In the weeks following the alchemical accident, the Wind Chariot continued northwards, an uneasy peace reigning over the crew. Brahmos reluctantly allowed Ed and Al access to the airship's tiny machine shop, on the condition that they were constantly supervised by either a crew member or one of what Sokka referred to as the Gang. Or Gaang. Al wasn't entirely sure which. But he did know that it was probably a pun, and a terrible one at that. Ed's tireless devotion to building Amestrian weaponry continued, but his requests to be allowed to alchemically synthesize gunpowder had been flatly denied. Nonetheless, the growing numbers of rifled metal tubes and small spring-loaded gadgets filling the machine shop were a testament to the mechanical skill neither of them knew they possessed. Al wasn't entirely sure where Ed was getting the scrap metal; his Brother had assured him that he was merely skimming off the spare parts that filled one of the forward cargo bays. Nonetheless, Al was prepared for Brahmos to come storming in at any moment, claiming Ed had stolen an engine or one of the boilers.
In between marathon sessions at the forge, building what Ed insisted on calling the "Elric Mark 1 Rifle", Al had taken the time to get to know some of the human and non-human crew better. The men and women of the Fire Nation Sky Navy were professionals to the man, but still weren't entirely used to two strange brothers who spoke an unintelligible language and had impossible hair. And, in the case of one of them, a mechanical leg. Nonetheless, the tension between the Amestrians and the sky crew had relaxed, somewhat. Al still couldn't bring himself to look Zongche in the eye. The man was up and about, on half-shifts, his face covered in a perforated metal mask which made him look more like a poorly animated marionette than a human being. Wherever he went, the cloying scent of burn ointment followed. Second Lieutenant Azok was quite pleased, claiming with his usual tact that his fellow crewman was "higher on painkillers than an Omashu junkie on Kingdom Day, but doing okay."
"Al? Hey, Al, are you asleep?"
Al blinked and sat up slowly. The young Avatar was looking back at him over Appa's broad back, his robes billowing in the light wind that always seemed to swirl around the Sky Bison in flight. They were keeping pace with the Wind Chariot, slowly drawing closer to left-side cargo bay doors.
"What? Oh, no. Just daydreaming."
He stifled a yawn.
"Another long night at the forge?"
Al nodded, swaying instinctively as Appa began to sidle closer to the cargo door, his three right legs reaching out to grasp the sill of the hatch. Aang had been taking Appa out to fly every few days, keeping the somewhat claustrophobic sky bison exercised. Ed had flat-out refused to ride on the animal, but Al had been tagging along, coming to appreciate that the gigantic animal was far more gentle, and far more intelligent, than he appeared to be. Plus, he was flying!
"Oh yes. Brother doesn't want to admit it, but he's gotten really into this kannone business. He may not be a member of the military any more, but he's still got a... an appreciation for weapons."
Aang nodded solemnly as Appa swung himself into the bay, lowing softly as he curled up on the straw-covered bay floor.
"You're still okay with this? With him building kannonen to give to us?"
Al slipped out of Appa's palanquin, giving the bison a gentle scratch on the ribs. He glanced up at Aang and shrugged, stifling another yawn.
"I can see where he's coming from. I guess we've both still got the idea in our heads that someone, somewhere, wants us dead. My brain is saying it's a bad idea, but my gut is telling me that it's better to be safe than sorry. And I trust my gut."
The room resounded with a low-pitched metallic clanking as Al helped Aang wind the cargo bay door shut.
"What worries me, Aang... naaah, this is gonna sound stupid."
"What?"
"Ed's been hiding something. Making something he doesn't want me to see. He modified a bunch of the lathes, and some of the prefabricated parts I'd been working on went missing..."
Aang's reply was cut off by another metal noise, one which Al recognized as someone on the bridge picking up the general-address speaking tube. Brahmos' voice came through muffled, but clear enough.
"Your attention please. We have sighted the Northern Water Tribe. I estimate we will arrive in two hours at our present speed."
About a kilometer behind the airship, something stirred in the arctic seas. A thin tube of metal and glass pushed clear of the surface, cutting through waves with enough speed to leave a frothing wake behind it. The tube, its glass head seeking this way and that, rose higher out of the water, and was joined by the corrugated dome of an optigraph station, and then by a streamlined vertical fin, dotted with hatches and protruberances. The water beneath the fin boiled as a great metal tube pulled free from the depths, three double-barreled projector turrets shedding salt water as they broke the surf. The entire submersible reached the surface, the Ember Group insignia sparkling in the sunlight. For a few brief instants, the Ember Group Arctic Fleet Battle Submersible Dao Rei Bel was silent, drifting on the current. Then, with a hiss of steam and a huge plume of black smoke, its twin propellers churned to life. The two forward turrets angled up to point at the distant airship. There was another pause. And then the steam projectors fired.
As the shells streaked away, the optigraph lit up. Its brief flicker was answered by another distant flash of light. One that was well above the horizon line.
Al was on the verge of closing the hatch when the Wind Chariot rocked, knocking him off his feet. There was a muffled crack, and a sibilant sound that he realized was something pattering off the hull. Appa lowed, panicking. Aang, who had barely stumbled from the concussion, ran to calm the beast. There was another crack, much louder this time, and the airship shook again. Stifling a curse, Aang went to the hatch of the cargo bay, cranking open a porthole and sticking his head out. Within seconds, he had pulled back in, his face grim.
"There's a ship following us! Al, we're-"
The speaking tube came alive again.
"Alert stations! Alert stations! Set Condition One throughout the ship! Scramble all fireteams! We are under attack!"
The pitch of the engines grew as the airship sped up, the force of the acceleration making Al stumble again. Aang was already at the door controls, trying to crank the cargo bay open to the air.
"Al! Come on!"
Al regained his balance, and rushed to help Aang crank the door open. The small space was filled with the scream of wind and a harsh cloud of cordite smoke from the shells.
"What are you doing?"
"I'm going out on Appa! I'm taking the fight to them!"
"Not without us!"
Katara, Sokka and Zuko barged into the room, accompanied by Ed, who was lugging something angular wrapped in oil cloth. Katara had two thick water skins tied around her waist, Sokka had a Fire Navy cutlass tucked into his belt, as well as two thick metal fans, and Zuko carried a pair of twin broadswords. They'd obviously had to scramble to get ready- Sokka's boots were untied, and Al was fairly sure that Zuko had his shirt on backwards. Aang glanced over them, and then nodded.
"Get on!"
They clambered up onto Appa's back, but Ed hesitated.
"Al! I'm staying here, and I need your help! I can't load this on my own!"
"Load-?"
Al had to yell over the wind rushing past the bay. Sokka had to scream to make himself heard.
"Ed! Al! Are you coming? 'Cause-"
Crack!
Al had never heard a shell burst in mid air before, but he recognized it for what it was. The concussion knocked Appa off his precarious perch, sending the Sky Bison into a steep dive. The cargo bay was suddenly full of bouncing shards of metal, and Al yelped as the shrapnel his him side on, stinging his face and arm. Ed punched the emergency hatch release, and, with a puff of compressed steam, the bay door closed, leaving the brothers in comparative silence.
"Brother, what-?"
Ed hefted the bulky package back on to his shoulder.
"Come on! They've rolled out fire steps! All the Benders in the crew are out there. Follow me!"
They ran through the twisting corridors of the airship, up onto the deck above the rear cargo bay. Several of the crew were gathered around an open hatch, passing out packages of solid leather webbing.
"Crewman! We need to get out onto the fire step! We've got weapons!"
Ed indicated the bulky package. The crewman- Private Makann, if Al recalled correctly, nodded, then passed them each a bundle of webbing.
"Safety straps, Elrics! Tie them on, then hook the cable onto the rails outside! And stay clear of the backblast- we've got a rocket launcher set up!"
After a few struggling seconds of tying belts and clasping buckles, Al stepped out onto the platform, hooking his belt cable to the indicated rail. Even in the wind shadow of the airship, the noise was still ear-splitting; above them, huge columns of exhaust billowed from the rear smoke vents, and the roar of the steam engines was occasionally drowned out by the crack of shells. The view was incredible. A slate-gray sea, dotted with icebergs, under a clear blue sky. There was a glint on the horizon, and Al made out the low shape of the warship following them. As he watched, its guns flashed gray, and another shell exploded nearby. The fire step was narrow and railing-less, with barely enough room for the rickety rocket launcher frame several of the crew had already assembled there. They were manhandling red, conical rockets out of a hatch in the side of the hull, and locking them in to the frame. There was a blast of hot air as a shell hit somewhere farther forward on the airship, and then something huge and metallic came flying by with an unearthly screech and tore one of the loaders free from his perch. He didn't scream as he fell. Al gawped at what had barely missed him; it was a propeller. An entire chunk of one of the engines had blown free. Ed tugged his arm, and screamed in his ear.
"Al! Go grab some of those rockets!"
Nodding, Al shuffled over to the loading station, grabbing a bundle from the pannier that extended from the narrow hatch in the side of the ship. One of the loaders motioned to stop him, but he gestured back in Ed's direction. Al saw the loader's eyes widen through her goggles. Then she shrugged as best she could through several layers of thick leather armour. Al, struggling to hold the heavy rockets in one arm as his other clamped tight around the hull rails, turned back to his brother, only to see the oilcloth fall away from the device Ed was holding.
"Is that an anti-tank gun! We never planned on making one of those!"
"Never mind that! Help me load this!"
Ed unfolded a skeletal framework from the top of the meter-long tubular weapon, holding it steady as he indicated Al to slot three of the rockets in to it. Al did so, and Ed folded the framework into the body of the cannon. Shifting it forwards onto his shoulders, he flipped up a rough sight from the front of its chunky barrel.
"Al!"
"What?"
"I want you to turn the red knob on the back of the cannon ninety degrees clockwise! And pray!"
"Pray?"
"'Cause if I built this wrong, we're both dead!"
Gulping, Al glanced across the back of the gain, noticing the tank covered in thick restraining bolts. There was a red handle, with a paper marked 'Never Turn This' in both Amestrian and Common attached. He turned it. With a clunk, the front of the cannon's barrel telescoped forwards, a hand hold and assembly of gauges dropping down as it extended to its full length of a meter and a half. Ed dropped down on one knee, bringing Al with him.
"Al! Grab the handles on the back, and hold on tight! If this works, it'll kick like a mule!"
"But what is it!"
"Compressed air cannon! With a little doohickey that ignites the rocket fuses. Firing!"
"Wa-!"
Ed pulled the trigger. With a foomph, the air cannon launched the missile. The recoil slammed both brothers painfully back into the hull, but they both managed to keep their footholds. The rocket, its red paint catching the light, dropped away. Then, after a few seconds, its fuse caught, and it streaked towards the distant warship. Where it promptly missed. Ed swore.
"Too far to the left!"
"Brother, you don't even know how to use a gun!"
"Well now's an excellent time to start, I think!"
"GET DOWN!"
Beside them, the rocket launcher fired, sending a cascade of unguided missiles towards the sea below. Then the volley paused. There was an ominous hissing. One of the loaders swore incoherently.
"IT'S A JAM! GET-"
The blast obliterated the firestep, sending Ed, Al, and the cannon they were both clinging to hurtling into space. Both their cables snapped taught, leaving them hanging well below the hull of the ship. Another shell exploded, uncomfortably close.
"AL, WHAT IN GOD'S NAME JUST HAPPENED?"
"I- I think the rocket launcher just exploded!"
"REALLY! WELL THAT'S JUST FUCKIN' WONDERFUL, ISN'T IT?"
Al punched his brother in the face. Ed blinked.
"Sorry. Okay. So, we're stuck here and..."
He looked down, then back up, going pale.
"And wow okay that is a very long way down and that is not friendly-looking water."
There was a jolt, and they both slipped downwards a few feet. Al glanced up at what remained of the fire step. The rail they were hooked on to had broken free from the ruins of the platform, and was rapidly detatching from the badly damaged hull. The twisted hatch popped open, and a crewman stumbled over the edge and into space, his arms pinwheeling as he realized that there was no more platform to step on to. The rail bent further and further, snapping rivets as it came. But there was an area of the gasbag that looked cracked- yes, the metal plate was almost flapping in the wind! There was space underneath it!
"Brother! We're going to come free from the hull!"
An idea came to Al, brought on by the inspiration that often springs from sheer panic.
"Get ready to pull the trigger! And point that gun straight down!"
"What? But there's nothing in the barrel!"
"I know! Just pull the trigger when I say so! Hold on!"
Reaching on to the back of the cannon, Al pulled the red level another quarter-turn clockwise. All the dials went red.
"Al! Put that valve back! It's gonna blow!"
"I know!"
Al let go of the cannon, then clapped his hands together. In the instant before he brought them against the tank on the weapon, he yelled.
"Fire!"
Ed pulled the trigger, releasing the extremely pressurised gas inside the gun. Al brought his hands down, converting the compressed air inside the barrel into hydrogen. Extremely flammable hydrogen. The device designed to set off the fuses on the rockets sent a tiny spark drifting lazily down the barrel. The gas caught. It followed the path of least resistance; out the end of the barrel. Both Ed and Al screamed like small children as the fist of an angry God punched them out of the sky and back towards the hull of the airship. Gritting his teeth, Al forced the juddering weapon sideways, and the great pillar of flame roiling out the end of the gun smashed them through the broken hull plate. Their safety cables caught on the jagged edges of the metal, and they were whipped to a halt. The cannon slammed against a rib of the gasbag, jamming in the space between two beams. The gas tank cracked, the force it still contained tearing it free from the cannon, whereupon it punched back out the hull and exploded outside. There was a moment of comparative stillness.
Al staggered to his feet, wincing from what he thought might be a few cracked ribs. He gingerly unclipped the safety belt from his waist, noting with a sense of detached horror that the cable was almost completely torn through. Then his attention turned to Ed, who was moaning as he, too, got to his feet. There was a crunch, and Ed gasped sharply as the outer shell of his automail leg fell to the floor. He looked up at Al.
"We need to get another air tank. And some more rockets."
"We WHAT!"
As Aang's stomach tried to climb into his throat, he suddenly realized that Momo hadn't come with them on the airship. Then Appa did another barrel roll, narrowly avoiding the cloud of shrapnel that pierced the sky behind them. The fire from the submarine had abated with the volley of rockets from the Wind Charriot, but now that the airship had gone silent they had turned back to Appa and his riders. There was a brief pause between each shot, long enough for everyone in Appa's saddle to regain their hand and footholds before the explosions started again. It was in one of these pauses that Sokka scrambled forwards, clinging buglike to the front edge of the saddle.
"Aang! We need to go lower! We're sitting turtle-ducks up here! We can hide in the ice!"
Aang nodded. The Wind Charriot had accelerated once the shooting started, and they were now making a beeline for a thicket of huge ice chunks, their looming bulk perfect cover for Appa.
"Okay! Everyone, hold on!"
"What d'you think we've been doing for the past three minutes? Having a tea paaaaaa-!"
Appa dropped out of the air like a ton of bricks, lowing as another volley of metal burst above them. The people in the submarine were improving their aim. Quickly. They levelled out low enough to skim the water, the rush of air at their passing strong enough to kick up a thin wake. The distant airship, seeing their course change, began to angle towards the icebeg reef.
"I'm going to throw up some cover! Keep Appa steady!"
"Gotcha, Katara! You heard her, buddy! Yip yip!"
Somehow, the bison managed to accelerate even more, but still stay stable enough to let Katara get to her feet. She struck a stance, and then, with one smooth motion, she turned the sea to vapour. In an instant, a massive cloud of fog filled the air, shrouding them from the submarine. Once again, it fell silent. Its damaged engines chugging, the Wind Charriot dropped rapidly, settling in the air a few dozen feet above them, with the bridge pod roughly in line with Appa. A hatch popped open and Brahmos stuck his head and shoulders out, clutching a bullhorn.
"Fire Lord! We'll cover you in the 'bergs! If we can lose this submarine, we'll head straight for the North Pole!"
Zuko gave a thumbs up, and cupped his hands over his mouth.
"We'll take them out in the ice field! Aang and Katara can crush them in the water! We just need to keep them from aiming at us! Run interference!"
The commander nodded and shut the hatch. Aang glanced around once more. They were nearing the edge of the ice field, the thick bank of fog Katara had bent still concealing them from the submarine. Then Katara gave a panicked shout.
"Oh, Spirits! Look at the fog!"
It had been blown away; in the center if the suddenly clear area was the submarine.
"Katara, what just happened?"
"Someone bent the fog! They've got Waterbenders on board."
Sokka scoffed.
"No way! No Water Tribe bender would ever try to kill the Avatar!"
Zuko shrugged, one hand still resting on the hilt of his broadswords.
"Yeah, but they might try to kill the leader of the nation that imprisoned their people and supposedly destroyed their capital city."
"Oh. Yeah, guess I hadn't thought of that."
There was a bright flash of light from the submarine, but no boom of sound or metal this time. Sokka waved a fist.
"What're you trying to do, you jerks? Sparkle us to death?"
Zuko stopped him before he could make an even ruder gesture. The light was flickering on and off, in a regular pattern.
"No, it's not just sparkling. It's light signalling. The Fire Navy uses it to communicate long distances at night. But I don't think that's Fire Navy code. They use red and blue lamps, not white."
"So if they're signalling us, but also trying to kill us- oh spirits they've got backup, don't they."
UUUUUULLLLLLLAAAAAAAAA
The air rang with the ear-splitting sound of an air horn. The two-note shriek reverberated around the icebergs, but was droned out by the roar of propellers. Many, many propellers. A great, whale-shaped bulk rose out of the icebergs, eight gigantic steam engines keeping it aloft. Its gunmetal gray hull was covered in turrets and rocket tubes, and on its blunt bow were painted three words in stark white. The Child of Thunder had arrived.
Brahmos' jaw dropped. For the briefest instant, the bustle of the bridge was halted as a second 'UUULAAA' reverberated across the ice field. He swore. Loudly.
"It's a trap!"
The horizon exploded in a line of fire as the Child of Thunder thundered. The air was filled with a screaming cloud of rockets, which rocked the Wind Chariot in a massive blast wave. Brahmos was thrown out of his seat, landing on broken glass as the delicate bridge instrumentation shattered. He stumbled to his feet, gritting his teeth against the pain.
"Damage report!"
The bridge was filled with the whistle of leaking pipes, the whooping of alarm klaxons and a worrying low vibration, as if the airship was slowly shaking itself to pieces.
"We've lost engines 2 and 5! Engine 4 is badly damaged! Hull breaches all across the forward quarter! The observation blister is compromised!"
Brahmos picked his way to the forward view slit, slipping a pair of binoculars out of his pocket then throwing them to the ground in disgust when he realized they were mangled.
"Damn. We can't handle firepower of that magnitude! Take us as low as we can go! Is Engine 7 still out?"
"Yessir. The rear propeller was blown off. Engineering says they can get it working at half-capacity in five minutes. "
"Belay the repair order. Recall the teams from engines 2 , 4, 5, and 7, and get them to work on damage control and engines 1, 3, 6 and 8. Jettison the damaged engines and destroy them, then route all remaining steam to the surviving engines. Make it so!"
"Yessir."
Another one weird silence had fallen; it was obvious that the gigantic airship couldn't fire its rockets particularly quickly.
"Helm, maintain maximum emergency speed. We neeed to lose altitude. Take us as low to the water as we can."
"Sir, this ship isn't designed for high-speed low-altitude manoeuvre! It would tear the airframe apart!"
Brahmos put a heavy hand on the pilot's shoulder, feeling the man tense.
"You know what also tears the airframe apart, pilot?"
"S-sir?"
Ignoring the trickle of blood from his temple that was working its way into his eyes, Brahmos leaned closer to the pilot.
"ROCKETS, YOU IDIOT. Get us closer to the water. Now!"
The pilot didn't bother to respond, but instead cranked the pitch controls as far down as they could go. As the Wind Chariot began to tilt forwards, another volley of rockets broke around it, punching its hull full of holes. Brahmos swore again, louder this time.
"We need to go lower! Prepare for an emergency vent!"
"Sir, we're getting dangerously close to the red line as it is."
"I'm aware of that, but we need water if I'm going to make this work."
"Sir?"
"Never mind. Prepare for an emergency air vent. On my mark! Pilot, get ready to pull us up."
"Ready, sir!"
"DIVE!"
Brahmos maintained his furious calm as the Wind Chariot plummeted out of the sky. Reaching into an inner pocket, he pulled out a small metallic device; a tiny metal cage, its bars intricately inscribed with characters too small to read. There was a small piece of parchment curled up in the cage. With a quick movement of his hand, Brahmos swept his thumb across a small spike mounted on one corner of the artefact, and flicked the blood from the resulting cut onto the parchment. It seemed to burn, curling into ash in a way that was not entirely natural.
The second barrage of rockets shrieked above Appa, aimed at the Wind Chariot. The airship was raked by a storm of metal, and it dropped out of the sky, barely pulling out of the dive as it skimmed the surface of the water. Huge holes had been torn in its hull, and several of its engines appeared to have been torn off in the volley. Aang realized he was holding his breath as he watched its shredded lower fin carve through the surface of the sea; mercifully, it gained a littler altitude. The bridge came alongside, and a battered Brahmos looked out at them.
"Katara. Get us a stable ice platform. As large as you can make it."
She seemed to be on the verge of saying something, but then nodded. With a wave and a huff of breath, the sea froze solid, adding another iceberg to the field they were now steadily drifting through. The Wind Chariot hit the ice with a crunch, the base of its hull crumpling and distorting as the gasbag lost any sense of cohesion. The ice platform rocked under the strain, but held, the mercifully light metals in the ship's frame keeping it light, even when not in flight. The enemy airship was roughly overhead, its fire blocked by the looming bulk of the bergs. Aang had the horrible impression that it was holding its breath.
"Good. This looks stable enough."
Brahmos stumbled out the bridge hatch, something small and brass-coloured held in his bloodstained hands. Taking a deep breath, he kindled a fire around it, holding it aloft, and spoke.
"Brahmos. The Lotus Blooms. I need a gateway. Airship-sized or larger. I have the outworlders."
There was a pause. He nodded slowly.
"Would Tulpa cover be pos- no? Ah."
Another nod.
"Brahmos, who-?"
Sokka was interrupted.
"The Ember Group, I believe. Oh, sir. Yes. Unfamiliar airship variant. Excellent."
"Ma'am, the Attuned are picking up Gate activity."
"Projector teams, load hive shells. Fire when ready."
The Avatars reacted before Aang's mind could catch up with them. His thoughts were suddenly submerged in the constant overlapping whispers of his past reincarnations, comparing tactics, methods, and Bending styles at impossibly high speeds. In the fraction of a second that it took for them to reach consensus, he had already swept the water up and around their little island, his tattoos shining with chi. The projectiles hit the shell of newly-formed ice with a mighty crack, exploding into dozens upon dozens of tiny, smaller explosives. A miniature hurricane forced them back as Aang rose into the air, the spent force of the explosion swirling around him. The shockwave washed over the cirrpled airship, and a worryingly large chunk of the gasbag tore off and fell into the sea, throwing up a thick column of spary. Several of the more spiritually-oriented Avatars noticed unusual currents in the Spirit World superimposed over their location, but dismissed them as a minor consideration. He rose towards the airship, calling up whirling blades of ultra-high pressure air. The whirlwind swirled closer around him, thin blades of water intermingling with air at high enough pressures to cut stone. Several small black dots detached themselves from the ship, dropping towards him.
"Avatar's here! Scramble!"
Goba's feet left the deck as his wingpack snapped outwards, the knife-sharp fins catching the breeze. Curling his legs and arms back, he dropped, the rush of the wind around his helmet deafening him. Without a word, his squad drifted into a rough assault formation, their crossbows held ready. At his signal, they fired downwards towards the rising figure of the Avatar, the solid slug bolts plummeting away. At another signal, the squad moved farther apart. Goba tilted his shoulders forwards, bringing his legs closer together as he tilted into a near-vertical dive. As expected, the Avatar deflected the bolts, the power emanating from his small frame obvious even through several layers of thick armour. Then, when the moment came, Goba took a deep breath, and swung his arms in a slow circle.
The Avatars brushed the steel bolts aside with a gust of air, noting the figures in gray encircling it, suspended by thin metal wings strapped to their backs. The nearest of them swung towards him, his pinwheeling arms summoning up a gust of wind.
A gust of wind. He was-
Aang's mind crashed back into control of his body as the sheer impossibility of it hit him. No, no, it couldn't be. A gust of wind? But they were all- no. No.
Then a thin ray of sun caught the surface of the man's transparent visor, and he saw the face. The pale skin. The high forehead. The angular blue lines of a- a tattoo.
The gust caught him like a thunderbolt, and he fell out of the air, stunned.
Airbenders. Airbenders.
-~0X0~-
Yep. Azulon wasn't nearly as good at genocide as he though he was.
As you might be able to tell, this chapter was written in response to Dr. Indigo's claim that the story wasn't fast-paced enough. I agree with him, and I'm glad we were able to have a reasonable and sensible discussion. Constructive criticism is best criticism. This was written in a bunch of small chunks over the course of the last month, so a lot of it has undergone waaay more editing than is normal. When I keep unpublished stuff lurking around on my hard drive, it starts to burn a hole in my brain as I realize all of the impossible fiddly details I could have published. So yeah.
Thank you to all you fine folks who reviewed the last chapters, as well as the half-dozen or so of you who didn't comment but alerted. I'm sorry I didn't keep track of your names, but know that it means a lot to me that you're following the story.
Happy Friday the Thirteenth, by the way. Aaaand I just realized by the time I typed that that it was Saturday already. I need to start going to bed earlier.