship, take up positions around us. One takes the front, one takes each side, and two take the rear. I frown, and then remember that the expression is as useless as a smile.

"Captain," I say calmly. "Move one of the rear guard into the front."

"Yes Admiral." The female captain pulls a small gem from her belt, and presses her thumb against an impression in it. As it begins to glow yellow, she speaks. "Captain Maris to Commander Lucius, please move to front right of the formation."

A voice chirps out from the glowing gem. "Yes, Captain." The Captain removes her thumb from the gem and the light fades away.

As the light fades, I return my attention to the floating display before me. A green light from the rear of the formation quickly moves to the front of the formation. I tap my fingers on the arm of my chair. I gave specific, perfectly specific, orders: a strong frontal defense to combat the massed-offensive style of our foes. A rear guard would only be useful when we fight forces, like the Waterbenders, who focus on encircling their foes and striking them with hard rear assaults. Earthbenders are not capable of such circular thought.

I sigh. It will take time for the crew, and the entire Legion, to fall to my authority. This time, I know, will be expedited by our coming victories; victories that only I am certain of.

I stand up from my command chair and cross the long walkway until I, once again, stand in front of the long crystal window. I look down and see the long white deck of the ship, and count the armaments positioned on the deck of the ship. Ten large guns, each with three barrels as long as a man is tall, point forward towards the falling mountainside. I know that the bottom of the ship are at least twenty pimples, each with two smaller barrels each. The sides of the ship have similar protrusions, but they only have one large barrel.

At least fifty gun batteries, six missile launchers, four anti-aircraft emplacements, and dozens of other surprises. For a ship five hundred feet long, I hope it will be enough to both defend the ship and to complete our mission.

I jerk as a small vibration runs through my hip. I reach down and feel one of the pouches on my white belt. It continues to vibrate at my touch. Always the best of moments, I think to myself.

I can not do anything about it except put it on hold, which I do by squeezing the pouch twice. Each squeeze will squeeze the patience of the man on the other end of the commgem, but it has to be done. I turn around from the window and begin to take long strides across the walkway.

The two officers that had approached me earlier salute me, again, as I pass between them. "I will be in my command center." I inform them. "Do not disturb me under any circumstances."

"Yes, Admiral-" The officers begin to speak, but the remainder of their words are cut out by the sound of the large door sliding into place behind me.

I walk down the white hallways of the ship. My command center is directly across the hallway from the bridge to make it easier for me to move in-between the two. I pass at least eight closed doors, each used as armories. They were originally intended to be officer's quarters, not like anyone can tell from looking at the insides.

The door at the end of the hallway slides open at my approach. I stride into the room and stand in front of the large circular impression in the floor. It glows a light blue, and the light casts an eerie glow on the dark walls of the chamber.

From my belt, I remove the pouch that had been vibrating on the deck of the ship. Carefully, knowing the delicate bomb I am handling will explode the second I activate it, I slot it into place on the top of a short stand by the glowing concave. With a determined but cautious hand, I thumb the commgem into life.

The air above the glowing pit is immediately filled by a tall man. He wears a dark purple robe that shimmers in an unseen breeze. His face, however, is unmoving and solemn.

"Admiral Caessian," the man says, his voice echoing faintly. "Report."

I raise my chin to look the man in his dark eyes. "The I.Q Scyllaea is preforming beyond all expectations, Lord-"

"Meaning," the floating figure interrupts. "That it has yet to explode."

I swallow a sore retort. "Yes, my Lord."

"Admiral, keep in mind that your project cost us the same amount it would have taken to build eight Trireme-class ships." The robed man blinks at me, his dark eyes devoid of emotion. "It must fulfill its role to its maximum efficiency."

I spread my hands in front of my chest. "And it will, my Lord. We will be testing its combat effectiveness in under ten minutes."

The robed man silently looks at me. I am aware, not for the first time, at how both the man and I wear masks of our own; his is a shell devoid of life, and mine is a Spartan image of authority.

Yet, it seems that mine has more humanity to it.

"Enjoy." The man says, and with a fizzle and a low beep, he fades from view.

I snatch the commgem from its pedestal, and hurriedly turn away from the communications center.

"A war of all," I say to the white mask that covers my face. I straighten my robes as I walk to the door, and make sure that my mask is secured in place. "Against all."