by CJ Williams
Hannah flashed Gus a guilty look. “Of course, Captain. I’ll give Grandpa a call. I’d rather go with Kyoko and Grandpa Gus.”
Kyoko grinned at her friend. “How many grandfathers do you have?” she asked.
Hannah looked around the table sheepishly. “Three so far.”
*.*.*.*
Kyoko spent most of the morning in sick bay. Dr. Marsha Espinoza gave her a thorough going over that included chest X-rays, an electroencephalograph, and even a brain scan.
“A two-week coma is a significant event,” Marsha explained to Kyoko. “I don’t see any lingering physical issues, so that’s good. This afternoon I’m going to have Dr. Donnetta Rush check out your memory and cognitive functioning.”
“Okay,” Kyoko said. She felt better than she had in a long time but could tell she was still a little weak. Being in sick bay was no fun, but the medical technicians pampered her, so she put up with the tests.
Hannah came by before lunch to report on Alyssa’s status. “Don’t worry,” Hannah said. “The navy is making repairs to the rigging that one of their missiles hit. Are you up for a fancy dinner? They’re going to have a reception line.”
“I can barely stand up as it is,” Kyoko complained. “And we don’t have evening clothes.”
“I’ll find us something,” Hannah guaranteed. “Can you come to lunch?”
*.*.*.*
Copeland wanted to see the galleon for himself and asked Gus for an informal tour. Wesson heard the request and said he would like to tag along. Gus agreed; he wanted to get back to the ship, anyway. A launch took them over, and Gus showed off his galleon. The military men were fascinated by the blend of old-fashioned methods mixed with ultra-modern alien technology.
“What are you going to do with her when this is over?” Copeland asked.
“I talked about it with Carol and my so-called crew,” Gus said. “We’re giving her to the Smithsonian. That will put all the science into the public domain. Our hope is this becomes a boon for mankind, not a curse.”
Copeland was amazed by the entire saga. “I had no idea about your situation or your ship. Wesson says I need to get out more. It was hard for me to believe that I was being fired on by an eighteenth-century sailing ship, in space no less.”
“I can imagine,” Gus said.
“What upsets me is the Hanzo system. The thing couldn’t stop a thirty-pound shot.”
“Let me show you one,” Gus said, and took the men down to the gun deck. “Here you go.” Gus took one of the cannonballs from the center garland and handed it over. “Compliments of Alyssa and her crew.” Wesson cleared his throat rather loudly and raised his eyebrows. Gus scoffed. “And here is one for you, Daniel. Don’t hurt yourself.”
“I have a particular reason,” Wesson replied with a knowing smile. “Why don’t you guys join me for lunch. Gus, I don’t think you know Henry Kopple. He’s the Hanzo manufacturing rep.”
Midway through the meal, Wesson announced the bad news. “Henry, I’m letting you know your Hanzo system failed the first test. Copeland here took a hit that almost wiped out the bridge crew.”
“That’s not very funny, Admiral,” Kopple replied.
“I agree. I don’t think it’s funny at all. Can you imagine me in front of a congressional review on defense appropriations saying, ‘Yes, senator, I knew the system didn’t pass design specifications when I approved payment’? I can’t picture that at all, because it’s not going to happen.”
“But, Admiral. We filled the contract with the current prototype.”
“Not really. You missed that cannonball.”
Kopple’s voice rose a notch as he tried one last time. “That old ship isn’t a weapon system. It’s an antique, a piece of museum junk. It couldn’t go against a modern ship.”
“Unfortunately, Henry,” Wesson growled, “it just did,” He rolled the projectile across the table into Kopple’s lap.
Kopple’s reflexes were faster than Gus expected. The little man managed to catch the cannonball before it crushed his testicles.
*.*.*.*
Kyoko examined her reflection in the mirror. Not good at all. Her skin was in terrible condition and her bones stuck out everywhere.
“You’re fine,” Hannah insisted.
“Easy for you to say,” Kyoko complained.
“Ready, girls?” Esther asked from their door.
All three headed to the officers’ mess for dinner. Serving tables had been pulled together into a buffet-style arrangement. Esther explained it was a sort of formal occasion to welcome them back.
“Oh, look, there’s Jackson,” she said with a big smile on her face.
Kyoko followed her gaze and saw two men along the far wall at the buffet spread. They looked well turned out, one in a white uniform shirt and slacks and the other in a business suit. Both had short hair in a military-style haircut. They were heaping food on their plates. One of them turned in their direction and smiled. It was Lieutenant Jackson. Esther waved in return.
Jackson spoke to the man next to him, who turned to look at the women. Kyoko gasped. It was Grandfather! But it was someone she had never seen before. His scraggly beard and long hair were gone. And he wore glasses for the first time since she had known him. It made him look sort of distinguished. The shirt fit tightly around his arms and shoulders and tucked into his narrow waist.
“Wow,” Esther said. “Mr. Cartwright cleans up pretty nice.”
Before they had a chance to speak, Captain Copeland entered and welcomed Kyoko and Hannah to the mess. He took Kyoko by the arm, and Admiral Wesson appeared and offered to escort Hannah. They went through the serving line and wound up sitting at one of the long tables with a big Reserved sign on it.
Copeland sat in the middle. Jackson steered her and Esther to sit across from the captain. Hannah and Grandfather were to his left and Wesson to his right. Another dozen officers filled the remaining chairs. Captain Copeland stood and officially welcomed the three travelers back to US territory, that being the New Orleans. After light applause, Grandfather Gus stood and offered thanks and then proposed a toast to the United States Space Navy.
Kyoko felt out of place by the pomp and was surprised by how comfortably Grandfather fit right in.
Esther noticed her discomfort and whispered, “Don’t worry. We just sit here until those two start on their meal.” She nodded at Grandfather and the captain.
The mood was light and friendly. The captain was an entertaining host, and the officers around the table wanted to know all about the amazing voyage, what they had done to the Alyssa to make her seaworthy, and more. They expressed amazement at the incredible adventure and asked dozens of insightful and penetrating questions.
At one point during the conversation, Kyoko said something about “my beautiful little galleon,” and Jackson interrupted.
“No. It’s not really a galleon, it’s a barque.” He gave her a patronizing smile. “I’m something of a history buff, and I’ve studied Earth’s ancient sailing ships for years. There were several classes of square-rigged vessels. They included the brigantine, the cutter, a square-sail ketch…yes?”
Kyoko faced Jackson head-on. She knew he hadn’t meant anything by the comment, but it suddenly pissed her off. It was like he was diminishing what Alyssa was and what she meant to Kyoko personally. She could feel her face turning red, and the atmosphere was suddenly tense.
“What are you saying, Mr. Jackson?” she asked threateningly.
“Well,” he said with an instructor’s tone of voice. “You see, a barque is a square-rigged vessel with three masts, sometimes more. Only the mizzenmast is rigged fore-and-aft; I’ve heard you call it your lateen sail.” Jackson looked down the table, eager to talk about sailing with his crewmates. He missed the warning signals that several of them were trying to send.
He continued his explanation to the group at large. “The Royal Navy coined the term in the eighteenth century. Later the US Navy adopted the vessels because they we
re so cheap. They were fairly common until the late nineteenth century.” As his gaze returned to Kyoko, he suddenly became aware of her displeasure.
“Although, you might call your ship…a brigantine. Those were…also built…by…” His voice trailed off, silenced by the laser beams coming from Kyoko’s eyes. The table grew quiet, and Jackson leaned away from the onslaught of her grim stare.
Unconsciously Kyoko’s fingers curled around a steak knife. She leaned toward him, using the knife as a pointer. “Alyssa is a galleon, Mr. Jackson.”
Jackson swallowed hard.
Esther piped up, offering her opinion. “I think she looks like a galleon.”
There was a chorus of “Me too” and “That’s what I thought” down the table.
Jackson looked helplessly at his fellow officers and finally turned to Captain Copeland, who was thoughtfully sitting back in his chair. Jackson raised his eyebrows in a silent plea. Copeland cleared his throat and said, “I thought she was a galleon, Mr. Jackson.”
Everyone at the table focused their eyes on Jackson. He capitulated and turned back to Kyoko with a big smile. “Exactly my point. Galleons were famous as both warships and mercantile vessels and were used extensively by several countries. They had square sails and multiple decks for armament and stowage. They were in use from the sixteen hundreds through the eighteen hundreds, especially by Spain.”
There was a collective sigh when Kyoko smiled. She turned back to Esther to finish their conversation about the problems of interstellar navigation.
*.*.*.*
Kyoko grinned inwardly at her momentary wrath. She hadn’t meant to get so possessive over the Alyssa. It was a good thing no one had criticized Hannah or Grandfather.
After dinner, Captain Copeland and the other officers monopolized Grandfather’s time, and Esther drew Hannah away to meet some of her onboard colleagues.
When Kyoko settled down in her bunk that night, she was frustrated at not being able to talk with Hannah and Grandfather, just the three of them. Since being aboard, it had been one thing after another keeping them apart. They were her family now, and she wanted them at her side.
At the same time, she felt an overwhelming sense of completion. They had done it. They had survived impossible odds to reach civilization. She didn’t know exactly what the future held in store, but she was confident that within a few weeks they would be back on Earth. After all, now that she was on a navy ship, what could possibly go wrong? It’s not like there would be any more pirates.
*.*.*.*
The following evening Gus called Carol. Having a real two-way conversation was the highlight of each day. She was proud and told him about how his YouTube channel had become one of the most watched series ever; a two-year-long rescue drama.
“How can it generate that much interest?” Gus asked her.
“That’s what celebrities do,” Carol said. “Just like artists and sports idols, you bring people together.”
“Well, I’m not interested,” Gus said. “That’s why I retired. So I could get away from all that.”
“Be nice to the girls,” Carol urged. “You only have a few more weeks. Get some sleep now. In the morning I’m going on TV to brag about you. I love you.”
After the call, Gus needed a whiskey, but before he could pour it there was a knock on the door, and Kyoko and Hannah rushed in. They looked happy and wore sweats. But they were excited and wanted to talk about all the interesting things they had done on the cruiser. It was like the Squid coming home from an event at school. They had to relay all the little details.
Gus thought about his whiskey but listened patiently, nodding his head from time to time.
*.*.*.*
The studio floor manager mimed the countdown to On-Air and pointed at Russell Kline.
“Good morning, everyone,” Russell said. “Morning, Cassie.”
“Good morning, Russ and good morning to all of you joining us on this sunshine-filled day. We are quite excited to have back the person we now know as Mrs. Grandfather, or Grandmother. Today we’ll call her Mrs. Carol Cartwright, senior partner of the law firm Cartwright, Tillman, and Hawley. Good morning, Carol. Welcome back.”
The Grandfather Watch was back in the form of a grandfather clock with a digital face that said 802 days.
“Thank you. Good to be back.”
“So, I can’t believe you were holding out on us all this time,” Cassie said.
“I would disagree with your characterization,” Carol replied. “Rather, I was simply respecting attorney-client privilege.”
“Is that legal for you to represent your husband?” Cassie asked. “Isn’t that a conflict of interest?”
“Not at all. Attorneys represent family members all the time.”
“But shouldn’t you have said who he was? I mean, like, everyone in the world wanted to know.”
“Perhaps. At the time the more important point was that we represented everyone on the manifest.”
“But—”
Russell intervened, cutting off his co-host’s persistence. “Asked and answered, Cassie. Let’s move on to a more current topic. Carol, I understand law enforcement has made progress on identifying the pirates. Is that right?”
“I can’t talk for law enforcement, Russell. But I am quite happy to talk about what we have found.”
“Please do so.”
“From the video that Alyssa was streaming at the beginning of the attack, we were able to capture the yacht’s name, Chicksdigit.” Carol rolled her eyes. “That alone should give you a clue as to the mentality of the operator.”
“And that would be?” Russell prompted.
“I won’t go into all the cutouts that we had to wade through, and there were several. But essentially, our people on Wheelers Bright discovered that the yacht was owned by the Council for Interstellar Policy. They are ostensibly a non-profit that develops policy proposals for the safe use of technology in space.”
“The name is unfamiliar,” Russell remarked.
“I’m not surprised,” Carol said. “It’s a shell corporation set up by one Mr. Stephan Bullock. He is the owner of that yacht and several others like it. Our associates tried to contact Mr. Bullock on Wheelers Bright, but it appears that he and the rest of his organization have closed up shop and left the planet. We gave our information to Interpol.”
“So are you saying that Bullock is behind the attack on Grandfather Gus?” Cassie asked.
“I am not saying that. It’s not my place to make accusations. But I am saying that the yacht that attacked my husband near a planet where he discovered several murdered UN scientists is registered to an organization that Mr. Bullock owns. It is up to the authorities to draw conclusions.”
*.*.*.*
Captain Copeland read through the message traffic from Headquarters. HQ had given him carte blanche to provide Gus with whatever he needed for the rest of his voyage. But Copeland should keep a record, and the navy would settle accounts with Cartwright Industries at a later date. Copeland’s office door opened and the XO showed Gus into the room.
“Morning, Captain,” Gus said. “Daniel said you wanted to see me before we shove off. Thanks for all you’ve done, by the way. Especially for getting Kyoko back on her feet.”
“My pleasure Mr. Cartwright. I just had a quick question. It’s my understanding that since you lost your autopilot system, you’re the one who has to handle all the deck work.”
Gus sighed. “I’m afraid so. It was nice when Alyssa managed it herself, but it won’t be for much longer now.”
“Isn’t that pretty strenuous?”
“Yes, it is. Takes pretty much all I’ve got, but it’s not like when we were at sea, and we had to deal with storms on top of it.”
Sitting across Copeland’s desk, dressed in a business suit, Gus looked every inch a corporate chairman. According to his online bio, he took early retirement to get away from the rat race. It was difficult to resolve the dignified senior citizen in front of
him with the fierce survivalist who never quit in the face of the extraordinary odds that were thrown at him.
It wouldn’t hurt to even those odds a little.
“Mr. Cartwright, I was wondering if you could use a few extra deckhands for the last leg of your journey. Even though we’re in space, quite a few of the crew consider themselves sailors at heart.” He explained what he had in mind, and Gus listened with growing interest.
16 – Real Sailors
“A ship is referred to as she because it costs so much to keep one in paint and powder.”
(Fleet Admiral Chester Nimitz)
Gus stood on Alyssa’s quarterdeck between Lieutenant Jackson and Chief Petty Officer Rogers and watched the activity below. Sailors carried load after load across the gangplank from the New Orleans’s hangar bay onto the main deck. Gus lost count of people going back and forth but was reasonably sure more had come on board than had returned.
He wanted to go below and see what they were doing, but his new officers seemed content to let the crew do their job without micromanaging. The pile of gear continued to grow, and even more disappeared below. Equipment that had been brought over included metal crates, ropes, five-gallon cans, luggage, cloth bags, a pair of small diesel engines, and some aluminum kettles.
If Alyssa were in the water, she would surely sink under all the weight. Jackson just smiled and exchanged humorous observations with Rogers.
Finally, the cavalcade began to peter out, and the gangplank was pulled in. Captain Copeland waved from the hangar deck on the New Orleans, and the big cruiser turned away, headed back to her mission of weapons testing and training. Once again, Alyssa was alone in space. The difference was that she now had a crew of over thirty men and women.
Jackson looked in his direction. “Shall we read the orders, sir?”
Gus glanced over his shoulder and belatedly realized Jackson was talking to him. “Yes, by all means.”