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It was yet another ceremony, another hour of schooling his expression into something professional with the end result being closer to rigid and unfeeling. Frederic tried to pay polite attention to yet another orator, but his focus slipped away in seconds if he did, so he turned his eyes to the small crowd that had gathered and found something even worse. These were all men and women of the Sahalyian Merchant Service, and some had been here for years while others were just starting their careers. They had all trained together, worked on the same ships together, and celebrated the guild that united them all. Which of them had known his crew? Who among the gathered could tell him stories about the five people who should’ve been standing with him?

The captain couldn't look at the crowd after that.

Instead he looked at the Guild Mistress and found some comfort in the absolute indifference she had in her expression.

Framed by mouse-brown hair that was graying at the edges, her face was handsome for her age, largely attributed to the fact that she never smiled. She was indomitable when it came to her position as the head of the guild, and ran the members the way a captain would run her crew: demanding obedience and efficiency. Those who were smart normally followed her lead, and those who weren’t didn't last very long. And it wasn't that Essie Gallimore was mean. She wasn't even that strict as far as most guild masters went. It was simply that, if a man's hair spontaneously caught fire in front of her and she had a glass of water in her hand, she would drink it.

It was normally something that Frederic admired about the woman but today, when she caught him looking at her, her face withered to a cold and bitter mask. He stopped listening to the speech regarding what award was being handed to him now, seeing more than feeling his flesh-and-blood fingers wrapping around the cold metal sculpture. This one had an airship on it. He didn't notice the applause from the group of sailors and airmen, barely managed to contort his expression into something less of a grimace as he nodded in thanks. He would have made his escape shortly thereafter if it wasn’t for Essie's hand suddenly at his elbow. It was his machinist right arm, and it might as well have been a leash for how her clawed grip directed him inside through hallways and past surprised secretaries into a room he had only been in once before: her office.

"Sit," she said.

The guild mistress walked over to a short cabinet that opened to reveal liquor, not files. She poured two fingers of whiskey into two glasses, carrying both back and holding one out to Frederic. He raised his hand to accept it and looked suddenly confused to see the award in his grasp. Essie, without a word, set one of the shot glasses down, grabbed the award from his hand, and threw it into a small waste basket on the other side of her desk.

Then, she offered him the glass again.

"I don't drink," Frederic said quietly, still finding himself taking the whiskey in hand.

"You should start," the older woman replied and threw back her own, setting the empty shot down.

"Liquor's too hard on a body with pattern prosthetics," he said, his brow furrowed.

"So put on a second sling," she said dryly but with a long-suffering look, Essie took the shot out of Frederic's outstretched hand and drank it down too. She stared down at the glass intently, as though there were something of interest at the bottom of it. "Is Georgia going to have to give up spirits too? She's going to hate that."

The sudden stone in Frederic's throat made it hard to swallow, but he made the attempt anyway.

"Mistress Gallimore, I–"

"I don't want to hear it, Lassiter." She hadn't taken her gaze away from the glass in her hand, turning it slowly in her fingers. "The way I see it is this: you went off on one of your honor jaunts and came back with six of our people bruised and banged-up, one who won't leave her bed, and five of them in boxes. Everyone that's still alive and conscious claims they're fit for duty, and those that aren't, well." Essie dropped her glass with an audible clunk on her table as she focused her eyes back on him. "My barrister tells me that's why we have every sailor sign a contract before serving with the guild."

There was that feeling again, that roiling pit at the bottom of his stomach, and he spoke as if he were forcing his words through his teeth. "I lost half of my crew, but according to your reassurances, at least I won't be petitioned by their families. Am I supposed to be relieved?" he asked. The corners of Essie's lips lifted as though she was smiling, but the action did little to warm her expression.

"You're supposed to listen, and listen well, Lassiter." She leaned forward, just a fraction of the distance between them, and she still managed to crowd him. "You cannot ever be that irresponsible again. I won't abide it," her voice remained on an even keel, but Frederic still flinched. They were only words, but the captain could hear the promise in them, the threat. "The fact that the Crown has its eyes on you and the entire guild right now is the only reason you are still a one-armed cripple and not a stump. Because you are a... treasure of the Empire and should be treated accordingly, as it has been made abundantly clear to me, by several interested parties, on more than one occasion now. However, you and your crowd of admirers will be out of what hair I have left sooner than later. I have your next assignment right here," Essie gained her feet and walked around her desk, shifting a few things until she had an envelope in hand. She tossed it at Frederic who caught it easily in one hand, instantly dismayed at its light weight but his face remained passive.

"This season, there are more sailors in the air than birds," he said carefully. "And this can't be more than one run. My crew needs to stay busy if you expect us to get back up on our feet."

"Are you transhumans allowed to make jokes like that? Because I'll be honest with you, Lassiter, you don't have a leg to stand on where I'm concerned.” she said, straight-faced. Frederic looked gob-smacked. "You can pick up more runs in the next port, but I only need one to run you out of town." She nodded at the envelope held tightly in his fingers, so tightly it took deliberate effort to lower and settle it on his lap. Normally he would've taken this kind of talk in silence, but being verbally gutted by his guild mistress had a strange way of making Frederic feel brave.

"I need to borrow the SMS Arrow," he said plainly. "The Daruna won't be airworthy until the end of the week, and I need to get to Wheelis by tomorrow evening."

"You can't fly right now," Essie huffed instead of laughing. "Last I looked you were short two working arms and a pilot, among other things," she said casually, but Frederic could feel his eyelid twitch unconsciously. She nodded to the papers she had just handed him. "Aren't you going to open it?"

"The Arrow, yes or no?"

She continued as if he'd said nothing at all. "We received some cargo from a seafaring ship for Prince Jovan, and since he's formally adopted you into his kennel, he's having your crew hand-deliver it. You are lacking a helmsman, an engineer, and a couple of good deckhands to fly that ship of yours. Strangely enough, since there's been all of this Imperial interest in you, I've got lads lining up around the corner just to sign up with your crew."

Frederic frowned. "Really?"

"Of course not, they think you're cursed." Mistress Gallimore shrugged, ignoring the look the captain leveled at her, and gestured again to the envelope he held. "But there are always some men who wouldn't know good sense if it hit them with the flat end of a shovel. Three brothers, in fact, joined up only a few months ago but they'll be what you're getting. The oldest one, he was on his way to joining our pilot program when I tapped him for your crew. You've completed the course and with your current work license, you can teach him the rest of the procedures aboard ship."

Frederic had pulled open the tie on the envelope and pulled out amongst the sheaf of papers three similar cards of information. Details like names, birthdates and other pertinent information covered the papers from top to bottom. If the captain's cursory glance was correct, the men were skilled, even if they were so green that they belonged planted in a field more than they did on his ship. He slipped the papers delicately back into their envelope, keeping his eyes downcast when he said carefully, "A captain typically has the final approval on the roster of his crew."

"You are no longer a typical captain, Lassiter," Essie said, and if Frederic thought he heard a note of sympathy in her voice, it was gone just as quickly as he might've imagined it. "And these three are not negotiable. They might be so freshly cut from the ranks that the sap’s still wet, but I know them personally and all three of them know how to fight. This is what I want for your new crew, understand me? I want you armed. To the teeth, if at all possible. Now get out of my office." She rose to her feet, Frederic did the same and despite the heated words, they both saluted one another. "Expect your new crew members to meet you at your ship." Essie settled back into her usual scowl and crossed the distance between her liquor cabinet, already reaching for the decanter.

Biting his tongue, Frederic turned to leave and had opened the door when Mistress Gallimore called out.

"The Arrow is out on assignment right now but you can ask my clerk for Treva White, she’ll give you a lift. Her Yalegar Basket will have you in Wheelis by tomorrow." She leaned back, downing another shot of whiskey. "And tell Georgia that I have a position ready for her the moment she's up on her feet. Foot, whatever."

The captain's hand tightened around the doorknob for a moment and then he was closing it behind him, walking towards the black-haired man sitting at a desk with a face that expressly said he had not been eavesdropping. All the same, when Frederic reached his desk, the young man was ready with a small pouch of coin and a leather-bound passport that would entitle the holder to safe passage.

"Captain White is down at the guild house," the clerk answered without prompting. "If you can't find her, her First Mate should be down at the wet dock. The Basket is a yellow monstrosity of a boat, you can't miss it."

He parted his lips to reply when he paused, eyes pulled aside by the familiar stride of a woman speeding straight towards him. "Thank you, but I'll have to send a note along to the guild house if it's all the same," Frederic asked the clerk. "It appears that I've got something more pressing to attend to."

His throat closing up, he stepped away from the secretary's desk and watched Ruth bearing down him. Every fear in his heart rattled the bars of its cage, and every terrible situation he could imagine ran slapdash before his eyes. Frederic was practically dizzy with anticipation by the time she drew up in front of him, her full lips in their default downward turn when they suddenly quirked and Ruth smiled.

She positively beamed.

"Georgia's awake," she said. At her words, Frederic felt such a rush of relief that he laughed and pulled Ruth into a one-armed embrace, tucking her smaller frame against him with his chin over her shoulder. Pulling back, he missed the slight rouge to her cheeks, searching her eyes desperately.

"A-and she's-?"

"She's good! Tired, some bedsores, and she woke up ravenous, but that's nothing new. Neonna had already fed a small army of workmen by noon but she went right back into the kitchen to make all of her favorites. Poor Culton, he'd been hoping to get off the ship for a while this evening," Ruth shut her mouth deliberately to stem the rush of words falling out of her mouth, but Frederic didn't seem to notice. She smiled again, made happier by the joy on her captain's face than she could possibly say in words. "Come on," she said, starting to walk them back down the hall. The Creshe woman took the bundle of things Frederic had been balancing and tucked them into the crook of one arm. "I'll take care of whatever this is and you can go back to the Daruna," she offered.

Frederic smiled for what felt like the first time in weeks.

"Sounds good to me," he said, and followed his First Mate out of the SMS headquarters.