//------------------------------// // Price of Knowledge // Story: Eden Fire // by Sharman Pierce //------------------------------// There were wounded to bring to the surgeon. Fifteen wounded to be exact. Most were minor. Some limped in under their own power with cuts or scrapes from the battle. Others had to be gently levitated in to avoid upsetting more grievous injuries. Two were levitated, but their injuries could not be made any worse. The surgeon and his aide worked with incredible skill. Both magical spells and mundane herbage brought from all corners of the world were exhausted in a new battle against a foe far worse than a fleet of ships: death. Yet despite all their skills, they could not claim total victory. So it stood. The next evening after the battle against the Hamaica squadron, three wrapped bundles lay along the Yellow Rose’s side. Her compliment of crew, both the physically sound and those who insisted on being there on a cot, all waited with a somber silence. None demanded the silence, but they all adhered to it as rigidly as if Captain Gideon had ordered it. No muttered conversations happened. No subdued laughter echoed off the steel. There was only the scraping of hooves and claws against the timber deck and the endless roar of the sea. For a family like the Rose possessed, this loss was felt keenly by all. The ship may have brought them together either in its inception or its dark career, but the crew stayed together because of the bonds they shared. Even Cold Snap was not immune to that. He and Nebula stood in quiet solidarity with the crew, who they realized at some point they started considering as friends. They were all packed together like one sailor mentioned “fish in a can.” Snap wasn’t sure what to make of the comparison, but he understood the sentiment. Conversely, the area around the three wrapped bodies was open save for a small collection of dignitaries. Captain Gideon stood closest to the funeral. Across from him stood a few of the officers and apparently close friends of the departed. The ship cruised under her own power. The engines had been stoked and left to burn as the stokers attended to pay their respects. The Yellow Rose was for all intents helpless should someone decide to pounce. Yet before they began the ceremony, the lookouts had done a careful sweep of the sea and declared it empty. After seeing what Captain Gideon’s crew was capable of, woe unto those who tried interrupting now. “We are all gathered in attendance,” the captain stepped forward and began. “We all feel this loss, though some of them were with us a short time. It was enough time to see their colors, to test their mettle, and to know that they could be relied on in every circumstance. Sailors and friends such as these come along far too rarely, and we have been blessed to have so many aboard this fine ship.” Snap could feel the swell of pride that swept through the gathered crowd. The captain paused and looked out on the vast ocean. Presently, he resumed his eulogy. “These three brave souls fell in a war outside of their making, for it always seems that those responsible for the bloodshed never shed any themselves. They fell bravely and fighting to the last to protect their friends. Some would say that our greatest service to them now is to honor their memory and valor of their actions.” The captain switched his attention to the three bundles laid upon boards. “I say they are wrong. Three things have been promised until the end of days: war, pestilence, and death. Some would add a fourth: Taxes.” A muffled chuckle rippled through the crew. Captain Gideon took it in stride and continued as it died off. “Why do I gainsay their claims of glory in war? Quite simply. Anyone may kill. It takes not one whit of skill to destroy what others have created. Anyone may die in service to a cause. Few can create. Few can build. Few can break the chains of war. These three gave far more in their short life than many gift in a lifetime. To consider their legacy in service of this transient war does nothing but disgrace them. “This may be a time for war, but soon shall come a time for peace. A time to break down, and a time to build up.” Cold Snap realized with a start that the captain was looking directly at him when he uttered those last words. He felt totally glued to the spot as the captain used his phony prophecy against him. His earlier indiscretion had hardly been forgotten. “My words grow long and tiresome, yet I still feel as if I have not done due honor to our departed, but I believe this proves an old adage true, that the funeral is for none but the living. Their souls have departed to their final destination either in the heavens or in the pit. What remains to us is to commend their bodies to the place they grew to love. The sea will care for them until she gives up her dead for the final judgment.” With that, the captain stepped aside. “Ensign,” he commanded simply. A griffon stepped forward and placed a bugle to his beak. What came forth was a melody soft, slow, and melancholic. It evoked a sensation of loss. It was a wordless dirge. As he played, the officers tilted the boards and let the bodies splash into the water where they settled for just a moment before sinking out of sight. With their departure, the bugle call ended, and the crew, sensing their dismissal, shuffled away to resume their duties. Cold Snap and Nebula returned to their own tasks, but Snap couldn’t help looking over his shoulder. By now, only the captain remained rooted to the deck. He gazed dully out over the sea and looked like he wished to be left alone. __________________________________________________________________________________________________________________ Naval cots were a peculiar invention. They were hard, thin, rather irregular things that by all metrics should have been aggravatingly uncomfortable. However, mysterious forces combined in unknown ways to somehow make it possible to fall asleep on one near-instantly. Cold Snap would have done that a while back if a particular someone would stop pacing, rummaging, and mumbling. Nebula wouldn’t stop for anything and showed no signs of being tired. Never mind that it wasn’t even sunset. He was ready to sleep! The noise settled for a moment. Snap felt his eyes roll in that delightful way when sleep is immanent. Just a few moments more… “Hey, where’s that whetstone I loaned you?” something that sounded strangely like Nebula asked. If he ignored it, he might get more sleep. “I know you heard me. Where is it?” In just a moment… In just a moment, pain stabbed his ear as he felt his head violently wrenched from the sad pillow. “Wakey wakey,” Nebula said. Sleepiness vanished like dew in the morning. Snap struggled up and pointed at his saddlebags hanging at the foot of his cot. “Looginthere,” he slurred. Briefly satisfied, Nebula released his hold on his friend and let him flop back to the hard bed. He picked up and began sorting through its contents, humming cheerily as he went. Humming! To think somepony could be so alert to feel that at this time. For once in quite a while, Snap felt regret at his nighttime spying escapades. “Umm, Snap? What is this?” This time, Cold Snap opened his eyes without complaint. A soft magic field surrounded a round disk a little too close to his face. He reached and shoved the thing into a more reasonable focal distance. Snap felt a little too groggy to be overly concerned about it. “It’s a coin. Money. You spend it for things you want but prolly don’t need. I thought you knew that?” Nebula scowled. “Yeah. I figured. What country is this?” “You can read,” Snap snapped back. “Not this.” The wheels in Snap’s head finally broke free and started turning. It was the coin he had filched from Captain Gideon’s desk. He hauled himself off the cot and walked past his confused friend. Fumbling through his saddlebags, he produced the weathered book. Thankfully, it had survived the battle undamaged. His friend also momentarily forgot about the coin. Instead, he watched in bafflement as Snap flipped open the leather cover. He flipped a page. Inside was a mix of flowing notes and penciled sketches. He turned another page. Some of the drawings he recognized as parts of the Yellow Rose. Others were mysteries. “Is that…” Nebulad trailed off. In a moment, he magicked the diary closed and shoved both it and the coin inside the bags, out of sight. “Not here,” he whispered. He threw the saddlebags across his back and started dragging Snap deeper inside the ship. By now, they both were well acquainted with the ship’s labyrinth. In a few turns of the electrically illuminated corridors, they arrived to a door. Nebula wrenched the door open. It was the same store room they had been held prisoners in a lifetime ago. “Inside,” he commanded. Once they were inside, the unicorn finally calmed down enough to explain himself. “Okay. Please answer this clearly and concisely: did you steal these from the captain?” “Well, I didn’t steal them from the captain. They were just in his cabin.” Nebula’s eye twitched. He huffed. “You know, I can’t even be mad. Yes. I know I wanted you to find out answers from our illustrious captain, but to think you could get this from him without getting us fed to the sharks…” He stopped and sighed, all his angry energy spent. Now, Nebula looked tired. He grabbed a bundle of cloth and propped the door closed. Next he took a couple spare mattresses and a short chest and made a crude table. Upon this, he levitated the coin and the book. “Might as well see what all this is about then. Coin or book first?” “Coin,” Snap picked the simpler of the two. The disk clattered on the chest as the two friends leaned in for a closer look. It was silver and of average size. That was where the similarities to every other coin he’d encountered ended. This one was extremely detailed. An eagle spread its wings across the face of the coin. Its claws clutched a branch and arrows, and a wreath ringed the majestic bird. It also had unfamiliar writing, not that many other nations had nothing like it, but Snap had never seen any this symmetrical. To the naked eye, it was perfect aside from the minor scuffs a coin invariably picked up. Undoubtedly, this was machine-stamped. Cold Snap flipped the coin over. Nebula started. “What is that?” Snap studied the figure represented on the coin, the flowing hair, the delicate proportions, the flowers worked into a bonnet etched with an unknown word. “A man. Or, whatever a female of the kind is called. Woe-man I think the captain said once?” Nebula looked away from the coin, skepticism on his face. “Really? Doesn’t quite match what I expected.” Memories of half-faded dreams surged to the front of his mind, dreams of trees, lush paradise, and fire. None of that had been anything he’d ever expected. “I think when it comes to Captain Gideon, nothing is ever as we expect.” His friend gave him a playful shove. “Theatrical much? He’s weird. Not going to argue that. At the end of the day, he’s like us. Eats, sleeps, wakes up looking for something. Something motivates him. It’s what I’ve been saying all along.” “Ok, Sure Lock, what do your powers of deduction tell you about the captain?” Snap shoved his friend back. “Nothing you would understand,” he said in banter, but then he frowned. “You read any of this?” Snap wordlessly shook his head. “Just our luck. Maybe the book? Don’t think we’ll get more out of this thing.” Ten minutes later, the two had to admit they weren’t doing much better. If the coin was confusing, the book was downright baffling. To call it a journal or diary or whatever did it a terrible disservice. It was Captain Gideon’s brain. His sketches, materials notes, calculations, and descriptions all populated the pressed pages. He recognized parts of the Yellow Rose either in their current form or a probable past iteration. Others of the kind were not inherently related to the ship, but could be applied to any ship. There were a number of things that a short month ago, he would have had no inkling of what their purpose was, but now that he’d grasped the technology the captain practically worshiped, he could take a pretty solid guess what they did. Actually, many concepts surprised him by how peaceful they were. Communications without wires or spells. Machines to apply dusts and mist to crops. A flying machine that looked as if it were powered by a miniature steam engine. A flying machine with dust coming out of it. Sure, there were weapons that had martial applications, but they were a shocking minority. All this and much, much more populated the book. “Gardens in war,” Nebula said. “Huh?” Nebula pointed at the book. “The captain wanted...wants to build things, but he is forced to fight. Look. The notes on the mundane agricultural or even the technological leaps are very elaborate and descriptive. They go into a wide range of hypotheticals on applications. Those of”- He flipped a few pages, stopping on a new type of gun that used cartridges and a spring-loaded box. “Like these. ‘Self-loading carbine operating on discharge recoil. Straight-wall casing charged with pyroxyl and 150 grain projectile.’ Very blunt and to the point. It was just an idea he had to get out so something useful could take its place.” Snap had to admit he could see the logic. The captain had confessed his preference for peaceful resolutions where practical. It made perfect sense that his beliefs would demonstrate themselves in his private musings. And there were plenty of musings in this book. The drawings and engineering notions took up only part of the book. Much of the rest was filled with his inner thoughts and considerations of both his life and that of his crew’s future. As much as it was his idea, Cold Snap felt rather uneasy about peeking through the captain’s life. He brought this up to Nebula who, despite his own reservations, insisted that this was probably the only way they would get the answers the captain and others insisted on keeping to themselves. He turned a few more pages and found a wall of text. So, the war is declared. Stubborn pride and conflicting cultures brought the war between the coastal Atoli and the Minoutaur shipping magnates to a full boil. No doubt their pliable king will be bent to provide his forces to their cause. Such is the way of war. Ah. War. A more dreadful and cursed word has never been invented. By all reports, the recruiting lines in the port cities of the minotaur territories are swelling as fast as the news can be delivered. The cry of “War!” ring on their lips like a jubilant celebration. Fools. They know not what they cheer for. These lands have lived in peace so long that any memory of those tribulations has been obliterated. Fact becomes legend, and legend becomes myth save by those long-lived few who have seen those dark days and can never forget. They see glory, medals, and scars to swagger before their mates. Never the gruesome fact that only combat lays bare. Death awaits. While this war continues, death will follow. As such, it is imperative to stop it with all haste. Otherwise, this war will continue. In the end, death wins. The subtle epiphany of war is that the dead no longer trouble themselves about allegiances. As my father said, the fallen do not care whether they wear blue or butternut. Snap set the book down. He’d never seen the recruitment in his isolated area. Even if he had, he wasn’t old enough to join. Even if he was old enough, his parents would have had a fit if he tried. After the last battle, he realized that may not be a bad thing. Of course, now he was a neck-deep in the war and still had no idea what he was doing. He returned his attention to the book. This time, he noticed that in the pages between the drawings and his introspections, he kept seeing the captain’s notes. “...current exchange rate on aluminum provides excellent returns. Mages cannot possibly have enough. Insure market remains unsaturated to maintain demand.” “Received letter from Maxim referencing use of new design less rate adjuster for cost’s sake...” “Mass-transport of equipment becoming problematic. Limited by size of material and frequency of transit. Ideally seek better transport site. Failing that, I must establish production in secure location and acquire skilled labor to compensate the loss. What on this green earth were all these about? These were not written in the self-examining style of the prior entry. They were just a difficult to follow thought-on-the-page system of notes that made sense to exactly one person. “Maintained bearings as described, but location failed to materialize. Similar to Prancersburg/”-Snap blinked at the unfamiliar word and continued reading. “but with no prior markings as usually encountered. Location is likely on sea floor as this region suffered cataclysmic earthquakes during Sombraic War. Will sound depths and send divers to verify theory. I pray it’s not true and I’ve been led on a wild chase. Failing that, I pray it’s blocked. Otherwise, heaven pity whoever looks for it. Depth is eighty fathoms and the water is barely above freezing.” Snap stopped reading and rubbed his head. If the coin was confusing, this book was way over his head. Nebula patted his back consolingly. “There there. We can always give up.” That wrenched a snort and a chuckle from the tired earth pony. “Not a chance,” he said with a determined smile. He turned the page and furrowed his brow at the...thing before him. It was a map of sorts, but not like any that graced the navigator's desk. Instead, this was a collection of lines that connected points of familiar names with other points of absolute gibberish. There were notes about them, but not that he could read them. “What language is this?” Snap asked absently. He felt himself slip deep into thought. All his experiences with Captain Gideon of how to approach an otherwise unsolvable problem were whirling through his mind. All he had to do was find the right method and proceed. The room faded from existence save for him and that book. Ten seconds, maybe eleven tops, passed before Snap had an epiphany. As much as he loved the Yellow Rose, she was not the captain’s ultimate goal. Nebula had been right. Captain Gideon was looking for something. A ship such as this one was the means to search for it. Now it only remained to figure out the “what.” “Um, buddy?” Nebula said. Cold Snap returned to the present. His friend held the silver coin in his magic and studied it like particularly confusing insect. “I think it’s this one,” he said as he floated Man’s coin close to the page. Sure enough, there in plain sight was the script of Man in the Captain’s own clawwriting.