Rule by KaiYves
Addendum to 12462, extremely sappy...
March 2021, Auckland Waterfront
Over the past decade-and-a-half the legend had grown, as legends tend to do. On the eve of the America's Cup final, there was hardly a soul in New Zealand who didn't know it, and much of the sailing community abroad could say the same.
It went something like this: Peter Burling, the helmsman of the defending Emirates Team New Zealand, was a calm, unflappable genius. Barely thirty, the sailing press had watched him since he had gone to the Beijing Olympics at 17, a mop-haired nerdy teenager still in high school. He had won silver in London and gold in Rio, and every world championship in-between, before leading Team New Zealand to their first America's Cup victory in 14 years in Bermuda, and then taking a few months off to circumnavigate the world (as one did). Through it all, the picture the press painted had been the same— Burling, the quiet young prodigy whose pale and angular face hid a near-superhuman intellect and focus. A sort of guru who spoke few terse words at press conferences, went barefoot even in freezing spray, and maintained such a steely-eyed calm while racing multimillion-dollar yachts at the speed of highway traffic that one could believe that in the back of his mind, he was working out a formula for cold fusion or a checkmate against Magnus Carlsen at the same time. Maybe even both. Brilliant, unflappable, stoic...
Well, that was the legend. But the trouble with legends is, they don't leave much room for the human behind them.
And at the moment, Peter Burling was anything but unflappable. Very much flapped, in fact.
As Te Aihe and Defiant headed for the bar, he hung back against the wall of the pub, hoping to be able to intervene at any sign of their rivalry turning to drunken violence. (Not that he would stand much chance if he got in-between. A human, even an Olympic athlete, could never match the strength and durability of a shipgirl, even a carbon-fiber racing yacht. His old rival Jimmy Spithill had once had his jaw nearly broken in a boxing workout with a catamaran, before the Oracle girls had learned to hold back with their punches.)
This was the second pub he had followed the sailgirls to, and it was already getting late enough that all of them should have been back at their team bases and preparing for tomorrow's wake-up workout. (He was already tired from training today.) They were due to face each other in the America's Cup final races this week, and the tension between the girls was about as volatile as Mount Etna.
Normally, if he was in a pub, he would had his two best friends by his side— his Olympic partner and America's Cup teammate Blair Tuke, and Aotearoa II, the spirit of the 2017 winning catamaran. In the years since, the trio had become unshakable friends, the core of Team New Zealand's preparations for the next competition— and, with the coming of the Abyssal War, Burling's companions in some very strange adventures. But Blair and Ao were tied up at a publicity event with Prada, one of the competition sponsors, leaving him to handle the tempestuous yachtgirls alone.
For all his much-vaunted composure and stoicism, Burling couldn't help up put his calloused fingers to his forehead and sigh.
"Alright... alright..." he gave a long exhale "How did the old guys ever manage this for decades? Does it get easier to deal with them?"
"Not really." Burling heard a familiar voice and turned to see an older man standing not far away, also watching Defiant and Te Aihe at the bar. The redhead seemed to have shoved the brunette semi-playfully, but so far there was no response from Defiant.
Dean Barker was Defiant's helmsman, a twenty-year America's Cup veteran who had been Burling's predecessor at Team New Zealand. Strictly speaking, he was the enemy and Burling's opposite number in the same way Defiant was Te Aihe's. But Barker, thankfully, was not the combative sort, and their relationship was nowhere near as fraught— Dean Barker had been his hero as a kid, a hero who had offered the young Burling encouragement on the occasions he had gotten to meet him as a young champion. For a few years, before Burling had been promoted to helmsman and Barker quit over being bumped unexpectedly to coach, he had considered it an honor to be on a team with his childhood hero and to have the older man mentoring him.
So, even as an employee of the New York Yacht Club, even knowing they were due to face off on the harbor tomorrow, he couldn't help but treat his fellow Kiwi with hospitality. "Oh, hey, Deano. 'Didn't know you were—"
Barker smiled knowingly, his face worn by sun and salt but still sharp and hawklike. "What happens is, you get to the point where nothing can surprise you anymore. Or—" he chuckled "—almost nothing."
"Aotearoa was so quiet, all I had to do was be her friend. I guess we were both young and uncertain, kind of in the same place emotionally, y'know? But with Te Aihe... Today they were arm-wrestling for twenty minutes, they could have broken their masts sympathetically. I didn't even know what to do or say..." Burling explained.
"Oh, believe me, it was just the same when I was your age..."
January 2003, Auckland Harbour
Over the past few years the legend had grown, as legends tend to do. On the eve of the gala honoring the Louis Vuitton Cup winners there was hardly a soul in New Zealand who didn't know it, and much of the sailing community abroad could say the same.
It went something like this: Dean Barker, the skipper of the defending Team New Zealand, was living a modern fairy tale. A millionaire's son and Olympic hopeful, a driver of fast cars, he was clean-cut and handsome. Just a few months shy of thirty, Barker had been considered one of New Zealand's most eligible bachelors until his recent engagement to field hockey player Mandy Smith, a fellow Olympic athlete. Three years before, at the turn of the millennium, he had made his America's Cup debut as the protege of the brilliant Russell Coutts, the skipper responsible for New Zealand's first, near-flawless victory in 1995. At first just Coutts' understudy and assistant, in the final race with the Italians, the old master had stepped aside, leaving his apprentice Barker at the helm to cinch the final win- and he had, resoundingly, giving Team New Zealand another flawless 5-0 victory to ring in the century.
A few months later the bombshell had dropped that the sailors who had made up the core of the 1995 and 2000 crews were becoming free agents and signing up with a new team being put together in Switzerland, led by Coutts and tactician Brad Butterworth. Barker, suddenly the new skipper and in charge of repairing a hollowed-out team, had been thrust into an even more mythic light. The noble prince carrying the pride of a nation, preparing for a showdown with his former colleagues, now revealed as wicked traitors- this was the stuff of romance and chivalry. But surely he was more than up to the task- after all, for such a golden boy, surely everything must come easily.
Well, that was the legend. But the trouble with legends is, they don't leave much room for the human behind them.
And at the moment, things were not going easily for Dean Barker. Far from it.
He was already late for his meeting with the engineering team, who were still having problems with the hull modifications that were supposed to be his team's secret weapon in the America's Cup final next month. Once he finished with them, he had a photo op with representatives of a luxury watchmaker that was one of the team's sponsors, and after that- Barker inhaled sharply as his pager sounded a shrill electronic beep. That must be someone else who wanted his attention...
But they, like everyone else, would have to wait, because at the moment Barker had another crisis to deal with.
One of his boats was missing.
Not the hull, of course. NZL-82 'New Zealand' and her nearly-identical sister NZL-81 were both hanging there in the hangar above him, 79 feet long and painted solid black, interrupted only by sponsor logos and the white fern that was their national sporting emblem. The twin racing boats looked formidable even as aware as Barker as of the problems the engineers were having. No, it was his yacht's human form that was nowhere to be found even though she needed to be there at the conference with the engineers.
"Nina? Are you in here?" He called out, using the personal name NZL-82 had chosen to distinguish her from her sister. Muttering a quick greeting to the technicians still working on her hull, Barker stepped around the long keel that held most of the boat's weight, crossing to the opposite side and towards the rooms that served as housing for the twin sailgirls. "Nina?"
There was a sudden fluttering sound from above, and Barker suddenly felt something squishy and white drop onto the shoulder of his crisp black team polo shirt. A sideways glance and the sudden smell made it clear- bird poop. But... indoors?
"Aw, c'mere, you little-" He heard a very familiar growling from the scaffolding behind him, followed by an anguished squeal, a cry of "Nonononono!", and then, a sudden thump.
Sprinting around the structure, Barker saw what looked like a brunette teenage girl in a Team New Zealand uniform trying to climb to her feet after very ignominiously falling on her back from the top of the scaffolding around the boat. Recognizing him, she immediately tried to push something green and fluffy behind her back.
"Whaaa- oh. Deano! Uh, hey there!" The girl's sky-blue eyes clouded with concern and fear as Nina noticed the white mark on her skipper's shoulder. "Oh, uh, did it, ooooh crud, I'm sorry, I mean-"
"What have you got there?" Barker stared sternly at the sailgirl, his eyes a similar shade of light blue but- at this moment, at least- far harsher.
"Oh, uh- nothing! Nothing!" Nina continued to push the green fluffy thing further behind her back, trying to keep it out of sight, which was hard, as it seemed to be protesting loudly with squawks and pushing back against her.
"Nina, what is that?" He stepped closer, processing what he saw "Is that a kea?!"
As if on cue, a large green parrot leapt up onto Nina's shoulder, squawking again.
Barker stepped closer to try to handle the parrot. Keas, he knew, were wild birds that lived in the mountains and had a reputation for biting, stealing, and trying to eat almost anything. The last thing he wanted was one loose in the hangar near all of the their tools and the boats' sensitive systems. Never mind that they were an endangered species known for living in mountain forests and a busy city waterfront was probably the last place such a bird would want to be in the first place. "Nina, where did you get-"
Suddenly, the kea bit at Nina's hair, perhaps able to detect that she was something more than a normal human, even if she appeared to be one. And, although it couldn't have really hurt her that much, her response upon feeling it pull on her hair was-
"BAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!" Nina's scream shattered the hum of the hangar as the technicians turned their heads and she swatted at the parrot to try to get it to let go. Alarmed, the kea bounced up and down on her arm, flapping its wings and moving wildly towards and away from her face.
Running up, Barker grabbed at the kea's back with one hand and the collar of Nina's shirt with another. "Calm down! Both of you!"
Somehow, the bird seemed to understand his command, and released Nina's hair. Somewhat hesitantly, Barker raised his other hand to hold the kea's chest while he stroked it on its back, which seemed to relax it. He offered his arm as a perch and kept petting. "Shhh, shhh, calm down, calm down..."
With the endangered bird calm on his arm, Barker turned back to Nina, eyes blazing. "What were you doing with this kea? They're endangered!"
"It's, err, it's..." Nina looked from side-to-side guiltily. "Well, I thought it would be a good gift for Miss Alinghi at the party tonight. It is one of our native birds and I thought she might like some local color, y'know..." she explained, nervously looking at her feet.
Barker sucked in another deep breath. She had been planning to give a wild bird that bit everything to the spirit of the boat that had just won the Louis Vuitton Cup and the right to challenge them in the America's Cup a few weeks from now. The Swiss boat that took the form of a black-haired, French-accented girl ("Alexia", to use her personal name) who looked for all the world like the teenage daughter of the man at whose side she was often found- Russell Coutts, his mentor-turned-rival.
For all the hype and myth-making of the press that suggested otherwise, he did not hate Coutts. As frustrating as his present situation was, and as intimidated as he was at the prospect of competing against a skipper who not only knew all of his moves but had taught him some of them, they were professional athletes and becoming a free agent had been entirely within his mentor's rights. In most other countries, it would have prompted a few jeers and about a week of angry editorials before everyone's attention moved on. But in New Zealand, where Coutts had been seen as such a hero after 1995 and 2000- an American magazine had compared his popularity to Michael Jordan's in the States, if Barker recalled correctly- the backlash had been tremendous. Threats had been made, the Alinghi base was heavily guarded, and Coutts and his family traveled with personal bodyguards. The waterfront swarmed with fans whose homemade shirts and signs made clear their displeasure with the Swiss Team Alinghi and its leaders, Coutts and Butterworth- "RUSS IS A RAT, BRAD IS A CAD", "TRASH THE TRAITORS", "ARE THEY PAYING YOU IN NAZI GOLD?", and similar harsh sentiments could be seen in billboards and newspaper ads.
The crowds were, at least in theory, supporting Barker. But compared to the positive energy the crowds had exuded during the 2000 competition, it felt uncomfortable and mean-spirited- they weren't cheering for Team New Zealand so much as against Alinghi. He'd rather celebrate his team and his country, stand for them rather than against anyone, and celebrate being, as their slogan was this year- "Loyal".
Avatars reflected the sentiments and emotions of their creators, however, and what frustrated Barker even more was that these sorts of sentiments had even infected Nina.
"So what you mean is, you wanted it to attack her."
Nina looked furtively from side-to-side and gave a rascally smile. "Exactly, skipper! I give him to Little Miss Perfect, say it's local color, and then- boom! He starts biting her all over! And if he eats pieces of her hull, she won't be able to win! It's the perfect-"
"Is that how you're going to behave at the party tonight?" Barker snapped, "If you meet Mr. Coutts, what, are you going to-"
"Kick him in the shin!"
"No!"
"Step on his foot by accident except not by accident?"
"NO!"
"Spill my drink on his shirt?"
"NINA! That's not how you behave!"
"But I want to beat him and I want to win!"
Barker sighed. The yachtgirl was flat-out confessing to planning physical assault and sabotage, that deserved a scolding, but in Nina's case, it honestly seemed to come from a place of teenage enthusiasm and naiveté. She really didn't understand why any of this was bad. Coutts had said sailfolk had to be raised to see their crews as family in order to build a winning bond, and Barker had seen him take the avatars of their 2000 boats under his wing, introducing himself as "Uncle Russ" and always playing the kind, avuncular figure in their lives. From what he had seen of Alexia and her sister, the Alinghi boats seemed to view him in a similar light. But Russell was older, darn it, a father and uncle in real life, he'd known how to raise kids because he had real children and nephews.
Barker had tried to do the same for Nina, but between his other responsibilities and his lack of experience, he was often at a loss. Sure, he and Mandy might want to have children someday, but he didn't have any yet. He didn't have anything to go on. But Nina needed something like a parent, or at least an uncle.
"Nina..." He thought of his own parents and softened his voice, bending down to look her in the eyes. "Nina, that's not how you win. That's not how I want to win. The right way to win is to match your skill against hers, honestly, with no interference or tricks. You against her. Me against Russ. All of us against all of them. And the best yacht and the best sailors win."
"But- but- they're the ENEMY! They're TRAITORS! We've got to stand up for New Zealand and teach them a lesson! I'll give that traitor boat such a beating, she'll be-" Nina punched at the air as she shouted.
"Nina... Nina... listen to me. Alinghi- Alexia- is not a traitor. She was born in Switzerland and it's the only country she knows. The men onboard her, Coutts and Butterworth and the others, they're humans, they made a choice. But she's a ship, just like you are, and she had no more choice to be 'Alinghi' than you did to be 'New Zealand'. You know the litany, a ship is loyal to her skipper and her crew. I don't care what you hear from the people around the Harbour, Miss Alinghi is not a traitor or an enemy to New Zealand. She's a young woman just like you are, just as devoted and just as worried, trying to do the best she can, halfway around the world in an unfamiliar country where the locals are crying for her crew's blood for reasons she doesn't understand. When we face her as the challenger, then our duty is to try and defeat her—but we will treat her and every other opponent with respect."
"I... I'm sorry. I'm sorry, skipper, I'm sorry. I didn't want to be bad, I just, I just..." Nina was sniffling now, her eyes tearing up. She reached in to hug Barker. "Just, just-"
And, with a squawking parrot on his arm and stinking bird poo on his team shirt, Barker hugged the yachtgirl back as best he could, patting her back as he had with the kea. "Calm down, it's okay. It's okay. We're in this together, and we're gonna- we're gonna go out there and do the best we can. We're gonna do the best we can and do it the right way, whatever happens." Oh my, now he he was starting to feel a little bit sniffly too, it must be something in the air...
"You... you mean it, Deano?" Nina looked up, smiling despite her tears.
"Yeah." Barker nodded, returning the smile.
-
2021
"But you lost that series. Everything kept breaking on your boats and Coutts beat you five to nil, and the Cup went away for fourteen years. I was broke up watching on TV, I'll tell you that." Over the course of the story, they had migrated over to the bar, a few stools down from Te Aihe and Defiant, who seemed to be laughing at some shared joke, to Burling's great relief.
"That's not the point." Barker said, nodding 'no'. "The point is, that's when Nina started to see me as family. We had formed a bond. And I knew that's how I had to be with Nathalie the next time around, and with Aotearoa, and with Hikari in Bermuda... with Maggie and Defiant now... and once Mandy and I had kids of our own, with them, too. I haven't always been as successful as I've wanted to be, but I've had some great times, with some great people and avatars. And I've always known... I was part of a team that I tried to make a family."
"Right..." For a moment Burling stared ahead, gray eyes intent on a knothole in the wood of the bar as he processed this. "Yeah, hey, Mark? Two beers!"
The bartender placed the bottles down without comment. For such sailing legends like Barker and Burling, they were free, no question about it.
Burling took his bottle, looking around as he tried to find the words he wanted to say. "Well, y'know, I'm not very good at speeches, but- to the family of Team New Zealand... and the family of American Magic... 'cause we're gonna be meeting out on the water tomorrow, her against her, you against me, all of us against all of you, so like you said-"
He reached over and clinked the neck of his beer against Barker's.
"-may the best yacht and sailors win!"