In this except, the devil-girl has just finished describing how she took out a crime boss. She is speaking to the woman who commands the frigate she needs to save the city, but she's discovered the position she was given lacks military authority, and those with the authority are writing her off her as a worrywart teenager. The skipper doesn't know this and sees Rainy Days second in command. What you might consider magic exists here (Clarke's Law), thus a rower is a person who powers an airship. The woman is disfigured in a shocking way.
The skipper's mild grin widened into a half-smile. "You're a woman of action. I'm not sure I can be of service, but here I am. I docked this museum piece without parts or people falling off, all departments put to bed—literally put to bed in the case of all three of our rowers—none of the kids I'm babysitting have killed themselves or their fellows in the two watches it took to sail here despite throwing one in the brig, and my paperwork is complete. How may I help you?"
"Setting expectations?"
A slight nod. Maybe her half-lidded expression was exhaustion.
"What were your orders?" I asked.
"Reposition the Eagle's Stoop at Home City Station with all due haste. Remain at alert. Await further orders." She found a piece of parchment with an official looking gold stamp, rotated it for me to read.
I did. I asked, "Don't commissioned officers usually re-enlist?"
She sucked in a breath.
I clarified, "I'm not trying to be rude. Rainy Days—"
"Director Rainy Days—" she corrected.
"You recognize subtlety. Cool. Short review: Rainy Days wanted a tool. She manufactured a Directing Superintendent who she intended to command one of her armies. Me." I curtsied. "I ran away before she could train me. Still put me through the wringer, caught me, then designated me her heir so she could run off on a military adventure. I don't trust anything that happens wasn't planned somehow by her. She tossed me a hot potato. I require a tool that's sharp like me to catch it, slice it, and stuff it with butter. I am hoping that tool is you."
She took another measured breath. "Permission to speak freely?"
I didn't understand the jargon, but it was clear enough. I nodded.
"Nobody in this male-dominated service wants a cripple around, especially a woman, no matter how hard she proves herself. They don't want to serve under her. They don't trust she won't cut and run, even though I can fight as well as any man. I get shit for duty assignments and no promotions, despite having graduated at the top of my class and being made to believe I'm the Director's chief siege strategist. Nobody got the memo. I can take the hint that I am not wanted in this man's service and I am accepting discharge."
"When?"
"In two days—would be were we at HQ. Now, I have to wait until this milk run tour of duty is over or someone relieves me of command." She lifted an eyebrow, looking hopeful I might give her what she wanted.
I looked her over again. I saw plenty of scars. Muscle. Muscle on a woman. Her eyes studied me with wary intelligence. I said, "I bet you can fight. I will learn something when we get a chance to spar."
She looked ready to huff, then her eyes halted at the recent bruises on my arm, flicked to my face, finally resting on my messed up ear which I turned toward her for a better look—with a grin. I said, "I've decided I don't want plastic surgery. Maybe I'll get an earring. Makes a statement, don't you think?"
"That you're not a nice person," she said.
Not a question. I took it as a compliment. "I'm a devil-girl, but I protect people—don't get me wrong. You say you're handicapped?"
"Handicapped," she sneered. "What polite people say when they want to gloss over a reality they don't want to have to deal with, candy-coating 'cripple' so they don't feel bad." She might have spat, were she not on her ship.
I jerked my head back at her vehemence, then put a hand to my chin, thinking. "Huh?" I said, "I never thought about it that way. That said..."
I stood, making sure she could see my left leg. I gave it a shake. My custom-made shoe fell off, then I kicked and the brace came off slide and bang into the wall.
Her eyes followed its trajectory.
"Speaking 'freely:' Fought a dragon weapon master a year and a half ago. I won.
"Splintered my tibula into 61 pieces. Nearly bled to death. Had it replaced.