Chapter 12: Tensile Strength ---------------------------- The wind whistled overhead as Seb stood in the field, features bent into a deep scowl. He looked to the haggard man lurching into the cockpit of the nearby airship, and could barely conceal his disgust. Phansha was flat out pathetic. His face appeared to have been composed entirely of boils and scars, and the man acted as if he'd been dropped on his head as an infant. "You'd better be more attentive than that, Alltaire!" came Phansha's voice from the airship. Seb whipped around, arms over his chest, not smiling in the least. "Fine. Point taken. Now, what's the deal?" "Isn't it obvious?" Phansha said with a sneer. "Oh yes, given your faculties, Alltaire, not figuring things out for yourself is a recurring theme, isn't it?" "You have twenty seconds to explain the test." "Your threats are less than useless, but I think I'll explain anyway." Phansha pointed one distended finger towards the hilly region off to Seb's left. Seb glanced to it, then back at Phansha. "Yeah. It's a bunch of hills. So what?" "Now, seeing as you are so very quick, Mr. Alltaire, I've decided to put that to the test. I am going to take this Spitfire across these hills, back to Doma Castle. You are going to traverse the distance on foot. Think of it as a race that you can't win, if that helps any." Phansha's smile was coming on strong now; it reminded Seb of a maggot's wriggling. "One last question," began Seb. At that, Phansha started the engine of his airship, causing the grass to blow outwards from it, and the bulk of it began to rise into the air. "What is it now?" demanded Phansha, yelling over the sound of the engines. Seb broke into a wide grin. "Would you like a chocolate or vanilla cake ready for you when you finally arrive?" Phansha merely chuckled about the boy's insolence, then jacked up the speed of the airship, sending him hurtling towards Doma. "Vanilla it is." ******************** Trees, rocks, grass - they all blurred into one as Phansha soared towards the castle; it was growing larger in the windshield with every passing second. The boy, he thought to himself, would be back by dinnertime at best. At which point he chanced a casual, contemptive glance behind... The gray streak never slowed. Knifing through every sort of terrain, it never broke stride. Leaping over dead stumps, dodging puddles, gliding over grass, cresting hills as if gravity didn't exist... It was hurtling towards Doma faster than belief. And the only sound it made was a very distinctive, casual laugh. "By the Goddesses..." intoned Phansha as he saw it closing in, and pushed hard on the accelerator rod of the airship, throwing it into overdrive. The engines whined as if metallic banshees, under the strain. Phansha, for his part, heard nothing. His eyes were focussed straight on faraway Doma, his lips chanting curses like a mantra. All the while, he saw the streak pushing ever forward, from nothingness into a undending highway leading him on... "This can't be happening." ******************** Seb's shoes sparkled as they hadn't for weeks. The warmth and energy of them spread up though his legs and into the very soul of the runner. He grinned to himself, even while ducking a low-hanging branch. It had been quite a while since he'd had an opportunity to do so much cross-country running... The dew-speckled crest of the hill was barely ahead of him when he noticed something. He swung his head all around, eyes probing. Finally, after a long and satisfying blink, he looked on ahead to the empty grass plain stretching out before him, a pathway to Doma, painted in sublime shades of green, dotted with streaks of rose red. The home stretch, he thought to himself. He headed home. ******************** The unthinkable happened. Twice. First, the boy had beaten him. A boy outrunning an airship! It was... was... potentially very useful for the Empire. A great asset... Phansha was so caught up in his sudden realization that he wasn't quite prepare when unthinkable event number two struck. The Spitfire began to rock and vibrate from its very core, and glass panels began to crack and splinter. Phansha yelped, and glanced up through the glass just near his head. He was greeted by the sight of his engine, or rather what *was* his engine, blackened, smoking wildly, and immersed in yellow flame. "Dammit," he intoned, then grabbed hold of the steering wheel. Hard. His fingers gripped deeply into the cold, angular metal; it began to feel warm and wet after a while, but he was beyond caring about petty things like pain. He steered his ship down as best he could, eyes darting about wildly, searching for a safe spot to land- THHHHHOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMM Phansha rose from the wreckage slowly, every muscle in protest of any and all activities that required their use. He pushed on, crawling on his hands and knees from the flaming steel and glass, slicing his clothes into haggard strips of finery. He looked back at his airship, seeing the towering queue of smoke rising from it, like bloody steam from a fresh wound. He cursed the boy who had caused so much trouble once more, then turned towards Doma. It suddenly seemed to be only a speck on the horizon to him. ******************** Mud fountained high as Seb skidded to a long stop in front of Doma, digging a long groove into the turf. One guard started jogging over to him, waving his arms wildly. Seb squinted slightly, trying to get a good look... "Oh bugger. Not *him* again," he muttered. The selfsame guard that had threatened his life not three hours earlier now approached him once more, looking even more like a distressed warthog than before. It took a great deal of self-control on Seb's part not to just slice the idiot in half. The solider finally arrived, panting and wheezing, put still holding out his spear threateningly. Seb rolled his eyes.. "Stop in the name of -" began the solider dutifully. "Stop in the name of the Empire, yes yes YES I know that part already," interrupted Seb. "What's your name, anyhow?" "Boris. Boris Ourson." "Please say you're joking." "The Ourson family has a long and diginified history of serving the Empire! Why, my great grandfather was even a Second Lieutenant for three weeks!" "What happened after the third week?" Boris suddenly looked very uncomfortable. He lowered his eyes, suddenly fascinated with dirt. "He... he was demoted. For innappropriate activities with a senior officer." "Oh." A long, excruciating silence followed, with Boris and Seb simply staring blankly at the ground; Boris remembering his humiliated yet brave ancestor, Seb merely wishing he hadn't brought up the subject of family. Finally, after much contemplation, Boris looked up, eyes slightly wet. "So... what do you want here? Where's Commander Phansha?" he said. Sen shrugged sheepishly. "I don't know. He was racing me back. He said I could free reign of the kitchen, though. So, if you'll excuse me -" Seb began striding towards the gate, pushing the other guards aside lightly. He was half-through the entrance when he came to a dead stop. He peered back through the entrance. "Hey Boris! Think fast!" he yelled, and threw a pair of thick metal rods to the bewildered guard. Boris caught them, barely, then lifted them to eyes level. After a moment of inspection, he looked back to Seb, confused. "What are they?" "Those? Oh, nothing really. Just stabilizer rods for Spitfire engines," called back slyly, then headed off to the kitchen, laughing maniacally. ******************** Phansha's hands clenched tight enough to burst. His eyes seemed to bulge from their sockets, and his teeth ground together. "Why, Ulric Phansha, where have you been?" said Seb, grinning gleefully. Phansha pointed one shaking finger at the boy, foam now collecting at the corners of his mouth. Seb motioned for a pause. "Wait a second." Seb dug in behind the crate of supplies that he was sitting on, grunted quietly, then finally sat up once more, two rich, icing-covered cakes in his hands. They wobbled a tad, balanced precariously on his palms. He began to laugh. "What's so funny?" demanded Phansha, his face flushed. "Oh, it's just that I thought I'd only have time to prepare one cake for you. Lucky for you I had time to bake a vanilla *and* a chocolate one. They're great. Now, feel free to take a slice, but don't eat the candles." Phansha stormed off to his quarters, ignoring Seb's cakes entirely. Seb gingerly laid them on the ground, and began jogging beside the recruiting officer, still smiling wide. Phansha snarled. "What do you want now?" "Did I pass the test?" Phansha gave a little scream, turned, and slammed Seb against the wall, the pulled in close to the boy, spraying saliva everywhere. "YES YOU PASSED YOU IMBECILE! YOU WILL REPORT TO THE ESPIONAGE DEPARTMENT AT DAWN TOMMORROW MORNING! ARE WE CLEAR, MISTER ALLTAIRE?" "You didn't have to yell." Phansha turned away in exasperation, and stormed off to his room, slamming the door behind him. Seb just let himself slide down the wall, laughing all the way. He was in.