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"When you said to wake you before morning bell, I didn't think you meant to be tinkering." Myka said flatly, wrapping his hands around a mug that steamed in the chill air. He took a deep breath to stifle the yawn building in his chest, his bleary gaze souring further under the blaze of Julius' considerable cheer. The early hour wasn't the cause of the young man's happiness, it was the fact that his hands were flying across his machinery, coils and cogs primed with the swirling patterns that elegantly portrayed the building blocks of the universe. The machine itself wasn't so pretty, cobbled together as it was, but it responded quickly to his light touches. It was here that Julius was at his best, so when he smiled brilliantly at his friend, Myka couldn’t find it within himself to hold it against him. He smiled back and hid it quickly behind a sip of his tea.

"The readings will be better after his exercise routine, when the pattern output's at its greatest." Julius pushed up from the deck, brushing off his knees. "Don't worry, he'll be done soon."

The silence was comfortable as it settled around them, Julius folding his arms and Myka sipping from his mug. He held it out in offering, but the engineer waved it off with a nod and a smile. The other man shrugged and brought the mug in close again, his eyes following the captain across the deck. They both watched Frederic Lassiter running laps around the Daruna, fixed gaze barely glancing down as he climbed the stairs with ease. There was a line, almost a groove, worn into the wooden deck that disappeared underneath Frederic's steps.

"Honestly, I thought he'd mind the cannons on deck, but it looks like he found a way around them."

"I think you mean over them."

The captain approached the cannon at the aft and he sprang across it like a hurdle, absorbing the change into his routine effortlessly. He seemed to take each one with a little more gusto than the one before, and before he was done, the sun had appeared properly over the horizon. Myka was trading whispered bets with Bassett and Buck on whether the captain would trip over one and Julius was vehemently opposed to the betting. Not quite in the defense of his friend as he expounded on the virtues of his work that was currently propelling Frederic over one last cannon.

A small burst of applause greeted him when he came to a stop and though his cheeks were flushed from exertion, they brightened with a tinge of embarrassment. Frederic felt loose-limbed and happy enough that he waved them off easily, choosing to ignore the crew as he started stretching. It didn't put off the engineer for very long, however, and he impatiently waved the captain over after a minute. Frederic went, if only because he knew it was inevitable.

"I don't get to say this often," Julius grinned, and Frederic was already rolling his eyes. "But off with your breeches, sir."

"You actually say that more often than you think," Myka stepped back from the look Julius leveled at him, but he chuckled all the same as the two Barristers laughed.

"How about a rolled-up pants leg and we'll say I owe you one," the captain said, left arm arched over his head with his right leg extended. Julius turned back, willing to argue for the science of it, but he took in the small details of the man's flushed cheeks, his sweaty brow, and the layers of clothing he'd nonetheless wore to exercise in and he sighed.

"Roll away," he gestured at the captain and sat down on the deck. Frederic obligingly had rolled up his right leg, the new metal gleaming in the morning light. A silence fell over the gathered sailors as the pattern machine came to life and Julius began to attach several wires behind Frederic's knee. Myka was occupied with his tea again, and Bassett watched with narrowed eyes but Buck was clearly fascinated.

"So, are you a natural magus, Julius?" He asked, eyes flitting from the machine to the notes the other man was jotting down, laughing as he shook his head.

"I wish," he replied. "Then I wouldn't have to lug around this thing." Julius gestured at his machine, and Buck’s gaze shifted, zeroing in on the flickering figures like they would spell out its nature.

"Is it a cypher, then, to power up his legs?"

Julius' smile widened and he cleared his throat. "It's a matrameter, actually, modified by yours truly. It lets me know what patterns are in use, what effect they’re having and at what efficiency. In this case, the patterns on the legs have already been powered by the kinetic energy of our dear captain's run, nothing to do with what I’m doing which is—"

Bassett, normally not one to speak if one of his more outgoing brothers was nearby, scrunched his brows together and said, "Because only a mage can make a pattern, right?"

Julius sat back on his feet, notes forgotten, and gestured with the pencil in his hand. "That's an elitist belief left over from the Golden Age that only a magus could do magic, and if it hadn’t been for men like Berke Lorimer, and schools like the Rede Academy that teach anyone," and maybe Julius would have continued if Myka hadn’t groaned and put a hand over his left ear. Behind the engineer, Frederic put a hand on his shoulder.

"Maybe less public forum, and more finishing up before second bell," the captain smiled tightly at the others, and Bassett stepped back and did his best to look uninterested. Buck, sheepishly shrugged his shoulders, turned back to Julius jotting down his figures and asked softly,

"So you did make the patterns on his legs, then?"

Julius nodded eagerly, ignoring the look Frederic was giving him. "It's an artificial matra pattern, like you'd see on streetlights or the lifts in some of the fancier quarters of Tremont. The cyphers needed to do it aren't common, but Yuasa's the best for a reason.” He said, tapping his left shoulder, indicating the tattoo of a large, round leaf with a ‘Y’ in the middle and two lines on either side. With one last flourish, Julius set aside his notes and pulled the wires from Frederic’s knee, winding them up and storing them neatly in the matrameter.

The captain breathed an audible sigh of relief, shaking out his knee and letting his pants leg roll down with the motion. "What's the diagnosis, Jules?" He asked, performing a couple of squats just to making his legs feel like his again. Picking up his captain's jacket, he slipped his arms through each sleeve, leaving it hanging unbuttoned in the front. He turned and saw Myka helping the engineer with the opposite handle on the machine.

"You're a fine specimen of machinist man, Captain," he replied, grinning at Frederic who rolled his eyes. "And I'll know more once I compare the numbers to what I recorded back in Wheelis, but so far so good. This," he laughed, shifting his weight from foot to foot in excitement. "This could be a whole new chapter in the way we use prosthesis!"

"Someone promised me breakfast," Myka said, shaking his end of the matrameter.

"That was me! Okay, come on," and as a group the men started heading for the stairs to go below deck. The Barristers went first, followed by Myka and Julius who took one stair at a time as they carried the machine between them. Frederic waited a beat behind, right hand resting on the railing when the ship lurched forward. The sudden motion drove the captain to his knees and he was slammed into the low wall, both hands wrapped tightly around the railing to stop his fall. Below, there were groans and noises of confusion, overwhelmed by the sound of bells, one bell, ringing again and again, calling for all hands on deck.

Frederic was on his feet and running up the stairs in moments, footfalls tracing the same path he'd run this morning. At the helm stood Bohman, hands gripping the wheel, but his attention was behind him on Ruth. She was standing at the railing, and before the captain could reach her, she screamed, "Brace for impact!"

The Daruna shook again, the tremors resonating from below, but Frederic recovered quickly, rushing to his first mate’s side in time to see four ships, medium-sized cutters with narrow, netted air balloons, rushing up from below and behind them. They were spreading out, the two on the outside rising faster, climbing up to the Daruna's altitude. Not one of them was flying any colors, and the raiders on board that Frederic could see were holding weapons that shined in the sunlight.

"Are you kidding me," Julius cried out, having followed the captain up the stairs, Myka hanging on to the rail behind him.

"Get on the cannons!" Thomson was running up from below deck, three pattern rifles in his hands. Otha was trailing after him, a shotgun slung over his shoulder and another in his hands. Dane brought up the rear, sheathed swords on his back and Ruth’s bow and quiver in his hands. "Gear up," the gunner shouted, throwing one rifle at Myka and another at Frederic who caught it with both hands. "I want a Barrister aft, another starboard. Engineers should be below decks!"

"Ships coming in port and starboard, Captain!" Bohman shouted. At the fore, Bonnie screamed and the ship shook again as one of the cutters scraped against their right side, its balloon obscuring the light for just a moment.

"Captain!" Ruth cried, stringing an arrow to her bow.

The sun cut through as the raider ship became level with them and Frederic blinked as though waking, reached out with his right hand and grabbed Thomson by the back of his shirt. "You're on the aft cannon. Get those other two ships off of us. Ruth, stay with the wheel. Julius, push the engine. Otha, take him down below, guard him." He grabbed the second shotgun from the boatswain's hands and shoved it in Bassett’s hands. "You get to Bonnie, take the port cannon. Buck, you're with me!"

There were raiders coming over the starboard side, a select few securing the ships to each other before crossing. Frederic aimed at these first, raising the rifle in his hands and shot twice in succession, knocking back a man into the cutter and injuring the other. Tossing the pattern gun to Buck behind him, Frederic closed the distance between himself and the first raider he came across, swinging his right fist. People were rarely ready for the heavy force of a machinist limb, and this one was no different, crumpling to the floor before he could raise his blade. The next one was not caught so unawares, keeping her hatchet between herself and Frederic. The raiders were all outfitted with blades and axes. For all that they had surprised the Daruna crew, the captain knew their weapons should win the fight for them. That was, until a red-headed woman with skin like coffee grounds leaped over the side and swiped at him with a hand engulfed with flames.

He angled his body like he was fencing, and met her hand-to-hand combat with his metal limbs that were safe from her fire, his leather jacket blackening where her blows fell. Stepping back, he yelled, "They're otherkind!"

"We noticed!" Dane replied from across the desk. Frederic saw sparks fly as his second mate blocked an axe with his crossed swords. The man wielding the axe stood half a foot over the Togule and had scaled skin. Buck was clear across the way, back to back with his brother, using the shotgun Bassett had before to blast back the raiders coming over portside. Bonnie had climbed up the stairs and had a pattern rifle in hand, doing her best to aid in the same venture. Frederic delivered a powerful kick to his opponent, and she didn't get back up once an arrow pinned her to the floor.

"Captain!" He whirled around, looked up to see Ruth balanced on the railing, calling to him. "Captain, the stairs!"

Several raiders had slipped past their offense, and he saw the tail end of them slipping below decks. "The engine," he breathed out, dread trickling down his spine. He ran for the narrow opening, sliding past Dane and his formidable opponent, and jumped over the last few steps where the matrameter lay forgotten. Frederic used his forward momentum to kick his opponent ahead into his fellow further down the hallway. The doorway to the kitchens was barricaded with the dining table, protecting Cornelius who squinted and shot his pistol with a wavering hand. Often his targets would fall back with a knife embedded in their limbs, courtesy of Neonna who stood directly behind the old quartermaster. A flash of blonde hair, and Carissa was shouting over the cook's shoulder, "Captain!"

"Stay down!" He yelled but Frederic would have done better to heed his own orders, slammed into the wall and forced into a rough scuffle halfway between himself and the engine. His metal limbs crunched through bone and he spotted Otha at the other end. There was evidence of shotgun blasts used in the narrow quarters, but the bos'un had the pattern gun hanging off his back, his long knives in either hand, blood dripping from the blades. Working in tandem, they fought around each other, until Julius screamed from the engine room, "Hold onto something!"

The engineer grabbed the brass voicepipe at his chin level, the metal lighting up with the pattern spell that was activated by Julius' touch. "Get ready!" He warned. Using both hands, Julius pulled a lever and there was a sudden burst of steam from the engine, a wave of heat that reached Frederic outside at the same time the ship jumped up beneath him. He fell back against the wall, pinned momentarily by the speed, and his eyes were drawn up to deck above by the sudden roar, wood splintering, wrenching, and voices swelling as once. Frederic had his stomach fall through to his feet, possessed by the sudden fear that the Daruna might crash.

The raiders were picking themselves up, stampeding their way out of the hallway, hauling their fellows with them when they could and leaving them behind when they couldn't. Frederic couldn’t understand the words they traded between each other, only the urgency in them. He looked back, caught eyes with Otha, and motioned for him to stay. The captain staggered to his feet, approved of the easy pickings Cornelius and Neonna had now that the raiders were trying to escape for the stairs.

A few of the smarter ones had gone the opposite way, towards the cargo hold, opening the hatch that led above deck. Something else exploded above, forcing the raiders back down where Frederic was ready to receive them. The captain didn't make a sound at another slice along his left arm, he ducked down and swung through, grunted when the last caught him in the ribs, taking a mean pleasure in slamming his boot into the raider's face. Frederic looked up at the open hatch, grabbed both edges above him and hauled himself up.

Buck's fist connected solidly with the captain’s jaw and perhaps he blacked out for a moment because suddenly he was staring up at the deckhand's face peering down at him. Thankfully, the raiders below had broken his fall.

"Ow," he said pointedly, rubbing his jaw and glaring up at Buck who was badly concealing a grin.

"I am frightfully sorry, Captain," he said, reaching down and offering him a hand. "I thought you were another raider." Another hand grabbed for him too, and Frederic found himself back up on deck, Buck and Bohman on either side of him, Bassett with a gray tinge to his expression clearly recovering a few feet away.

The raiders' cutter on the port side had been torn away, bits of railing hanging off the Daruna where the two ships had been attached. Starboard the cutter had never properly anchored itself to the SMS vessel, or perhaps it would have suffered the same fate. As it was, the ship was struggling to keep up with the Daruna now, the cutter lagging behind and swinging visibly under its netted balloon. Now that he was listening for it, he could hear the aft cannon firing, then other cannons and the Daruna suddenly slowing down beneath him. Frederic caught his balance, lending a hand to Bohman who staggered beside him. Then his eyes narrowed at the man.

"Who the hell is at the helm?" He growled, dropping the hold instantly and sprinting away from the prow.

The captain ran by bodies, raiders that hadn't managed to make it safely back to their ships. Some were alive, and some were decidedly not. He called Bonnie's name before approaching her, glad he did because she whirled on him with a pattern shotgun in her hands. He immediately pushed the gun mouth away from himself and the petite redhead collapsed into his side where she startled suddenly and Frederic instinctively tucked her closer to him. They both watched a cutter ship rise up on the port side, for the briefest of moments.

"More ships?" she asked, a note of despair in her voice.

A couple of living raiders jumped the distance, though not all of them made it. The ship fell away, speeding ahead and veering away from the Daruna, followed immediately by a sleek ship that had no balloon, a dazzling glow emanating from beneath its wings. Frederic stared after it in a daze, three more cutters following the first, similarly chased by two more of the sleek ships.

"Those are Imperial Scouts," Dane said hoarsely. He'd earned the fearsome reputation of his countrymen, splattered with blood across his face and down his arms. A cough seized him and Bonnie moved to help, leaving Frederic free to continue back to the stern. There was Myka standing at the wheel, his feet shoulders width apart and hands securely on the helm. They came off for a moment when he noticed Frederic's arrival, a mistake he immediately rectified before the ship could so much as drift an inch. The deaf man opened his mouth and closed it, saved from the captain's scrutiny when Ruth stepped towards him, appearing unscathed.

"You're safe," he said, the relief that flooded through him a sharp contrast to the aches his body was beginning to acknowledge, muscles strained in fighting with unfamiliar metal limbs. His first mate nodded once, clearing her throat and grimacing as she looked him once over.

"And you're upright, at least," she said. Frederic's fingers alighted on his aching jaw, and he glanced down, his right hand touching the bloodstain on his side.

"Captain?" Thomson called, wiping the sweat from his brow with the back of his hand as he rose to his full height. The gunner looked back at them both, falling away from Frederic’s attention as the machinist closed the distance between himself and the railing. Floating serenely behind the Daruna was a schooner-sized balloon airship, but that’s where the similarities ended. It was painted in gleaming golds and navy blues, the wood glossed over like it had never sailed through rough winds, manned by sailors that looked just as polished. Standing at the prow was Prince Jovan III, waving at Frederic.

He was close enough that his words were heard clearly. "Permission to board, Captain?"