Chapter 1
“The name is Bondson,” he said, offering his gauntleted hand, “Kraeg Bondson.”
Camron looked directly at the captain’s mask and took the hand, giving it a firm shake. His father had always said it was important to make a good first impression. “Camron Hrackson, sir.”
“Ahhh, you’re Hrack’s lad?”
“Aye sir,” he nodded. He was glad to be wearing his flight suit helmet, so that the captain couldn’t see his cheeks colour underneath. His father was a fine man, and Camron honoured tradition as much as the next kharadron, but his father was an innkeep and Camron had bigger ambitions. No matter that this father of his had helped him secure this position. That was in fact part of the problem.
The captain just nodded his head, completely unaware of Camron’s inner monologue. Thank Grimnir, Camron thought. The captain’s ancestor mask was polished. Well made, crisp. He was the picture of kharadron success. The captain hooked one thumb into his flight suit’s belt. “He’s got a fine establishment, that Hrack Zifferson.”
Cam just nodded. He didn’t want to get into the topic here, on the deck of his first ship, with his first captain.
“I make it a point to meet all my crew. I know your father, but I also need you to know that you’ll not get special treatment. If anything I’ll need to be harder on you.”
Camron blinked. What? And then he saw the captain’s eyes crinkle through the lens of his helmet. The captain was smiling.
A joke then. Camron almost shook his head. The captain was trying to connect. He thought they were the same. Ships of a fleet. They were not.
This posting was a mistake. Could I just walk off this ship? Find another? “Aye sir,” he said. No. It would torpedo his chances at another post for a decade or more. Camron was nothing like the Captain. Couldn’t he see it? Then again, did Camron want him to see it?
“Okay marine,” the captain said, clapping him on the back. “Welcome to the Wind’s Oath. Go meet your sergeant. We take off in an hour.”
The captain walked off.
“By Grungni,” Camron muttered. He looked around the ship. He saw fewer grundcorps than he would have expected. More deckhands, though they moved with an experienced and confident air that said that they had done this all a hundred times over. Crates were being unloaded. It was a classic merchant ship, meant to make money. There was a pit forming in the bottom of his stomach. This is a mistake, he thought.
“Camronie!”
He recognized the voice even through his helmet, but it wasn’t necessary. Only one person called him that. What was she doing here?
Camron turned and watched her hurry across the deck. He saw a few of the deckhands’ heads turn to follow her as she walked over. The attention wasn’t totally unwarranted but it surprised him all the same. He just never really thought of her that way.
“Malaida,” he said. “I told you not to call me that anymore.”
“Sorry Camronie, I won’t anymore.” He could hear the smile in her voice though he couldn’t see it through her helm. She reached out and grabbed his hand with both of her own shaking it. “It’s good to see you! Can you imagine? Both of us on our first working flight and we get to take it together?” Her hands were covered in engine grease. He looked down at his own, it was covered now too.
“Oops! Sorry,” she said. “I just…”
Bang!
Malaida looked up. “Sounds like that came from the endrin…”
“Malaida!” A gruff voice hollered.
“Sorry, there’s the endrineer. See you later Camronie!”
He watched her go. Momentarily stunned. His gauntlet was still covered in engine grease.
“Attention!” The barking voice carried across the deck. The grundcorp sergeant stood staring at the assembled duardin, back ramrod straight.
Camron scurried over. “Gabriell Nesbred?” he asked, slightly out of breath. The duardin turned to look at him. His eyes briefly widened when he saw the features of the ancestor mask. Without a beard. Gabriell was a she. Wasn’t that a male name?
He stuttered briefly before saluting smartly and spitting out his words. “I’m Camron Hrackson, reporting for duty.”
The sergeant grunted. “That’s sergeant or Sergeant Nesbred to you.”
Camron straightened his spine and brought his shoulders and head back. “Yes, sergeant.”
The older kharadron looked him up and down, her gaze lingering for a moment on his equipment. All kharadron kept their equipment immaculate, for they were duardin and it was in their nature. Even more, it could be the difference between life and death. Camron’s equipment wasn’t poorly kept by any stretch, but when he glanced around at the other duardin attending the sergeant it was clear that his equipment was older and more used than everyone else’s. He hadn’t been able to afford new equipment, so he’d had to rent it. His father hadn’t loaned him the money so he’d gone to a loaning house. Colour crept into his cheeks as he thought of it. Every duardin has to start somewhere, he reminded himself.
His father’s inn did well enough to keep them fed and housed in the clouds, but there wasn’t a lot of extra for “discretionary spending.” He thought of the discussion with his father. This wasn’t discretionary, he wasn’t going to change his mind. He was going to be an officer in the grundcorps. It was peculiarly Kharadron that his father wouldn’t loan him the money, but he’d still set Camron up with Captain Bondson. His father’s words still rang in his mind. “Beardling’s gotta have some losing ventures before he can recognize a good one.” Bah. Beardling. He’d show him.
It was just a good thing that his father hadn’t known that Barak-Torin’s chapter of the grundcorps had a minimum age of 70. A lump in his throat appeared when he thought about what his father would think if he found out.
Everything was rented - except for the wrist-chron. That had been his grandfather’s. One of the few pieces to be passed down. He discreetly patted his wrist. Feeling the lump on the flight suit instantly settled his stomach.
“You’re late marine,” the sergeant said before glancing down at his grease-stained gauntlets. “And dirty.”
He felt shame flush at his cheeks, but he kept his spine straight. He thought of his grandfather. He’d make at least one ancestor proud.
“We’re all here now,” Sergeant Nesbred said, staring at the five of them in front of him. “This is a small complement of marines for a ship such as this.” She paced back and forth, allowing her footsteps on the metal deck to accentuate each point. “That’s okay though. Because we’re the Rifleheads. Each of us is equal to three regular marines. Welcome to our newest members, Hasma Jeffstone and Camron Hrackson. What we lack in numbers, we’ll make up for in discipline.” She looked at each of the soldiers in turn. Camron wasn’t sure, but the sergeant’s gaze seemed to linger a little longer on him. His lips pursed and he straightened as much as he could. At only six decades old, he was assuredly the youngest one here. Unless someone else had also … rounded his age on the perhaps misrepresented his age. But he wasn’t going to let any of them carry his slack.
“Stow your kit, prepare for takeoff.” The sergeant said. “When we’re clear of taxi space around the skyport, we’ll start our drills.” Camron turned and followed the others as they headed below decks.
“And clean your armour.” Was the last thing he heard as he descended.
He shook his head and muttered to himself. “Grungni’s beard.”
This had started well.
~ Go to Chapter two here.
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