The Corps of Discovery Trilogy Box Set: Books 1-3: A multiverse series of alternate history

by James S. Peet

  After he got things going and cleared the smoke-induced tears from his eyes, he saw that Meri and Ben were far enough away on the beach heading toward the Rock they wouldn’t be able to see what he was doing. He pulled the clay mold out of its hiding spot. It was pretty gritty; he set it at the edge of the fire to harden, leaving it there while he and Karen sought out more plants to harvest nearby.

  A couple of hours later Bill turned it so the opposite side would face the fire, then returned to his gathering duties.

  At lunchtime, he and Karen returned to the fire and inspected it.

  “Looks good to me,” Karen said.

  “I think it’s good to go, too.” Bill used a pair of sticks as tongs to pull the mold away from the fire.

  He took the gold nugget from his pocket and placed it over the impression in the mold. Then he pulled a small, orange butane lighter from his pack. He flicked the lid latch with his thumb, flipped open the spring-loaded lid, and pressed the starter.

  The piezoelectric starter clicked and a blue flame shot out of the nozzle. Bill was amazed that it still worked, considering all other unprotected electronics that were in the plane when it was electronically fried by the EMP bomb. He applied the flame to the gold and soon it was glowing with heat. In less than a minute the gold had melted completely into the mold’s cavity.

  “Guess that’ll have to do,” Bill said, somewhat disappointed that the gold hadn’t completely filled in the cavity.

  “Let it cool. We’ll break it out of the mold before the others return,” Karen said.

  Bill put the lighter away, and the two of them returned to their gathering tasks. This time they sought out some sea lettuce in the waters nearby, filling several baskets. They decided to try and dehydrate the seaweed, so they hung it over the smoking fire along with the goat skins.

  By late afternoon, Bill started looking down the beach for Meri and Ben. He soon spotted them and called out to Karen.

  “It’s time,” he said.

  “Yep, I think you’re right.”

  Picking up the now-cooled mold, Bill cracked it against a rock. It chipped but did not break. He did it again, harder. This time the mold broke in two, exposing the now-formed gold. Bill tugged on the gold until it was completely free of the clay, rinsed it off, and carefully inspected it.

  He silently handed it over to Karen who also inspected it, and then tested it against the original model. It appeared to be exactly what Bill was aiming for. She handed it back to Bill who promptly tucked it away in his pants pocket.

  Soon Meri and Ben were back at the campsite, baskets laden with rock samphire. Karen and Bill set them out to smoke.

  Supper consisted of smoked goat, smoked sea lettuce, and smoked rock samphire.

  As the four were finishing up, Bill turned to Meri and said, “Y’know, despite all the legal stuff, it still doesn’t feel like we’re really married.”

  “How so?” Meri asked, looking puzzled.

  “I don’t know. It just seems like something’s missing.” He looked down at her hands, which were still holding her eating pot and spork.

  Her eyes followed his. “Well, other than a ring, I haven’t the faintest idea.”

  “A ring! Exactly!” Bill exclaimed, snapping his fingers. “That’s what’s missing.”

  With that, he stretched his leg out, reached into his pocket, and pulled out the gold form. He took the pot out of Meri’s left hand, set it on the ground, then took her hand in his. Sliding the small, handmade wedding band on her finger, he said, “There, now it looks right.”

  Meri stared at Bill in amazement while Ben and Karen clapped their approval. It was quite apparent from her bear hug that she was quite pleased.

  “How did you do this?” she asked after coming up for air from the kiss she gave him. Bill explained about the gold, but then had Karen describe her role.

  “Remember when I had you try on my wedding ring?” she asked Meri, who nodded. “Well, that was Bill’s way of finding out if we could use my ring as a model. Seems it worked out fine.”

  Bill could see Karen’s look of sorrow as she glanced at her own ring. She was a married mother of a two-year-old son, who was waiting for her back on Hayek. Being so pointedly reminded of that had Bill feeling some of her sorrow.

  After a moment, Karen cleared her throat and announced, “We’re pretty much set to go, but I think a couple more pieces of prep are in order. I’ve been thinking about the fact that we’ve had pretty easy sailing so far. It ain’t gonna last. And, right now, we’ve only got one mast. If that breaks, we’re SOL. So, before we set out, let’s cut down a couple more. We can lash them to the net between the canoe and the outrigger.”

  Her crew gave her nods of assent for her command.

  “Another thing. Any of you give any thought on where to land? I’m open to suggestions.”

  “East coast of Ti’icham is our best bet,” Bill said. “Especially if it’s not too far north or south. Mid-Atlantic region is my choice.”

  “Why there instead of the Rio Grande or the Isthmus?” Karen asked.

  “Couple of reasons,” he said. “First, it’s hurricane season. I don’t know about you guys, but I’d like to spend as little time on the ocean as possible especially in the Gulf. Second, if we do it right, we’ll be using rivers, rather than walking. We can head up one of the rivers, cross the Appalachians, and then go down a river until we get to the Mississippi, the Ohio, or the Tennessee. From there we take the Mississippi upriver to the Missouri and then head west. That way we’ll be on water most of the way, which means we won’t die of thirst and there should be plenty of game. Any other route and we’re spending more time on the oceans and crossing deserts. Wandering in a desert in the middle of summer, not knowing where the next water is gonna come from doesn’t sound like my idea of a good time had by all.”

  The others nodded. “He’s got some good points,” Ben said.

  “Okay, so, we can try to sail up the Rio Bravo, but that’ll put us in a desert after a long ocean crossing; or we can try to go to the Mid-Atlantic regions and follow rivers and cross mountains,” Karen summed up. “I see two other options: head for a more northern access point and not cross so many mountains, or head straight for the Mississippi and take that all the way up. Thoughts?”

  “Both options leave us on the ocean longer,” Meri said, “which means more danger from storms. And they both also mean more time on rivers. If I recall correctly, the Mississippi meanders a lot, which means we’ll spend more time going east and west than north. I say we go with Bill’s idea.”

  “If we do, we gotta make sure we’re far enough north. Won’t work to wind up not being able to float down the Ohio or Tennessee,” Bill remarked.

  “Okay. Your task before we set sail tomorrow is to identify all the possible rivers,” Karen told Bill. “Make a list of them and jot down their lat-long in a notebook. I’ll want everyone to have a copy of that. Once we’re on the water I don’t want those tablets out of their waterproof homes.”

  Bill nodded.

  “I’m thinking the furthest north we’ll want to go is the Chesapeake, so make sure you’ve got the coordinates for that,” Karen said to Bill. “And just to be safe, identify all the coordinates of river confluences, like where the Ohio connects with the Mississippi, and where the Mississippi ties in with the Missouri.”

  “I’d suggest looking at the easiest way to get to the New River,” Meri said.

  “Why’s that?” Karen asked.

  “Well, it’s the oldest river in Ti’icham, even older than the Appalachians. That means that it cut through the mountains as they rose. It’s the only river that runs east to west and through the mountains and hooks up with the Tennessee. Otherwise, we’d have to hike over some pretty rugged mountains.”

  After supper, Bill began plotting out the coordinates of each suitable river. Following Meri’s reasoning, he narrowed his choices down to the Roanoke River at the southern limit and the Susquehanna River to the
north. Looking at the options, he considered his two favorites to be the James or the Roanoke. Both required land crossings to get to the New River, but the Roanoke would be the one with the shortest travel time involved. He then spent several hours identifying the latitude and longitude of all the major river confluences.

  The last night the crew spent on the Eurasian continent went quietly. No animals attacked and the weather remained calm.

  Bill was on final watch, and he got to see the morning rays of the sun light up the tip of the Rock of Gibraltar. If nothing else, he thought, at least I’m getting to see some beautiful sights.

  33

  As dawn morphed into daylight, Bill stoked the fire to get water heated for coffee and to warm up the leftovers from the night before, then roused the others. As they drank and ate, he described what he had been doing.

  “It looks like the shortest and easiest route would be if we went up the Roanoke River as far up as possible, and then hoof it over to the New River. From there we can canoe or raft down to the Ohio, and that’ll get us to the Mississippi.”

  “How much hoofin’ are we talking about?” Ben asked.

  “About twenty-five to fifty klicks, depending on water depths. That’s still a whole lot better than hundreds of klicks in the desert,” Bill said. “We’ll also be gaining about 300 meters of elevation, so it shouldn’t be too bad.”

  “What’s our best route there?” Karen asked.

  “Well, we could try to sail straight west, but that wouldn’t be the best plan, due to the wind and ocean currents. If we sail south a bit, on the Canary Current just west of Africa, we can catch the trade winds. And with those, the equatorial current. Combined, those two’ll push us across the ocean faster. First landfall will be in the Greater Antilles in the Caribbean Sea, which means we can possibly resupply with food and water. We can sail along the islands north to Ti’icham. If I’m correct, we’ll be able to sail right into Pamlico Sound at the mouth of the Roanoke.”

  “How long?” Karen asked, a worried look on her face.

  “About ten thousand klicks. Straight line is seven thousand klicks, but ain’t no way, no how, we’re gonna be able to sail straight across. Winds and currents wouldn’t be with us. As it is, we’ll be lucky to hit hull speed and gain an extra klick per hour with the ocean currents. If we’re really lucky, figure we’ll hit the Caribbean in around two weeks, give or take.”

  “Two weeks we can handle,” Karen decided. “For now, let’s get those spare masts and get this show on the road.”

  “Don’t you mean ‘on the water’?” Meri asked with a grin.

  Groans from all greeted that comment.

  Breakfast finished, they began the process of packing up for their journey across the Atlantic in a carved wooden boat. All personal equipment was packed, stashed, and lashed down, along with all food and spare water containers. The solar still was removed from the inflatable raft kit and set for deployment. Karen informed the others that she wanted as much fresh water as possible as soon as possible, and even then they’d be on short rations until they made landfall.

  After identifying two suitable candidates for masts, Karen had Bill and Ben cut them down while she stood guard and Meri finished the packing process.

  Both cut trees were limbed, then the men carried each to the beached outrigger canoe where they were strapped to the net between the canoe and the outrigger. Only after Karen was satisfied that both were secure and the equipment stowed and lashed down did she announce that they were ready to set sail.

  As Meri was the smallest and lightest of the four, Karen had her get in the canoe and take control of it so the others could push it off the beach. Nobody wanted the boat and all their equipment to sail off into the sunset on its own. She climbed aboard the vessel, whose bow was grounded on the beach, and made her way to the back, grasping the tiller.

  Ben untied the canoe from the tree it had been anchored to and strapped the rope around his shoulders, while the other two stripped down and threw their uniforms into the canoe. Bill took the rope while Ben stripped and deposited his uniform with the others. The three then began pushing the canoe into the gentle waves of the Bay of Gibraltar. Once it was fully afloat, they scrambled aboard, with Bill bringing up the rear.

  Picking up their rough-hewn paddles, the three began paddling backwards, away from the shore, while Meri used the tiller to turn the craft so it was facing seaward. Within minutes the boat was facing toward the mouth of the bay, at which time they stopped paddling. Karen and Ben deployed the sail made from a spare parachute.

  It was still morning; the land had yet to heat up, and there was a light onshore wind that helped push them out to sea. Once the wind caught the sail, Bill set his paddle on the deck in front of him.

  Karen ordered all to get dressed and put their life preservers on. These were inflatable Mae West types salvaged from the downed Monarch’s life raft.

  “I don’t want anyone getting totally sunburned, and if you fall overboard, I want a chance of saving your ass.”

  Looking back at the beach they had just left, Bill saw movement near their former campsite. Looking closer, he swore it looked like a small group of humans. “Hey,” he called out to the others, directing their attention to the beach.

  Karen pulled a small monocular from her pocket for a closer look.

  “Holy shit!” she exclaimed, lowering the monocular. “Freakin’ humans!”

  The others clamored to use the instrument; she handed it to Ben. He looked through it, then passed it to Bill in the stern.

  “I don’t think they’re humans,” he finally said. “They look more like Neanderthals.”

  “Let me see,” Meri called, and the monocular was passed forward to her.

  After looking at the group gathered around their campfire, some of whom were pointing out to sea at the canoe, Meri said, “I think Bill’s right. They don’t quite look like homo sapiens, but close. I’m betting on Neanderthal, too.”

  “Great!” Karen said. “Just what we needed. Witnesses. Well, let’s hope they can’t follow us.”

  Stashing the monocular back in her pocket, she went on, “Well, ain’t a damned thing we can do about it, so let’s just get the flock outta here.”

  The canoe rose rhythmically as it crested the small waves, making its way toward the mouth of the bay and the final stretch between the Mediterranean and the Atlantic Ocean. After an hour they had left the hominids far behind, clearing the Bay of Gibraltar and entering the Strait. It soon became apparent when they were no longer in the bay as the swells increased in size and chop, causing the small outrigger to slap up and down.

  Bill informed the others that they should expect a slow ride as they passed through the Strait due to the current flowing into the Med from the Atlantic.

  “If I recall correctly, it’s because the Med has a higher rate of evaporation, and the water coming in is replacing it,” he said, almost yelling to get his message to Meri in the back.

  True to his word, it became evident that they had slowed down, with their speed reduced almost by half. Fortunately, there was no fog, and the winds and tides were with them.

  Four hours later, Bill announced that they were passing the southern tip of the Iberian Peninsula, and were finally entering the Atlantic Ocean.

  “With any luck at all, we’ll be able to catch the Canary Current and start heading south tomorrow.”

  Meri joined Bill in the bow, and the two sat quietly, watching the land pass on either side.

  Bill retrieved his rough paddle from the well of the canoe, pulled out his pocket knife, and began carving on the canoe. He figured they had a couple of weeks to kill, so he might as well make the paddle as best he could. After a couple of hours of carving, he set his paddle down. It was starting to take shape nicely, but his hand was starting to cramp. Anyway, no need to complete it right away.

  While Bill was carving Meri had conferred with Karen and was in the process of obtaining their lunch and dinner — f
ish. Rather than a typical fishing rod, Meri was using a device called a Cuban yo-yo reel. It was a circular piece of plastic, much like a pulley wheel, with heavy-duty fishing line wrapped around the outside groove. Tied to the line was a metal leader with a hook. Meri had attached a small piece of meat to the hook and was trolling over the port side of the Guppy, opposite of the outrigger.

  Bill had been surprised to find what all was included in the life raft survival kit. It included means of making fresh water, catching fish, and cooking them. Along with the inflatable solar still and several yo-yo reels, there was additional fishing tackle, a large hand-pump-operated desalinizer, almost half a meter long, a smaller hand-pumped desalinizer, and a collapsible solar oven with a simple grill and pot that fit inside. Bill suspected that they would be using everything in short order.

  Throughout the day the four got used to sailing the Atlantic versus what they had experienced in the Mediterranean. The swells were the first obvious difference, being larger and further apart. And the further west they went, the further the land receded. Soon there was no land in sight; they were now at least seventeen kilometers from shore. They also saw several large groups of whales breaching the ocean toward their west. The Earthers stared at them in wonder, coming from a planet where most whales had become extinct due to man’s insatiable appetite for their blubber.

  It wasn’t long before Meri announced she had a fish on the line. Reeling it in was a pretty simple affair, technically. All one had to do was wind the line around the yo-yo. The actual doing was something else. This was mainly due to the fact that the object on the other end of the line didn’t particularly want to be reeled in, and it appeared to also be rather large, giving Meri a run for her money.

  Eventually, she managed to fight the fish to the side of the canoe. Ben, sitting behind her, bashed it over the head with a wooden club that he had carved specifically for the deadly task. He dropped the club back into the canoe, reached over, and hauled the fish aboard. It was a tuna and easily weighed thirty kilos. Plucking the hook out of its mouth, he handed it to Meri, who finished reeling the line in, and set the hook in a small groove on the side of the yo-yo.