Divisional Round: Breitenfeld Match

[Kwan]

* * * Introduction * * *

A single drop of rain fell from the edge of Samn’s wide-brimmed hat, falling to the wooden floor of the air skiff. The sound was drowned out by the rest of the storm’s raindrops pattering against the machine as it drifted lazily through the sky. Samn stood at the edge of the port’s side. The other passengers were huddled below deck, avoiding the cool, steady flow of water beating down on them. The drenched man had no such desire to stay cooped up inside the unforgiving wooden structure. It was never too good for him to engage in idle conversation for too long. The journey to the outlying trading station was several days long and already Samn was growing restless. Spies often did.

[Kwan]

Entry One

A single drop of rain fell from the edge of Samn’s wide-brimmed hat, falling to the wooden floor of the air skiff. The sound was drowned out by the rest of the storm’s raindrops pattering against the machine as it drifted lazily through the sky. Samn stood at the edge of the port’s side. The other passengers were huddled below deck, avoiding the cool, steady flow of water beating down on them. The drenched man had no such desire to stay cooped up inside the unforgiving wooden structure. It was never too good for him to engage in idle conversation for too long. The journey to the outlying trading station was several days long and already Samn was growing restless. Spies often did.

Or so he was told.

“Quite a storm we’ve wandered into, isn’t it?” a voice came, burly and deep. Samn’s heart caught a moment and he turned with a fabricated smile. A man stood next to him, covered head-to-toe in the official uniform of the Imperial Guard. One of the ship’s mandated officers: a relatively recent implementation of Imperial policymakers in the capital – no transportation vessel of any substantial size could be without an “official presence”.

This particular guard was not the Enemy in the flesh, of course. Just a man doing his job. No matter which side of the conflict one found themselves on, it didn’t say much about their own personal morals or character. Unfortunately, Samn’s instincts worked against his higher knowledge and he knew it. He couldn’t help but feel as though he was in a small conflict each time he spoke with a member of the Guard. There was a tension in even the most polite of niceties.

“I don’t mind the rain,” Samn said tersely, wiping the beaded moisture from his thin beard.

The guard held a cupped hand over his eyes and looked up into the grey mass of stormclouds. “Nor I,” the man said with a kind and anxious voice. “Something about a storm… it has a way of reminding me how small we all are. How small our lives and issues and worries are in the face of… you know, the whole of the world.”

A flash of lightning lit Samn’s eyes. The storm and the rain had made him feel somehow cleansed. He was reminded of how even the filthiest of things could be washed away by a powerful enough force. He was reminded of his recently-sworn oaths and obligations – and a firmness made its way through his spine. He felt the weight of his job and felt… strong. His shoulders pulled back; his expression straightened.

“And yet, the rain doesn’t wash the problems away,” Samn spoke quietly, turning on his heels. “Pardon me,” he said with a bow of his hat – before stepping back into the narrow corridor that descended into the skiff’s inner compartment.

The vessel was small – only large enough to fit twenty or thirty men and their cargo – and the turbulence of the storm’s air rocked it not insubstantially. Samn’s stomach grew slightly queasy. The rigid confidence he felt on the deck began to wane in the face of his own immaturity. In truth, he was very new to all of this – and feeling ill was a bit much. Stepping into the storage room, he opened a small barrel and reached in, taking a small piece of dry, mealy bread to ease the nausea. Taking a moment to be mindful of his own skin, he felt the tension in his muscles and his expression. The guard’s presence had put him on edge, and he tried to relax a little.

He sank against the wall in the dimly lit storage room, sucking on a mouthful of the dry bread, and shut his eyes for a moment.

A strange feeling came over Samn.

Like being watched.

His eyes shot open to find a small, thin figure standing in the opposite doorway. As his eyes adjusted to the shadows, he realized he’d seen her once before: when they boarded. She stood out to him as being the only one who didn’t bring aboard a surplus of supplies. Even Samn, despite the true nature of his mission, brought about a dozen crates of jerkied meat. Having something to “sell” once they reached the outpost was solid cover in securing a trip to a trading station.

Whilst the other passengers loaded barrels of root vegetables or boxes of fabric, she wandered aboard with a single, small case.

“Can… I help you?” Samn asked.

The woman’s eyes grew thin. Her lips pursed for a moment, then she smiled mysteriously. Her voice was quiet and airy. “No,” she said, tilting her head to the side. “But I think I can help you.”

Samn’s teeth clenched.

When Samn’s brother presented him with an opportunity to work against the Imperials, he couldn’t say no. The Imperials had all but destroyed Samn’s family – their policies indirectly pulling them apart at the seams. Samn’s father was an inescapable southerner, discriminated against from the moment the Imperials took power. Finding work had been all but impossible, and drove him into the capital – miles from his wife and family. Samn’s mother was given a small amount of support from the Imperial government whilst his father was away, but their strict requirements left guardsmen endlessly scolding and ridiculing his mother, watching her every move and meticulously recording every bit of income. The loneliness and the paranoia that ensued had maddened her… it stole her warmth and left her hollow.

When they found out her husband was a southerner, they nearly revoked the family home and redistricted Samn’s family to one of the outskirt slums. And when Samn’s older brothers got caught at an underground meeting for supporters of anti-Imperial movements, all funding got cut off completely. That was when Samn’s mother got the news that Samn’s father had been redistricted without the rest of the family. Left without any means of supporting themselves, Samn’s siblings were forced to move out and find work – even his youngest sister, only a child at the time.

The loss of her children broke whatever was left of his mother. She withered, after that, to nothing.

And so when his older brother offered him the opportunity to work against the people who had been responsible for the disappearance of his father, death of his mother, and diaspora of his siblings… he took the job. He was off to a distant trade outpost, where he was going to meet up with fellow rebels and coordinate a sabotaging of the Imperial trade network. Samn was hardly a spy or saboteur by nature – he had even been, as a kid, last picked in sports – but he had felt a moral obligation. He had learned to think of the Imperials as his enemies; had learned to hate them.

Staring up at the small woman, his paranoia hit him with full force. Strangers on Imperial ships reminded him of those strangers from his childhood – their appearance so passive and kind, and they left only misery in their wake. He saw something of those Imperial agents in the woman on the ship. He saw something of the seemingly quiet and respectful people who had left his mother in tears.

“I don’t think you can,” Samn said. “Thanks.”

The woman took a few steps forward, crossed her legs, and sat down inches from Samn. He could smell her sour perfume – see her thick, black eyelashes. Her skin was pale and without flaws; her lips were pink and plump. Her brown hair was pulled back in a neat, tight ponytail.

“What’re you here for?”

Samn’s heartbeat sped up. He swallowed hard. “I’ve,” he stumbled. “I’m a tradesman. I’ve got a dozen cra-”

She pressed her thumb against his lower lip – it was cold and small and the sudden physical contact sent a shiver through his chest. He withdrew immediately, Her large eyes blinked and her chin fell – her pupils widened.

“No bullshit, Samn.”

A defensiveness flooded him. A panic and confusion. He nearly stood, half-pinned against the wall, his legs became so rigid. Blood rushed from his limbs and his chest got heavy and dense. “You. My… name?”

The woman set one of her small, pale hands on his shoulder and lowered him back to the ground with a calmness that felt genuine. “I’m going to help you, but I need you to relax and trust me.”

Samn’s brain was overwhelmed. He thought of the ship guards. He thought of his family. He wondered what his brother would do or say in this situation. The woman’s presence felt extraordinarily benign – if not alarming. She didn’t look or feel like someone with hidden, or unkind, motives. But he was never told of anyone else on the ship who was on their side. He was only warned that agents of the Imperials were everywhere, and to be relentlessly cautious.

Samn couldn’t help but think that if she was less pretty, she’d be less trustworthy.

She pressed against his shoulder against and he fell back to the ground. He tried and failed to think of any words he could offer which would grant him more information without giving anything away.

She sighed and gave him an asymmetrical smile. “You’re new to all of this, aren’t you?”

Samn blinked. His heart was pounding.

“For the record,” she said, “If I had been one of them, I’d know exactly what you were up to by now. Innocent men don’t sit and stare blankly when spoken to in cryptic ways. Scared boys far out of their league do.”

Samn’s muscles unclenched without consulting him. Somehow the tension of the situation had been broken, though he still had no reason to trust the woman.

“This skiff has three guards – one of which went to sleep less than twenty minutes ago, one of which is drunk, and one of which is patrolling the exterior. We are entirely safe. You need to learn to relax when you have the chance. You’ll be no good to anyone when you have a panic attack. Part of being successfully alert and attentive is knowing when to let your guard down and refresh yourself.”

She pulled a thick, black band from her hair and it fell down in one wavy clump. She ran a small hand through it and loosened the strands. “Oh, and I’m Ayva.”

Samn slowly and quietly set his piece of bread on the ground next to him and pulled his feet beneath his thighs, sitting crossed-legged to match her. “I’m..”

“Samn,” she said. “I already said that. I saw your name on the ledger.”

Samn leaned forward and spoke as quietly as he could. “How did you know that I…?”

Ayva smiled. “As though it weren’t obvious enough, you’re selling jerky, Samn.”

Samn glanced around himself. His brother had given him a small amount of money to buy anything he could in bulk that would last a week-long journey. Had he really given away everything in the one job he was assigned?

“And…?”

She sighed. “Jerky doesn’t sell in the far outposts. Ever. And I mean ever. The traders all eat fish and fruit and the natives are vegetarians. Bringing salted beef to the trading outposts is like selling coal and fur in the tropics. And once I spoke to you, your nerves… dead giveaway – no offense. But don’t worry about it too much. Even the captain’s a northerner. Nobody here knows a damn thing.” She laughed quietly and glanced over her shoulder. “You’re actually quiet lucky in that way. You’re on a ship with a much higher percentage of ignoramuses and idiots than most. I’m not sure you would’ve made it this far, otherwise.”

Samn drew in a deep breath. He was beginning to be comforted by the realization that he had a friend aboard.

“I take it this is your first time leaving the home country?” Ayva asked.

Samn nodded firmly.

“Some girl convince you it was cool to be all anti-government? Imperialist’s son give you a wedgie?”

Samn shook his head. “No,” he said firmly. His eyes danced between both empty doorways. “My, uh. Family.”

Ayva’s expression turned serious. “Oh,” she said, blinking. “Right. Well…” she brushed her hair behind her ear. “I just thought you might be relieved to know you weren’t alone on board. You need to relax. Breathe a little. Get some rest.”

Samn nodded firmly. “Yeah, I… I guess I’ve been a little. Tight up.”

Ayva exhaled sharply. “A little.” She stood up, cracked her knuckles in one swift motion, and offered a hand to help Samn up. He took her hand – cold and small – and she hoisted him with a surprising strength.

“Get some rest, Samn,” she said, turning with a small, polite smile before disappearing out of the doorway.

He stood for a moment, staring at the empty doorway, wishing she hadn’t gone so quickly. And Samn wondered when he might see her again. He stepped into the narrow hallway, into the darkness, and looked around to see nothing. He heard, again, the heavy pattering of raindrops that pelted the exterior of the ship.

For the first time in years, Samn thought about something besides his family, or his own troubles. He thought about something besides his obligations, or his spite, or his brother, or his parents.

Samn thought about the Ayva. He thought about the life he could live, and the man he could be.

Samn stepped out into the rain – still there, pouring, cold and fresh. Though he didn’t feel so restless.

[Kwan]

Entry Two

A single drop of rain fell from the edge of Samn’s wide-brimmed hat, falling to the wooden floor of the air skiff. The sound was drowned out by the rest of the storm’s raindrops pattering against the machine as it drifted lazily through the sky. Samn stood at the edge of the port’s side. The other passengers were huddled below deck, avoiding the cool, steady flow of water beating down on them. The drenched man had no such desire to stay cooped up inside the unforgiving wooden structure. It was never too good for him to engage in idle conversation for too long. The journey to the outlying trading station was several days long and already Samn was growing restless. Spies often did.

Spies like him were a common breed nowadays, especially after the Hinden Wars had taken the soul out of sky-bound flights three years ago. It had been short, relatively bloodless, and only took place in the skies, but it still affected the way that the travelers of the aero-lanes. Gone were the days when anyone felt safe on the deck of an air skiff, especially days like today. The rain didn’t really bother him so much, but the tension in the air spoke of something more pressing on the horizon. Though he could not see it beyond the clouds, Samn, felt what might ahead of them. If word from headquarters had been correct like it seemed to always be, a Thunderbird was nearby in the clouds. Thunderbirds were a rare type of skiff, the type that seemed to be able to never touch the ground to refuel, let alone any of the islands that had been put in the sky to escape the ancient floods below.

Coughing up a bit, the cold was starting to seep into his bones. He couldn’t bear to be out here much longer, as it was only getting colder by the feel of things. Still somewhat drenched, Samn cautioned himself against the obvious. If he couldn’t run to the other end of the ship because he had a cold, he wouldn’t be able to do his job while he was here. Samn already knew of a few other spies aboard the ship, but they weren’t here for the same reason he was. The Madame in the purple petticoat and thick-rimmed glasses was likely headed to Aurora, as she always seemed to be searching amongst the other passengers to find someone who wore something that looked of pearls, such as the national stone of Aurora. The disheveled gentleman who seemed to keep to himself for the most part, was probably on his way to Tuvalu, as Samn had noted that he kept an ancient looking lei that had long lost its voluminous coloring during the voyage. The young collegiate looking lad seemed to be on his way to La Roche, although given the androgyny of the fellow might instead be evidence of something else other than that tropical hell-hole besides partying. Such a young person as that might find their way easily into the right or wrong party and relieve them of something.

All of these places were stops along the skiff’s travels, so there was nothing to worry about on his end. If there was indeed a spy here to counter his efforts, they had done remarkably terribly in the last five days. No one had followed him around save for a woman who must’ve caught a look at him in the public showers and caught an odd whiff of fancy on his unshaven face. The lass looked too love-struck to be as the others, and experience told him ignoring her was likely the best option. Long was the day gone that he’d make a turnabout and find himself in the arms of a young woman. The last time Samn had given that a go, he’d ended up stabbed in the leg and the League’s Doctors had been forced to amputate the poor limb as a result. A shame really that had been, really. The lady had been quite aggressive towards him, but some of the ways had been the right ways.

Shaking off his nostalgia, Samn made his way to his room, a rather cramped, but elegant suite near the top of the air traveling vessel. Shifting off his wide-brimmed hat, the carefully designed illusion of his hair faded. No longer was it curled up in his hat, but instead it flowed out onto his head, straddled atop his skull much like down on some form of bird. He was proud that his treasured hat could hold his equally prized hair in place like that, but some days it just itched. Hair wasn’t supposed to be balled up so inelegantly, but he persevered, for the League’s sake. Shifting out of the rest of his clothing, he threw the rest of his watery garb to the corner, where much of his older clothing laid, and stepped into the small office that the vessel had for suite’s at this height on the skiff. Inside were most of his personal belongings, a small portable desk, some business cards, and a single folder labeled, The Legend of the Thunderbirds. He had to be fast, there was a check on the passengers of these vessels at least twice a day and he couldn’t afford to be late for the check-in.

Reviewing the file as he generally did at this time of day, he reread the legend of the former terrorist group that had disbanded a year after the Hinden Wars. More likely they had been abandoned as a result of the wars themselves, the vessels were likely either empty of crew, or with nothing but an engineer to guide the large metal blimps.

The Thunderbirds were war machines of a unique variety; they ran on some sort of particle that had become rampant through the air during the Age of Floods several centuries back. On top of that, they never needed to dock, nor did they need to be touched up beyond a hull damages, given that the mechanical portions on board seemed to self-regulate.

They were flying miracles, but they were now banned. Something so dangerous, yet beautiful, was one of the few things that were now only employed by dwellers of the “underworld” or intelligence agencies such as the League. It was up to him to secure one for the League while it was still nearby, and he’d been equipped just for this sort of occasion.

Going through the dossier one more time, he folded it back into the form that he’d found it in on his desk, as it seemed to keep folding until it was the size of a business card. Emblazoned on it now were the words, “Memorial Union Aero-Parts, For Your Skiffian Needs” as he shuffled it into the pile of similarly titled cards. He pocketed the pile in his underclothes’ pants’ side, turning towards the door as he looked back at the desk. If everything went alright, he’d be back soon enough. The Thunderbird was getting closer…it had to.

When there weren’t any pilots aboard, the ship would resume the patterns that had been programmed into them, they would patrol the lanes of the skies. It just so happened that this ship was following the same route as had been followed for decades, and if that Thunderbird was still out there it was in the vicinity.

Grabbing some gear, he laid it out on the bed as he turned towards his small closet. Samn had barely been able to fit his several disposable raincoats in there, and as he looked into his nearly bare closet his reasoned to himself that he didn’t have too much longer until they reached land and that this might be his last chance to catch this particular Thunderbird, the Anasazi, and send it to the League HQ for study. Cracking his neck a little, he moved aside one of the remaining coats and donned the blue one. Blue was a very neutral color for him, easily complimenting his eyes, as well as the underclothing beneath. He’d been saving this on for today’s gamble, as according to the file today would be the closest it would get without the ship he was on being able to detect it in its somewhat weak detection systems. Grabbing his hat, he carefully balled up his hair so that it could fit properly into the head-shielding piece of clothing, taking a bit of relish twisting it to the side to make everything fit.

Digging through his gear, he got out a few items he needed, the Magnet Draw, the Pilot Spike, and a parachute. If he failed to hit the Thunderbird after firing the Magnet Draw, he’d need some way of getting to safety. Same would be needed if he was unable to get back to the ship correctly, especially given that the Skiff was moving much faster than the Thunderbird was when it meandered through the skies. Slipping the parachute under his coat, as well as the two other necessary items into his pockets, he headed up on deck, meticulously locking the door behind him. Just because none of the other spies were on the ship for him didn’t mean that they wouldn’t try to investigate him for one reason or another in his absence.

Heading up to the top of the ship, he passed the young lady who as usual seemed to follow him with her doe eyes. Samn had no time for love, especially the type romanticized in the novel the Madame was holding. Was she following him? Unlikely, but she the way she eyed him made him remain suspicious as he got to the top of the deck. Kicking the door closed behind him as he noted that the rain was starting to diminish, Samn looked upwards, the rain lightly lapping at his face as he sighed loudly. “It’s going to be one of those days, isn’t it” Samn spoke to himself taking out his Magnet Draw. Properly arranging it so it would actually work, he began to use it to scan the skies. The Thunderbird didn’t seem to be above the ship, so that was a good thing for him. Samn didn’t need any more rain to cover his face.

Still scanning around, he stopped near the horizon and looked as hard as he could through the cloud cover to see if any shape could be gleaned through the clouds. For miles and miles, all he could see was the muted grey that defined rainclouds around this part of the world. The rain continued to fall briskly onto the deck and onto anything else that was in its way as he began to walk slowly around the deck of the ship. He’d have to go to the other port-side to get a good reading for it by the looks of things, if it even showed up at all. Walking slowly around the side of the ship, he eyed the cabins below for the woman from before. She was gone, finally and didn’t seem to have followed him up to the top of the skiff. Last thing he needed was civilian interference, especially a love-struck one at that.

Finally stepping around the ship to the other side, he made careful not to slip on the wet deck, standing minutely shakily given the state of one of his legs. It wasn’t fully functional yet after the last disaster he’d been in, after all, and he didn’t need it to malfunction as a result of the wetness of the skies. Pointing the Magnet Draw one more time, he scanned the horizon again and immediately got a reading. Something that was heavily magnetized was in the sky in front of him. Changing settings on the Magnet Draw, he shifted his coat a little and drew down the straps on his hat. This was always the worst part of the Magnet Draw’s use. He could only hope that it wasn’t malfunctioning and mistaking Thunderclouds for the Thunderbird. Closing his eyes, he felt the silence of the moment envelop him as he clicked the Magnet Draw and flung forwards, his body hurtling through the air towards the source of the attraction.

Pointing his boots forwards, he knew that the Thunderbird, the Anasazi, wasn’t too far away, but at the speed he was going he’d hit the side of the flying metal skiff a bit too hard to get out of it without something severely bruised or broken. His boots were specially made so that it helped him slow down a bit as he suddenly slammed into the side of something metal. Sticking to the side of it, he took in what he was attached to at the moment.

The metal plating was a dead giveaway that it was a military vessel; only military vessels could legally be made out of metals thick enough to take damage from munitions these days due to the Houston Accord that had been signed just after the flooding had begun. Signed on July 5th, 2104, it had banned many practices that had existed before the flooding in order to secure resources for those who needed it, not for those who wanted it. Shaking his head out of the memories of the past, he looked at another one, using his hand to feel the side of the vessel. It felt the right amount of sleek mixed with the correct amount of rust resistant materials. This was likely the Anasazi.

Using the Magnet Draw to slowly make his way along the side of the ship, he soon found himself at a latch. This was unexpected, at least to him, as most Thunderbird models rarely had side-latches to avoid exactly what he was doing. It almost seemed makeshift, with the edges of it seemed to have rusted over far more than the rest of the ship, as well as the actually latch itself being made out of a different metal than the ship proper. Had pirates begun to infiltrate Thunderbirds and use them as secret hideouts? If that was the case, then today’s mission was far more important than before. The last thing the League needed to worry about was an unaccounted for variable that would remain acting only in the interest of loot, instead of the interests of state. It was far worse for pirates to take the vessel than an enemy power, to the League anyway. Samn didn’t care truly, but knew that if pirates had managed to take over the Anasazi, then he’d have to fight his way to the Navigator’s Deck.

Opening the latch carefully, he slid inside, a bit surprised that it remained unlocked. Perhaps the pirates who had once controlled this vessel had fled for one reason or another, or perhaps instead the pirates had just been unlucky and had forgotten to lock up. Samn wasn’t willing to take that risk; he had a job here to do. Locking up the latch behind him, he slinked through the hallway, his robes making almost no noise as he seemed to glide along the floor. Slowly, but surely, making his way through the halls, Samn heard not a single noise, not even the hum of the engines, other than the skiff’s movement through the air itself. He had to make this quick, lest he be unable to get back to the Aero-Skiff that he’d come in on, he didn’t want to abandon his things either. It was suspicious enough that he’d left the way he did, if he was gone too long the ship might raise an alarm fearing that Samn had been killed and thrown over the side.

Easily finding his way to the Thunderbird’s Navigator’s Deck, he climbed up the steps and immediately was assault by a fetid smell. Opening his eyes after having closed them due to the smell, he realized what had happened here. A disease outbreak of sorts, it seemed, as cot after cot were lined with the bodies of several men, nearly a hundred total. If there indeed had been an outbreak of disease on this ship, there was no way he could allow this to be sent to headquarters. As he was mostly immune to disease as a result of his work, having long ago been immunized to most tropical and subtropical ailments, he couldn’t help but be worried. He’d have to be far more cautious from here on out to not accidentally stumble upon another corpse. If there were this many corpses here, then there would be straggler corpses elsewhere, strewn about as a result of the remnants of the crew not being able to be well enough to get to the obvious make-shift medical area.

If his intuition was correct, there would’ve been barely a single group of men remaining who would’ve been capable of taking men here to die or to be medically treated. The odd part of this all was that all of the medical equipment, which should’ve been strewn throughout this part of the deck, was gone. Had they just been laid here to die like dogs? Samn shook his head, and held his stomach. If he hadn’t been feeling nauseous before, he was most definitely feeling so now. Tip-toeing around the cots, he made sure to touch none of them as he made his way to the Navigation Room that was, according to the blueprints the League had acquired, somewhere in the middle of the deck. After a few minutes of searching, he meandered into a large dome-like room, although the ceiling went far further up than was usual in this type of ship.

Looking back over the notes he had in his head about the Anasazi in particular, he remembered it was one of the three flagship Thunderbirds. It was part of the reason that he’d been sent. Samn was one of the most experienced agents for the League, and as a result had made him in charge of the mission. Samn always worked alone in these types of missions, having no trust for other spies these days. Looking over at the console, he cursed quietly to himself. Another corpse at the wheel, his last obstacle this day this seemed like it’d be. Almost as soon as he had cursed loudly, the corpse moved. Looking over at him, the navigator simply groaned and turned his head back to the wheel. All of the blood in Samn’s body had chilled for but a moment as he witnessed this. This was mostly due to the fact that the navigator didn’t seem to have eyes, flesh ones anyway.

Walking over to the navigator, Samn eyed him carefully. This navigator was either still alive somehow, or had enough mechanical parts in him to keep piloting the ship. It seemed the latter, as the navigator didn’t budge as Samn stood right next to him. Getting out the Pilot Spike, Samn noted the wheel and tried to figure out where the Pilot Injection Point was, or the P.I.P. The P.I.P. was normally near the center of the wheel, but for bigger skiffs such as the Anasazi, it seemed that it was more on the…right!

Placing the Pilot Spike, the inserted it in the P.I.P., making sure it was plunged all the way before he pushed the smaller button and locked it into the wheel. Looking at the navigator again, Samn noted that it still hadn’t moved. If it was still alive, it was too busy regulating the flight path of the ship to notice him. Pushing a few buttons on the side to adjust the goal of the ship, the nose of the skiff, far away from the Navigation Room, began to dip downward, rustling being heard throughout the ship as desiccated corpses began to roll out of their lain positions.

Scurrying out of the room, Samn looked back one last time as the navigator remained in its seat, its head lulled over into the wheel. There wasn’t much left to do here at this point. Finding another one of the latches, he opened it up and rearmed the Magnet Draw. There was not much left to do here. Dialing it back to the appropriate setting, he took one last look at the ship, before looking forward once more. Better the past be left to the past so it doesn’t poison the present, Samn thought to himself as he once more launched into the sky, back to the ship for the rest of his cruise… Some missions just seemed to feel less complete than others, these days.

[Kwan]

Entry One Reviews

I don't buy the world you're selling here. That's what it comes down to. Things seem to happen because you tell us they happen that way, not because it makes sense for them to happen that way, and there are inconsistencies as a result. This happens both in descriptive text (you tell us guards are on ships of a sufficient size, because obviously there have to be guards here to introduce tension, but then you refer to this particular ship as quite small), and in the backstory (Samn's family scatters to the four winds for literally no reason. When a mom can't feed herself, the children's reaction is not to abandon her and all go their separate ways). It was especially bad in terms of the incredibly convenient dystopia, which apparently is tyrannical enough to discriminate against an entire latitude, but good-natured enough to have a comprehensive welfare system?

The dystopia is defanged even further by the fact that Samn is clearly the worst spy in the world. It might have been fun to watch him grow and learn over the course of a longer narrative, but this is barely even a short story. It's all beginning, with no middle or end. Everything was conveyed in a nice, simple style that at least made it easy to read, but there was so little there it's almost like you shouldn't have bothered. I quickly and effortlessly read all the way to the end, but I still went away feeling like my time had been wasted.

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The pacing felt a bit rushed here yet at the same time very little happened. It was mostly character development. I would liked to see more. That said, you did a great job of assuming the world that your characters are living in.

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This was the first story of the round that I've read and I'm glad that it was a pleasurable, easy read. It wasn't anything great, but it was a nice little story. The use of “Imperial” and so on was a little annoying. It's not that original.

I didn't spot any glaring mistakes and that is always a good start. And the story did have a certain flow to it. You handled the dialogue well by breaking it up with little lines of action. The sentences felt varied. The technical aspects was spot on.

Samn felt sympathetic and the reader could relate to his situation. Avya seemed like a realistic character. Their dialogue felt quite natural. I'm a little more doubtful about the guard. Do lowly skiff guards often talk philosophical about a storm? It felt a little shoehorned. Meanwhile, the setting was relatively well described, but I wanted to feel the storm more. The claustrophobia of the small skiff that Samn was trapped in. I could picture the scene from your descriptions, but you didn't really build the atmosphere beyond that.

And that was probably the main problem. There was a lot of telling and not a whole lot of showing. The writing was good but you spoonfed the reader a lot. Samn's background was an infodump. You told us what he felt rather than showing us. One example would be:

“A strange feeling came over Samn.

Like being watched.”

There's nothing wrong with that. It's all fine. However:

“Samn sat in the darkness for a while, the skiff gently rocking beneath his feet. His ears were filled with the pattering of raindrops upon the deck above him. For a moment, his heartbeat fell and his breathing steadied. Then, the hair upon his arms began to rise. His skin began to prickle with heat. Though his own eyes were shut, he could feel another pair digging into his skin.”

It just draws the reader into the writing more.

Meanwhile, while you ran the risk of the story coming across as more of an excerpt, I think the final line did give you that sense of being self-contained. That was well-worked.

A nice story, overall. Well done.

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There was a few errors during your piece, which I felt could have been caught with some editing. Some times it really helps to read a story out loud and you'll find the errors easily and also where it's a bit slow. This brings me on to my second point. It was a bit slow in places and not a great deal happened. I didn't get any of the excitement, although I did get a lot about the character, which was nice to see. I felt that Ayva (great name) was very forced and it didn't flow very easily. I get what you were trying to do but I think it could have been a bit better. (I will mention that I liked the reasoning behind selling the jerky and how it was doomed to fail.)

Nice story and would be a great start for a larger piece with some work but I wanted something to happen and it didn't. There was a huge build up and a damp squib.

Entry Two Reviews

This one had more of a plot than the previous entry, and perhaps more of a setting as well, but the writing was very lazy. I could honestly go line by line and point out obvious problems. It definitely wasn't proofread, and the frequently awkward and nonsensical sentences reflect that. Missed words, poor syntax, confusing plurals and singulars; the list goes on.

The plot wasn't anything special--it was tropey fantasy cheese--but it was still reasonably serviceable, and moved at a good pace, albeit with a poor ending. If you'd taken the time to copy edit this, or even to have someone else look over it for you, it could have been vastly better. As it was, it was just too much of a slog to really enjoy.

* * *

Your pacing was good and you were very descriptive. You tended to repeat yourself a bit at the end and the last paragraph felt like it left the story unfinished and was apologizing for it.

* * *

This was a bit of a frustrating story. I really loved the idea of the story. It was pulpy sci-fi at its best. A ghost airship (I almost would have preferred it be a truly ghost airship instead of a graveyard!), spies, death-defying hi-jinks. It was a brilliant idea.

But the execution was lacking.

There were some nice lines. And some nice descriptions. Also, at times, you really did nail the writing. As opposed to just saying “Samn was by far one of the most experienced, intelligent agents in the League” (well, you did basically say that later, but ignoring that...), you showed us it by his deduction of where every other agent was going. I read that and went, “right, this is a spy who means business. He's a step ahead of everyone else” without you needing to tell us that.

I also liked the double bluff with the love-struck girl that I was sure was going to become relevant later. You did a good job of spreading the background information out (say, as opposed to your competitor who dumped it all in two paragraphs). And like I said, I adored the principle of the story. It was the basis for a great, entertaining story.

But man, the whole story felt like it was on fast-forward. Samn walks into a room with putrefied corpses and... he hardly bats an eyelid. You just describe the scene to us in a paragraph and sort of moves on. That it something you really want to hit home to reader. Make them see it clearly, make them smell it, make them feel nauseous. Make them feel Samn's fear and surprise. That's what you got to work on. Slow it down a bit, give room for the story to breathe. If this story was slowed down a bit, if you gave us time to feel Samn's emotions as well as his thoughts, then you would have a cracker of a story.

So, don't be too down on yourself. This wasn't a bad story. It was just hurried. And I always think it's easier to learn how to “write” than it is to learn how to “tell a story”. And you've got the latter bit down.

Work on the former.

* * *

Paragraph 3 was a massive pain to read. I found I had to read it a few times and I was still confused by the end of it. I feel like some of the information was rushed or only touched on and it didn't add to the story – unless I missed something vital that would have brought it all together. I liked that you made it a little sci-fi and floating ships: However, and unfortunately again, I don't feel like a lot happened. Samn got the data and that was that. I liked that you mentioned how some cases were more difficult but this is The Arena.

A+ for being creative and blowing the starter out of the water by taking it in a completely different direction … but I felt like your A-game was missing.