by Wen Spencer
She pulled the sheet down to shoulder height so she could meet his eyes. "No, Orin, I'm very aware that I might be doing the wrong thing. But bringing him onboard was the only decent thing to do. And giving him a chance is the only reasonable thing to do. Besides if he's sleeping with me, Charlene and Hilary will keep their hands off him."
He flinched at that truth. "That would have put Mitch's nose out of joint." Meaning Charlene sleeping with Turk.
"Yeah, Charlene being Charlene, she might have jerked both their chains just for the hell of it." Paige let go of the line and it snapped back up, giving her privacy to pull on her top.
Orin grunted agreement.
Dressed, Paige ducked under the line to his side of the sheet. "It sounds like Rannatann got the engine working. I'm going down to check on him. Plot me a course to Ya-ya, and I'll be back up to take over in a few minutes."
He nodded unhappily. It meant postponing their trip to Fenrir's Rock to make sure their family on the Lilianna were safe, but they'd come close to total disaster with their engine failing during an eclipse. And truth be told, they weren't out of dangerous waters yet.
* * *
She found her mechanic not in the engine room but in the galley, getting food. Manny had made Minotaur gruel for breakfast. Rannatann was eating it in his typical fashion; by eschewing a spoon and sticking his entire muzzle into the bowl.
"Rannatan is the engine good?"
Rannatan looked up, licked his muzzle and blew a wet raspberry. "Engine piece of shit."
"It's running though."
"For now."
"Will it get us to Ya-ya?" Paige asked.
A chorus of dismayed cries went up from her family.
"We'll be lucky to get to Ya-ya." Paige pointed out.
"But the Lilianna!" Hillary cried and was echoed.
"Might have left before anything happened," Paige said. "Might be at Ya-ya. Might be dead and gone."
Her family went abruptly silent. For a moment Paige felt bad for being so harsh. Then realized that they weren't looking at her, but over her shoulder.
Turk was in the door. He was naked except for a hand towel, hanging on his lean hips like a loincloth. He'd relaxed enough that he'd shed his defensive fur, revealing a body of chiseled muscle. All that was left was a thatch of black hair, his thick eyebrows and long eyelashes, and an arrow of chest hair pointing down to the small flap of clothing covering his privates.
Ooohh hoochee mama!
He really needed something to wear. What was left of his tattered uniform had been too impregnated with mold to salvage. Nor did they have any spare clothes that would fit him—he was broader in the shoulder than Orin, Manny or Avery.
"Everyone, this is Turk." She broke the silence. "He's part of our crew now."
They nodded. It wasn't like there was another choice. If Turk was on the boat, he was either crew, passenger or cargo. No one in her family would sell a Red, so he wasn't cargo, and no one expected him to pay.
Turk was staring at the Obnaoian with unnerving attention.
"This is Rannatann," Paige said.
"What is Rannatann?" Turk asked.
"He's my mechanic."
Turk torn his gaze from the Obnaoian to give her a dark look.
"He's an Obnaoian, which is another intelligent race. And I need him to keep my engine working. I don't need you for anything. You so much as breathe hard on him and I'll put you off this boat."
Turk gave a slow solemn nod. "His people control this place?"
Paige laughed. "No."
Rannatann had been staring at Turk with equal fascination. "You're a male, right?"
"Yes." Turk snapped, and then frowned. "Are you male or female?"
Rannatann whistled and chirped a moment in annoyance. "I'm male."
"Manny, he'll be working with you today." Paige assigned Turk to Manny because her cousin was the oldest male on board after Orin and secure in his position. Also the work would be fairly simple. Washing pots and pans. "And since you have help, something more than sushi today, please."
Manny held up his hands, warning off her annoyance. "No sushi! I promise."
Paige noticed that Charlene had been staring at Turk. Luckily Mitch was a little slow on the uptake and hadn't noticed yet. Paige smacked her younger sister in the back of the head. They really needed to find Turk something to wear.
* * *
Working in the kitchen was a learning experience for Turk. Food was something that arrived cooked on a plate, and dishes were something that were either recycled or taken away by servants. The Rosetta's crew ate off steep-sided, metal plates that could also be considered shallow bowls. The morning breakfast of cooked grain had the consistency of glue. The plates had to be submersed in hot, soapy water and scoured clean. Mannie worked on the other side of the tiny galley kitchen, doing mysterious things with plants in preparation to make them into food. Like most of the crew, Manny was blonde haired, blue eyed, and lean. He talked to Turk in a friendly open tone about how to cook. Turk found it oddly comforting.
"These are potatoes." Manny held up a lumpy brown oval that didn't look anything like the potatoes Turk had eaten in the past. "We keep them in the back of the pantry, out of the light. Got to keep an eye on them though. They'll grow appendages and walk out of the galley if you don't watch them closely."
"Appendages?"
Manny laughed. "I'm kidding. You cut off these dark spots and throw them into the compost bucket. We compost everything we don't eat and keep a small container garden going. That's where I got these." He held up red tomatoes. "Which don't store, so we got to use them as soon as they ripen. They're important because they ward off scurvy."
"They're high in vitamin C?"
Manny looked up from his cutting board. "Wow, I'm impressed. Exactly right. What's handy to eat is fish, fish, and more fish. But humans can't stay healthy with just that, so we have to add fruits and vegetables to the mix. We're making a fish stew for lunch."
If Manny was willing to talk, Turk might as well learn more than how to cook. "You are Captain Bailey's . . .brother?"
"Nah, we're cousins. So is Avery. That means our fathers were brothers. We're a big family. Grandpa Bailey raised twenty boys."
"Twenty?"
Mannie laughed at his reaction. "Twenty. Our dads are the youngest three; most of our other cousins are older. We all grew up playing with each other like packs of puppies. In some ways, we're close as brothers and sisters. It was a good way to grow up."
It would explain why they all had the same blonde hair and blue eyes, with the one exception of the gunner. "Jones is . . .?"
"Kenya's a newcomer and Becky's adopted; her brother married one of our cousins. Her folks were killed in a storm. The adults went down with the ship; only the kids made it off alive. Everyone that had space took in a kid. We got Becky."
Now they had Turk. Only Becky was human and Turk was not; although Manny did seem completely at ease with him. Most likely the man had never seen a Red fight. Turk would have to be careful not to use his full speed and strength in front of the Baileys. And the more he knew about them, the better he could spot trouble coming.
"If you're all family, why is Captain Bailey in command?" Turk asked. "Because she's the oldest?"
"No, the Rosetta is her boat because she's the one that went to Ya-ya, worked her butt off, and earned the money to buy it. She's a very, very good translator. She could have stayed in Ya-ya and gotten very rich; but that did nothing for the rest of us, so she bought the Rosetta and fetched us as crew."
Mannie examined Turk's efforts with the dishes and nodded. "Good work. Here, run a little water into this pan and use it to scrub these potatoes." He held up another plant and identified it as garlic. "This has very strong flavor; you only need a small amount to make the food taste good. This recipe calls for four cloves."
"You're expecting me to cook this by myself sometime?"
"That's the plan. The more people that cook, the fewer tim
es I'm stuck with it."
"Ah, Captain Bailey said you hated to cook."
"I don't hate it. I just don't like cooking the same things over and over again, but it's not like we have much of an option. There's only so many ways you can put fish and potatoes together."
Manny held up an impressively large knife. "Here's the trick of getting the skin off garlic. You simply lay the knife flat against the clove and press. Voila!" The cloves burst open, giving off a pungent smell. "Paige's a good captain. She knows the risks and the odds of success, and she does what is best in the long run. I suppose we do kind of stick to our ages as to who gets to tell who what."
"What about Jones?" The other outsider.
"She kind of does her own thing. When we're in shallow water, like now, she keeps an eye out for anything trying to crawl on board. There's things that see boats as serving platters. She's pulling long hours. Once we get to into deeper water, she'll probably sleep for a couple of days."
"You're spread too thin. You should have several watches, short enough that your personnel stay sharp."
Manny nodded. "We were going to take on more crew at Fenrir's Rock. A few more cousins."
"Why the change in plans?"
"Onions." Manny's expression was bleak as he held up a fist-sized sphere. "Recipe calls for four, thinly sliced." He chopped the onion in half. "Our engine has been dying for some time now. We don't have the money to replace it. My cousin Ethan—Paige's older brother—he radioed us when we were in Georgetown. He had found an unclaimed wreck; something that's never been salvaged because it's in Minotaur waters. We were going to meet Ethan and some of our cousins who have a boat called the Lilianna at Fenrir's Rock, and go together to stake claim on the salvage. The plan was that the Rosetta would have stayed in Minotaur waters, protecting our claim, while the Lilianna took what we salvaged to Ya-ya. Even splitting the take with the Lilianna, we would have made a fortune."
Fenrir's Rock. As the rock belonging to the spaceship Fenrir? "And we're not going to Fenrir's Rock because . . .?"
"It's not there any more. Something blew it out of the water."
Like the engine returning to Plymouth Station. "Oh." And seeing Manny's sober look he guessed the rest. "Your cousins were there."
Manny nodded grimly. "Onions always make you cry." He swiped the back of his arm across his eyes. "The thing is the engine is crapping out. If we don't make Ya-ya, we'll be dead in the water again."
Manny demonstrated 'sautéing' the onions and garlic in a pot he called a 'Dutch oven'. "After this we add in the tomatoes, potatoes, cloves, bay leaves, parsley, tarragon, marjoram, pepper and water."
"It's fish stew without fish?"
"We'll add the fish about ten minutes before we serve it." Mannie said. "So you have three hours to catch our lunch."
"Me?"
"Yup. Go find Paige and tell her you need to catch a couple of whiteys."
* * *
They were moving, that much was good. Paige didn't like the sound that the engine was making. It had run rough before, but now it had a rattle as if it was slowly shaking itself apart. They had no choice but to get to a port, even if it meant destroying the engine. Orin had plotted them a course; it was dangerously long.
She had the charts spread out in front of the boat's wheel, studying her options when the door creaked open and Turk stepped into the room. Manny hadn't found him anything to wear yet. He was still naked except for the loincloth.
"Only Orin and I are allowed on the bridge." She told him.
"We need fish for the stew." Turk eyed the charts with interest. "Where exactly are we?"
"Here." She tapped the chart at their location.
He gave her a long, silent dark look. She wondered if he was top cat of his ship's pride. He had that legendary "control with a look." She wondered too if he realized what he was doing. "I mean the world. What is it? Did someone make it?"
As if she knew the answer to that. She supposed he needed some information, though, if he was going to be useful. "No one seems sure of where we are or what this place is. Everyone has a different name and a different idea. So far as I can tell, none are better than others. The Obnaoian believe we've been shrunk down to the size of atoms and we're inside an air bubble floating through a sea."
He shook his head. "I don't think they're right."
"Hmm, I'm not fond of the theory myself—air bubbles have a way of popping."
"What do you believe it is?"
"Personally I like the pocket universe theory."
"Which is . . ."
The joy of boiling physics down for someone who only been taught to point a gun and shoot. She made sure that the water in front of them was clear, and secured the wheel so she had both hands free. "Say your ship is here." She marked a point on a scrap piece of paper. "And your captain wanted to go here." She marked a second point. "These points are hundreds of light years apart and to go straight from one to the other would take a lifetime. What a warp drive does is this." She folded the paper so the dots connected. Then taking a pencil, she pushed it through the paper. "The warp field creates a hole that the ship goes through, instantly going from point A to point B."
"Yes." He nodded."
"The ships here, their warp engines created a warp field, punching a hole going from point A to . . .who knows. The thing is, they fell into the hole, they left point A, but they didn't get to their intended point B." She took the pencil out, and holding the paper, shook it. "If you fall off the paper—miss your universe completely—where do you go?"
"Here?"
"So it seems." She took control of the boat again. "This isn't a planet. This place—it's like an egg—and we're standing on the inside of the shell."
Belatedly she wondered if he'd ever seen a real egg. But he nodded. Did he really understand? She thought for a minute how to distill what she learned at Ya-ya down to something a crèche-raised Red could grasp. "If someone in your universe wanted to make a place like this, they would start by smashing a planet flat to build the shell. One planet would only make a little, tiny section of this place. All the planets of one solar system wouldn't be enough. If you took . . .countless . . .solar systems, you start to get enough matter."
"It's that large?"
"It's huge. The minotaur have mines that extends hundreds of feet deep. The oceans are miles deep. I can't believe any intelligent race made this place. Only god makes things like this."
"Not even intelligent races that might seem god-like?"
"I've met those and they don't lay claim to it. Besides, if someone could make it, don't you think they'd also lock the door so every monkey with two thumbs didn't wander in?"
"Maybe they like monkeys."
She was startled into laughing. The faintest of smiles flashed across his face and was gone back to the dark watchful gaze.
"So we're here?" He reached out to tap the correct position on the chart.
"Yeah. 23.29 by -12.93."
"What do those numbers mean?"
"Ya-ya is the oldest of the human landings. Oldest surviving. They chose to represent themselves as zero-zero on an x-y grid. The numbers are miles from Ya-ya on that grid. The first number is longitude. Do you know what longitude is?"
"I know."
She was pleasantly surprised. "It means we're 2329 miles in the direction of the spin. If we were counterspin from Ya-ya, that number would be negative."
"Spin?"
"Newcomers talk about how most planets have a north-south pole which you can set compasses to. We don't have that in the Sargasso. Apparently you need a solid core of heavy metal spinning to create a magnetic field. What we have is the direction of the Spin. The water, the wind and the vimanas all flow in the direction of the spin, due to what we think is centrifugal force."
She tapped the axis marker on the map. "CS on the left for Counterspin is denoted as negative numbers, S on the right is Spin. Tells you which way is up on the map. The second number is up and down the y axis."
"Why not use latitude and longitude from the equator like you would on a planet?"
"Because people haven't agreed on where the equator is. Every ship coming in has a different universal reference that doesn't match anyone else's. Landings have fought over everything from map coordinates to time of day to what year it should be. Ya-ya's system has become the agreed standard just out of default since they're the oldest and probably the most successful of the Landings."
"Where's Fenrir's Rock?"
"Let's look at a different chart." She swapped to one of larger scale. "Here's Ya-ya, smack dab in the middle. We're 23.29 by -12.93. It puts us here. These islands you can see around us, they're all part of Fenrir's Archipelago. That means an area of sea with many islands. This is Fenrir's Rock over here."
"It seems close."
"It is. But there's nothing there now. Even if we limp our way there, we won't be able to repair our engine. Also these waterways are very treacherous with sand bars and reefs. We can't just sail straight to Fenrir's Rock, we'd have to wind through a maze to find safe passageways."
"Manny said you're from Georgetown." Turk was scanning the map.
"Up here, nearly off the map. It's a long haul."
"What about this one? Mary's Landing." He tapped the Mary's flats.
"No, no, we won't go there."
"It's closer than Ya-ya."
"Mary's a dangerous place for us. We won't go there."
"Why?"
She didn't tell him the real reasons, so she stuck to ones he'd at least understand. "It's a political thing. Nothing like open warfare, but we're not friendly. One doesn't show weakness to the enemy."
He nodded.
She considered her options on who should teach him how to fish. She wasn't fond of fishing; on a bad day, it could be mind numbingly boring. Orin and Avery were sleeping. Becky was too little to hold her own even though she knew all there was to know about fishing. Mitch? No! Orin was having issues with Mitch because Mitch somehow always managed to create issues. And if Paige loved her sanity, she'd better keep Charlene as far from Turk as possible. That left Hillary. A teenage girl looking to expand her sexual possibilities. A nearly-naked, half-feral man.
