Family Matters
© 2022 by M. Mitch Marmel

Thumbnail art by  tegerio, color by  marmelmm

Part Thirty-five


Low:

“Your Majesty, Your Highnesses, this is the Valkyrie VF-1 combat aeromech,” I said as we walked up to the two ships on the ready pad, ready for flight. The rest of the Musashi’s two combat wings were parked nearby. “This is the machine – well, one like them – that was seen from the coast.”

The Elves looked it over. “It’s big,” the Princess said. Her mate had an expression of distaste on his muzzle, while the King and the Marshal studied the fighter’s sleek, angular lines. “Why is it so large?”

“Function dictates form,” I replied. “For example, if you were building an . . . an ant-cart, you would first have to take into account whether it was going to move people, cargo, or both.” The Princess nodded and I said, “The Valkyrie has to be large to carry its pilot, engines, fuel, weapons and armor. As agreed with Marshal Roland,” and I nodded toward Prince Roland, who nodded curtly back, “we are planning on a flight demonstration, which we can see from the main deck outside after this craft launches.” A part-Siamese feline in a flight suit came walking around the Valkyrie, and as he climbed in I said, “That was Captain Ming, the commander of the Musashi’s combat aircraft, and my best pilot. This way, please,” and I led the way to a flight control station near the ceiling.

“Why can’t we watch from there?” Prince Gawain asked, nodding down at the flight deck.

“Because it’s quite noisy,” I said, “and although we take precautions, accidents may still happen. And this is my ship, Your Highness; I will not risk any of you.” He nodded, and four sets of mephit ears went back as the Valkyrie started its twin engines with a high-pitched whine that was eclipsed by a roar. Flames shot out of the exhausts and licked against the blast deflector that had swung up into position.

A catapult harness was attached, and the flight controller gestured. Ming saluted, and with another roar the plane was thrown out of the ship and into the open air.

“Shall we go above and watch?” I asked.


***


Winterbough:

The young feline constable stood at attention, paws at the seams of his trousers, and looking straight ahead. The only (small) demerit he had was that his tailfur was bottled out in nervousness.

A detail I could see, even scrying all the way from Elfhame to Westpocket.

Every so often -- but only when I was in Elfhame, to be sure -- I took out my best and most powerful scrying-sphere, and cast my Gaze over to that small and distant realm, to see how things were going.

I could have been subtle about it, and done it in an unobtrusive fashion, but frankly, the notion of sneaking around what was fairly my realm didn't appeal to me. I didn't announce myself, but it was clear to me that the furs I was Gazing at could Sense that they were being checked up on, and by whom.

There didn't seem to be any objection to this practice of mine. Indeed, there seemed to be definite pride in what the commons of Westpocket had accomplished, and deservedly so.

In the time since my visit there (and the establishment of my decidedly ambiguous status), things had moved swiftly. For one thing, the roads on average were now in decent nick, and in certain spots in Westpocket City, were about the equal of anything you'd find in the Capitals. One thing that most certainly was (in my biased opinion) the equal of anything in the Capitals was the repaired and renovated Royal Palace. It now boasted a lemon-cream-and-white-trim paint job on the outside, and the roof sported a simple but elegant copper dome that was already turning a pleasant shade of, well, mint green.

There was a lot of mint green about Westpocket, from the trim on constables' uniforms, to the enameled "W" plaques (surrounded by neat little flower patches) by the sides of the road, to the plain flag that flew above the Royal Palace.

That was one of several hints I'd been getting about the feelings of the Commons. Furs that were being Gazed either came to attention, bowed their heads, or went to one knee. Another, more fursonal hint was the fact that enormous effort had been put into restoring the Royal Library of Westpocket, which took up nearly a quarter of the Palace. Furs were busy cataloging, sorting and shelving books, and more than once, the catalogue of new acquisitions was pointedly left open; furs would occasionally walk by to turn a page, seemingly for my benefit.

The one item that had not been touched was the ruined throne, which was still broken and ragged. Well, two items, I should say: the Copper Crown nestled on its seat had not been touched since my Aunt Mamie, the Regent, had put it there, and had announced the Vacancy.

Speaking of which, I had taken a great deal of care to stay out of her Sight. Not from fear, mind you, but from a sense that I needed to give her some kind of plausible deniability. Just in case the Royal Skunks got it into their brain-boxes to quiz her.

Still, I had to satisfy my curiosity and see how the commons were snapping out of their doldrums. Very well, in my estimation.

The Westpocket constable was, in effect, dismissed, when I took my Gaze from him. They'd hired new constables, recently, and I guess the academics had largely returned to their former duties. Which was a happy thing for all concerned. Once I had removed my Gaze, I turned off the scrying-sphere, and got up from my desk and left my study, and then the Master's Lodge itself.


***


Mason:

Beautiful weather for an airshow.

When we got up on the aft deck of the ship Ming was waiting for us, and as soon as we were all comfortably situated (seats had been brought up) he was mercilessly throwing the Valkyrie around the sky, doing loops, hammerheads, dives, and other maneuvers at varying speeds.

Then he transitioned his plane into the cobra maneuver, balancing it on its engine nozzles while the plane transformed into a bipedal mech, and hovered there while we watched. A succession of target drones were launched, with me giving our guests an explanation of what they were and what they were for, and for another few moments we saw a display of marksmanship.

If I knew Alois, he had disabled the plane’s targeting sensors and was firing by eye.

Either way, he was five for five on the targets. Good shootin’ there, Tex.

With the demonstration over, we were moving along the main deck, the Marshal looking at the main and secondary turrets. With the exception of the Princess, the royal party seemed to be trying to avoid looking out at the ocean if they could help it. “These are your weapons, if what I saw from the machine is any indication?” Roland asked.

“Yes, Your Highness,” I replied. “The ship’s main battery is nine eighteen-inch shock cannons in three triple turrets, with smaller examples serving for smaller or closer targets.”

“I should like to see a demonstration.”

I tried, mostly successfully, to keep the grin off my face. “That can be easily arranged, Sir – hm,” I said as we came upon a rather interesting scene.

We had been moving forward, along the port side, and were almost abreast of the ‘B’ turret when we saw that one of the port forward deck launchers had been trained out over the water. I stepped over to the rail, with Low and our guests following us, and looked down.

I chuckled.

One of the Musashi’s smaller landing craft was in the water, and a group of crewmembers wearing swimsuits were either sunning themselves or jumping into the water off its broad, flat deck and swimming about. “It appears,” I said, “that the ship’s captain has given some of the off-duty crew a little time off.”

There was a slight commotion, and we turned in time to see a trio of furs, two canine femmes and one canine mel, walking along the length of the launcher’s rail. Their intent was quite plain as one of the femmes ran to the end of the rail and launched herself into the air in a very neat dive. The mel went to the jumping off point and seemed to dither, only to head for the water screaming, impelled by the second girl’s foot. She dove in after he’d surfaced.

Yes, they were wearing swimsuits, if you can call a pawkerchief’s worth of material a ‘swimsuit.’ I know Tali’s opinion on them – they just cry out to be taken off – but apparently word had been passed to keep the nudity under wraps.

The King, though, was giving the young women an appreciative look, as was the Marshal.

Young Sourpuss, though, looked a little cool towards the scene below. “I would think they would be more disciplined.”

“They’re the best crew in our Navy, Your Highness,” I said, “because they’re allowed some time for recreation.”

“What about sharks or krakens?” Princess Persephone asked.

Krakens? “See that small boat over there?” I pointed out, and she nodded. “They’re on the lookout for anything dangerous.”

“That’s good.” I blinked as she suddenly stripped, and in a few moments she had her clothes and underwear in her paws.

I’ll have to tell Tali that someone just beat her record.

“Wha – Persephone!?” Gawain yelped as she gave him her clothes and she clambered up onto the launch rail. Her husband stared at her as she broke into a run and did a very creditable one and a half gainer off the high board and into the sea below.

I’d have to give her a 9.1 for the amount of splash, but that was probably her tail.


***


Persephone:

Whee!

I haven’t had a chance to swim in the sea since leaving Kahanomoku to get married. Don’t get me wrong; Gawain is a wonderful husband, and there are many opportunities around Persoc Tor for a swim, but he’s a very busy mel, having to look after the Mephitist Empire because the King is so frail.

I broke the surface and shook water from my eyes, and one of the mels aboard the floating platform called out, “Great dive! Too bad about your suit.”

I swam over, and he helped me up. “I wasn’t wearing a – suit, you called it?”

“Oh, um, you’re one of the guests?” he asked after glancing up at the others on the ship. “Very pleased to meet you. That was a rad jump, that was.”

I smiled. “My name’s Persephone.”

“Happy to meet you. Name’s Shiro. Great day for a swim, eh?” He was a feline, with a varied black and white pattern to his fur. “Pity we’re not closer to shore.”

“Oh?” I took a seat and wrung some water out of my headfur. “Why is that?”

“I’d get my board out of storage,” Shiro said. “With all this water, brah, got to be some really tasty waves inshore to ride on.”

“You’re – you’re a wave-rider?” I asked. He nodded, and I clapped my paws. “That’s wonderful! I used to do that when I was younger.”

“It’s great,” the feline said. “A few of us like to do it, when we can.”

“What about him?” I asked, pointing at a morose-looking cervine still wearing his uniform.

“Him? Nah, Charlie don’t surf.”

A small group of bathers had applauded my dive, and they began clapping their paws and singing.

“Divin’ skunk, doo, doo, doo, doo, doo, doo.
Divin’ skunk, doo, doo, doo, doo, doo, doo.
Divin’ skunk, doo, doo, doo, doo, doo, doo.
Divin’ skunk!

Swimmin’ skunk, doo, doo, doo, doo, doo, doo.
Swimmin’ skunk, doo, doo, doo, doo, doo, doo.
Swimmin’ skunk, doo, doo, doo, doo, doo, doo.
Swimmin’ skunk!”



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