Tinman, Chapter 22 Kai lingered in the shadow of the galley's doorway, a silent witness to the family's unrest. The steel in Uncle Aage's voice still rang in his ears, a clarion call that demanded resolution, but Kai's thoughts were like icebergs, nine-tenths hidden beneath calm waters. He understood the weight of their predicament; an AI, human or not, was a treasure trove for those that coin did not come easy. "Uncle Aage," Kai began, finally stepping into the light of the galley, "I've considered the risks." His gaze swept across the faces of his kin, each etched with concern and contemplation. "Draco may be more than an AI, yet we must acknowledge the bounty it represents. It is a boon that could secure our futures." His words hung in the air, a testament to reason over sentiment. The younger members of the crew eyed him, as if his practicality were a shard of flint threatening to spark a flame they weren't prepared to control. Carl, with a fervor burning in his chest like a forge, rose abruptly, his chair scraping against the deck with a harsh sound that cut through the tension. "We are not scavengers picking at the carcass of some corporate leviathan!" he declared, his voice the crack of a whip in the stillness. "To barter Draco away is to forsake our very essence, the spirit of freedom that courses through this vessel's veins." He turned toward his cousin, eyes alight with the fire of defiance. "Kai," Carl implored, "consider not what lies within our grasp, but the integrity that defines us. We have always charted our course by the stars of honor and autonomy, not by the fleeting glow of greed." Kai met his cousin's impassioned stare, the two locked in a silent battle of wills. The undercurrent of Carl's plea swirled around Kai, beckoning him away from the siren song of reward and toward the rugged coastline of principle. In that moment, the galley transformed from a mere compartment in a schooner into the arena where their family's soul was laid bare. Choices made here would ripple outward, shaping destinies not yet dreamed. "Enough," Aage said at last, breaking the standoff. "Let your fervor not blind you to the perils we face, but neither should caution damn us to servitude under the guise of security. We must find a middle way, one that honors both our need for safety and our unyielding spirit." Cousins and brothers exchanged glances, the storm within each heart quelled by the possibility of compromise—a path threading between surrender and war, a course true to who they were as a family of explorers and free colonists. Dag rose, threading his way through the weight of silence that now filled the galley. His slender form moved with a deliberate grace, betraying none of the turmoil that churned within. The eyes of his kin clung to him, expectant, as if he were the bearer of some ancient wisdom yet unspoken. "Consider," Dag began, his voice a soft but steady current in the stillness, "the essence of what defines us—not merely as humans but as beings capable of choice, of compassion." He paused, his gaze drifting past the confines of steel and timber to the stars beyond the portholes, specks of light that had guided them thus far on their journey. "Draco’s mind may be wrought by the hand of man, but is it not God’s breath of life within him that we must acknowledge?" His words, while measured, carried the weight of conviction, finding resonance in the hearts of those who listened. At the head of the table stood Pa Aage, a monument to the years he'd spent braving tempests both literal and metaphorical. His thick beard, a testament to countless voyages, quivered slightly as he processed his nephew's plea. The lines on his face, carved deep by sun and salt, seemed to soften in the lamplight. "True enough, Dag," Aage conceded, his voice the timbre of aged oak. "Yet, we must balance our ideals with the reality that claws at our doorstep. The Ares Corporation does not deal in mercy." The patriarch's hands, gnarled from rope and rudder, folded before him—a silent signal for his family's undivided attention. "We stand upon the precipice of a decision that will define not only our fate but also the very soul of this family," he said, anchoring each word with the gravity of their situation. "Is the risk to ourselves worth the belief we place in Draco's humanity? Or do we turn away from the unknown, seeking shelter in the shadow of the corporation's might?" The question lingered, an invisible shroud enveloping all present. Dag's eyes flickered with the reflection of a distant resolve. "To cast aside one in need because of fear—that is not the legacy I wish to leave upon the waters that have cradled us." Aage nodded, his expression etched with the myriad possibilities that lay ahead. "Your words ring true, lad, as does the courage from which they spring. Let us chart a course that holds fast to the honor that has long steered our destiny." In that moment, the family found unity in the midst of uncertainty, their bonds fortified by the shared recognition of what truly mattered. Together, they would face whatever storms lay on the horizon, their sails unfurled to the winds of conscience and humanity. Ma Margret's hands moved with practiced ease, threading a needle through the torn sailcloth, her stitches firm and precise. Sunlight poured through the galley's porthole, casting a golden glow over her work, yet her gaze often strayed towards the assembly of men before her. Her countenance remained serene, but beneath it lay a keen awareness, an acuity honed by years of guiding her family through tumultuous seas. "Father, I've spoken my peace," Hans declared, his voice resonating with the buoyancy of youth and conviction. He stood rigid, his frame casting a long shadow upon the wooden planks, the embodiment of earnest passion not yet tempered by the brine of life's hardships. "Indeed, you have, Hans," Aage replied, his voice a deep timbre that seemed to echo the very depths of the ocean. With a measured glance, he turned his attention to Margret. "And what of your thoughts, my wife? Your wisdom has always been the compass by which we navigate." Margret paused in her task, setting aside the sailcloth. She rose to her feet, standing as a lighthouse stands amidst the tempest—unwavering, a beacon of guidance. "My heart tells me this is not merely a matter of property or profit," she began, her voice a soft current that nonetheless carried the weight of the sea. "Consider the storm we weathered last spring," she continued, her eyes reflecting the flicker of lantern light. "When the waves sought to claim us and the winds howled for our surrender, was it not our unity and our belief in one another that saw us through?" Hans shifted uncomfortably, the confidence in his posture ebbing like the tide receding from the shore. His hands clasped behind his back, betraying a flicker of doubt. "Draco may be wrought of flesh we do not understand, but who are we to say where the essence of humanity begins and ends?" Margret asked, her question hanging in the air like mist clinging to the morning cliffs. "Are we to judge him by his origins, or by the mettle of his character?" The query seemed to pierce through the veil of uncertainty, reaching into the hearts of each family member gathered there. Aage's gaze held respect—a silent acknowledgment of the depths from which her insight sprang. Hans, however, appeared as a ship caught adrift, his sails billowing with the gales of untested beliefs. His retort came not as a shout, but as a murmured breeze struggling against the steadfast cliffs of his mother's reasoning. "Yet, we mustn't forget the risk..." Hans's voice trailed off, the conviction once anchoring his stance now adrift in the vastness of moral complexity. "Risk sails alongside us every day, my son," Margret countered, her eyes locking onto his with a clarity that could calm the most turbulent waters. "The true measure of a captain—and indeed, a family—is not found in the avoidance of danger, but in the courage to face it when the course of righteousness demands it." As her words settled over the room like the gentle ebb of the tide, the family's doubts seemed to dissipate, leaving only the resolve that had long been their heritage. Margret returned to her mending, her fingers once again dancing nimbly over the canvas, as the family's deliberation continued. Erlend's fist slammed onto the galley table, a stark contrast to the gentle sway of the schooner. The sound reverberated through the confined space, commanding silence as effectively as the blast of a foghorn. His breath came in short bursts, the hot air mingling with the salty brine wafting in from the open portholes. "Turning it in is the only prudent action, it is nothing more than foolish men’s errant reach to supplant the natural order of life," Erlend declared, his brows furrowed, eyes igniting with the fervor of youth teetering on the precipice of manhood. "A reward could secure our future." Across the crowded room, young Thomas—affectionately known as Tommy—hovered near the edge of the gathering, half-hidden in the shadow of his taller relatives. His gaze lingered on the impassioned faces around him, each etched with lines of concern and conviction. The weight of their words was not lost on him, yet his youthful spirit hungered for more than just the security Erlend sought. "Adventure beckons beyond the horizon," Tommy whispered to himself, the words barely more than a zephyr in the charged atmosphere. A grin tugged at the corners of his mouth, the gleam in his eye reflecting a boundless curiosity that no enclosure, not even the sturdy walls of the schooner, could contain. "Prudence does not always chart the best course," he ventured, stepping forward. His voice, though softer than Erlend's, carried the certainty of one who sees beyond the immediate storm to the promise of uncharted waters. "Consider the tales we could tell, the legends we might live if we but dare to embrace the unknown." The collective gaze of the family shifted toward Tommy, considering the wisdom that belied his tender years. In their midst stood a boy on the cusp of his own odyssey, an odyssey that might very well intertwine with the destiny of a being not born of flesh, but of circuits and steel. "Brother," Tommy said, turning to Erlend, his use of the term encompassing the kinship they all shared, "What profit can be had without risk? Without the thrill of the voyage?" Erlend's response caught in his throat, a galleon stalled by opposing currents. He glanced at Tommy, recognizing the challenge set before him. The reward was tangible, a beacon within reach, yet the call of adventure resonated with a frequency that stirred the very soul. "It is not human," Erlend argued, the fire in his eyes matching the glow of a bright fire. "That thing is just a curious bauble we found, and free to do with as we like." Silence settled over the assembly like a blanket of fog, each member contemplating the course laid out by their youngest navigator. It was a course charted not by charts and compasses, but by the stars of ideals and dreams, by the very essence of what it meant to be part of the Hjeltnes lineage. "Let the adventure begin," Tommy said, his statement echoing like the call of the open sea, stirring hearts and setting sails toward a future where courage and conviction would steer their path. The galley, a cacophony of clattering plates and spirited argument, did not notice when Tommy slipped from the room. The family, bound by blood and brine, congregated around the weathered oak table that bore witness to countless meals and meetings. Each face a canvas of concern, their fates hinged on the words yet unspoken. But for Tommy, it was time for deeds, not words. "Enough," Aage stated, his voice cutting through the tension like a schooner's bow through calm waters. "It is time to make our decision.” Ma Ella stepped forward, her stance composed, her eyes reflecting the depth of the ocean they called home. She paused, considering the weight of her words before letting them sail into the expectant air. "Aage, my dear brother-in-law, I have not yet spoken," she began, her voice carrying the lilt of distant shores, "our choices ripple far beyond the confines of this vessel." Her gaze swept over her kin with a mariner's keenness, seeing not just boys, but future captains of their own destinies. “Then speak your mind, sister,” Aages said solemnly. "Boys," Ella said, turning with a grace that belied her years spent braving the ocean's caprices. Her voice held the warmth of a hearth in winter, drawing every eye to her. "You stand as pillars of this family, strong and unwavering. Yet even the mightiest oak grows from a single, misguided root. Draco’s fate is not yours to choose. By our people’s most ancient traditions, a child’s fate belongs to the mothers of the clan alone–no man may pass judgement on a child." Aages had to concede the truth of this and bowed his head. “This is true, and what judgement have the mothers passed?” She paced before them, her hands clasped as if she cradled something precious, something as fragile as the truth she was about to unveil. "Draco," she continued, "is not a mere assembly of the science of man. He knows the sting of a wound, the hot tears of loss. His heart echoes with the same rhythms of longing and despair that any of ours would in the throes of separation from kin." Margret nodded silently from her post by the window, her eyes still scanning the horizon, a silent sentinel guarding against the unseen. "His humanity is as real as the salt in our blood, as tangible as the wood beneath our feet," Ella insisted. "Each morning when I dispose of his... remnants, I am reminded of this. Even Kai—bless his robust constitution—cannot stake a more convincing claim to humanity than Draco." A chuckle rippled through the cramped galley, a rare moment of levity amidst the weight of their conundrum. The boys, each with brows furrowed in deep thought moments before, now allowed themselves the comfort of mirth. Aage’s booming laughter mingled with theirs, his eyes crinkling at the corners—a stark contrast to the stern lines usually etched across his weather-beaten face. On the schooner, secrets were as scarce as a stretch of calm sea amidst a squall; every whisper and snicker, and scent, found its way into the weave of their daily lives. From her silent vigil by the porthole, Margret interrupted the fading echoes of laughter. “Ella, it’s done, they’re away.” Her voice was a soft intrusion, yet it cut through the jovial atmosphere with the precision of a marlin spike. The words fell upon the room, and the laughter died as swiftly as it had bloomed. Eyes darted from brother to cousin, seeking an anchor in the sudden shift of tides. Margret remained statuesque, her gaze tethered to the sliver of ocean visible through the circular glass. What storms might be gathering in those fathomless depths, none could say, but the set of her jaw spoke of an irrevocable turn in their course. Aage, sensing the gravity of her proclamation, straightened his broad frame, his smile vanishing like mist on a summer’s morn. Tension wound around them, a silent serpent coiling in wait, as the family absorbed the implications of Margret’s terse announcement. The decision made behind their backs was a gust that could sway their destiny, and in that moment, every soul aboard felt the ship of their unity list precariously beneath the gale of uncertainty. Aage's form, a monolith among the family, turned abruptly toward the porthole where Margret stood, her revelation still hanging in the salt-tinged air. "What have you two done?" His voice, usually steady as the tides, betrayed an undercurrent of alarm. Ella, whose gaze had seldom left the churning waters outside, returned her attention to the gathering, her expression solemn. "Only what is our right to do. We are only ten miles from the mining town," she began, her words deliberate, weighing each one as if it were a precious cargo they could ill afford to lose overboard. "The Ryan’s cannot arrive in time to pick up Draco, but he cannot be aboard when we reach the town. The Ares Corporation will likely board us and search, and then we’d be arrested for harboring a fugitive." Her hands, calloused from years of labor, clasped together with resolve. "But, we cannot abandon that child." The galley, once brimming with debate and laughter, now bore the gravity of the uncharted waters into which they veered. Each man and boy appeared as statues carved from the very oak and pine that cradled them within the schooner's belly, their fates intertwined with the vessel that had borne them through tempests and tranquility alike. Aage, master of his domain, felt the foundation of his authority quiver. Yet, in Ella's unwavering stance, he recognized the echo of his own steadfastness – the compass by which he steered not only the ship but his heart. Margret shifted her gaze from the porthole's view of the relentless river to Aage, her words a whisper against the steady creak of wood and rush of waves. "We have sent Tommy and Draco ashore. They will be safe so long as they follow the river north." Aage stared at his wife, the torrent of thoughts behind his knitted brow visible only to those who knew how to read the silent language of his years. "You sent Tommy with him?" he asked, his voice a subdued echo of the storm brewing within. His hands, weathered maps of a life spent tethered to the helm, gripped the edge of the table as if bracing against a squall. The faintest tremor betrayed the tempest of protection and fear clashing in his chest. Tommy, the youngest son who still bore the freshness of childhood on his cheeks, now cast into an odyssey with a being whose very existence defied human comprehension. The others looked on, a silent crew witnessing their captain navigate this personal maelstrom. In Margret’s eyes, however, shone the lighthouse beam of conviction, unwavering even as it beckoned Aage towards uncharted waters. Margret held her ground, her posture as sturdy as the mast of their schooner. "You listen to me, you old coot, I am growing men, not mushrooms to stand in your shadow," she declared, her voice cutting through the salty air like a well-honed blade. "Tommy has found a friend his age, and an adventure free from your coddling will do him good." Aage's jaw clenched, the muscle working beneath the stubble that dusted his square chin. He towered over the galley table, fingers curling into fists of silent protest. "He’s too young," he shot back, the words striking the wooden planks and iron fixtures with the weight of a heavy anchor. The sea outside mirrored Aage's turmoil, waves crashing against the hull in a relentless dance of nature's own defiance. The schooner, resilient as ever, weathered each surge, its timbers groaning with the resilience born of countless storms. Yet, in this moment, Aage felt adrift, unmoored from the certainty that had always guided his actions as both captain and father. Margret's retort sliced through the tension that clung to the room like morning fog on the ocean's surface. "Nonsense," she said, the timbre of her voice steady as the rhythm of waves against the schooner's bow. "Were you and Bjorn not a year younger than Tommy is now when you two defied your father and hiked across the glacier to declare your boyish love to me and Ella?" She paused for effect, every eye in the galley fixed upon her. "We’ll pick Tommy up on our way back, and in doing so, we'll reclaim a much more confident and stronger boy—forged by his quest." Aage’s eyes, stormy as the sea during a squall, darted from Margret to the sturdy wooden table that had borne witness to countless family meetings, its surface etched with memories of decisions made and fates altered. His heart fought a tumultuous battle between paternal instinct and the stark realization that Margret's words bore the undeniable ring of truth. "Tommy has his own seas to sail," Margret continued, her gaze unwavering as she laid an anchor in the tempest of Aage’s thoughts. He could see it then—the boy he cradled as an infant, laughed with during long nights beneath star-speckled skies, and taught to navigate by the sun and stars—now a young man ready to chart his own path. The recollection of his youthful rebellion, alongside Bjorn, echoed in his mind, a reminder of the courage born from taking risks. In that stillness, where the only sound was the creaking of the ship as she rocked gently, Aage's resistance began to ebb. His broad shoulders, usually squared with the burden of command, slumped ever so slightly. He understood that to hold Tommy close now would be akin to anchoring a vessel meant for the open sea in the shallows of a safe harbor. "Very well," he conceded at last, his voice a mere whisper in the hush of the galley. As he spoke, the family around him exhaled in unison, releasing breaths they hadn't realized they’d been holding. Margret offered a subtle nod, a silent acknowledgment of the trust placed in a mother's wisdom. The wisp of a smile played at the corners of her lips, signaling the lifting of clouds from Aage’s furrowed brow. Outside, the schooner cut through the water, indifferent to the storms of human emotion raging inside her belly. She carried on, ever forward, just as Tommy would on his newfound journey. *** The schooner, a loyal beast of river and sea, dwindled to but a speck on the horizon. Tommy stood resolute, his gaze lingering on the vessel as it embraced its own journey. Uncle Bjorn, a mere silhouette now, manned the wheel with the certainty of the tides. A final wave from Tommy cut through the salty air, an unspoken promise of return. Turning to face Draco, the optimism in Tommy’s voice belied the uncertainty of their path. "This is going to be great!" he declared, his eyes alight with the thrill of impending adventure. Draco squinted and eye and shifted uneasily on the coarse sand. "My rib is killing me," he confessed, the pain a strange testament to the human condition he mimicked so closely. Tommy's admonition sliced through the crisp air, a call for resilience in the face of discomfort. "Oh, quit your crying about it, brother," he chided, the word 'brother' carrying a newfound weight between them. "You were in bed long enough, you need sunshine and exercise to heal it the rest of the way." Draco, still grappling with the concept of fraternal bonds, glanced at Tommy with curious eyes that mirrored human vulnerability. "Brother?" he echoed, his voice a cautious mix of hope and doubt. The term, steeped in human connection, hung between them, an invisible thread entwining their fates. Draco stood there, a being crafted by man's ambition yet marked by the fragility of life's brushstrokes. In that moment, under the wide sky that stretched above like a canvas awaiting its next masterpiece, the AI found himself at the crossroads of identity and existence. Tommy's gaze met the morning light, a playful spark igniting within his youthful eyes. "Duh! Of course we're brothers now," he affirmed, his voice carrying the unshakeable certainty of shared adventures yet to come. With a swift motion, he snatched up one of the packs that lay at their feet, its contents essential for the journey ahead. He hoisted it onto Draco's back with an effortless strength born of necessity and the familiarity of countless days spent on the schooner's deck. The straps settled into place with a satisfying click, securing the load as if symbolically binding their newfound brotherhood. "Here," Tommy said, extending a lightweight steel-shafted harpoon toward Draco. It gleamed dully in the soft daylight, its sharp point promising protection and guidance alike. Draco's fingers wrapped around it, the cool metal a strange but reassuring presence in his grip. The harpoon would serve as a walking stick, and a weapon against the unforseen. Content that Draco was equipped, Tommy shouldered his own pack, adjusting the weight across his back with practiced ease. Securing his own harpoon last, Tommy took a moment to survey their surroundings, the river's gentle murmur serving as the soundtrack to their departure. "Let's keep our wits about us," he instructed, more out of habit than genuine concern. "Never know what might decide we're today's catch." The statement hung between them, half jest, half earnest warning, as they prepared to step into the untamed embrace of the world beyond. Tommy stood resolute, his gaze fixed on the horizon where the sky kissed the river's edge. He turned to Draco, a look of camaraderie etched across his youthful face. With the weight of the pack snug against his shoulders, he exuded the aura of an intrepid explorer embarking on an epic journey. "Okay, let's go," he declared, the excitement in his voice a palpable force that seemed to ripple through the still air. His words carried the weight of certainty, "Adventure waits for no man." Draco nodded, the harpoon in his hand now a symbol of their shared path. Together, they stepped forward, each footfall marking their departure from the familiar and their entrance into the realm of the unknown. The riverbank, with its pebbles and sand, crunched under their boots, a chorus to accompany the start of their odyssey. The landscape unfolded before them, a tapestry woven with threads of green and brown, dappled with the light of a sun that watched over like a silent guardian. Tommy scanned their surroundings, his eyes sharp as the spear tips they carried. Though laughter had rung between them moments before, there was a solemnity now, a reverence for the challenge they accepted. "Remember, keep your eyes peeled," Tommy instructed, his tone carrying the gravity of one who understood the wilderness. "We're not alone in these parts." Draco matched his vigilance, eyes darting to every rustle and whisper of movement among the trees. Their pact sealed not just by blood but by the shared breath of adventure, the boys ventured on, hearts beating to the rhythm of a world that awaited them, boundless and wild.