** BIO **

The name's Conrad, Son of Leif Brandywine -- famed inventor of the popular beverage that infuses the potency of liquor with the pretentiousness of traditional wines.  I'm a Lieutenant Commander in the Gnomish Navy, and I follow the chain of command like clockwork (get it?).  I was only recently promoted to this rank in preparation for an upcoming mission, but we'll get to that in moment.

By any standard, I'm not terribly bright.  By Gnomish standards, the most polite way I've been described is as "a cultural embarrassment".  I still know how to operate your average steamlift, mind you, but who can't?

My brother was the brains of the family, and lugging his crates of tools and parts around the basement while the wunderkid devised ramshackle golems out of coffee cans helped me discover my true calling: Lacking.

Not "lacking" as in "missing something" or "incomplete" -- "lacking" as in the occupation of doing what needs to be done for those who know better than you do.  It's not as easy as it sounds, involving a strict set of skills ranging from staying out of sight and mind until needed to always knowing just who has overstayed their welcome.

Sadly, the Lacking business just isn't what it used to be, so I enlisted.  Well, I tried to enlist, but my larger-than-average form drew a few raised eyebrows.  I was whisked away to another room and seated before the brass, where I was asked to answer a few questions.

It was the easiest test of my life.

"What's your name, son?"
"Can you bend this iron pipe with your bare hands?"
"Holy shi... and you obey orders without hesitation?"

I was in an officer's uniform adorned with a lieutenant's epaulette and standing at attention outside the very door I had entered before sundown.

It didn't take long to earn the attention and -- let's face it -- ill will of my peers.  It wasn't insubordination, per se, but junior officers and enlisted rank-and-file who resented my favored status were known to snicker as I walked past, or to ask complicated questions they knew I'd have a hard time answering.

For the most part, I weathered the storm by assigning those below me to menial tasks they loathed.  This did nothing to quell the discontent, and I suspect this back-and-forth probably contributed to my current situation more than anything else.

The same attributes that earned me ire also gained me more than a handful of admirers, mostly other sub-geniuses -- the neglected few whose wit was sufficient to allow them to build a working orinthocopter, but only when armed with a manual to guide them along the way.

I was heavy-handed with my praise for these sailors, and before long there was unrest and muttering about "Admiral Conrad's cadre".  Hearing the respected station of "admiral" being used to mock me hit hard, but my fists hit harder.

The series of disciplinary actions that followed resulted in the hospitalization of gnomes on both sides, and I eventually found myself seated once again in the brass's office -- only this time, the room packed with a variety of higher-ups I'd never seen before.

I stoically sat bolt-upright my chair while they debated my fate, with conversations ranging from "court marshal" to "suicide mission".  My initial benefactor won the day with his plan, which involved an "experimental vessel" of some sort staffed by a rag-tag crew that might benefit from the oversight of a loyal officer who could be counted on to handle himself in a fight.

I met with Olek Longthrow later that day, and was assigned to his personal detail.  The tasks were familiar and comforting to one as accustomed to lacking as I was, and I steeled myself to handle the friends and enemies I was sure to make during this new deployment better than I had in the past.

And if anything did go wrong?  Olek had promised me that there was only one law that mattered underwater -- his -- and I was free to drive this point home in any way necessary.