Aethosphere Chronicles: Winds of Duty Read online

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

  Aethosphere Chronicles: Winds of Duty

  By Jeremiah D Schmidt

  Copyright © 2015 Jeremiah D Schmidt

  Smashwords Edition

  All Rights Reserved

  Cover Illustration Copyright © 2015 by Jeremiah D Schmidt

  Cover Design by Jeremiah D Schmidt

  Map of the Unified Kingdoms of Ascella Design by Jeremiah D Schmidt

  Layout of R.A. Chimera Design by Jeremiah D Schmidt

  Smashwords Edition, License Notes

  Thank you for downloading this ebook. This book remains the copyrighted property of the author, and may not be redistributed to others for commercial or non-commercial purposes. If you enjoyed this book, please encourage your friends to download their own copy from their favorite authorized retailer. Thank you for your support.

  ISBN: 9781311049278

  V1

  Foreword

  Greetings, potential reader. I’d like to take this opportunity to briefly explain to you what you’re about to read.

  As the title implies, this story is part of the Aethosphere Chronicles, which is a loose assemblage of interrelated stories written not only to entertain, but to enrich the storyline of the Aethosphere series of books. However, this shouldn’t dissuade anyone unfamiliar with the main series from giving this story a read, as it requires no prior knowledge of events or characters from Aethosphere (or of the other Chronicles for that matter). It has been crafted to stand on its own.

  So please, think of this as an opportunity to vet the series if you’ve never been exposed; or as a chance to enrich the experience if you have.

  Enjoy!

  Table of Contents

  Map of the Unified Kingdoms of Ascella

  Prologue: The Admirals’ Inquiry

  Chapter 1: Four Days Prior

  Chapter 2: A Swing Towards Sinister

  Chapter 3: Put to the Question

  Chapter 4: Rumblings of Conflict

  Chapter 5: Mounting Crisis

  Chapter 6: Flashpoint

  Chapter 7: Take Up Your Burden

  Chapter 8: Ascent into Turmoil

  Chapter 9: Descent into Madness

  Chapter 10: The Engagement

  Chapter 11: Unity Under Fire

  Chapter 12: The Admirals’ Decision

  Epilogue: The Terrible Truth

  Discover

  Connect

  R.A. Chimera

  Map of the Unified Kingdoms of Ascella

  Prologue: The Admirals’ Inquiry

  “Do you know why we’ve ordered you here today, Ensign Bartholomew Bazzon?” The voice rumbled with grave sobriety throughout the vaulted chamber of the gothic hall; accusation hidden in the emphasis on ‘why’ as it came rebounding off gray sandstone walls carved from the same living rock as the rest of the surrounding mountainside. At the room’s end, where a vein of pink granite dominated the back wall like an open wound, Sky Marshal Titan DeGanten leaned back, becoming just one of many foreboding faces lingering beneath the hanging flag of the Unified Kingdoms of Ascella. Bar glanced up to the flag, finding his attention caught in its vibrant field of gold; in stark contrast to the rest of the room’s ominous décor. Within the flag’s red borders reared the crimson gryphon, the winged beast so representative of the ancient nation’s strength and courage, though Bar couldn’t help but feel it was poised against him now, looking more like an executioner than an emblem to draw comfort from.

  Guess we’re not here to praise my ‘victory’, he mulled bitterly, fixing his weary gaze back on the veritable cannonade of admirals sitting barricaded behind their rocky dais; carved also from the same pink stone as the wall behind it. The admirals each held the young aeronaut in their focused sights as the officiating member of their ranks waited impatiently for an answer. Ensign Bazzon shifted beneath their scrutiny in the uncomfortable wooden chair they’d sentenced him to for the proceedings. Looking up into Sky Marshal DeGanten’s age-chiseled face he swallowed hard. Unknown in the seasoned man’s sandy-hued eyes was any sort of compassion. It seemed the concept was just as lost and foreign here as it was on the deck of the strata-frigate Chimera, no more than four days prior.

  The marshal’s words rattled around in Bar’s skull, elevating his sense of discomfort. Left to the cavernous room’s center alone, Bar held no cover…no place to escape. Never was it so apparent how out of his element he’d become then at that very moment. Instead of open sky, there was only pressing rock. Gone was the safety of his airship…his home. Better, perhaps, I had just taken the Chimera and fled…what remained of the crew would never have tried to stop me…nay, most, in fact, would have welcomed it.

  The prepared speech and manufactured account he’d so diligently practiced in the hours preceding this hearing was now all but lost. His only thoughts resting on the stitches fastened across his left cheek, where they’d begun to itch, and the throbbing in his arm, where a shard of wood was still working its way out. The new military dress jacket he’d been issued just for this occasion was still stiff, and had twisted itself up; the thick onyx canvas now digging mercilessly into the scabs, the burns, and the bruises riddled all across his battered body. He attempted to readjust, but the chair beneath him creaked in angry protest of the man’s muscular build.

  “I’m assuming it has to do with the engagement,” he finally ventured, trying his best to keep his deep voice steady and even, confident but not defiant. Bar Bazzon knew better than anyone present that he was lucky not to have been shot on sight after the R.A. Chimera put in at Ragnarok Cloudfortress.

  “Yes, the engagement, as you so eloquently put it, Ensign, is at the heart of these proceedings, but is not the matter with which we are most concerned. The issue that has ultimately brought you here involves the reports preceding this so-called battle with an imperial hunter-killer.”

  “We’ve brought you here to shed light on the confusing amount of incongruities,” hollered a ghostly admiral, whose face looked to be forged of the same dust and malice as the surrounding walls.

  “Indeed,” chimed another darkly, “like why the Royal Airship Chimera chose to engage an imperial craft, when its orders were specifically to the contrary. Even more disturbing are the undertones surrounding the mysterious deaths of so many crewmen, namely the ship’s captain, and enough of her senior officers to warrant you, a junior-grade ensign, to assume command on the eve of this ill-attempted combat mission.”

  ‘Even more disturbing are the undertones surrounding the mysterious deaths of so many crewmen…’ As dire as this statement was, it sounded all the more damning coming from the stern lips of a highly-decorated admiral. No doubt each of these noble King’s Isle elites held him as contemptible as the lowest Glenfindale street thug.

  “I was unaware—” started Bar, but a lump filled his throat even as an emptiness took root in his stomach. He’d just become infinitely aware of how blank the front of his own uniform was—how void of insignias and medals and veteran accolades as compared to the men arrayed before him. He was like the Chimera now, when her guns were simply too inadequate to deal with the threat of an unstoppable war machine. Bar had nothing to shield him from their scrutiny…just a pair of wings that hardly classified him as anyone important. Even the brass ensign pin at his collar was still freshly polished, gleaming with a newness that only the recently promoted could possibly possess, and itself was like a brilliant beacon to how unimportant he was. W
orst of all, he held no badge of nobility, which counted for everything in the Royal Air Navy of Ascella. Before this stately assembly he was nothing—worse than nothing.

  He looked for some sort of ally in his darkened surroundings—perhaps behind the ornate stone buttresses supporting the vaulted roof—but conspicuously absent was Admiral Lockney, and the one man Bar Bazzon could legitimately count on as a friendly soul in these portentous proceedings. If anyone could vouch for his character, perhaps offer justification, or at least some insight—perhaps even a measure of sympathy—well, that would have been old Bernard.

  But where is he now? He’s a man of reason and honor; loyal to the Unity…he’d never have gone along with the kill order that started it all had he still been in command of the ship. Did he express such an opinion and that’s why he’s not here? Did they remove him? It wouldn’t surprise me; Lockney was from Cloudvale. Godsdammit! It’s the Iron Empire that’s supposed to be our enemy, not one another, or have they forgotten that?

  He scanned those behind the granite dais, hoping Lockney was mixed in their ranks—perhaps obscured within the multitudes. He tried counting his way through the admirals present, but lost his nerve once he reached nine. This Kinglander monopoly was too imposing to look upon, like gazing at the sun. His eyes stood dazzled by the richness of their snow-white overcoats, the glimmering star-field of medals fixed upon their chests, nebulous wrappings of belts and cummerbunds and draped gold aiguillettes—enough trappings of office to string Bar up on high from the Gods’ Bind of King’s Isle if they felt so inclined. At this point he just didn’t want to give them a reason to do it, not before the inquiry even started.

  So how much do they already know of the incident, he wondered. Though from the display before him, he suspected it was enough. He suspected they might already have found him guilty. And they would be right to… The simple fact of the matter was the truth had become a nest of vipers, and Bar squirmed within its tangled mass.

  “It is our understanding that reports of this nature can become muddled—to an extent—given the high emotion and stress of a combat encounter, but never have we been witness to such flagrant inconsistencies as we’ve suffered through here this day. We’ve talked with all the other surviving crewmen and each has given a different sworn deposition in the very seat you now occupy, and now we’re curious to see if you can shed some light of truth on this incident…as the commanding officer.” Sky Marshal DeGanten smiled in sarcasm.

  Suddenly the room felt strangely still after the years Bar had spent swaying on the deck of an airship. It made him feel nauseous, and he would have given anything just to be back on the Chimera, and out in the boundless skies of Aethosphere at that very moment. “I would gladly,” he began, fidgeting. The seat felt more unstable than when he first sat down, as though it was imbued with some magic power to cause its occupants to disgorge the truth against their will. “But perhaps this council can enlighten me on some of these debatable points in question, so that I can better address them specifically.” As he finished, he hoped it didn’t sound too much like he was fishing for insight. An admiral’s rebuking laugh told him otherwise.

  “Mr. Bazzon,” one admiral responded, highly agitated, “perhaps you don’t understand the position you’re in, so let me expedite this evasive song and dance of yours. You’re a common born and a man of mixed heritage. Your rank is the byproduct of political posturing, it would seem, and not based on any notable achievement, and by the looks of it, is about all you have in this world. No noble house is going to arbitrate on your behalf, and you have earned no commendations to sway our opinion otherwise. Let’s make one thing clear. You made it back alive from that engagement, and that’s the only reason in this world you’ve been given this opportunity to state your case. The moment we feel you’re wasting our time, Ensign, you will be made to regret it.”

  “Yes,” agreed the esteemed sky marshal with a nod of satisfaction. “So, Mr. Bazzon, it’s best you start from the beginning, and stick closely to the truth. At this point, it’s all you really have.”

  The word “truth”, so casually slung around by DeGanten and his crowny friends, was an inconsistent mistress who herself lied to make men into monsters and devils into saints. Could her cold lips alone properly convey the series of events that had plagued the Chimera on that fateful voyage?

  “We were patrolling the Erie Expanse between the Barrier Shoal and the Ascella Cluster when it happened,” stated Bar, picking each word carefully, making sure each syllable that came echoing back was clearly understood by these privileged men of high-rank, despite his own low-born accent. “At the time we were about six-hundred kilometers from Midport. The captain had just put us on an elevated alert status as of that morning. As the combat systems manager I was charged with readying the weapons with a handful of assigned skymen…”

  Chapter 1: Four Days Prior

  The gun deck was a sulfurous cave, reeking of grimy bodies and pungent gunpowder, all crammed between a low overhead, a high deck, and ten of the Royal Air Navy’s finest seventy-five millimeter tri-barrel cannons. The guns now gleamed, the powder fresh, and Bar reveled in that pride he only got from a day’s hard labor. He wiped his greasy brow across his forearm and took a deep and satisfied breath whilst the men of the weapons, combat, and engineering departments rejoiced together. They were a motley crew to be sure, ghastly to behold beneath the thick soot that coated each sweat-slickened body. Polishing the guns, swabbing the bores, and inspecting the munitions was hard and dangerous work, but each man wore jack-o-lantern grin regardless, for they’d earned themselves a two hour respite for their deeds. That meant two hours to finish the contraband grog, two hours to lounge in the gleam of their accomplishment, two hours before evening duty, and two hours free from Captain Moore’s incessant orders—orders that at times seemed to be issued simply to have orders to obey. “I want the guns inspected, cleaned, and made ready,” he’d ordered Bar that morning. “Assign whatever personnel you need to accomplish the task quickly. I want those weapon systems in top shape, is that clear?”

  It was taxing living on high-alert in the dead-calm of an empty sky, whilst word of the Iron Empire’s unstoppable armada filtered through the strata-frigate like ash from a firestorm. The men’s weariness could be felt in the air like a coarse wool blanket on a hot summer’s day, stifling. These Candaran men weren’t machines, they weren’t automecs from yore; they weren’t even lowtrue slaves from bygone millennia; they were simple aeronauts. Sure, they were a stout bunch; the older men were well-seasoned, and the newer enlistees were quick learners; but every crew had its breaking point.

  “Many thanks, Ensign Bazzon,” said the heftiest of the Candarans now lumbering through the gloom. Weapons Officer Second Class Abner Tolle was the ship’s artillery specialist and possessed a gut as round as a bilge-oil barrel, giving him the look of a curly-haired ball. For good measure he furnished the young officer with a smart salute. “Seems you haven’t softened in the bosom of the captain’s mess over the months since you abandoned us for the airy decks.”

  The other enlistees cheered and jeered and caterwauled around him, but Bar just grinned as smugly as ever. Let the crew have a bit of a fun at my expense, he told himself, looking around to the mirth-filled faces of those he’d served with for years; some even decades. Now that we’re behind the major battle lines they deserve a little relaxation of discipline…good for the men to blow off some steam despite what the captain may believe. Good for me as well, he realized.

  Living as an officer under Lord Captain Zavier Moore’s constant scrutiny had taken its toll on his constitution, and that was never more apparent than at the present. Bar hadn’t felt this good in months. Toiling back down in the dusty twilight bowels of the ship; in amongst the smell of aged spruce and hammered bronzsteel, gunpowder, and the working class stench of the enlistees; he discovered he relished being just as stinking-filthy as the rest of the able-bodies around him. It made him feel closer to normal—more no
rmal since the moment he’d first put on the stiff canvas uniform and everyone started calling him ‘sir’. It felt like home again. Why the ship’s former captain had ever made him an ensign before leaving for the Admiralty, Bar would probably never know, but Lockney had been a man of flight and fancy, and something of a father-figure for years. But now, after all these long hard months under Captain Moore, he didn’t know whether to thank the old captain, or loath him.

  “I didn’t think officers were capable of sweating!” cried out one of the grimy skyman.

  “Yeah,” hollered another, “and I’d been told they sewed you gents into your uniforms.”

  Bar just laughed. “They couldn’t make a uniform to contain this even if they wanted to,” and then he flexed an exposed bicep to the rowdy crowd. Years of hard labor had cleaved the fat from Bar’s bones long ago, leaving nothing but muscle and sinew in its wake, and the three months of living the ‘easy’ life of an officer had done nothing to ruin it as of yet either.

  “Watch your ladies, gentlemen, Bazzon’s a cad alright!” teased Mr. Tolle.

  They all got a real kick out of seeing their former mate hamming it up for their riotous amusement, and the mood felt right for it. Too many tension-filled months had taxed them to the last, months spent anxiously on the frontlines in the thick of it, with imperial warships hammering them up and down the skies, and then the hellish nightmare of their retreat once the Giedi Cluster was lost. The plan had been for the fleet to regroup at Midport and hold the line there, but by the time the Chimera arrived it was a day late to the aftermath of the isle’s defeat. Nothing remained for them but smoke, despair, and the Iron Armada. How they’d made it through the hell of that gauntlet was a thing of mystery, and by the time they reached the safe embrace of the Sargasso Sky the crew and ship were battered and weary beyond reconciliation. Then Bernard Lockney was taken from them through promotion, and Zavier Moore came sweeping in with his Kinglander sensibilities, and after that, the months of drilling and waiting had taken its toll. It was hard not to get discouraged; not with the Empire still lurking in the sky like something out of a nightmare. They and their blasted iron behemoths reminded Bar of the legends his father used to tell: