Return of Faith

Aboard the small vessel that struggled to hold the status of being seaworthy under the weight of its cargo a heated argument with alarmed voices was under way. The captain, if one could call him that, of the boat yelled to his first mate, a title even less apt than the first, whom returned with his own cries as he pointed at the large forward cannons of the hovering ship that turned to bear down on them. Back and forth the two went and not a word of it did she know being unfamiliar with Portuguese, but she understood it all too well. Her eyes flitted from the ship to her companion on this journey, Aumel, then back to the hull that began to tower over them. It was the smallest of gestures, but it conveyed a very real command that the dark skinned man acknowledged with a nod. He barked a series of words to the captain that were foreign to her ears and the bickering between the two Mozambique natives ceased.

“We are representatives of the African Union here to see First Lieutenant Nigel Ferdinand,” Aumel called over the speaker system installed on the vessel.

Aleena passed from what presented itself as the Captain's cabin to the bow of the deck and gazed up at the amphibious behemoth dwarfing their own ship. Her eyes focused on nothing in particular through the wisps of hair caught by the strong winds that pulled at her black serge trench coat. One hand gloved in tan leather grasped the railing to hold her steady as the ship rocked ever closer, in part it was to steady her, but her own annoyance that unfurled behind an expressionless face demanded an outlet in the tight grip she held. Somewhere up above was the man who had cost her Des Mielle.

They waited several minutes aboard the small vessel for a response only to be greeted by a pile of men lining a metal walkway with rifles brandished and their distrust of the African Union quite visible. Aleena scanned the men three times before setting her sights on the prince tucked away within the pack. His current image was quite far from the perfectly framed photographs adorning nearly everything Dutch which still flooded the Southern regions of Africa thanks to the historically accurate Boers like Des. Gone is the perfectly brushed hair of golden brown rustled by the wind in those short walks to and from the limousine, the smooth high maintenance skin, the warm smile that hinted at false confidence built by pedigree rather than accomplishment, and the posture of a man meant for great things. In their place huddled something so far less than what the images pasted next to the name Nigel Ferdinand had hinted to exist in earnest error. So much so that Aleena looked at him directly, searched his face, and could not match him. The carefully crafted hairstyle was messy and stood at odds with itself, once smooth skin was bristled by a day's growth or maybe more depending on his hormone balance, the smile faded to a haunting glare that realized the fragile and insignificance of the mask it hid behind, and his posture was reduced to something more akin to a field mouse caught in the open despite being surrounded by trained and armed men aboard an intimidatingly powerful ship looking down on an unarmed crew of something little more than a tug boat. Nigel Ferdinand was a much different man than Aleena had expected.

Aleena stepped away from the railing closest to the Big Tray and passed to the starboard where a skiff was slung against the aged hull. In a less than lady like move she vaulted over the railing and into the small craft, breaking line of sight with the armed men. Aumel moved in time with her motion, vanishing below deck to appear moments later with a woman draped in a heavy coat and masked in tow. A few terse words or Portuguese and the first mate assisted Aumel in lowering the woman to the skiff and casting off; the first mate promptly resumed quivering alongside the captain with hands raised. The skiff rounded the edge of the ship by power of a small on-board motor and skidded along the shallow surf to fully beach itself on the vague sliver of an island. Aleena took her time disembarking on the sand packed by the receding tide while Aumel hurriedly pulled several rectangular objects from the craft. In seconds he had unfolded them into a table and two chairs, one of which he led the masked woman. For her part Aleena stood to the side, concerned more with lighting her cigarette in the open winds than the obedience of her companion or the treatment of the woman.

At last Aumel pulled the mask from the woman's face revealing her identity to the crew of the massive ship. In an eerie sense of timing Aleena let out the first long stream of smoke from her just lit cigarette and stared directly toward Nigel Ferdinand. Etching in her mind every shift in his expression she could make out from that distance. This was the first step in rebuilding a Ferdinand worthy of replacing the amusement his foolish actions had cost her.

Aumel responded to the woman's outburst with an uneasy smile and nod while trying to settle her with quick words telling her to wait. It was a difficult situation for him being more used to the cold indifference that Aleena exuded. A chill that grew stronger as she strode past the table and planted herself directly between Nigel and Melissa. It would have been difficult for Aleena to miss any of the exuberance bursting within the broken man that was half drowning himself in his attempt to get ashore. She needed him a tad more sober than his current joyfully intoxicated state. To this end Aleena slipped her right hand from its glove and waited for him to approach.

The moment does not unfold as she intended though. Despite being labored by the pleadings of the African man for her to stay seated with words and gestures, Melissa leaps from her seat, the chair tipping back as it's caught by the heel of her foot. Aumel's arms tensed up as he pulled them back, his face twisted in frustration at what just took place as his charge dashes away. The lovesick squealing of the woman that rushed past Aleena made her stomach churn. Finding the sight before her turning disturbing, Aleena turned away and glared back at Aumel whom winced an apology.

She turned to face her target as he thanked her and extended his services with a grin that extended from ear to ear. The urge to slap him welled up within her and it was by sheer force that her hand was stayed at her side; it was too late at this point. Instead her hand gestured to the chair and she spoke for the first time, “you were in contact with Des Mielle, correct?” It was a level question that gave nothing.

Aleena occupied the seat opposite the one which she gestured to Nigel while listening to his response. There was a pause as she crossed her legs and took a long drag from the cigarette. “Do you recall your last communication with him, Lieutenant?” Her eyes shifted focus from the man in front of her to the heaving ocean that smoothed into a tranquil horizon.

She nodded along to his words as they followed what was recorded of the dialogue between the two. “Des was killed because he exposed himself in that attempt.” Her fingers flicked the ashes off the end of the cigarette and she turned to look at Nigel once more. “That day I lost,” her eyes flick a furtive glance to Melissa as the sentence dies in her throat with careful measure.

“Without Mielle the Union is about to fall.” Aumel broke into the conversation quickly trying to explain the situation. “If we do not quickly regain the momentum and show the people that we will still fight against tyranny as one then the resistance will fail. The spirit of Africa will die and Zeon's resolve will strengthen! We must consolidate the power of Africa once more and strike back at the foreign invaders taking claim and pillaging our rightful lands.”

A simple shake of her head quiets Aumel's outburst and while annoying when he begins to go on a tirade that mimicked Des at his worst, he did save her the need to explain. “You should be receiving word of a trade between the African Union and Earth Federation,” she slips a small disk from an inside pocket of her coat, “concerning this. In exchange you, with our support, will present a show of force in Africa.”

Her eyes diverted themselves back to the ocean. It was an ironic place of meeting that had not escaped her notice. Siren is what they called her behind her back. A maiden on a rocky outcropping that called the unsuspecting to tragedy with the allure of granting their desires. What befell them was not necessarily her doing nor was even the initial calling. It was in the song of sea and sand that led them to her and it was around her that the winds of misfortune swirled. Black winds that whispered to her. Could this man, Nigel, already down on his luck escape the fate that placed him deep within the gale? The thoughts swirling in her mind gave no exterior hint with the exception of a small glimmer in her eyes that seemed to reflect the crashing of green wave on brown stone.

“That is all,” Aumel concluded, feeling the shift in Aleena's attention and knowing she would be mostly unresponsive to further questions. “If you need time to verify with your superiors then please do so. We will make preparations to disembark for Africa.”