by Diane Carey
Between the captain and Dana, the impression was that all persons who ventured out into space were the dashing characters of myth and lore, blessed with heroic looks and the self-confidence of prize racehorses. Only the presence of the rest of the crew muted that impression, for the others—the engineer and the cook, the boatswain and the cockswain, the second mate and the education officer— were scruffy and work-worn, and one engineer even had a missing tooth right in the top front. Only Mr. Nielsen was clean-clothed in his khaki shirt and trousers, for his job didn’t involve mucking out the ship.
“Cadets, meet your commander,” Mr. Nielsen announced with military formality. “Captain Thomas Scott Pangborn.”
After a pause for drama, the captain began to speak. “Well, this looks like a capable group.” His voice matched his heroic posture. Medium-everything, very masculine, but not deep or gravelly. Sort of a news-announcer voice.
“Moghrey mie,” Robin spoke up. She smiled, her little butterfly smile, knowing he couldn’t possibly understand the greeting. Little flirt.
The captain blinked at her impertinence. “Pardon? What’s… ‘morra mye’?”
“That was ‘good morning’ in our native Gaelic,” she explained.
“She’s talkin’ to the birds,” Ned quietly added, just enough to be heard. “Robin can make greetings in twenty-two languages.”
The captain looked at him, apparently missing the resemblance, in coloring if not in the arrangement of features. “And you are…”
“I’m the brother,” Ned said.
“I see. And how old is the brother?”
“Sixteen, sir, just last month.”
“Ah. Old enough to know better, young enough to ignore knowing better. I remember those days. You have a name?”
“Ned, sir.”
“Edward?”
“Sorry, just Ned.”
“Pretty simple. What’s your last name?”
“Menzie.”
The captain pressed his lips and nodded. “Mmm. What’s your story, Ned Menzie? Are you… Irish?”
Not having much of a story to tell, Ned fumbled out the best he could do. “We’re Manx.”
The captain’s brows came down. “What’s a Mank?”
Robin tucked her chin a little more, her big eyes wide. Ned came up to the challenge, though he had the feeling he was taking some bad bait. “The Isle of Man. West of England, east of Ireland, south of the mist and north of the moon.”
“Mm… didn’t know that place still existed.”
Ned shrugged one shoulder. He never knew what to do with his hands, so they hung on the ends of his arms like plumb bobs. And his hair hung in his eyes and his clothes hung from his shoulders, as if still on a hanger, but humility and raggediness only carried a man so far. He met the captain’s critical gaze and asked, “And where are you from, sir?”
Captain Thomas Scott Pangborn—a name which he seemed to carry like a royal title—raised his chin just enough to show the broad angle of his jawline. His eyes were fixed on Ned’s.
“I’m Canadian,” he declared.
Ned got the urge to ask, “What’s a Can?” but snuffed just in time.
“What do your parents do on the Isle of Men?”
Robin shrank a bit, but Ned smiled at the captain’s insult as if he’d never heard it before. “The Isle of Man, sir. It’s named after Mannanan MacLir, son of the God of the Sea. It should be spelt with two n’s, but one fell off.”
Some of the other teenagers rewarded his gall with giggles.
“Our grandparents run a wool farm. Sheep and goats. We have six hundred head of four-horns and two hundred—”
“Four… horns?”
“Four-horned sheep. They’re native to the Isle of Man.” Shame-fully, he couldn’t avoid putting a little inflection on “Man.”
“Sheepherders,” the captain said, interested. “Shepherds. What do you do with your four-horns?”
“Wool.”
“Wool? Funny… I thought that was replaced with synthetic fibers about two hundred years ago. I thought all sheep were grown just for lamb chops.”
Ned offered only a passive grin. He hadn’t really been invited to explain the success of the industry that supported his home. If ever someone ventured a direct question, he might give it a go.
“Mm,” the captain moved on. “You’ll come in handy. We’re picking up a cargo of livestock. Of course, they’ll all be in suspension.”
“Easy to herd, then,” Ned commented.
A flash of cold irritation hardened Pangborn’s square face, but instantly vanished as he laughed heartily and clapped Ned on the back, a little harder than necessary. “Easy to herd! That’s so true! I like a man who knows how to make light of a situation. How did you end up here?”
“Our parish priest put our names in the bin. I wouldn’t take it up, but he was that joyous about it and I didn’t want him disappointed.”
The captain folded his arms and put a finger to his lips. “Ah—I think I remember now… the two of you are here on a special scholarship for the economically deprived. You basically won a random drawing.”
Robin’s chin tipped down and her eyes went up and batted once or twice, but her mouth corners turned up just a bit, making her cheeks into the butterfly-wings Ned had always found so funny. Since she was a baby, she’d had those cheeks.
Ned absorbed the astonished stares of the other teenagers, each with its own interpretation of embarrassment or victory at another’s expense. Then again, he knew what they were and they knew what he and Robin were.
“We don’t say it right out like that,” he offered, “but it seems we’ve been blessed by the generosity of others, and we’ve no shame in that.”
“Well!” The captain clapped a hand on the knob of Ned’s shoulder. “That was a damned grown-up thing to say. I respect that. Who else do we have here? Well, I’ll get to know all of you in a day or two. From here on, now that your school year’s officially over, the crew will introduce you to the ship’s posts and how to operate them. You’ll be manning important stations like the helm, docking, various scientific and mechanical posts, safety, damage control, and we’ll eventually be doing emergency drills.”
He paused, strode away from them a few steps, down to the end of the polished salon table, then made one of those stage turns and faced them again, making it seem as if he’d just decided what he wanted to say.
“As you all know, space is the most hostile environment in the universe. The Umiak is part of an innerspace fleet, serving established colonies, outposts, orbital stations, and new republics like Zone Emerald, Cargo City, RU490, and Ring Dome. We’re now moving out on an elliptical course that will take us into open space for a four-month training and science experience. It’s farther out than we usually go, so we’ll have to stay on our toes. We have one scheduled rendezvous, but otherwise will only be engaging in your training. You’ll get college credit toward your degree at Emerald University’s elite Technical Academy. I commend your accomplishments. You’ll be taking several class sessions on celestial navigation, theory, and operations of helm watch, as well as other watch positions for under-way conditions, ship’s maintenance, propulsion engineering…” He looked at Dana and made a gesture with one hand.
Dana took over. “Load configuration, small-engine operations, on-board operational safety, emergency management, damage control, the history of freight shipping—”
“And with completion of each session, you’ll be given a certificate of accomplishment which counts toward college credit. Once you achieve all the certifications, you’ll also receive a smart platinum-colored Umiak crew shirt like the ones Dana and I are wearing. Until then, you’ll continue wearing your own clothing or you can wear the purple Umiak work shirt like Dustin and Luke over there. These shirts are badges of honor for your accomplishment so far, and accomplishments yet to come. I see some of you already have them.”
Ned glanced down at the shirt he was wearing, a vine-green T-
shirt with two bright competition motorcycles roaring down a stretch and the words “TOURIST TROPHY MOTOCROSS ROADRACE” splashed across the chest and “ISLE OF MAN” under the picture. Until now, he’d been proud of earning it, even though his sister claimed he looked like Peter Pan in his greens. Dustin and Luke, the two crewmen, were physically unalike—brown-haired Dustin tall and narrow, fair-haired Luke built like a brick— but in their purple crew work shirts they looked like a team. Indeed, they were.
He looked at Dana—yes, she was wearing the same shirt as the captain, but somehow it looked very different from his. On Dana, it was just a light-gray polo shirt with the name “UMIAK” on the left side, and an emblem of a ship’s brass bell, and under the bell, the word “CREW.” Hers was short-sleeved, as if meant for work, while the captain’s was long-sleeved—perhaps that contributed to the image, Ned considered. On the captain, the simple shirt seemed more like a true uniform, stretched across his enviable shoulders and blocky pecs. He was not a huge man, but he was built of firm parts, well-proportioned enough to fill out his shirt in a military way.
“You’ll be divided into watches just as you have been until now,” the captain broke into Ned’s thoughts, “and have a watch leader to whom you’ll report for the duration of the voyage. You will not report to me or Dana. You’ll report only to your watch leader. If you want to ask me a question, ask your watch leader first. He’ll decide whether or not the problem merits my attention. After we reach the apex of our elliptical course, we’ll loop back to Zone Emerald and you’ll disembark at the university spaceport. After that, your futures are your own. Until then, they’re mine.” Pangborn scanned the faces of the teenagers, then suddenly smiled and clapped his hands together once, then rubbed them. “But we’ll have fun!”
“Permission to dismiss to stations, sir?” Dana asked with a tone that was so phony as to be comedic.
“Granted,” Captain Pangborn said, “after you tell them about my bell.”
Ned was drawn to look again at the imposing man, almost as if seeing the captain anew. He’d had never seen such a man, so steeped in self-confidence, so heroic in his stance, whose every pause seemed to be a pose for a picture on a brochure cover. Between the statuesque captain and his photo-worthy first mate, they made quite an impression on the gangly young cadets.
But for this moment, the captain seemed on edge, as if he’d been waiting to get this in, as if afraid the crew would forget to talk about it.
With a blunted gesture, the young crewman named Dustin directed the cadets’ attention to a Greek-looking pedestal fixed at the important end of the salon, almost like a shrine. On top of it was fixed a sizable old-fashioned brass bell, as big around as a cow’s head, with an etching that said “RAVEN” and the year “2092” under the word. The bell gleamed in the utility lights, almost with prismatic effect. The colors of the reflections were slightly fanned in the bell’s golden skin, making soft patches of red, green, and white. The craftsmanship was remarkable, with crisp impressions of ivy leaves running in a band around the bell’s skirt. The housing that held the bell and allowed it to swing was formed into the bodies of two glorious mermaids. At the point where the mermaids’ hands came together over the top, the bell was suspended almost as if in zero-G, floating despite its clearly considerable weight.
“The captain’s bell,” Dustin announced. “It will be polished every morning with special shining compound, using soft-bristled toothbrushes and shammies. There will never be allowed a single streak, a smudge, a fingerprint, or a hint of tarnish on the captain’s bell. It’s made of ninety pounds of bronze with a skin of pure brass. The bell comes from the captain’s great-great-grandmother’s command, an interstellar exploration ship called…”
He bugged his eyes at the cadets until they got the idea and a few of them chimed, “The Raven.”
“Wrong! Gotcha! No, this bell comes from a steamship called Raven, and is over four hundred years old, back when they actually used bells on ships. The captain’s great-great-grandmother bought this bell in an auction and it has served on ships of the Pangborn family ever since. Every morning, two of you will be assigned to polishing the captain’s bell. The captain himself will inspect the work. Better be perfect.”
Captain Pangborn interrupted again, if a captain can actually interrupt on his own ship. “Dana, have one of these cadets ring the bell.”
“How about you, Robin?” Dana offered. “Ring the bell one time.”
Robin stepped out of the line and went to the bell. Under the bell was a short bit of ropework made into a sennet with a glass ball inside a macramé cup at the end. Robin looked under the bell, as if checking under a woman’s skirt, then took a grip on the bell pull somewhat tentatively, and gave it a tug. The bell knew its job. It almost sucked the clapper into the broad skirt, sending a loud tang of announcement through the living section of the ship. A beautiful sound— meant for the outdoors —set several of the cadets to a nervous flinch. For several seconds it produced its own echo in the companionways.
“Ah!” The captain gloried in the sound. “Nothing like it!” He closed his eyes and smiled as the bell tone rang, then opened them and nodded. “Well, I’m sure we’ll have an interesting four months. You’ll be on duty like regular spacefarers, doing jobs on the ship that need doing. We have a small crew because we’re counting on the cadets to pick up the slack. These jobs aren’t jokes. They’re not practice. They’re not games. You’re real ’farers now, part of a noble tradition. Do it justice. Make it proud.”
After a look of contrived ferocity to nail down his point, he nodded to Dana that she could take over again.
“All right, you cheeky monkeys!” she began. “Prepare to become intimate with the art of spit and polish. ‘Dustbin’ will divide you into teams of two. One team will be assigned to assist Spiderlegs in the galley. Every day, two of you will be galley hands. The others will disperse to various assignments. We devote one day a week to a thorough cleaning of the ship, and this, my little chickadees, is that day. Dustin—”
“Okay, I want two volunteers to learn to do the vacuuming,” Dustin plunged right in. “How about Mary and… Dylan. Good. Thanks for volunteering. You two come with me. The rest of you wait here for further instructions. I’ll be back in about… six-point-three-nine-nine-seven-four-and-a-half minutes. Synchronize your brains.”
“If you’ll all excuse me,” Mr. Nielsen said, “I’m going to go work on my lesson plans.”
“And what plans would those be?” Dana lilted, giving him the ramp he needed.
“The cadets will each draw an assignment from a hat,” Mr. Nielsen explained. “Each one will draw the name of a city, and then a twenty-five-year period in history. Each of you will have to do research on that city in that period, such as Alexandria, Egypt in 340 BC, or maybe Philadelphia in the 1970s, and you’ll do a report on types of transportation that were used by people to move themselves. Not to move goods, but personal transportation. Then, later, we’ll change cities and move up to how freight and wares were transported along trade routes and on water.”
“Sounds monumental!” Dana chirped. “Why, I’m jealous that I myself won’t have the time to do that work. Darned if I’m not green with envy.”
Everyone laughed and groaned at the same time.
“I’m off,” Mr. Nielsen said, and waved before leaving the chamber. “Do your work well, kids!”
Dustin took Mary and Dylan and disappeared through a hatch. Ned caught the glance of insecurity Mary flicked back at them, but Dylan, a short boy and the youngest among them, went off with confidence behind Dustin. Each of them would come back with a little experience to talk about.
The other regular crewmembers melted into various companionways, giving the teens a few minutes to absorb what they had just heard and to acclimate to each other. Ned turned to introduce himself to the five who he didn’t know, but never got the chance. Instead, the tall boy with the shining crown of blond hair and the attitude of an aristocrat
turned to Robin.
“‘Hello’ in twenty-two languages? Why? Everybody speaks English.”
Robin was unintimidated by boys—one of the traits that set her apart from most girls her age. “Don’t you think it’s fun to have a secret language?”
“Sounds like extra work for no gain.”
“Work is its own reward,” Ned spoke up, coming to his sister’s side. “We’re blessed to have it.”
The tall one drew a long breath through his nose and spoke as if he were making a forced effort to continue the communication. “This from a day laborer who volunteers to clean toilets.”
“We work on a farm,” Ned said with a shrug. “Nature’s toilet.”
Robin smiled, entertained by his brashness. She had the look of a fairy child, Ned had always thought, with her elvishly uneven smile and long dark hair falling softly around her ears. Her ears were shaped like shells, but there was a bit of a natural point that parted her sleek hair ever so slightly. She was no classic beauty, but she had a perpetual cuteness and a jade shine to her eyes that folk found appealing because it disarmed them of their tensions. All she needed was the butterfly wings, and off she would go fluttering to a Sidhe circle in an ivy grotto, with her long toes touching on the moss-covered stones and the moon kissing her twiggish arms as they floated out for balance.
She was his only sibling and they had been each other’s childhood playmates. Possessing nothing ethereal to the naked eye, Ned was a typical farmer’s son, stringy and strong, half wild, unremarkable, and more at home among the goats than the neighbors. His life had always been a blessing to him, it so perfectly fit his nature, a life of simple satisfactions, almost constant work that made the same demands day by day, grateful animals who came to his whistle, and devoted grandparents with good humor. He’d always considered himself lucky, but still, it was a surprise when the people came from the spaceborn City of Cargo to say he and Robin had won a scholarship meant for kids who had no hope of good careers.