Chapter 4 – The Old Man
Bruvano laughed and headed for the midway. Askaro managed to force his hands back to work. They seemed to move independently. His mind whirled. Sold as a slave in the Capital? He couldn’t imagine a life away from the Falcon, away from his family.
The warning bell rang for watch change and startled Askaro out of his contemplation. He finished off the last stitch. The rip was gone, neatly closed with a tight, even pattern of crossed thread.
Master Zeroci climbed up the stairs to the upper loft. “Nicely done, Asko.” He pulled on the canvas around the mending. “This will surely hold.”
Askaro felt numb. “Yes, sir.” He got up and put away the needle and thread.
Master Zeroci followed him to the bench. “I’m guessing you heard what Bruvano said. I wouldn’t pay it much heed. Your father will surely have something to say about it, and the Captain...”
“Will have to follow what is written in the charter, sir.” Askaro turned to face the Master. “That is the purpose of that document. It’s a contract that all the paid men on board signed. It governs their actions and assures them profits, both in visiting ports and at the end when the final cargo is sold and the proceeds divided.”
Master Zeroci sighed. “That’s been part of your studies, no doubt. I would have expected nothing less. But surely your father’s rank as Chief Engineer, to say nothing of your grandfather...”
There was a shout from the lower level of the sail loft. Master Jotorik stood facing a slave. He looked up at them. “Zeroci, did you see the mess this boy left at his work station?”
Master Zeroci put a hand on Askaro’s shoulder. “Don’t give up hope. Speak to your father and grandfather about it.” He went down the stairs to deal with the situation.
Askaro finished cleaning up his area and hung the jib from a line. It would have to be wetted and stretched to cure the thread but that would be the job of the next watch.
The Masters dismissed the Second Watch crew at the bell. Askaro followed the others to the mid-ship stairs and down into the open air. The sharp wind pulled at Askaro’s sleeves. He tucked them under the wrist bands.
Askaro paused on the deck for a moment and looked toward starboard. The clouds were slowly catching up. He could hear the sails straining under the crosswind. Having worked the riggings for several years, he knew how challenging it was to balance starboard and port in these conditions. The sun seemed to be straining to keep ahead of the clouds as well. It had passed its zenith but the deck was still under the shadow of the dirigible. His stomach grumbled, reminding him of his destination. He continued down the main stairs into the ship.
The mess hall was already crowded with others who had been released for mid-meal. Chained slaves were being brought in from various duty stations. Askaro filled his bowl and found a place to sit at the board.
“There you are!” Askaro looked up from his food as Chitano squeezed in across from him. He had a plucky grin. “How was your duty in the hot room?”
Askaro groaned. “Does everyone know all the details of my life?”
Chitano laughed. “Master Ofalo was furious when you were late. That is, until Mister Cullans came to tell him where you were.”
Askaro tried to focus on his meal. “That is the Boson’s job, telling Masters when their slaves are temporarily reassigned by the Slave Master.”
Chitano leaned across the board. “But Master Ofalo wasn’t angry anymore when Mister Cullans told him what you did. Did you really jump over 60 units to grab the rope?”
He took a bite of food and contemplated the distance. “I suppose it was close to that.”
“But why?”
Askaro dropped his spoon into his bowl. “Because it was necessary. Do you have any idea how dangerous a loose rope is? I’ve seen a man killed by one.” He considered what Master Zeroci had told Bruvano. “And having the Main Course foul both the Main and Foremast sets on the starboard side could have endangered the entire ship.”
Chitano’s eyes were wide. His spoon had stopped inches from his mouth and was dripping gruel onto the board. “For real?”
Askaro nodded and went back to eating. He felt someone pause behind him and a soft touch on his shoulder. He looked up. “Mother?”
She smiled at him and passed him a roll. “Your father is proud of you.” She let him go and hurried toward the door that led to the Masters’ Mess.
Askaro broke the roll in half and handed part of it to Chitano. He ate his in silence then took another spoonful of his gruel.
Chitano sighed. “Your so lucky that your mother is kitchen staff.” He pulled at the metal collar around his neck. “At least you know who your father is.”
Askaro studied the wood grain of the board. Chitano’s mother had been a pleaser, kept to keep the paid crew happy. “Did you ever find out what happened to her?”
“Doctor Hodrel told me she was in good health when she was sold. Part of his job, you know.” His voice was toneless. He got up. “Well, I’ll see you in the pit Fourth Watch.”
The small bell in the mess hall rang and a quiet groan echoed across the room. Askaro looked down at the last few spoonfuls in his bowl. His stomach turned. He got up and dumped the remains into the pot, washed his bowl, and headed for the workroom.
Master Sulakor was wiping crumbs from his bristly mustache and looking over the list left by the Second Watch. “Ah, Asko. Grab a rag and polish.”
Askaro went to a cabinet and got the ordered items. “Where am I assigned, sir?”
The Master smiled at him. “I wish all slaves had your attitude. It would make for a nicer day, don’t you think?”
Askaro considered Tolok’s conversation with Lorin that morning. “I think with time, sir, the new slaves come to realize how good a life they have here on the Falcon and begin to take pride in what they do.”
“Not all of them. The slave assigned to polish brass in the Control Room during Second Watch did a poor job. But you always do good work. You’re a credit to your father. The sky knows your grandfather thinks the world of you.”
Others had begun filing in for their assignments. Askaro didn’t like receiving praise in front of others. “Yes, sir. Then I’ll be in the Control Room, sir.” He slipped out of the room, not looking at anyone else.
He went back up into the dirigible and took the midway toward the stern. The hot air chambers on either side hissed slightly. He’d worked in all eight of them at one time or another. The midway ended at the Control Room door. He knocked, according to protocol, and waited.
Master Yoland opened the door. “What do you want?”
Askaro ignored the tone of the Master’s voice. “I’ve been assigned to polish the brass, sir.”
“Well let’s hope you do a better job than the slave last watch.” Master Yoland let him in.
Askaro moved to the first bank of meters and applied polish to the rag. He could see the smudges left by the previous slave. He set to work, carefully buffing them away.
Master Yoland came up beside him. “Be careful. That’s a delicate instrument.”
“Yes, sir.” Askaro didn’t need to be told that. He knew what all the instruments did in the Control Room. He’d spent many hours with his father here. This was where the Engineer on duty usually stayed unless there was an issue elsewhere on the ship. He wondered where Mister Kestlen was at the moment.
Master Yoland leaned closer as if looking for some mistake in his work. “I heard about what you did this morning, boy. Most likely just a stunt to impress the Old Man.”
“And the Old Man was impressed.”
Askaro swallowed hard as the Captain strode into the room. Yoland’s face went pale. He grabbed the whistle on a chain around his neck and piped attention. “Captain on the deck.”
Askaro and the other men in the Control Room scurried to form a line and stand straight.
The Captain, with his hands held behind his back, strolled around the room, observing all the monitors, then stopped
facing Master Yoland. “All seems to be in order.”
Yoland saluted smartly. “Yes, sir. All systems are functioning at peak performance, sir.”
The Captain nodded. He turned to Askaro. “When you’ve completed you’re duties here, report to my Ready Room.”
Askaro felt a chill at the Captain’s stern tone. He nodded. “As ordered, sir.”
The Captain gave a final glance around the room, and sighed. He studied the assembled men for a few moments. “Carry on.”
Everyone waited until his footsteps faded before returning to their duties. Askaro remembered to breathe. Was the Captain angry with him? His tone had certainly indicated that was the case. He dipped the rag into the polishing cream and began working on the brass of another monitor.
Master Yoland came up behind him snickering. “Looks like you’re in hot water for sure. Better finish up double time. Don’t want to keep the Captain waiting.”
Askaro rubbed the brass harder, working out the smudges. He thought about the task of each monitor as he worked on its surface. Some monitored hot air chambers, others monitored tension on the masts. There were gauges for pressure inside the dirigible and one to compare that with the outside pressure. At last he came to the magnificent ship’s clock. His grandfather had told him it was the most accurate time piece in the world. The Falcon had its own horologist to care for it. Askaro glanced at the intricately fashioned dials on the face. It was still more than a turn before Fourth Watch.
Master Yoland looked over his work and gave up trying to find a missed spot. “Better be on your way. You’ve kept the Captain waiting long enough.”
Askaro hurried down the midway and mid-ship stairs back to the workroom. Master Sulakor looked up from the list he was writing. “Finished your work? Good. Did the Captain find you?”
Askaro put away the polish and added the rag to the laundry box. “Yes, sir. I was to report to him when I finished my work.”
The Master nodded. “Very good. On your way then.”
Askaro went back up on the deck and moved toward the bow. The winds buffeted him as he crossed the deck. The starboard sky was dark gray, made even more so by the late afternoon sun. He could hear the shouts of the mast crewmen as they tried to keep even tension on both sides of the ship. Master Elvarian was probably on the sky deck directing everything from that vantage point.
He entered the center doors of the Forecastle Deck. Mister Kestlen was talking with several crewmen in the main hallway. He held a roll of diagrams. “I’m more concerned about these spars on the starboard main mast. They are taking a lot of tension. We may have to add additional lashing to them.” He looked up at Askaro. “Ah, the man of the hour. Good job, Asko. Your father’s quite proud of you.”
The two crewmen stared at him with unreadable expressions. Askaro nodded at the Officer. “Yes, sir. The Captain ordered me to his ready room, sir.”
Mister Kestlen chuckled. “Go on. Don’t keep the Old Man waiting. I’ll see you later.”
Askaro got to the intersection by the main bridge doors and turned down the hall toward the Captain’s Ready Room.
As he approached the door, it opened. Master Chief Arlan stepped out into the hall. He frowned at Askaro and looked back into the room. “Slave Asko is reporting as you ordered, sir.”
Askaro didn’t miss the emphasis on the word ‘slave’. He came toward the door. He could see the heavy lines of annoyance on the Captain’s face. He pulled in a deep breath of air and prepared to face the Old Man of the Falcon.
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Askaro of the Falcon Page 4
