by Linda Harrel
'This is a far cry from the water we came in through, Mr Dunn,' she said, raising binoculars to her eyes and sweeping the vast ice field.
'Yes, indeed,' agreed Angus, wiping greasy hands on well-used coveralls. 'That delay at Melville put us square into winter and no mistake about it! We're breaking ice up to five feet in places.'
Sarah listened with relief to the chatter about the heavy weather that had dogged them since they left the island. She wanted desperately to distract herself from memories of Guy's abortive and humiliating lovemaking. Yet just a single flash of remembrance of his touch on her skin held the power to enflame her. With an exercise of will that stretched taut the sinews of her neck, she dragged her attention back to her companions'.
'But the ice—that's no problem, is it?' she asked with forced interest.
'Oh, no,' the First Engineer replied, smiling. 'We're built for worse than this!'
Their first day out, the bands of ice on either side of the strait had thickened rapidly, narrowing the water lane until at last the Enterprise had struck solid resistance. Low, dense ice fog had begun to plague them. The cold was never less than cruel for any of the crew unlucky enough to draw outside duty under the coarse woollen clouds.
And there was also the new, silent presence on the Enterprise that affected the crew's spirits far more than the weather: the millions of gallons of super-cold liquid gas that now lay beneath them. But at least those nerve-jangling, unpredictable alarm bells signalling another of Guy's drills were silent for this leg of the journey. Still, he remained a constant observer, forever moving, monitoring, observing every procedure. Tony, in contrast, was surprisingly relaxed now that the snag at the pumping station was behind them. He was looking forward with relish to a triumphant arrival in Nova Scotia, with welcoming ceremonies and television coverage.
Sarah wished she could share Tony's elation, but her thoughts kept returning to their volatile cargo and the battering it was receiving. Time after time, the Enterprise's bow drove up on to the ice pack. There was a pause, then the ice fractured and gave way under the tremendous weight of the steel-banded hull. Released, the ship fell seaward, having carved a little more of its tortuous path.
By late afternoon when Sarah reached Tony's suite for a pre-dinner drink, the constant heaving of the decks had begun to affect her stomach.
'I think,' she told him as he greeted her, 'that I'd better sit down… quickly!'
Tony smiled down on her sympathetically. 'We'll be clearing the ice any time now. Just hold on a little longer.'
'I'll try,' she replied, laying a hand gingerly on her stomach. 'But I don't know if I can handle that drink, Tony.'
'Nonsense. It'll relax you. You've been tense ever since you returned from that ill-advised excursion with my adventuresome cousin. Really, Sarah, every time I think about that I get so angry I could—'
'Tony, please. It was no one's fault… except, perhaps, mine. I was the one who made such a big fuss about seeing something of the island before we left. Anyway, no harm was done, and I did get some good atmosphere material for the story. I expect I'm just feeling the pressure of the deadline coming up.'
Tony looked at her solicitously and picked up the tiny porcelain hand that lay across her knee. He had touched her hand before, of course. But this time Sarah could feel a difference. His grasp was more insistent, almost possessive.
Perversely, Tony's touch brought an unwelcome picture of Guy to her mind's eye. She gave a slight shake of her swinging auburn hair as if to rid herself of his spectre. Impulsively, as if she could somehow punish Guy, she returned the pressure of Tony's hand.
'I've neglected you these last few days,' he said. 'But I'm going to make up for that when you join me in England. You haven't forgotten your promise?'
'No,' she said, with a sad, twisted smile. She looked up at him and realised that he was going to kiss her. Her reaction was curiously coldblooded, as if she was the dispassionate observer of an experiment. Would she respond to him as she had to Guy?
She watched his gently parted lips move slowly towards her, then closed her eyes and accepted him in a robot-like reply. Encouraged by her passiveness, he became more demanding until she was finally jolted out of her numbness and murmured a small protest.
'All right, my darling, I won't press you. Just let me hold you for a moment—please.' He eased his pressure on her but did not release her entirely. He laid his cheek on top of her head and stroked her hair soothingly.
How could she rebuff him? He was ardent, yet so gentle. He accepted her silence as consent and continued to hold her head against his shoulder, not suspecting what sadness and conflict lay at the core of her muteness.
What am I doing? she thought, confusion knitting her brow. Any normal woman would be flattered by the attentions of Tony Freeland. He was all the things that Katie had so enthusiastically enumerated, and offered to open the door for her to a delightful interlude in her life.
Yet she was so curiously unmoved. Why did she feel so frozen, so cut off from her emotions and her body? Guy had no trouble in making her respond to his blatant, aggressive advances. The memory of them made her cheeks flame. She twisted her face into Tony's suit jacket so that he wouldn't see the colour that spread down her neck and think it came for him.
Her bruised ego craved the balm of Tony's affection. Yet she felt such a fraud in his arms! It was selfish and deceitful, and she hated it.
Tony's glass slid the length of the coffee table and crashed into Sarah's, splashing sherry over the hem of her skirt.
'Oh, Sarah, I'm sorry,' he began.
'It's all right,' she said quickly, guilty at the relief she felt in being free of his arms. 'I'll get a napkin.'
As she stood, the roll of the ship sent her staggering, and only Tony's lunge for her kept her on her feet. The two stood clinging to each other, struggling for footing as the Enterprise righted herself and began a rolling pitch to the opposite side.
'Tony, look out there!' Sarah cried, pointing to the windows.
They had broken free of the ice-bound straits into the waters of Baffin Bay. The open sea was horrifyingly vast and green and cold. The sky was an ugly, mottled purple. Huge ice floes swirled slowly in the Greenland current, hinting darkly at their hidden power to grind and destroy. Immense swells surged against the hull, shooting high before raining down on the deck.
'A little humbling, wouldn't you say?' asked Sarah, hugging herself as a shiver travelled the length of her spine.
'You're not frightened, are you?' Tony laid both hands on her shoulders and twisted her to face him. 'Look, if it will help banish your fears, why don't we visit the bridge? We can hear the latest weather report, and you'll be able to see for yourself that the officers don't give a blow like this a second thought.'
Sarah stopped short as they entered the unusually crowded bridge and met Guy's hostile glare head-on. Squaring her neat shoulders and tossing her head back slightly, she held firm to Tony's arm with a proprietorial air that he could not miss. She knew it was a transparent, almost childish ploy, but she delighted shamelessly in its obvious success, noting the way Guy's eyes flashed as he watched them cross the room.
Patrick looked harassed, with smudges of weariness underlining his eyes. He didn't seem particularly pleased to see his employer, Sarah thought, but managed a perfunctory smile.
'The winds are almost up to gale force, Mr Freeland,' he replied to Tony's question, 'with no signs of slackening.' Then, seeing the alarm on Sarah's face, he added quickly, 'But we'll weather it, of course. If it gets to you, Sarah, you can get something from the medical officer to settle your stomach.'
'Thank you, Patrick. I may do that.'
He smiled ruefully. 'Poor Katie's taken to her bed with nausea. Keep your flat shoes on, and try to remember to keep your knees loose and flexible to absorb the pitching of the deck.'
'I do try,' said Sarah, frowning, 'but I can't quite get the hang of the rolling sailor's gait that—'
An angry voice rose over the general hum of machinery. Sarah peeped over Patrick's shoulder and saw two red-faced junior officers confronting each other, tempers snapping.
'What's the problem, Benton?' Patrick demanded.
'That last course change you ordered to avoid that berg, sir. It wasn't executed properly,' he replied tensely.
'Well, Stuart?' asked Patrick of the other man.
'The helmsman looked stiff but defiant. 'I executed the change as ordered, sir. I was just about to show Benton the record.'
Patrick looked at the book, then turned questioningly to Benton. 'Everything looks in order…'
'But it's not, sir,' he protested. 'Our position doesn't jibe.'
'Do your calculations again,' Patrick instructed.
He did, and the same infuriating discrepancy appeared.
'Take a manual fix, Patrick.' It was Guy. He'd been following the tense exchange and now appeared from the shadows at the back of the bridge.
'Yes, of course,' said Patrick, his eyes expressing gratitude for the calming, sensible suggestion.
A sighting was taken on the stars using the same techniques known to sailors for hundreds of years. The tried-and-true method revealed that although the wheel had been put ten degrees to port, the bow had actually moved that way only marginally. The crew was stunned into silence by the implications of that news.
'It's the steering,' said Patrick at last, his voice betraying disbelief. 'It's not responding properly.' Jolted into action, he dispatched a cadet to summon the master and sent out an urgent call for Angus Dunn as well.
Captain Price appeared within minutes, still buttoning his shirt. He assessed the situation rapidly. After ordering a radical course alteration to compensate for the unresponsiveness of the steering, he sent Angus and two technicians down to the steering control room to try to find the cause of the malfunction.
'The weather?' he asked Patrick, his manner still utterly calm.
'Winds are sixty miles per hour with no moderation, sir. Gale force expected by nightfall— possibly as high as a hundred.'
'And ice?'
'Radar shows several large bergs bearing down on us. One is passing us now close to the starboard side.'
'Too close, Patrick.'
'Yes, sir.'
'Why in heaven's name are they creating this melodrama!' whispered Tony harshly. 'This ship was designed to withstand the worst ice conditions.'
'There's a hell of a difference between an icefield and an iceberg,' said Guy impatiently.
'Don't lecture me!' Tony snapped furiously.
'Please!' hissed Sarah, her eyes darting frantically to the crew. There was always just enough truth or logic in everything Guy said to make it difficult to argue with him and win—as she had discovered to her own chagrin. But the nagging suspicion that there was substance to everything he said only seemed to stiffen her against him.
'We'll have to make a substantial cut in speed, Patrick.' The Master's voice was disturbingly grave. 'Order a change to—'
Tony's voice slashed across his. 'There'll be no slowing down, Captain!'
Captain Price swivelled slowly around in his raised chair and looked quizzically at him. Every man on the bridge was silent, shock plainly written across his face.
'Perhaps you don't understand our situation, Mr Freeland,' he replied steadily. 'We're in very heavy seas. Our L.N.G. load is beginning to give us a roll effect, and our steering is not as precise as it should be. No prudent Master would continue to move through seas like these at full speed. Now, Mr Freeland—my ship needs my full attention.'
But Tony was in no mood to be put off. 'We're three days behind schedule and you tell me you want to be "prudent"! Well, I don't pay you top salary to have you run this ship like some nervous cadet. You're supposed to have the brains and experience to handle a situation like this!'
Dear lord, Tony! thought Sarah. How can you speak to him like that? She could barely believe her ears.
Captain Price was unshakably polite. 'I repeat: only a fool would push a ship through waves like those. She's too big, Mr Freeland. She can't ride them like conventional tankers. If she gets hung up on the crest of a giant wave with her bow and her stern hanging over the troughs, the weight of the L.N.G. could snap her back. It would be the end of us.'
'And are the seas that bad yet?'
'No… not yet. But may I remind you that the Enterprise's untried in gale conditions?'. He turned away from Tony. 'Helmsman—half speed!'
'No!' shouted Tony, striding over to the bewildered crewman, who stood with his hand hovering above the controls. The proverbial pin could have been heard dropping.
The Master's voice rang out, clear and authoritative. 'This ship's charter names me her Master, under God. Under God, Mr Freeland! Next to the good Lord himself, I have the sole responsibility for this ship and every life on board her. And with that authority, I will order you off the bridge and into your quarters, under guard, if necessary, if you attempt again to interfere with my command. Is that quite clear, sir?'
A dark shadow passed over Tony's eyes. His fists clenched and unclenched. 'All right, Price… for now. But you'll never command the Enterprise again. Nor any other ship. I'll see to it.' He spun on his heel and strode out of the bridge, leaving the door banging wildly on its hinges.
As a cadet scurried to close the door, Sarah exhaled painfully. She had been holding her breath during the exchange until her chest ached. It had been an ugly piece of business, and it had shaken her profoundly. She looked up and saw Guy's eyes boring into her.
'Don't say it,' she blurted out. 'Just don't— say—a thing!'
'Why do you think I'm going to say something?' he asked sardonically.
'Because I'm beginning to understand you. Because I know you always have some sarcastic, taunting comment at the tip of your tongue. Well, I won't let you put me in the position of defending Tony!'
'Then you admit he needs defending?'
'I admit nothing,' she snapped. 'Tony's within his rights to question the running of the Enterprise. He'd be remiss if he didn't.'
There—he'd done it again! Had her standing up for Tony. Or had she done it to herself? She'd seen nothing to admire in Tony's treatment of Captain Price, either. He'd displayed a side of himself she hadn't known existed. But her need to protect her bruised pride kept her from admitting that to Guy.
Hurrying steps rang out on the inner staircase and Angus Dunn appeared, black with oil and glistening with sweat.
'Luck, Angus?' asked the Master sharply.
'If you want to call it that.' he replied wearily, mopping his brow with a stained rag. 'It's only a guess, sir, but I figure that those waves out there put terrific pressure on the rudder. That pressure was transmitted back through the hydraulic lines—we found a couple of key bolts sheared right off by it!'
'Can you fix it?' asked Patrick.
'We've already jury-rigged something. You should have control back now.'
Orders were given at once to the helmsman, who performed a series of manoeuvres. The navigation officer double-checked their position and confirmed that the steering mechanism was working again.
'But I don't mind telling you, Captain,' said Angus, 'I don't like it a bit. We're rolling heavily and it's going to get worse before we see daylight. If we blow another fitting, I can't promise I'll have as much luck a second time. It's murder down in the gear compartment—there's oil everywhere. I've already sent two of my men to sick bay with cuts from the falls they've taken.'
Captain Price drummed his fingers on the arm of his chair. 'We'll order extra watches, keep our speed as low as we can without losing control… and pray that this thing blows itself out soon. Patrick, order every man not on essential duty to get all the sleep he can. Heaven knows when any of us will see our beds again.'
As Angus turned to leave, Guy pulled him to one side. 'Those bolts that broke off the hydraulic line—could I see them?'
Angus peered at him, his eyes narrowing.
'Sure, Guy. I'll send a man up with them right away.'
Minutes later, a cadet flew up the stairs and presented Guy with a greasy box. Sarah watched as he set it on the chart table and swivelled a light on to it. Frowning, he turned the bolts over and over in his hands. Then, throwing them back into the box, he switched off the light and let himself out on to the flying bridge.
Curious, Sarah went to the table and looked into the box. The bolts were oversized, like everything else on the Enterprise, and they had sharp, smooth planes where they had snapped off their fittings. Otherwise they looked perfectly ordinary. She couldn't imagine what had riveted Guy's attention for so long. She grabbed her parka from its. hook and zipped it hastily.
She found him at the rail, staring out at the storm, his long legs spread wide against the bucking deck. Even in that punishing wind, she thought, he looked powerful and in control.
She lurched towards him, her hands gripping her hood. 'Guy!' she shouted, and he turned, reached out, and dragged her the last few feet to the rail.
'What are you doing out here? Are you insane?'
'I want to know what's really going on! I don't dare bother anyone in there. Is that repair of Angus's going to hold?'
'What can I say to you, Sarah—we'll just have to pray that it will.'
'But I heard one of the men talking about sounding the alarm for lifeboat stations!'
He shook his head vehemently. 'He was only reviewing what the rule book tells him he should be doing in a situation like this. We're still a long way from having to face that decision. Anyway, it would be a desperation move. Even if we could get the boats away in time, our chances of surviving in the sea are infinitesimal.'
Sarah looked out over the boiling sea. Yes, she thought. Infinitesimal. For a moment she could taste a bitter knot of fear hardening in her throat.
Guy watched her coldly as she absorbed the seriousness of their situation. 'No, it wouldn't be a very nice end.' he said, reading her thoughts. 'What an anticlimax for Tony's glorious adventure!'
