by Ward Wagher
"I thank thee, Gipper. No harm no bird."
The room erupted again. Franklin jumped to his feet. "Okay, that's it! We'll meet again tomorrow at oh eight hundred. Dismissed!"
Franklin quickly threaded his way through the group, patting Louie on the top of his stump, or head, or whatever as he walked by. Daphne followed him as he left the wardroom and stepped into the elevator.
Daphne was laughing and swearing at the same time. "Skipper, we are never going to get this crew together if the CHENG keeps wrecking meetings like this."
"Oh, I don't know, Daff. I'll bet you they work all the harder now. They know what they need to do, and they know what the stakes are. We'll have a long day tomorrow, and the crew will hate us. But, I assure you we will get there."
"Yeah, Skipper, but if Louie sets off the meeting again in the morning, everyone will be laughing all day. Half the crew is keeping a pocket-corder running any time they're around Louie, and the soundbites of his little mishaps are all over the ship."
"Really?"
"Bet on it, Skipper."
"Amazing how something like an air car accident can throw a wrench into the works."
"Sort of like Commander Schubach's dog," she said.
"What?" Franklin stared at her. "Are you talking about Charlie Schubach, Dad's Exec?"
"One and the same. You haven't heard this before, Skipper?"
Franklin stared at her.
"Apparently not. Hai Ciera told me about it. When the commander was Admiral Krause's Flag Lieutenant, he sneaked a dog aboard the flagship. Got away with it for quite a while until the animal slipped into the Admiral's quarters one day just as the Admiral got out of the shower. When Krause bent over to dry his legs the dog jumped up and bit him on the... hind-quarter.”
"No kidding?" Franklin said. "I can't believe I never heard this."
"Believe it, Sir. Ciera told me that if Schubach hadn't been so good at what he did, it probably would've been the end of his career. It was the talk of the fleet for quite a while."
Franklin smiled. "I would guess that was more spectacular than a malapropistic Woogie. Although, if Admiral Krause mooned me, I don't believe I would bite him there. The poor dog must've been horrified.”
"Yes, Sir, but we have to deal with the Woogie here and now."
"Well, there's nothing much we can do about that, and I don't think Louie really minds either. I would suggest you invite Louie's assistant to the meeting in the morning and tell Louie to keep quiet."
"I hadn't thought of that. Thanks, Skipper."
The elevator doors opened and Franklin stepped out to the sound of "Captain on the bridge."
"No extra charge, Exec. No extra charge."
chapter sixteen
Franklin eased into the Wardroom and walked over to the mid-watch buffet. He grabbed a plate and began building a sandwich. A couple of slices of whole wheat formed the foundation and was followed by butter and mayonnaise. The construction was furthered by sliced roast beef, ham, and turkey. He followed that with slices of cheddar, provolone, and Caledon cheese. The top was crowned with a tomato slice and a couple of pickles. After topping the sandwich with the other slice of bread, he took a large knife and sliced it. A handful of spud-chips made themselves at home alongside the sandwich on the plate.
Over by the wall Franklin pulled a large tumbler from a rack and stuck it under the spout of the favored Navy drink – Hyperatomic Jungle Juice, or HJJ. HJJ had served the Merchants and Manufacturers League Navy since the earliest days of interstellar travel. A mix of fruit and vegetable juices, fortified with electrolytes and mild stimulants, the beverage competed with coffee as the on-duty drink of choice for all Navy personnel. Off-duty was another story, of course.
Franklin completed his preparations by slipping a couple of napkins from the top of the stack and then walked over to the table. He was well into the mastication of his second bite when Edmund Tracy Riggs slid into the chair across from him.
“It amazes me you can get your mouth around a sandwich that large.”
“I have a big mouth, Father. One of the very few good uses for it. Or do I call you Father? Lieutenant?”
Riggs smiled. “As the galley manager you can call me Lieutenant, although I left the navy twenty years ago as an EM. I’m still a bit uncomfortable with the uniform. As the ship’s chaplain, you can call me Father.”
“Which of the two is speaking with me now?” Franklin followed the question with another huge bite of his sandwich.
“How’s the chow?”
“The food is great.” The reply was muffled and a number of bread crumbs flew out of Franklin’s mouth onto the table.
“Okay, I’m talking to you as the Chaplain.”
“What’s on your mind, Father?”
“Are you truly planning to take the ship into combat?”
Franklin frowned. “I hope not, but I’m not sanguine about our chances of avoiding a fight, either.”
“Considering all the drills we’ve been running, I’m expecting a running battle all the way home. In fact, if I have to climb into the suit and thread that catheter one more time, I think my talleywhacker is going to fall off.”
“I’m sore too, Father. We all are. One of those things you eventually get used to.”
“I got used to it when I was in the Navy twenty years ago. I haven’t gotten used to it again.”
“I was out, what, six months,” Franklin grimaced. “I was surprised I had to get used to it again.”
“So tell me about the chances of combat, Captain.”
“Most pirates won’t want to engage us; for a lot of reasons, Father. First of all, ordnance is expensive. It cuts into their bottom line. Also, they are very risk averse, believe it or not.”
“I find that hard to believe.”
“Seriously. Most of them will only bet on a sure thing. If a Navy destroyer or one of the planetary corvettes shows up, they are going to pile on gravs and make haste to depart.”
Riggs reached across and snagged one of Franklin’s spud-chips. “That being the case, why are you so sure we will have to fight?”
“Because to rescue the Foxworths, I am probably going to have to back Mr. Pirate into a corner. In that scenario, we will have a fight. I am going to do my best to outwit the bad guys. If we are very fortunate, we can slip in and pick up our hostages and get out again before anybody realizes what happened.”
“But you don’t expect it to be that easy, right?”
“Right.”
“What can I do to help?”
Franklin gestured with his hand toward the galley. “Just keep on what you’re doing.”
“With the food.”
“Yep. You have a great touch with it. If Modest Marple figures out what a good cook you are, he will try to lure you to the hotel as the head chef.”
“What about my spiritual duties?”
Franklin had started to pick up the sandwich for another bite and set it back down. “Is the crew happy with your help?”
“I think so, yes. My services are well attended and people ask me questions afterwards about the sermons.”
“There’s your answer then.”
Riggs looked Franklin in the eye. “And what about you?”
“Oh, I’m very happy with the job you’re doing. Glad you came along, Father.”
“That’s not what I meant.”
Franklin scowled. “I know what you meant. Religion is not very important to me.”
“Do you ever talk to God?”
“I don’t have His comm code.”
“I can help with that.” Riggs smiled.
“I doubt that. Oh, I’m not irreligious. I don’t think you can cross the stars without being aware of the great watch-maker who wound up the universe. As big as the universe is, I don’t think God is very interested in mankind in general and me in particular.”
“How do you know that, Franklin?”
“I don’t think anybody can know for sure. Dad and I t
alked about this at some length. I don’t suppose it would surprise you that he and I are essentially in agreement here.”
Riggs chuckled. “No, it really doesn’t. I’ve talked to him too. But tell me: how do you know about this ‘Great Watchmaker?’”
“Well, look out there, Father. It’s obvious.”
“How is it obvious? Do you see the words written across the stars – ‘I made this?’”
“In so many words. I know what you’re trying to get at, but I don’t buy it.”
“So you have adopted the notion of a transcendent God without any evidence other than assuming some being had to have made all this. Seems to me like you have extrapolated a lot from just looking at creation. Okay, I accept that too. In fact the Bible agrees with you about the first cause.”
“Okay, so what’s your problem with what I think, Father?”
“We agree that a careful examination of creation brings us to the conclusion it was made by somebody. But you have tied together a whole string of attributes about this so-called creator. How do you substantiate that?”
Franklin laughed out loud. “Come on, Father. I don’t have to substantiate it. I simply believe it. Don’t tell me you don’t think faith is important.”
“Now faith is the substance of things hoped for, the evidence of things not seen,” Riggs quoted.
“I can believe something without putting my trust in it.”
“What do you hope for, Franklin?”
“I hope I can get the Foxworths back. I hope we can make a go of Montora and Hepplewhite. I hope my Dad can survive the loss of Mom.”
“Have you asked God about any of these things?”
“Got his comm code, Father? I sure don’t.”
“You don’t need a comm, Franklin. You need but simply speak to Him.”
“I’ll keep that in mind, Father, if I decide I need to speak to him.” Franklin picked up the last spud-chip on the plate, and stood up. “Always good to talk to you, Father.”
He walked over and put his plate and glass in the chute, then walked out of the Wardroom leaving Riggs sitting at the table. The chaplain sighed and shook his head.
# # #
It was late. Ship’s time was 02:00 and Franklin took a turn around the ship. The conversation with Riggs bothered him and he knew he wouldn’t sleep immediately. His friendship with the Reformed Anglican pastor had been growing since Franklin arrived on Hepplewhite. The churchman was a valuable resource in Montora Village and enormously useful on Canopus.
It was just that some of the conversations with Riggs made him uncomfortable and he couldn’t put them out of his mind. He would never admit that to Riggs, though. Besides, it was fun to twit him about it.
Signe Foxworth stepped out of the Supply Office as Franklin came along the corridor.
“Oh! Franklin.” She was startled to see him. “Can you come into my office for a moment?” She touched the door sensor with her wrist comm. The door slid open again. On board a Navy ship, each crewman’s wrist comm served as a timepiece, communicator, access badge and tracking chip.
As Franklin followed Signe into the Supply Office, he observed the fit of her Lieutenant Junior Grade uniform. She looked very good to him. “With the uniform, you look even more like Honor Hawthorne.”
“Do you realize how many times I hear that every day now? I’m sure half the crew expects me to be the heroine and save the ship anytime now.”
“It gives you something to live up to.”
“I have plenty of that, thank-you very much. You have no idea of the high expectations Mummy and Daddy have.”
“You seem to have fulfilled those expectations.”
“I try. I probably worry too much about failure.”
“The daughter of the Prime Minister? You will probably have your pick of jobs.”
“And Daddy used to be a customs inspector, Mummy a shoe store clerk. They never expected to be noticed by Carlo Roma. Roma discovered Daddy was a very good trouble-shooter. Hepplewhite was not only a great challenge, but also a reward. But both my parents still think like the lower middle class they came from.”
“And that type places great hope in the children. Well, I'd say they were amply blessed.”
“And now I'm doing something I'm not trained for. I sit in the departmental meetings and look at you and the Exec and wonder what I'm doing here.”
“Daphne thinks you’re doing a great job. At least the two of you are no longer fighting.”
Signe snorted. “It’s like she put on an entirely different personality when she put on that uniform. Suddenly it’s Ms. Professional. Not that I have a complaint, of course. She is really not hard to work for - very demanding, yes.”
“I’m glad it worked out,” Franklin said. “I did have some concerns about that.”
“I figured one of us would go out the airlock before it was over and done with,” she said. “It wouldn’t have been me.”
“As I said, I’m glad it didn’t come to that.”
“My question tonight, Mister Captain, Skipper, Sir: what about you and me?”
“’You and Me’ are on hold for the duration, Signe. Technically you are in my chain of command.”
“Look, Franklin. This isn’t the Merchant League Navy. We’re now the Ducal Navy of Hepplewhite and we can make our own rules.”
“And the fraternization rules are in place for a very good reason. Some fat admiral somewhere didn’t just make them up because he was bored and didn’t have anything better to do one afternoon. You start walking around the ship on my arm, and we could fracture the entire command.”
“I don’t believe it.”
“Believe it. I’ve seen it.”
“What?”
“Remember the Norton Smith? No, I guess you wouldn't. It was a Navy collier. The Skipper was bedding the Tac Officer. The Exec was literally jumping half the rest of the officers. The ship’s company came apart. The Admiralty had to scatter the crew across the whole fleet. Half the officers resigned. The rest did nothing significant for the rest of their careers.”
“I remember something about that in the news,” she said. “It was quite the scandal, though I wasn’t sure why at the time.”
“The entire crew was out of control. They called it The Love Boat. Something like that is extraordinarily dangerous.”
“But surely that wouldn’t happen here.”
“Ha. Our survival depends upon the training and professionalism of the crew. Consider your relationship with Daphne. Just think what would happen if you two were at each other’s throats. The crew would start picking sides and we would have trouble with a capital T.”
Signe stood there quietly as he spoke. “But what about after the mission?”
“Then we put things back in gear. I have no problem with that. But while we are on the ship you are Lieutenant Foxworth and I am the Skipper. Clear?”
“Aye, aye, Skipper.”
They stood looking at each other for a few moments.
“One more question... Skipper?”
“Shoot.”
“Do you really think we can rescue my parents?”
Franklin nodded. “I'm not saying it will be easy. But I think we can do it.”
She thought about that for a bit before speaking again. “Thank you for bringing me along. I guess I have an important job.”
“Yes. You do.”
“Then I'd better not fail.”
“Thank you. Now, good night.”
“’night, Skip,” she said softly as he left the office.
And how will I ever be able to face her if we fail, he thought as he walked down the hall.
# # #
The pirate cruiser Santa's Workshop slipped into orbit around Victor. Manfred Higginbotham was a frustrated man. The raid on Hepplewhite had turned into a goat circus of monumental proportions. He was still trying to work his mind around the things which had gone wrong.
The Lieutenant commanding the portion of the landing party hea
ding for the castle had almost immediately run into resistance from the security forces in the town. Rather than pulling back to assess the situation, he had bulled his way through. While he had succeeded in neutralizing the guards, it had come at a cost of twenty-five killed and another dozen injured.
While they had detected the incoming shuttle from the mountain valley and dealt with it, the inhabitants revealed a completely unexpected capability when they shot his other shuttle out of the sky, along with the Major in overall command. It was most unpleasant.
And to completely ruin Higginbotham's day, the castle they looted was barren of valuables and the bank vaults they blew were nearly so. He had sent out one hundred people on two shuttles, and twenty-five returned on one shuttle. In return for nearly fifteen million Centaurans in hardware and seventy-five highly trained professionals, he had loot which would bring maybe ten-thousand when he fenced it.
The only glimmer of good news from the entire trip were the two pairs of gold plated hostages he had snagged. If they were as important as first impressions indicated, he had a chance of breaking even for the voyage.
Higginbotham leaned back in his command chair and pointed to the Executive Officer. “Let's go ahead and move our guests to the compound in Knoxville.”
“Will you be sending ransom notes, then, Sir?”
“Let's wait a bit on that, I think. I want to meet with the Purser and start researching our guests. We are going to have to pull top dollar if there is any hope of making ourselves whole after this disaster.”
“Aye, aye, Sir. And do we want to arrange any reprisals for Hepplewhite? The crew is a bit miffed.”
Higginbotham snorted. “No, that would be unprofessional. We have no one to blame but ourselves for this little misadventure. In fact, it was a textbook case of screwing up by the numbers. The crew will just have to get over it.”
chapter seventeen
Two weeks later the Canopus entered orbit around Harcourt’s World. Franklin sat in the command chair and observed the activities on the bridge.
“Orbit nominal at six-hundred miles, Skipper,” the navigator said.
