For its remarkable size, there is barely a soul on this ferry. The only travelers I see are the standard bunch of sailors on their way south to the Kiln. Whores strut across the bar, but even they are few and far between; granted, that probably is because of me.
The Reich officially outlaws prostitution but down south, they turn a blind eye. Sailors had to be kept happy somehow in this remote edge of civilization.
I figure that if this region were run with the moral code of Germania up north, then no sailors would want to ship cargo. In the summer months when the heat is an issue, hell, I guarantee half of the ships would be abandoned and never leave port.
This time of year, the pay is doubled, eyes are turned away, and the sailors are kept happy with women before they embark on their long journeys ahead. There’s a common saying here: “As long as the cargo ships and the Nests stay fertile, the Reich will always remain Eternal.”
I can still make out, on the horizon, the towers of Maria peeking out from behind a cloud of dust and smoke. Unlike the capital of Germania or the city of London, there was no real organized design to Maria. The streets are narrow and winding; the towers, plopped everywhere… and the people are just as disorganized as the layout.
Yet it had the right location to serve as a port city, and in that regard Maria did its job.
“I don’t want to mess this up…” Ulric says, after a long silence. I look at him, his posture defeated and his head held low. The armor swallowed up his skinny figure.
“You won’t mess up.” I comfort him, lowering my pint glass. Our vessel is just shipping containers to some Eagle Nests down south and if we run into any enemy vessels, our ship will blast them before we even need help.
“But if I need to call in a Drop—” Ulric sputters out.
“You won’t need to,” I cut in.
“Alright. I’m just saying if I need to, if we’re in a lot of danger—”
“You’re nervous… I get it,” I explain. “If we really need it I’ll let you know, but only when I let you know.”
Every ship that goes out into the Kiln is Reich property. That means that if a ship comes under attack by Scavengers and is about to go down, then the last-ditch effort is called in. An “Aegir” Drop—an orbital strike which drops a hunk of metal, crashing down onto the enemy like a meteor. Even though the Reich doesn’t expand across Asia, it still expands into space. Space is more useful anyway. Only one kind of person is really trusted to use Aegir Drops responsibly—an S.S. Knight. Guess the Reich leaders don’t have much faith in their sailors. I don’t really blame them, considering the crewmen I’ve run into over the years.
Ulric, being a newly dubbed Knight, is taking his first maiden voyage into a new life. Calling in these Drops to protect the ships. That’s why I invited my skittish brother to join my ship, so he can have a quality first experience. Well, that and it’s the law.
“Why do you not want me to call in a Drop?” Ulric asks, his face contorting in confusion.
I look out the small window toward the swirling waves. My own battered reflection peers back at me. Sullen eyes, a few scars across my face, a shaggy beard. Years out in this place have certainly taken their toll on my body.
“It’s cowardly,” I say, in a dull dismissive tone, taking another drink.
Ulric perks himself up at the sound, confounded at what he just heard.
“Cowardly?!” he repeats in astonishment. “How is a weapon designed to save the lives of your men cowardly?” His voice lines with a twinge of hysteria.
I keep myself composed, looking back toward the window and my own battered face.
“My men don’t need some orbital blast to save them,” I explain in a hushed tone. “We have all the weapons we need on the ship. I prefer to get up close to the enemy.”
“It isn’t about what you prefer,” Ulric explains. “It’s policy by the Reich. A Knight needs to be on the ship no matter what… just in case.”
“And I can disagree with Reich policies.” I argue back, in a calm demeanor. This seems to get Ulric even more infuriated. “I’m still allowing a Knight to come onto the ship. It’s just we won’t really need your services.”
“Why did I even come on this journey with you then if I can’t even do anything?” he asks, his eyes wide.
“Think of it like an introduction into life in the Kiln. You learn how things are done.”
“I’ve learned for four years in school, Ansel…” Ulric complains, his eyes lowered toward his half-empty pint.
“They are two different beasts,” I say, taking another swig. “You think I knew anything about the Kiln until I joined the military? Every man thinks he knows everything at your age, until they don’t…”
Jokingly, I flex my metallic arm. My mind flashes back to an earlier time. I was Ulric’s age, and it too was my first time in the Kiln. Yet my reason for arriving was far different. Eagle Nest #15 had been invaded by Scavengers. A gun was placed in my hand and I was told to storm those large, tall towers. “Take back the Nest,” they said, and I followed.
Took shrapnel to the torso. Everything went black. Within a day though, I was back in the fight with a new mechanical arm, and able to avenge that limb along with those innocent civilians murdered. Wasted many revolver rounds, firing into the surrendering Scavengers’ skulls.
A soft female voice rings out across the bar from speakers in the ceiling.
“Attention all passengers. We shall be arriving at the Edge in ten minutes. If you have not done so, get to your belongings and prepare to disembark the ferry when the time comes.”
I lift myself up with a heavy grunt. My metallic limb clangs as the mechanisms inside spin to support my weight. Ulric silently stands up alongside me. His face is still sullen with disappointment.
“No matter how much reading you do,” I reason to him, pointing a hand on his shoulder, “There is nothing that really prepares a man to life in the Kiln other than being in the Kiln.”
“I… I know…” he says, with a trailing voice. “I was just expecting to do something.”
“And you will, eventually. Just for now, be appreciative that you get a crash course in how things are down here.”
We pick up the small duffle bags we brought along on our journey. There wasn’t much that I packed. Anything of particular use up north was pointless down south. Most of my gear minus my armor, which I was already wearing, was on my ship anyway.
Ulric and I stand at the side of the ferry, gripping onto the railing overlooking the sea. This water always had a strange pungent smell to it. It smells of dead fish, but there hasn’t been a single fish in this small sea for centuries. With every movement of each wave, that foul odor splashes against the ship.
The occupants of the boat go about their business, preparing to dock. Some wear metal-plated armor, just like my brother and I. Others wear simple, grey uniforms. Ulric holds himself stiff as a board, cautious to stay out of the way of everyone.
In the distance, I can see a large orange cloud wafting over the horizon. It is like a monster slowly revealing its presence. A fog clashing with the teal, rippling waves. We are getting close to the Edge.
“What is that?” Ulric asks, pointing to the orange fog.
“That, Ulric—” I explain in a matter-of-fact manner, “—that is a dust storm. We’re getting close now.”
After a few minutes, the concrete world of the Edge comes into full view. Our boat slows itself down as it navigates past the traffic of other ferries and vessels, each either docking or leaving.
The flow of bodies bustles around the city like an ant colony against the gargantuan stone towers and majestic statues, the largest of which is a statue of gold in the image of a man in a flowing overcoat. One arm seems to touch the orange sky as the other rests on a large stone tablet. By his side is a pole with an eagle, its wings outstretched. This statue seems to have the most people crowded around it, all wishing to get a look at one of the Reich’s main heroes.