All the advances in medicine that were whispered to be positive results of waging The Great War and we had no idea how to determine if and when one would come out of a coma. We could breathe for a drowning victim, compress a soldier's chest to keep his blood pumping, build mechanical limbs for those lost, and apparently restart a stopped heart with some manner intentional electrocution.

"It had only been tested on dogs," Sina had whispered to me. I was glad I hadn't been here for that part. But, I felt guilty she had been the one to say 'do everything necessary' while I had been with Jean-Daniel.

Nikola was probably going to patent some aspect of the procedure. Raphael was probably writing up his case notes as he sat across the bay from us at a desk.

He couldn't tell us Murphy would wake, only that it was possible. He could theorize Murphy needed time to recover and that his body shut down to make that possible, the way steam engines sometimes needed a cooling period to prevent overheating or catastrophic explosion.

But, how could Murphy be like that little engine-- I think I can, I think I can, I think I can --if we weren't even sure he was thinking?

He was there in the room, but it didn't feel like he was. So, I made him be with me in foolish sentimental ways. I made myself guardian of his personal effects, Murphy's clothing and accessories chucked into a wrinkled paper bag.

I sat in the chair with my heels on Murphy's bed, his watch and fob on my waistcoat, his grey bowler on my head, looking into his mirrored compact as I applied some of his kohl to my eyes. Murphy had a practiced way of applying the lines without a mirror by closing his eye over the wand; I never understood how he managed not to poke his eye.

His scarf had been cut by Miranda's scissors, and his lavender dress shirt soiled with blood on the sleeve. All Murphy's identification seemed to be in his jacket pockets, along with what trinkets and such he hadn't left at the dressing table. I examined a decorative metal case, not quite so small as a pill box, when Valentine entered the room.

"Which one of you contacted Cloud?"

The aggressive tone of the question, as the box in my fingers sprung open, gave me a bit of a start. The contents of the box-- slim square packets --jostled out and rained to the floor. "I--"

Valentine laughed, aggression apparently forgotten. "Kid, what are you doing with a whole collection of riding-coats?"

Minerva-Sarasvati, they were condoms! I was not, in truth, surprised that our globe-trotting dandy sailor carried french-letters on him, or such a pretty receptacle for that purpose; it should have been more offensive if he hadn't any. However, I was scandalized to have been the one to dramatically spill military-jackets across the medical bay floor.

I saw Raphael looking at me from his desk and imagined his oath would soon prompt him to seek me for a frank discussion on things young men traveling from port-to-port should know.

Valentine stooped to collect the rubbers, while I covered my face with my hands.

"Did we receive a message?" Sina asked.

Valentine stood and passed the packets back to me. "I just got three different rays demanding or authorizing the release of Murphy to his brother."

"His--?" I looked across Murphy's bed to where Sina sat. I hadn't known Cloud was one of Murphy's brothers. 

Sina nodded, as I carefully closed the little metal box. "It was always the plan," she said, "if Murphy were incapacitated, to send word to Cloud."

"I didn't realize this response."

Valentine nodded and sighed. "Raphael, do everything you can to prepare Murphy for transfer to the Roc."

"I must advise against his transfer at this time."

"Noted. Put it in your file and make a copy for Cloud. They are already on course to intercept us."

I rolled closed the paper bag and dropped my feet to the floor. "I'll go pack our things."

"Julien," Sina said quietly. I did not like the apologetic tone. "I will stay at his side...."

"Sina! How can I not go? After everything?"

"It is not my choice."

I got up and left the room. Sina found me again, up at the starboard railing. It had taken longer than I expected, but then I noticed she had already gone and changed into the thawb, soft boots, and  headscarf she had worn before we set sail on the Hippocampus. Her cutlass was now belted outside her dress.

"I believe you," I said, "that it is not your choice. But, I do not really understand."

"Cloud and his crew are not kapareghora. They are Egyptian Navy. They are also men from the Sinai."

"Bedouin?"

"Badawī," Sina pronounced, "But we say the name of the tribe."

"What is--? Murphy never said."

Sina hesitated. "Al-Isra." Her expression was slack-jawed another moment. If the name had any connotation, positive or negative, I did not know it. "It will be unusual enough that I am with them, but I can no more stay with you than go. Cloud is my cousin. He knows about us, at least that we have secret work."

"And if I were there?"

"None of our team would be left to escort Mr. Tesla, so for our honor you must stay. If you and he joined, there would be too many questions. I am young, like you Jade, but for others it is new to self-identify as Egyptian with a sense of nationalism. Our way of life is changing, but there can be only so much change at once."

"Murphy cares about Egypt." I knew.

"For he and his father to have the Malik's trust, and for us to have the Malik's respect is important. All spoken promises must be kept."

"Then I also have no choice."

---------------

Apparently the Wattys 2015 results were announced at some point. None of my works was awarded. That's OK, back in August, at the official deadline, The Iron Man wasn't half as long and probably didn't have half as many reads, or half as fabulous a cast. Now, The Iron Man has over 1,600 reads!

In Thanksgiving for this (and coincidentally because there's a big holiday in the US this week), I decided to post one chapter a day for this week (even if it messes up the rankings). 

So, this counts as the Monday chapter.

Also, apparently is true that what the English called a 'French Letter' was in France sometimes called an 'English riding coat' ( capote anglaises or redingote anglaise).

PS, France, I love you, even if I'm making some of your people seem villainous in this alternate history story. Je t'aime! Je vous aime tous?? <3  (  ♥‿♥)