Then there was the question of the Mechanist himself. The engineer had rushed over to us on sheer enthusiasm alone; given Lord Ozai's instructions, his guards had no choice but to salute and rush after him, even if they were undoubtedly cursing the irrepressible technician six ways from Sunday in their heads.
And now we found ourselves facing a rather unpleasant dilemma. Did we drag a "civilian pencil-pusher" along on a pursuit of a dangerous repeat offender—possibly even into an active combat zone—or leave him behind in the city, which was supposedly under our control and had supposedly been purged of opposition elements…
Except that might not actually be true. Some of them could easily have stayed behind to engage in guerrilla warfare and sabotage. There hadn't been any attempts on the governor's life since our arrival in Omashu, sure, but what guarantee did we have that some overzealous patriot wouldn't decide to kill the "traitor"? Guards were only human, after all, and humans had a habit of making mistakes.
Sure, the overall probability of such an outcome might be approaching zero, but... the memory of the Avatar was still far too fresh, while the Mechanist was a strategic and irreplaceable asset. Better to indulge in a little paranoia now than kick ourselves afterward.
Fortunately, we managed to find a solution to the third problem. Iroh was the one who helped us—he simply suggested putting the scientist under "house arrest." No, not by seizing him and hiding him somewhere, much less against his will! We'd simply bury him in work up to his ears, because Omashu certainly had no shortage of things for him to study.
There was everything from the city's transportation system—cordon off the covered market tightly enough that not even a mouse could slip through, then let the man poke around to his heart's content—to the mechanisms of the earthbenders' prison cells. As a bonus, the engineer would get another good look at the less appealing side of the Earth Kingdom. That ought to keep our technician occupied for quite a while, and by the time he was done, a production-model airship should have arrived to carry him safely to the Capital.
As for point number two, a.k.a. lifting capacity, things were a little more complicated. According to the Mechanist's calculations, this monster had a "payload capacity" of around twenty tons, give or take. Which sounded like a lot. Except in practice... Crew and troops—fifty people. Factor in armor, weapons, and personal belongings, and that was five tons gone already. Food, water, tools for basic repairs. Enough for a month of self-sufficiency—another five tons gone. Ammunition in the form of barrels of explosives. A hundred kilograms each. Fifty barrels in total... Yep, another five tons. And then four and a half tons of coal as fuel for the power plant (Perverts! But... what could you do? This world hadn't reached gasoline or diesel yet, which might actually be for the best) and as an alternative means of keeping the aerostat heated in case the firebenders were killed or exhausted. The decorations, meanwhile, were made of thin sheet metal and weighed only seventy kilos.
All in all, without sacrificing performance, the only additional load the airship could accommodate was our group and our belongings.
And no tanks! Sad.
But the engineer did sweeten the pill somewhat. The minimum crew needed to operate the airship was three people, while at least five firebenders were required to keep it aloft—and even then, they didn't have to keep "puffing" away constantly, only from time to time. All thanks to... Drumroll, please... thermal-insulation technology acquired at the North Pole! More precisely, from one of the craftsmen who worked with hides and made clothing for the northerners.
Said craftsman had been scooped up by yours truly, along with several other artisans, back when we were returning from our little war of conquest. Then the Party, in the person of the Mechanist, said, "We need it!" (Or rather, something along the lines of, "Hmm, how could we reduce heat loss?"), and the People, in the person of a suitably motivated bureaucracy, answered, "Consider it done!" (Or rather, one of the officials actually used his brain and arrived at the logical conclusion that the North was cold, yet the people there somehow survived and even lived quite comfortably, and from there it was simply a matter of technique.) As a result, the envelope could go half an hour to an hour without losing altitude even with no additional heating whatsoever.
That meant the crew and provisions could be reduced considerably—not fivefold, of course, but three- or fourfold was entirely feasible. Which would free up enough capacity for as many as two self-righting tanks!
Unfortunately, we didn't have any tanks on hand right now anyway, while the crew included proven men like Commanders Ramis and Mao, responsible for the troops and firebenders respectively. And we already knew Captain Li, who had traded his frigate for an airship. So we weren't going to start changing things on the fly. If it ain't broke, don't fix it.
So while Mai, doing her best impression of someone enduring the most terrible moral suffering imaginable, worked with Ty Lee to revise our requisitions based on the new circumstances, we foisted the irrepressible engineer off on Governor Ukano. At the same time, I passed along a reprimand for the prison warden.
The man had followed his instructions, after all, and it wasn't his fault that Aang and his team had managed to outdo every conceivable standard of idiocy. So the "dressing-down" was purely formal and as mild as possible. The warden was instructed to increase vigilance, improve combat readiness, and attend to various other useful matters. And the fact that this earned me a few "reputation points" as a stern but fair sort of fellow was merely a pleasant bonus.
(End of Chapter)
P@treon: /SadRaven
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