Chapter Text
Prologue: Commander on Deck
A very loud, very obnoxious voice screamed out from the ship’s speakers, interrupting a very quiet and very peaceful dream. “Commencing docking procedures!”
Pain erupted in Bumi’s right arm as he sprang out of bed and collapsed onto the floor, his knees twisted in the thin cotton blankets.
“Shit!” he hissed.
He rolled over, staring up at the gleaming metal ceiling. The ship moved beneath him, turning hard to starboard. The trinkets and memorabilia littering his shelves skidded and bobbed with the ship.
The voice over the speakers returned. Lieutenant Ai.
“All officers on deck.”
The speakers squeaked at a pitch unknown to living man or beast as Ai finished his command. The static squeezed Bumi’s brain, exploding in flashes of colors as he forced his eyes shut. Oh, what the hell had he done last night?
It took Bumi’s addled mind a few extra moments to realize all officers on deck included him. He pulled himself to his feet and swayed there, the impact of the docking procedure throwing him off-balance. His world spun. Definitely hungover. What the hell port did they visit the night before? By the aftertaste of the baijiu, probably Tishi Nan on Yesso Island.
Swallowing bile and more baijiu aftertaste, Bumi scrambled to collect himself. He slipped into his uniform and tried to tame his hair with his fingers as he ran down the hallway.
When he rounded a corner, he nearly collided with a gaggle of new recruits. They yelped and stood at attention.
“Captain!” one cried.
“At ease,” Bumi said, not bothering to stop.
“What’s Commander Kuramoto doing here?” one of the new recruits called after him. “What’s going on?”
Commander Kuramoto? Well—if only Bumi knew. The esteemed Commander of the First Division, on his lowly battleship? Either this was very good news or very bad news. More likely very bad news.
Bumi burst out onto the deck. Salt air filled his lungs. The southern sun beamed down from a cloudless sky. Oh Spirits, it was too bright a day for any man to be hungover. Not like any other day would be better. Summer in the southern Earth Kingdom was always oppressively sunny.
“Captain on deck!” Ai announced.
The other officers snapped salutes. Ai arranged them in formation for a formal military procession. Not even three months on the Red Dragon III could make him relax.
Bumi waved away their formalities. Most of his officers slouched, dropping the tension in their shoulders. The newer ones didn’t move. This was the reason Bumi asked only for aspiring career officers. He hated this never-ending cycle of breaking in the newbies to lose them when their deployment ended.
He crossed the deck and stepped into the shadow of the towering Cranefish, the jewel flagship of the nascent United Republic. They were flying the peacetime flag: a four-petaled flower colored for each of the Four Nations.
“Sir,” Ai greeted.
Bumi buttoned his collar and stuffed his flute deeper into his breast pocket. “What’s going on here, Lieutenant?”
Ai glanced up at the Cranefish. A shadow of a beard lined his jaw. Not enough time to shave after receiving word of the Commander’s arrival, then. The crew of the Red Dragon was set to receive yet another reprimand from high command regarding professionalism in appearance.
“Not sure, Sir,” Ai said. “The ship signaled us once they were in range. Commander Kuramoto must want a word.”
Great. Wonderful. What could they have done wrong now?
The boarding plank descended from the Cranefish, ramming into the deck of the Red Dragon III with a thud. At the top of the plank, Commander Kuramoto was thrust sharply into the sunlight. His red jacket blazed.
“Attention!” Bumi shouted.
The officers straightened behind him. Bumi saluted, pressing his fingers into his forehead to stave off the swelling migraine in his temple. Sweat beaded the back of his neck as the sun beat down on the deck.
Commander Kuramoto walked the slope of the docking plank as though it were a royal carpet. Like most officers of the new United Republic, he carried the Fire Nation with him. His amber eyes gleamed from a porcelain narrow face. Bumi joked to his men: never ask an older United Forces officer where they were during Sozin’s Comet.
“Commander on deck!” Bumi declared.
Kuramoto tipped his head in Bumi’s direction, revealing the golden band around his topknot. Yeesh—he was everything he was cracked up to be. Where did Uncle Sokka find these guys?
“Captain Bumi II,” Kuramoto greeted.
Bumi lowered his salute. “Actually, it’s just Bumi. Captain Bumi.”
Kuramoto narrowed his eyes. Bumi hurried to resume his salute.
“Lieutenant,” Kuramoto acknowledged Ai.
Ai’s eyes widened.
Kuramoto folded his hands behind his back. “Captain Bumi, is there a place we might speak in private?”
Ah, crap.
“Of course, sir,” Bumi said. “I can take you to my quarters.”
Kuramoto sniffed at him. With a scarcely-concealed look in Ai’s direction, Bumi led him through the deck. The other officers maintained their ramrod-straight postures, fixing their gazes straight ahead as if their lives depended on it. The Commander ignored them.
Through the bowels of the ship they went. Every smudge seemed to intrigue Kuramoto. He stopped to examine an empty bottle of rice wine lying on the floor. Heat flooded Bumi’s cheeks at the sight.
“In here,” he said, gesturing to his quarters.
Kuramoto’s frown only deepened when he opened the door. An open pack of cigarettes sat on the table in the antechamber, right next to the Pai Sho board with heaps of gambling chips piled beside it. Rather unorthodox pictures decorated the walls: a close-up of Zuko’s face back when he didn’t know how to work a camera; Uncle Sokka with an arm slung over Bumi’s father; a blurry photograph of Bumi and his siblings, scarcely recognizable as he and Kya flung themselves at Tenzin. The only respectable family vignettes were the two propped on Bumi’s desk: a portrait of his grandfather and a painting of his parents on their wedding day.
The rest of the room did nothing to assuage Kuramoto’s disdain. Collectables lined bookshelves, each hearkening to one of Bumi’s many adventures. His favorite bore the place of honor in the middle of the central bookshelf: an arrow planted on a stand, tip still blunted from where it slammed into Bumi’s shoulder.
“Er, please sit,” Bumi said, gesturing to the rocking chair across from his desk.
Kuramoto folded his arms.
“Or stand,” Bumi said. “You don’t mind if I sit, do you?”
Kuramoto said nothing. Bumi risked a guess and sank into his chair. He kicked his feet up on the desk.
“I’m here with a message from the Admiralty,” Kuramoto said.
Bumi winced. “I thought the business about the Red Dragon II was resolved.”
“I’m not here about that,” Kuramoto said in a voice that very much suggested he wished he were here on behalf of Bumi’s late ship.
“Oh,” Bumi said. “Well, that’s alright then. Please, take a seat. It looks like the heat of the day got to you. A little.”
A faint sunburn layered his weather-beaten skin. The southern Earth Kingdom was nothing if not relentless to Fire Nation skin. Thank the Spirits for Bumi’s Water Tribe heritage.
Kuramoto sighed. “The Admiralty would like me to inform you they’ve promoted you. To Commander of the Second Division.”
What?
Bumi gaped. For once, he could think of no witty comeback. Him? Commander? Why, it was only last year at an officer’s function in the Earth Kingdom when the current Commander of the Second Division remarked to his wife that Bumi was, without a doubt, the worst captain of the fleet.
“Commander Siuzhe is retiring,” Kuramoto explained through gritted teeth. “They tell me you’re the man to fill his shoes.”
Bumi cackled and reclined in his chair. “Well, what about that? It must have been the Hurricane Straits. Or maybe the great hogmonkey rescue. I told Lieutenant Li command would see my strategies for the genius they are!”
Kuramoto arched an eyebrow. “The Admiralty is very pleased to offer you this position. They’d like to hold a formal ceremony in Republic City come the winter solstice. They hope to see your father in attendance.”
The winter solstice—in Republic City, anyway—was only two months away. Would the men love this! A short leave in Republic City so their captain could get a fancy new title. Forget the dusty dockyards of the Southern Earth Kingdom ports. Hello to the high life: glitzy new bars serving the latest drinks in tall metal buildings built by Aunt Toph and her metalbenders. What a day this shaped out to be.
Except for that last part.
“My father doesn’t like to show partiality to the military,” Bumi said, lacing his hands together.
There was something in Kuramoto’s voice. Bumi just couldn’t place it. “Surely he wouldn’t miss such a momentous occasion for his eldest child.”
Right. Exactly like when Bumi was promoted to captain.
“He doesn’t make exceptions,” Bumi said. “He’s an Air Nomad.”
“As a commander, I’m certain you could impress upon him the importance of showing support for the United Forces,” Kuramoto pressed.
Bumi’s excitement fled faster than Tenzin faced with more meditation lessons. A cold feeling filled his chest.
This wasn’t about the Hurricane Straits. Or the great hogmonkey rescue. Or anything else Bumi had ever done, unless being born in precisely the right place at precisely the right time counted for something.
His father grinned out at him from the picture on the wall.
“Does this promotion have anything to do with my father?” Bumi asked. His voice dropped.
Kuramoto pursed his lips. “Don’t sound so offended. My father was an Admiral under Fire Lord Azulon. This is how the game works, Captain.”
Wow, Bumi’s headache roared back to life. He groaned and buried his face in his hands. What he wouldn’t pay to be back at port on Yesso Island right now, or any other port like it in a little pocket nestled in the Earth Kingdom’s fringes where he wasn’t Captain Bumi, the firstborn son of Avatar Aang.
“I expect to see you at the ceremony,” Kuramoto said, spinning on his heel.
Bumi rose to his feet. His chair scraped against the metal floor. “Wait, Commander.”
Kuramoto froze.
Bumi swallowed. “I must politely decline my promotion.”
Kuramoto whirled around. His sharp features were screwed in annoyance. Ragged lines appeared on his forehead, carved there by too many days in the direct sunlight.
“Don’t be a fool, Captain,” Kuramoto spat.
“I decline,” Bumi repeated.
Kuramoto laughed. “This could change your life. Are you so afraid of living in your father’s shadow you’ll pass up the one chance to break free of it?”
Was that what Kuramoto and the others saw in him? Really? After all this time? Bumi thought he’d made a reputation for himself so distinct from his father no one would even dream of saying their names in the same breath.
“I’m not accepting,” Bumi said.
Kuramoto’s voice rumbled in the back of his throat. “Very well, Captain. If you insist, you’ll have to travel to Republic City to lodge a formal declination to the Council.”
“I couldn’t just send them a letter?” Bumi asked.
“No,” Kuramoto snapped. He made for the door and paused before leaving Bumi’s quarters. “I’ll file the paperwork today. Your men will receive a month’s leave to give you time to reach Republic City.”
“Thank you, Commander,” Bumi said stiffly.
Kuramoto gripped the doorframe. “Oh, and Captain. I think your uncle will be very disappointed to hear this.”
Then he left.
Bastard.
Bumi balled his fists.
Uncle Sokka’s smile from his picture was blinding even from across the room. On the other wall, all of the gaang posed for the camera: Aunt Toph pointing vaguely in the direction of the photographer; Bumi’s parents hand-in-hand; Uncle Sokka with his hand on Uncle Zuko’s shoulder. Beneath that picture, Uncle Sokka held a three-year-old Bumi up for the camera.
What would he tell him?
Bumi brushed out of the room. By the time he came up onto the deck, the Cranefish was already separated from the Red Dragon III. The flagship sailed away, billowing coal smoke from three enormous smokestacks.
Lieutenant Ai watched the Jewel of the Republic disappear on the horizon with his hands behind his back. At his captain’s approach, he saluted.
“Enough,” Bumi said.
Reluctantly, Ai relaxed.
“What did he want, sir?” Ai asked.
Bumi frowned. “To give us a month’s leave.”
“Leave?” Ai echoed. “Where?”
Bumi made his way towards the bridge. Over his shoulder, he answered, “Republic City, Lieutenant.”
As he barked out orders, the deckhands rushed into position. “Weigh anchor! Make ready to sail! Off tacks and sheets!”
The anchor burst out of the water. Salt sprayed in its wake. The ship creaked as it moved, too long at rest.
The sun followed its daily arc across the sky, heading west.
Time to chase the sunset.