by CJ Williams
Up close, the wooden ship appeared to be very old, yet he found no cracks along the ancient hull. Gus slapped the planking and got the same sharp sound he would from smacking cold steel.
It wasn’t wood at all; the vessel was made of metal. It had to be a replica of an old sailing ship, not the real thing. The hull had been molded to look like oak timbers. He wondered about the type of alloy to be so weather resistant; he could not find a single speck of rust.
He filmed the lower part of the hull where it angled underneath. Along the entire length were circular bumps about three feet in diameter. They looked like big buttons molded into the structure of the ship.
“I’d swear those are gravity drives,” Gus muttered while inspecting one. “But these are too small to be of any use. I’ve never seen anything like it.”
Gus considered himself to be a sailor, albeit at an amateur level. As a teenager, he had owned a small sailboat and took lessons, earning a basic certification as a recreational boat captain. He felt quite proud at the time when people called him Captain Cartwright. But that was a long time ago. The pressures of family and business had long since precluded continuing the hobby.
But now, being near this strange galleon stirred his blood. His mind created romantic notions of sailing away on the broad sea. He pushed the idea aside. The antique vessel might never sail again, but she was in fantastic shape. If the ship was this well preserved on the outside, there might be a few pleasant surprises inside.
High on the hull behind the figurehead, an alien script spelled out the ship’s name. Gus cocked his head at the strange letters. If he wasn’t too picky the flowing symbols could be read as Alyssa.
Walking underneath the bow to the starboard side, he found traces of deep gouges in the metal hull under the waterline. The ship had scraped against something solid, a coral reef perhaps. That would explain why the vessel had been hauled out of the water.
The damage was extensive. The emergency repair included removing several strips of the hull around the damaged areas and patching the holes with smooth plating. The workmanship was adequate considering the circumstances, Gus had seen worse welding jobs. But why go off and leave an expensive vessel after the repairs were already complete?
Further aft, a ladder was molded into the side of the hull. He climbed up and over the side rail onto the main deck.
At the center of the deck, the mainmast towered overhead almost two hundred feet into the sky. Piles of rope were strewn about. Gus examined one of the lines. It was only half an inch thick, and it felt like a good-quality cotton rope. But closer scrutiny proved it to be of metal, perhaps the same material as the deck. Other than being dirty, the cordage looked completely sound. It was fantastic material to still be strong and pliable after sitting out in the elements for who knew how many years. The metallurgy necessary to manufacture this kind of product surpassed anything he had seen on Earth.
The decking was solid, made of the same material as the hull, a metal alloy with the look of wood. It even showed artificial wear patterns as though worn smooth by countless men running back and forth, making sail, carrying out the captain’s orders. Spare pulley blocks, some with a single pulley, called a sheave, others with two or three—all essential for sailing—hung here and there, ready for use.
Every surface was covered with years of accumulated dust swept up from the shore and mixed with brine to make a thin crust that brushed away when Gus scrubbed it off. The residue left brown smudges on his hands. But underneath it all, in spite of the gritty accumulation, the deck, rails, and masts were all perfectly sound. The ship and everything on it was constructed of an anti-corrosion material that just hadn’t aged a day.
A large opening was built into the deck just forward of the mainmast. It was the hatchway for cargo access. It opened to the gun deck below and continued down to the hold. A heavy lattice cover was strong enough to keep someone from falling through yet allowed plenty of light and air to the lower levels.
At the aft end of the deck, a door opened to a narrow passageway. On either side were two modest berths, barely more than eight feet square. Each room held a narrow bunk with a writing shelf built into the wall. These were the officers’ quarters.
Sea chests sat at the foot of the bunks and Gus pried open one of the old locks. The chest was filled with clothing. He pulled out frilly blouses, wide pantaloons, and two garish uniform jackets embroidered with gold brocade.
Although he was cold, Gus wasn’t quite desperate enough to wear the dandified apparel. In the other chest, however, he found a plain greatcoat.
“This is good,” he said with satisfaction. It was made of quality navy-dyed wool with barrel-shaped buttons. He pulled it on, grateful for the warmth the coat provided. All it needed was a thorough cleaning.
He returned to the waist and climbed the stairs to the quarterdeck. Standing behind the massive ship’s wheel, he looked over an ornately carved railing at the rest of the boat and imagined what it must feel like to sail it on the open sea. He tried to turn the wheel, but it was frozen solid. On a pedestal in front of the wheel, a large, old-fashioned magnetic compass pointed north.
At the back of the quarterdeck, a door opened to the ship’s navigation room. Inside was a wall-to-wall picture window. It was more like a transparent viewport on the bridge of modern starships. Below the window was a control panel very much like the one on lifeboat Nineteen. The panel had a dozen black video screens of different sizes; more proof that the seemingly ancient galleon was the result of very modern technology. In the center of the console, between the display screens, sat a smaller version of the magnetic compass. It looked more like a decoration than anything else; a testament to the early days of sail.
A rack on the back wall contained the crumbled remains of navigation charts. The fragments turned to powder at his touch. On the wall next to the chart racks were placards filled with the same script as the ship’s name.
He took a video of the signs. “This script looks similar to the brochure of the Acevedos ruins,” he narrated to his wife. “Maybe someone on Earth can decipher what they say.”
A stilted female voice came from an unseen speaker. “Or I could just read it to you.”
“Christ!” Gus shouted at the unexpected question.
“Was that an interjection of amazement or a request for divine intervention?” the voice asked.
“You scared the crap out of me!” Gus exclaimed.
“That was not my intention. I understood that you were briefed on my presence.”
“I was,” Gus admitted. “But you still surprised me. I take it you are Alyssa?”
“Alyssa?”
“The name written on your bow. Or at least that what it looks like.”
“Ah, understood. Those symbols are in fact my registration number, but I accept your designation. I will respond to Alyssa.”
“Okay. Good enough,” Gus said. He paused for a moment to allow his pulse rate to come down. “So are you the AI for this vessel?”
“That is correct. I am the ship’s brain. In your vernacular, I am its artificial intelligence. Your lifeboat provided me with your identity. As my previous crew is no longer available, I will acknowledge you as my new captain. Do you accept that responsibility?”
Gus wondered if it was a trick question? This was an alien ship after all. But then again, probably not. It actually sounded like logical programming. If the ship lost her captain, the position had to be filled by someone. And at this point, it wasn’t as if either of them had anything to lose. “Sure,” Gus said.
“Transfer of command registered. Congratulations Captain. What are your orders?”
“What are my options? I saw the gravity drives on your lower hull, but they look too small for interstellar travel.”
“That is correct.”
“I assume they are sufficient to move a ship of this size from one location on the planet to another. No offense, but you appear to be a rather over-designed cargo vessel.”
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“That is absolutely not the case,” Alyssa said, a heavy note of indignation in her tone. “I am a multi-role, space and sea, epoch class, category three racing yacht.”
“A racing yacht?” Gus queried. That was unexpected.
“That is correct. The gravity disks you refer to are for the transition to and from orbit.”
“Can you take me back to Earth?”
Alyssa answered with a strong hint of disapproval. “That destination is unknown and, in any case, would be grounds for disqualification from the race.”
“Race? What race?” That was another curve ball.
“The Gugje and Yoteu Masters Cup,” the ship replied. “We are currently on the final leg.”
AIs could certainly be single-minded. “Alyssa,” Gus said quietly, “I think that race may already be over. You’ve been sitting here a long time.”
“Yes, I have.”
“Then forget the race and let’s go home.”
“I understand your request, but for me, that is simply impossible. To prevent race irregularities—in other words, cheating—my programming prevents me from engaging in unrelated activities unless first approved by a race official. I am unable to assist in your return to Earth until reaching the finish line.”
Gus considered the statement. The rule was foolishly strict, but it would be just as foolish to argue with software restrictions. And besides, he had watched a few big-ticket races in his time, and the promoters often imposed all kinds of rules, some stupid, some common sense. “And what constitutes completing the current leg?” he asked.
“We must reach Paldae Island.”
“How far is that in miles, if you know?”
“I do know. Your lifeboat made me conversant with your units of measure. Paldae Island is approximately two thousand miles away.”
Gus nodded. “And once we reach that island, you can then accept new orders and take me to Earth?”
“That is correct, but bear in mind that you will still incur a significant point deduction due to the change of command and the loss of the other crew members.”
“I can live with that,” Gus said dryly. “I guess I should stock up on food though, in case this Paldae Island is not as hospitable as my jungle here.”
“That would be advisable,” Alyssa said. “Although I recommend caution. My recent crew was engaged in provisioning when the island suffered an unfortunate geological event.”
“Didn’t you send out a distress call?” Gus asked.
“I was unable to do so. Due to competitive concerns, the captain inhibited all external communications.”
“What happened to your crew?”
“They perished in said geological event along the western rim.”
“What do you mean?” Gus asked. “Did the volcano erupt?”
“Negative. They were caught in a landslide.”
Gus had not seen any evidence of a recent landslide. This ship must have been here for a long time. The Acevedos ruins on Wheelers Bright had been dated back fifteen thousand years so who knew how long this ship had lain dormant.
“Alyssa, as your new captain, I withdraw the restriction on all forms of communication. I instruct you to transmit a distress call on our behalf. Nineteen can give you our subspace specifications.”
“Restriction withdrawn. However, I am unable to comply. I do not have a compatible communication system.”
“Then give Nineteen our location. He can transmit it.”
“I have already made your lifeboat aware of our location. Unfortunately, it does not mean anything to him as his navigation systems are off-line. And in any case, I suspect my coordinate system is completely different from yours. It would not mean anything if he transmitted our location.”
Gus groaned in frustration. “All right. Tomorrow I’ll gather up a week’s worth of food, and we’ll fly over to Paldae Island.”
“Captain, I believe you misunderstand my restriction. Until we reach Paldae Island, I am unable to engage my atmospheric drives for any reason. Surface travel is the only mode allowed while on this leg in the race.”
“Surface? You mean we have to sail there? Two thousand miles?”
“That is correct,” Alyssa affirmed.
“That’s insane!”
“No, those are the rules.”
Gus was not quite prepared to accept the situation. The thought came to mind that this might be an elaborate prank. But then just having that suspicion could mean he was the one losing his mind. Still, he wanted a little proof. “Wait a second,” he said. “Where are you?”
“My designation for this planet does not readily translate. It is a set of coordinates that would mean nothing to your frame of reference.”
“I understand, but that’s not what I meant. Where are you, specifically? Where is your AI module on this ship? I’m not sure I even buy what you’re saying.”
“I understand. Please return to the main deck. You will find stairs leading to belowdecks.”
Following Alyssa’s instructions, Gus descended down to the gun deck and then down again to the hold. Her voice followed him through the ship, giving him directions from various unseen speakers. At the very back of the hold, behind a stack of sheet metal and toolboxes, was a door that opened to a companionway leading below. At the bottom of the steps, Gus’s doubts vanished. From a lifetime of working in shipyards, he instantly recognized where he was. This was the central core of a very sophisticated space-going vessel.
It was a long, narrow room that looked like the data center of a modern starship. Jutting out from the sidewalls were equipment racks filled with black modules and blinking LEDs. Amidships on the starboard side, two thick cubes hummed almost silently. Those were generators.
Ceiling lights flickered on, illuminating the dark-walled room. A large display screen on the flat bulkhead at the forward end of the compartment came alive. It was a video shot of Gus standing there looking frustrated.
“So you really are a starship,” Gus said.
“That is correct.”
“But you won’t take me into space unless we sail two thousand miles across the sea.”
“That is correct.”
“You do realize that is impossible?”
“That remains to be seen. I agree that for a single individual to accomplish, the task will be difficult.”
After an hour of argument, Gus gave up. The AI would not listen to reason. The more Gus tried to make his case, the more Alyssa dug in her heels, and the higher his blood pressure went up.
In the final analysis, it all boiled down to the fact that the ship was not going to move. And frankly, after sitting on the beach for thousands of years, it was probably not the most seaworthy, let alone space-worthy vessel in the universe. But according to the AI, Gus was free to use any supplies he found on board.
Gus left the data center and returned to the hold, one deck above. At the top of the steps was the repair section. The shop contained grinding blocks, hand-powered drills, and an assortment of tool chests. Gus opened one and shouted with satisfaction. He pulled out a wooden mallet and a sturdy-looking saw. A drawer contained a beautiful set of metal chisels. These would come in handy for his shelter project. He put them into his new jacket pockets and continued to explore. In another cabinet, he found a pair of axes.
The hold area amidships was composed of storage rooms separated by bulkheads and thin wall panels. One storage area had shelves filled with blankets, all neatly folded and shrink-wrapped in bundles of ten. He pulled down a bundle with a sigh of satisfaction. These would go a long way toward making life bearable.
It was time to start back. He already had more than he could carry on one trip. He gathered his new possessions and returned to the main deck. In the days ahead, he could return as often as necessary. His first priority was to build a place where he could live comfortably for what might be a long time.
For a moment he considered moving into the captain’s cabin and just living aboard. But a freezing
wind whistled through the rigging and made him shiver. Nope. Not a good idea. Moving aboard meant constant trips to and from the hot springs, hauling food and water. “And it’s too damn cold for that every day,” he said glumly.
*.*.*.*
It was well past noon when he reached the top of the crater rim. Even with his new jacket, the wind was cold. He couldn’t hurry because his load grew heavier by the second. He stopped several times to rest his fingers and catch his breath.
Stupid fool. He had overdone it and was puffing by the time he tossed his baggage down near the pool. He broke open the bundle of blankets and put one around his shoulders. Several others made a thin pallet to sleep on. Tomorrow he would put together a mattress. A campfire would be nice, but he was too exhausted to worry about it tonight.
He needed to be more careful. He had been so pleased with his discovery that he hadn’t used common sense. In his position, that kind of carelessness could be fatal. His head was pounding now from the cold wind. He pulled out more blankets for cover and stretched out.
Tomorrow he would forget about the galleon and concentrate on making this place a little more comfortable. One thing was clear; that old ship wasn’t going anywhere. His salvage operation could take as much time as necessary.
3 – That’s the way it is
“And that’s the way it is.”
(Walter Cronkite)
The mood was gloomy on the set of Studio 37 when Russell opened the show. “Good morning, everyone. Welcome back, Cassie. Good to have you back in New York.”
“Thank you, Russell. Nothing makes me appreciate home like being away for a few days.”
“Also with us this morning is Colonel Matthew Singleton, GBN’s technical analyst for space flight and technology.”
“Good morning, all,” Cassie said. She looked at the camera with a sorrowful expression. “It’s a particularly sad morning here because of the news late last night.”
Russell said, “For our viewers who don’t know, a little after midnight the military reported that they reached the Solar Princess.” The video backdrop behind his shoulder switched to a dark screen showing a long stretch of wreckage floating in deep space. “What are we looking at, Colonel?”