Dawn of Steam: Gods of the Sun (18 page)

At least this is the case among this tribe, which has only those weapons and potatoes they have stolen f
rom their rivals in raids. Even that growth may be short-lived, for now their lands are surrounded by the tribes with agreements with the French. One of the largest of these recently greeted something new to these lands, described as a great bird descending from the sky. Shortly thereafter, the tribes nearest them went on a new warpath, just some weeks past, and now those with fewer guns, fewer warriors, fewer defenses, and not as much growing land, such as our new company here, are being driven back.

They asked Miss Bowe if we were new devils, like the ones seeking to kill them and take their land, or if we are their gods, come down from the sun to give them muskets, ambition, and the land that shall be theirs. Miss Bowe was not entirely certain how to answer, but at the very least, we are now somewhat on better terms with these people. For their gifts of food and agreement to share the meal with us, she says, we have allied ourselves with them for the time being. Both sides are less certain about allying in the war effort, but we have a peace. Even so, more discussion will happen regarding the 'other devils' and those tribes with whom they have allied themselves. As she said it, we are against the devils, who are not gods, who are not unstoppable things, whatever they may appear to be. They are our enemies.

This seemed to please these Maori, but I am now not quite certain what position this puts us in beyond a moment's protection. It seems that we have little choice but to become embroiled in yet another war brought to us by York's manipulations. He is quite willing to wage another such war, and quite willing to kill all of these people in order to see to our deaths.

Much as he did the Spanish, I have little doubt that he killed the Frenchmen overseeing this colony.
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Those who seemed so unstoppable with their fortifications
and guns to the Maori's fathers might appear quite vulnerable to a well-armed group with an airship and surprise. And with this, we seem to have found allies. Yet we are still outnumbered, outgunned, and stuck in a war we do not understand entirely and did not wish to fight when we came here.

For all this, my companions at least seem to once again have found common challenge. It is one thing to go into the unknown, having no idea what we might face. These are soldiers, explorers, and adventurers now, whether it was their intent to be or not, and not a person has not been tested in some fashion. Though final details have not been established, we seem to be allied here, and therefore we must first defend this place. With permission and help, we have begun the forestry necessary to build fortifications, both to protect the dirigible while it is being repaired, and to serve as our base of operations.

Eventually we shall have to bring the fight to York, but he is known for his gambles and risks to try to eliminate his competition where he can, and he must know he outnumbers us if they truly have such a powerful tribe behind them. We must rescue Sir James, and to do this, eventually, we will need to attack, but until the time he brings the fight to us, we must treat all of this for what it is, what these people consider it. We must prepare for war.

I will apologize now for this, for I know the cost of war. You have heard your father's memories and seen me first as the young man who went off to war, then the returning soldier; I cannot promise this to be so much different. I shall do my best to survive and return once again, but it will be difficult, especially when before, I was fighting for my country and all I believed in. Here, we seem to be trapped in a small space, no country, not even a people I know well or can claim any but the narrowest allegiance to, but I also feel as if we have no choice. In the last full war, while we were defending our country and our ideas, we fought on the soil of France, Spain, Germany, and some units so far away as Italy. Some piece of it was fought on American shores as we seized all that belonged to the French, but I was never there. This time, we are fighting to rescue a friend, certainly, but in luring us here, York has pushed us into a war of survival.

It is a different sort of war, for without Sir James, we are leaderless, for certain. No one gives commands, but everyone knows their place and their role. All act as their own unit, preparing, building, and getting ready to force some small part of this war to be fought on their own terms.

Eddy, especially, is a man possessed. He is moving about, marking sniper positions with room to accommodate two, that he can find them even on the run, should it be necessary. He is teaching Matthew th
e arts of a rifleman and sniper: what to look for, how to find cover, how to disappear into his surroundings. Every moment since that breakfast that we were not among these Maori, he has been working at fighting a war in his head, setting the battlefield to his liking.

Miss Coltrane and Miss Wright have nearly disappeared, for this land is not at all like France, where most of the battle suit's war was fought. They are preparing it to fight here, to hold territory on these rolling beaches, to move amidst and through the trees without losing footing, changing its armament, and doing whatever they can with the very few resources at hand to prepare the greatest weapon we have.

Miss Penn has been at her cards, and when she works with them, those Maori that have come among us at all seem quite enraptured. They have ever since given her an odd sort of respect accorded to no other, though I cannot quite be certain why. Still, whatever respect we can gain among these people is that much more assurance we will not be killed in our sleep should they decide we are these devils after all.

Miss Bowe has begun scouting with the ornithopter. The Maori are mystified by the thing, as much as I was repulsed. The idea of flight, from York's arrival, our arrival, all the change it brought, certainly captures their imaginations, and for all she has sworn to them we are not gods, they watch her take the skies, and they do not seem certain. Meanwhile, for her, it is certainly valuable scouting, but it also seems a kind of freedom. She is made for these kinds of spaces, for wild places and wild people, with no hint of civilization or sanity. If we are to win this war, as she is very much a go-between of both cultures, sometimes perhaps their spokesman as well as ours, then it must become her war. I shudder at the thought.

Mr. Franzini seems uncertain what he should be doing. He helps where requested, but he is a man of cities – of gambling dens and smoky rooms where cards are dealt and deals are made. In his element, he has learned things none of us could, moved in circles we cannot, and still come back to us as respectable as any European among Englishmen, in a suit and with fine manners. But here, he is lost, and he knows it. Just as in his first days among us, he seems to have taken to it by being quiet. He settles into a routine of helping where he is asked and where he is able, and otherwise, he watches. The first is helpful, the second is disconcerting at times.

The Fishers have continued as they were, doing everything they can to fix the ship, though the purpose has largely changed. There is a certain feeling of finality to this place. Either we will change the course of these potato wars and change the land, or we will die. Very likely, one way or another, we may know soon. Surely York must be aware of us by now. He is simply making sure he has the resources to move against us over whatever territory lies between his position and ours, for he must also know that the longer we are here, the better our chances of digging in and being harder to remove. He also knows that eventually we must come to him. Given the motivations of these Maori, however, I wonder if he has authority enough to halt their war in order to wage his own. One way or another, I imagine we will know soon.

Either way, my love, I will only hope that I live to see a day where I might send this letter off, for it shall mean both that I still have hope to see you again, and that I have survived the dark days ahead. You are always in my thoughts and give me the light that these strange skies do not.

My love, always,

Gregory Conan Watts

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It was 11 months before the French even knew their operatives were dead, and their luck in the matter did not improve once they had noticed. Colonization while in debt and without fast ships is a messy, slow business. - C B-W

From the journals of Gregory Conan Watts,

May 16th, 1816

37º03' S 175º53' E

It has now been a week, if I am tracking the days correctly. It is difficult to tell among these people. So far, we have not been attacked, and the Maori here have reported that the other tribes have pulled back to their former borders. Apparently York wears his devil crown quite well. He has established himself as a strong presence among these people, even directing the tribes that had thought themselves powerful before. He is waiting for us out there in the darkness, with Sir James held hostage. Not the strategy I had expected of him, but a sound one nonetheless.

Despite being outnumbered, however, we have had time to give some spirit to these people. Before, they were being pushed back and, I have since learned, believed their time was limited. Now they seem determined that we are here to deliver them, to bring them muskets and potatoes and tools in exchange for whatever we might wish from them.

For the moment I am content with survival and their aid in recovering Sir James. I am likewise pleased that they have taken up much of the scouting and watch for us, and do much of the hunting and food preparation. Their food is bland and ill prepared, but it has held us over without us having to spend our resources at hunting, which is fortunate, for both Eddy and Miss Bowe have had a great deal to do, as our two most capable warriors in their own way. With this time, they have both taken up training with the Maori to some small degree, learning the land and their tactics, so that they will know where allied warriors will be, and Eddy and Matthew might shoot the right people.

Eddy seems to have taken to their gunmen, for their tactics are similar to his own, while Miss Bowe has been adopted by their spears. We shall see if this remains the case when we get into a real fight, but those two seem to have made themselves quite at home. Sometimes, whatever the war, those born to such conflict are going to be at home when there is a fight to be had.

The rest of us have had a more difficult time. Mrs. F
isher is the most uncomfortable with these people. She does not care for the effectiveness of their methods or what they might do for us, and I can understand that. Despite being very alien, the Maori are clearly farmers and soldiers and have even adopted some European techniques at both, creating an odd juxtaposition. Mrs. Fisher does not lapse into the folly of seeing them as anything less than intelligent human beings, and this heightens her ladylike sense of wrong at the dramatic differences. 

In any case, it seems very much like these might be a people with which we can have some understanding, but certainly not so long as this war rages here. For my own part, had I not seen the Apsáalooke and as hospitable as they were capable of being, I would likely feel quite horrified here as well. If anything, now, I feel somewhat sad for them, seeing what the French have wrought, while also seeing shades of what might be.

Miss Coltrane and Miss Wright have evaded this question neatly by having almost nothing to do with the Maori. Save for those meals which they must attend, they have kept themselves secreted away in the workshop. They are a curiosity for the Maori, to be certain. They do not see them at anything the Maori deem women's work, and none of our women, save Mrs. Fisher, participate in serving meals or drink. Miss Bowe, this time, gets to be the mitigating factor, for she has so fallen in with their spearmen as to have become adopted, regardless of gender. Perhaps they simply regard us as something so unusual that they do not try to guess at our social conventions, at least not yet.

Where Miss Bowe seems to have become at home in their culture, and is quickly picking up their tongue, Miss Penn now very much seems a bridge to our own for them. They are mystified by her ways, especially her cards. I think some of them could spend hours and hours doing nothing but watching her read them, whether when Miss Bowe translates, or without knowing a word of what they portend. Miss Penn is also learning the first few words of their tongue, and while it is not much, she can now give most of her cards their names in Maori, perhaps with some meaning.

Apparently her so-called talent as an oracle is more valuable to them than any other value she might have, and they give her the highest respect when she is at readings. Otherwise they seem to either guard her or avoid her. In any case, her dislike of Mr. Franzini seems to have quite transferred to them, and he is even more reclusive now, for he avoids both Miss Bowe and the Maori when he is not at some task to which someone else has assigned him.

When Miss Coltrane and Miss Wright are not in the workshop, the Captain tries to recruit them for work upon the ship, which is still agreed upon as a priority, but for now, it has taken a lesser place in priority for everyone except the Fishers. I think everyone else has realized that we have set ourselves upon a course, and we have no real option now but to follow it to whatever end it leads.

Sooner or later, a showdown awaits.