Precious few individuals knew the science of their world—truly understood the laws of nature that governed it.

Most people did not care to understand. They had lives to live.

Such things were left in the hands of scholars: mathematicians, philosophers, and, in the world of Veromnia, mapmakers.

Yes, mapmakers, commonly referred to as mappers.

Because on Veromnia, as the stars in the sky moved, so too did the very ground beneath its inhabitants’ feet.

People did not feel the ground move beneath them, outside of quakes, which were more common there than on other worlds. But move the ground did, as persistent as it was imperceptible.

According to one text, a land mass could circle the globe in as little as seventy years, if left unimpeded.

If all all land masses moved unimpeded, life would be simpler.

The reality was land masses of varying sizes, from islets to islands to continents frequently collided, forming new masses.

Lands would often split apart as well. Powerful quakes could rip the ground forming two smaller lands that would slowly drift away from one another.

The face of the planet was ever-changing, and it was the job of the mapmakers to record it. And when they could, predict it.

Most countries of note on Veromnia had survey teams who assisted mapmakers with their mission.

The crew of the Hare’s Breath was one such team.

They were currently on a detour from their normal survey route, docked in the independent island nation of Curvata Appa, a small, curled strip of land formerly a peninsula attached to Tellavar, the largest country and continent in the world.

Curvata Appa’s status was relatively new, having declared its independence three years ago, shortly after its physical secession from mainland Tellavar. It did, however, continue to serve the same role it had previously as a trade hub.

This area was typically monitored by a fellow survey ship, but the Bull’s Horn had gone missing some time ago. The Hare’s Breath was issued orders to monitor it in the meantime and look out for any signs of their comrades.

Ballast woke an hour before sunrise after a sleep oft interrupted by unpleasant dreams. He dressed and left his bunk—he was one of just six crew members who had his own.

Despite the early hour the captain was already above deck, drinking from a flask and facing the still dim coast. “Coffee?”

“You know I don’t touch that swill, Captain,” Ballast replied. “Tastes like burnt coconut hair.”

Captain Emery Springer turned to face the boatswain, smiling. She was a tall woman, tallest member of the crew, with thick, unruly hair the color of elmwood. Her uniform was similar to Ballast’s, except for her coat, which was much longer, falling to her knees, with more ornamentation. Gold stitching crossed the front of the coat in line with its buttons, and her rank was stitched in the same color on the right breast.

The first thing anyone noticed about Captain Springer, however, were the brown leather goggles that hid her eyes. The lenses were opaque black with wisps of gray that gave the impression of movement, like wafting smoke from an extinguished candle. Brass rivets encircled the lenses fastening them to the leather straps that wrapped around her face and into the jungle of her hair.

The goggles gave the sea captain an uncanny look, and more than one crew member had said they felt like she was staring into their soul when she looked at them. She didn’t seem to mind—a little healthy fear from her crew made life easier.

Ballast was not one who feared the captain, though he did respect her.

“Besides, I don’t want to deplete your stash of the stuff,” he added, regarding the coffee.

Captain Springer lingered in the levity a few moments before taking on a more serious tone. “Were all the preparations completed yesterday?”

“Yes. The forward mast was reinforced, additional provisions were brought onboard, and the deckhands completed a quick clean of the hull.”

“Good.”

“But a more thorough cleaning and polish will be needed soon.”

“I know,” the captain said, turning back toward the coast. “We just don’t have the time right now.”

“Understood, captain,” Ballast said.

“Maybe, Mr. Fisher, if you hadn’t dismissed the men so early yesterday, another cleaning wouldn’t be needed so soon.” The familiar scratchy voice of the ship’s first mate joined the conversation as the squat officer climbed up the steps to the deck.

Ballast swallowed his annoyance before turning to respond to his superior, but the captain interjected.

“He was following my orders, Harry. I’m sure you aren’t questioning Ballast for that.”

Harold Mannix ambled up to Captain Springer and Ballast, a bead or two of sweat dripping from underneath his tricorn hat down his brow. At nearly fifty years of age, he was more than ten years the captain’s elder. “Certainly not, Captain Springer.” His smile toward the captain became a scowl when he turned to Ballast. “I simply think he could better manage the deckhands’ time. In general, that is.”

“Sounds like a discussion for another day,” Captain Springer said, firmly.

“Of course.”

Ballast never quite understood why the captain maintained Mannix as first mate. She didn’t seem to like him any more than Ballast did, and he frequently undermined her.

“Speaking of orders, you have yours,” she continued. “You’ll be meeting with the local government’s officials at start of business today, joined by the mapper's apprentice. Prepare to disembark. And Ballast, ready the ship to depart at first light. I want a closer look at that incoming bogey.”

“Yes, captain,” Ballast and Mannix said in unison.

The three senior officers of the Hare’s Breath left each other to attend to their respective duties.

Before long, the rest of the crew was awake, and the ship became abuzz with activity.

The navigator plotted their course. Deckhands prepared the tow boats and raised the flags. And the cook worked on breakfast.

Mannix could be heard instructing the mapper’s apprentice as they left the ship. “Now, when we meet the officials, let me do the talking. If I need your expertise, I will ask for it. Understood?”

The apprentice, a freckled young man still wet behind the ears, nodded earnestly.

Ballast was glad when they were gone and the ship left the harbor.

Of course, it was a short sail to the encroaching land mass—it was five miles away yesterday and even closer today. The crew had not bothered to unfurl the main sail for the trip, opting to ride just the smaller jib sail at the front of the craft to their destination.

The Sun, still rising over the water in the east, was directly behind them, so the Hare’s Breath cast a long shadow that led the way.

The same winds driving them to the incoming land mass caused the familiar flapping of the two flags flying above the sails. The first one was yellow and featured the same stylized compass rose as on the crew’s coats, indicating they were a survey ship. Above that was the national flag of Tellapor, the country to which they and their ship belonged.

Tellapor was the second biggest country in the world, both by area and population, though it was still just half the size of Tellavar, the largest. Its flag consisted of two inverted orange triangles on either end with a white triangle in the middle. Within the white was a vertical orange rectangle that rose from the bottom and looked like a doorway.

Some crew members were still eating breakfast when the ship arrived.

Captain Springer ordered a deckhand to summon the mapper from his quarters. Jameson Reed, the mapmaker, was a bookish sort, more librarian than explorer, who was known to stay up half the night working and muttering to himself.

When he finally appeared on deck, Jameson did so in wrinkled clothes and uncombed hair, clutching a canvas bag of some cartography tools. The deckhand who retrieved him followed carrying a small open crate with some additional tools and instruments.

Ballast recognized a few of the tools from past discussions with Jameson, but it was a mystery to him how even those were used.

“So glad you could join us,” Captain Springer said sarcastically. “Perhaps you should proceed with your measurements?”

“Sorry, captain...ahh, yes, I certainly can do that,” said Jameson, avoiding eye contact with the captain. He was one of the crew members intimidated by her. He didn’t seem to like things he couldn’t quantify, and Emery Springer could not be quantified. “Can we, uh, circle the island a few times first?”

The captain nodded to the navigator, who began rounding the land mass for what would be the first of several laps, while Jameson set up a tripod. He worked nervously for over an hour, occasionally jotting down notes or shaking his head. With his apprentice absent, he only spoke under his breath to himself.

On the start of their eighth lap, the mapper stepped away from his instruments and announced “The island is roughly thirteen miles long and two to three miles wide. And well, our initial hypothesis is confirmed. Unfortunately, that is. I project it will...um, collide with Curvata Appa in approximately four days. At its current trajectory it may hit the harbor or possibly the beach homes west of the harbor.”

Captain Springer frowned. “I must admit, I was hoping your earlier guess was wrong.” Turning to Ballast, she said, “Can you have the crew prepare the rowboats?”

Ballast nodded. He had anticipated this order. It was standard procedure for survey crews to come ashore when discovering a potential threat. The mapper would perform some additional on-island measurements while they would look out for signs of settlement.

They set out in three teams of three—the mapper was in one rowboat and aimed for the center of the land mass, the captain’s team rowed to one end, and Ballast’s to the other. The mass was shaped like a letter “J,” and Ballast’s rowboat landed on the outside of the curved tip.

He and his team dragged the rowboat a short ways up the rocky beach until they were certain it was safe from the tides. It was a thin beach that quickly gave way to tall grass and trees. They delved into the green unknown with machetes in hand, cutting their pathway in.

“Keep your eyes open for any native peoples or predators,” he said to the other crew members. They were two of the newer recruits, and by virtue of his role on the ship, Ballast was more familiar with them than Captain Springer or certainly Jameson were. “And watch out for poisonous plants. Stinging Girdles and Lanternweed are both common on other lands in this area.” He had carried a poisoned sailor back to the ship before—he had no desire to repeat the exercise.

The three made their way at methodical pace, zig-zagging through the wooded area and pausing now and then to allow Ballast to examine something more closely.

The only creatures they observed were some insects and a few breeds of bird. No signs of intelligent life. And the plant life were all things Ballast had seen before. All told, the island was rather ordinary. Until they reached the opposite shore.

It was the taller of his companions who first noticed it. “What’s that?” he asked, pointing to shape a few hundred yards to their right.

Ballast squinted. It was too far away. “Let’s find out.”

As the trio approached, the shape slowly came into focus. It was a narrow wooden structure, quite recognizable to them—another rowboat. But this certainly wasn’t one of theirs. Jameson and Captain Springer were both meant to land on the same side of the island as Ballast’s boat had.

Was it on the shore earlier? They were nestled in the island’s small bay, in the crook of the “J.” Their current location certainly could have been hidden from view when the Hare’s Breath circled the island earlier.

As they grew nearer, gulls that had been resting on the boat’s edge took flight, and a foul smell made them suddenly grimacing. Ballast’s heart sank—he knew that smell.

The two others looked away in disgust when they finally reached the boat, but Ballast looked upon their discovery. It was the rotting corpse of a fellow sailor.