Sea of Questions

The sea was a harsh mistress, wind blowing in her face, ripping her breath from her as she stood on deck. The others were below when the Engine was engaged, but she know she had to be here, to see the sea when the others hid. To understand the sea, she knew she had to see her at both her best and worst, both hers and the seas. Today she felt good, contemplative. Understanding, perhaps even wistful. The sea, even in its worst of moods could provide answers, she knew. Yesterday had been different.

The Engine couldn't be used so close to the empire's boats, not without giving them away, and the Sea had taken her ships sails and pressed them, ever so gently, in to the none-too-loving arms of the Imperial fleet. Uther stood by the masts, seemingly unarmed. He needed no weapons but for his fists and his bulk, with which he hid the mechanism the sails used to fold away. Tim, Tim-Billy Smith to all but the crew and his dear deceased Mum, followed the Empire's inspectors, hounding them with the sarcasm and wit he was known for, perhaps hoping to distract them. Tec'La hid, her strange swaddled clothes wrapped about her stranger form in her cabin, as she muttered the spell to keep the engine unnoticed.

And the sea played her part, a small storm whipping up, and the inspectors, in fear of their boat's safety, pledging to keep the "visit" short. She watched as they gave a cursory glance over Uther and other fixtures on deck, before heading down into the hold. Tim carefully showed them the barrels of apples, and carefully feigned nervousness until they checked a barrel of coffee, highly taxed, but not illegal. The guns stayed safely hidden. They accepted that Tec'Las room was quarantined (true enough, but to keep her from getting ill, not them).

They were saying their farewells when the Sea played her treasonous hand, a stray thunderbolt striking the crystals that powered their miraculously undiscovered drive. The Ship shot forward, the mast bending under the sudden force, and even Uther knocked to his feet, like a mountain crumbling. Pistols and rifles appeared in the hands of the suddenly kidnapped inspectors, and cannon fire rang out, filling the air with the acrid tinge of smoke, the fleet giving futile chase. A stray ball hit Tim's leg, removing it with a sickening snap at the knee, his short stature being the only thing that saved him from another sailing just over his head. Chaos took the ship, and the Sea cracked a thunderous laugh.

She wanted answers. The Sea was reluctant to give them, but she had all the time in the world. The fleet could not catch her, and the inspectors couldn't flee a ship moving so fast. Dead men would tell no tales. The sea hadn't killed her yet, she remained Captain.

She would have her answers, one way, or another.