The Search for Cleo

by Aaron J. Ethridge

  “We're going need to collect a lot of cotton.”

  “Yeah,” Vox nodded. “You are.”

  The young man, along with Doc and all three young ladies, spent the next few hours picking pods. As the sun began to set, Celeste assured them that they would need far more than they had already gathered if they were going to want things like real mattresses, sheets, napkins, etc. As they wanted all of these things (and more), Morgan felt fairly certain that they would spend the next few days gathering more and more plant fiber. He was right.

  As they carried on this noble work, Vox found the time to make both a spinning wheel and a loom. As soon as these were complete, Celeste carded some of the cotton and showed the entire crew how a spinning wheel was used. (Even though most of them had seen videos of this being done, they still found watching someone do it 'in real life' quite impressive.) Having given the up-and-coming situation some consideration, Robert decided that all the cotton would need to be removed from its husks before it was packed in the hold.

  Although this would take time and effort, it would save a great deal of space. As Robert pointed out; they had far more of one than they did of the other. He also explained that, once the cotton was extracted, they would be able to bail it, using the bailing machine that Vox was going to build for them. That being the case, they would be able to carry a great deal more with them. Which, of course, meant even more harvesting.

  Under normal circumstances, Robert would never have dreamed of investing this much energy in something like 'homemade clothes', but the current circumstances were anything but normal. The simple fact was that he couldn't be sure when they'd be able to acquire more cloth and, if they didn't find a way to get more, it was only a matter of time before the girls were strutting around in tattered rags. If that happened, he informed Morgan, he was just going to have to give up and marry Cleo. After that, the young man refused to collect any more of the pods. Robert got him back to work, however, by threatening to demote him to Assistant Scullery Maid – Second Class.

  Morgan lost track of how many days the gathering, collecting, and acquiring had gone on, but the fact that he was constantly exhausted attested to the fact that it had been 'too many'. Another thing that bore witness to the passage of time was the ship beginning to take shape. Every day, it looked less and less like a pile of boards and more and more like an actual spacecraft – albeit, one made of wood.

  “Morgan,” Robert said right after breakfast one morning, “how much of that gold do you have left?”

  “I don't know,” the young man shrugged. “Maybe a pound. I didn't really mine all that much to begin with. The truth is; it's basically worthless.”

  “Usually, that's true,” the traveler nodded. “I just happen to currently have a use for some of it, though. Could you get me some more?”

  “Sure,” Morgan nodded. “Why do you need it?”

  “Get it,” he smiled, “and I'll show you.”

  Just over an hour later, the ore had been mined and the gold had been smelted. Vox then showed the young man another device he had built during the past few days. It consisted of two metal rollers that could be moved closer together or further apart as needed, and that were rotated by a small motor borrowed from the car. Vox took one of the golden ingots they had cast and ran it between the rollers. The result was a bar that was longer, wider, and thinner than the original.

  “That seems to work,” Robert said with a smile as he approached the pair.

  “What's it for?” Morgan asked.

  “We have to get the gold to just the right thickness,” the traveler pretended to explain, “before we can make it into coins.”

  “So, the plan is to make coins?”

  “Absolutely,” he lied. “We've been living like communists, Morgan. It's time to introduce a few free-market principles and improve our society.”

  “You think we're communists?”

  “No,” he laughed. “I think – or know, rather – that we're a family.”

  “Then, why do we need coins?”

  “Come on,” the traveler said, spinning on his heel and heading for the ship.

  The pair made their way up to the third deck of the craft, where Robert and Vox had constructed four identical boxes built directly into the floor. Each was fifteen-feet long, five-feet wide, and three-feet deep.

  “These,” Robert said, waving his hand in the general direction of the boxes, “are our fish tanks.”

  “Fish tanks?”

  “Yes.”

  “So...” Morgan replied, thoughtfully, “we throw the coins into them to make wishes?”

  “We're not making coins, Morgan.”

  “Ah, of course,” the young man nodded. “A lie. Well, what are we doing then?”

  “Vox is making gold foil,” Robert explained. “We're going to use it to seal the tanks.”

  “To keep them from leaking?”

  “Not exactly,” Robert replied, shaking his head. “We've assembled the entire ship using the MCB, so it, and these boxes, are pretty much airtight – not to mention; watertight. The problem is that we can't be sure how long we're liable to be drifting through space.”

  “Which is why we want to make sure that Doc can still go fishing,” Morgan asserted.

  “I'll explain about the fish in a minute. Right now, I'm explaining about the gold.”

  “Carry on.”

  “Wood that's submerged in water can grow some pretty nasty stuff,” Robert pointed out. “Stuff that might kill our fish. By lining the tanks with gold, we'll keep the water away from the wood and hence, keep wet wood away from our fish.”

  “Makes sense,” Morgan nodded. “After all, we wouldn't want our fish to die.”

  “No, we wouldn't,” Robert agreed. “We need them to make our fertilizer.”

  “Fertilizer?”

  “We're building an aquaponic farm, Morgan,” the traveler explained. “It's a very efficient method of farming that uses fish waste as fertilizer.”

  “That's nasty.”

  “No, it isn't,” Robert replied. “It's brilliant.”

  “If you say so.”

  “These tanks have three-hundred square feet of growing space above them,” he continued, reaching down to pull open a drawer at the bottom of one of the boxes that Morgan hadn't noticed, “and three-hundred more square feet below them.”

  “What are we going to grow in there?” the young man asked.

  “High-protein mushrooms,” Robert answered. “Vox and I are going to build a 'worm box' at the end of each of the tanks. We'll put inedible plant matter in at the top...”

  “Like beanstalks, vegetable skins, melon rinds; that kind of thing?”

  “Exactly,” Robert nodded. “And, we'll be able to pull incredibly rich soil out of the bottom.”

  “To use for the mushrooms?”

  “Right.”

  “We can also use the worms to feed the fish,” Morgan speculated.

  “To help feed the fish,” Robert said, rocking his head back and forth. “I don't think we'll be able grow enough to keep them on an all-worm diet, but we're going to supplement the worms with algae, feeder fish, some of the vegetable matter we produce, and even the mushrooms.”

  “So, we keep the fish eating and... wasting... and they fertilize our farm, which feeds our worms, which feeds our mushrooms. All of which, feeds our fish.”

  “That's right.”

  “It's the whole 'circle of life' thing.”

  “Pretty much,” Robert nodded.

  “You know what's missing?” Morgan asked rhetorically. “Sunlight.”

  “Space isn't completely devoid of light,” the traveler explained. “We'll be able to use the holo-emitter to create dynamic mirrors that will collect as much of that as possible. On top of which, we're going to put most of the lights we have in this room.”

  “How is starlight going to get through the roof?”

  “The farm isn't going to have one.”

  “So...” Mor
gan said, gazing up at the no-ceiling that was above them, “it's just going to be open to space, then?”

  “It is,” Robert nodded. “The shields will keep the air – and the heat – inside.”

  “What happens if the shields fail?”

  “We all die.”

  “It's good to know that you have a backup plan.”

  “Space travel is dangerous, Morgan,” Robert asserted.

  “I've said it before, and I'll say it again,” the young man replied, shaking his head, “this 'wooden spaceship' idea is just stupid. We need to go back to the 'army of children' plan.”

  “It'll be fine,” the traveler chuckled. “Vox and I have already come up with a number of safety features. For instance, this room is going to be equipped with one of the personal force field generators. If the ship's shields fail for some reason, it will instantly have a protective field of its own.”

  “I just hope you don't get us all killed.”

  “I won't.”

  “How much longer do you think we have before liftoff?”

  “Another week or so,” Robert replied.

  “Good,” Morgan nodded. “That should be enough time.”

  “Enough time for what?”

  “You'll see.”

  Later that evening – after quite a long day's work – Morgan began cooking something that smelled as if it was made entirely out of honey. This, understandably, attracted Robert's attention.

  “What are you making?” he asked, stepping up behind the young man.

  “Mead,” Morgan replied.

  “Mead?”

  “It's like honey-wine.”

  “I realize that.”

  “Then, why did you ask?”

  “Why are you making it?” Robert asked in reply. “You're not allowed to give any of it to Azure under any circumstances. You know that, right?”

  “After what happened last time,” Morgan replied, glancing over his shoulder, “you think I'd want to give her alcohol?”

  “She was mad at you last time... and, she was a clone.”

  “Why take chances?” the young man shrugged.

  “Then, why are you making it?”

  “You'll see.”

  Over the course of the next few days, Morgan managed to annoy Robert slightly by working on side projects – which included; some brewing, some sewing, and some sneaking around with Vox – that he wouldn't answer any questions about. All he would say in response to Robert's queries was: “You'll see.” and “Stop trying to spoil the surprise.”

  In spite of Morgan's moonlighting, however, the work proceeded at an excellent pace. With every passing day, they were making visible progress. The hold was quickly becoming packed with useful materials, the computers, engines, and various field generators were all put in place, and the farm was supplied with lights, water, fish, sprouting plants, and mushroom spores.

  Morgan was amazed at just how much food they were able to get growing in so little space. One of the features he found most impressive were the large tubes that Vox had built to act as 'beds' for several lettuce-like plants Doc had discovered. Not only was it the most efficient use of growing space he had ever seen, it would ensure that his snails never had to go hungry.

  It also made him feel good to know that, if worst came to worst, the valiant creatures would be there to lay down their lives for their friends as escargot. Being the thoughtful soul that he often was; he was nearly brought to tears by the animals' natural nobility and their sense of self-sacrifice.

  After a brief argument, Robert allowed Vox to move his entire blacksmith shop into the ship's workroom. Although Vox had no intention of using any of it on the ship, he wanted to have it in case they ended up stranded on some other planet where iron ore wasn't so readily available. For his part, Robert was concerned about the extra mass. He pointed out that the ship was going to be hauling more than enough without having to carry hundreds of pounds of anvil and whatnot. In the end, however (as I already mentioned), Vox won the day.

  At last, the evening arrived when they moved all their beds – and all their other furniture – into the ship. They would be leaving the following dawn, and Robert wanted to give the crew a chance to sleep in their rooms without having to worry about whether they would die in the vacuum of space before they woke up.

  Morgan was surprised at how dark the ship was. Even with all the lights that Sturm's probes had provided them with, there weren't nearly enough to go around. Engineering – as Robert had begun to refer to the room that held the engines – only had a single 'emergency light' in it and the hold didn't even have that much. The bridge was lit by the glow of computer screens and nothing more. The saloon had been given four lamps, but at the cost of not having any in any of the bedrooms. A vast majority of their light sources had been placed in the farm. As a result, it was one of the most comfortable spots on the ship – at least, to Morgan it was.

  The bedrooms were also incredibly cramped. They were each eight feet wide and six feet deep. Meaning that Morgan and Robert, Cleo and Azure, and even Vox and Celeste had to make do with 'bunk-beds'. Plus, of course, it had been impossible to get the beds into the rooms without pulling them completely apart. Fortunately, the MCB made both dis-assembly and reassembly a piece of cake.

  The following morning, they began their final preparations. This entailed more than Robert had expected.

  “Come on,” Morgan said, having made his way to the bridge to retrieve his captain.

  “Where are we going?”

  “You'll see.”

  The young man led his companion down the gangplank and out of the ship, where the rest of the crew was already waiting on them.

  “First off,” Morgan said, taking a bag from Vox, “these are for you.”

  Having said this, he handed Robert the tanned-chicken-lizard-hide purse. The traveler opened it to find that it held a set of commemorative gold coins. Each of these bore the profile of one of the crew, along with fictional titles Morgan had come up with. They were marked: Robert the First, King of Thundera, Princess Cleo Zelbizarre, Duke Vox Qwell, Duchess Celeste Qwell, Duke Malas Dassmock, Countess Azure Holiday, and Morgan Harker, Royal Jester.

  “These are epic,” Robert laughed. “When did you make them?”

  “While you were busy,” Morgan explained, lifting the bottle Celeste had made for him from the floor and handing it to Azure. “Go ahead, love.”

  “What are you doing?” the traveler asked as the blue maiden approached the ship's bow.

  “She's going to christen the ship,” Morgan explained. “That's what the mead was for.”

  “Christen it what?”

  “The Morgan-mobile.”

  “No,” Robert chuckled, shaking his head. “She's not.”

  “We've already talked it over, boss,” Vox explained. “It's a good name.”

  “It's a terrible name,” Robert retorted.

  “Look, Rob,” Morgan said. “What are we supposed to call it? Your ship is The Cleo, which is perfect because it's awesome. This is a glorified escape pod and, as such, isn't worthy to bear the name of one of our other lovely ladies. Our next real ship will be named The Azure... Or, The Celeste maybe, depending on how we calculate seniority...”

  “The Merry Celeste?” Robert chuckled.

  “What?”

  “It was a play on... Never mind... So, The Morgan-mobile?”

  “Exactly.”

  “Why don't we name it after me?” Robert asked with a smile.

  “Are you serious?” Morgan laughed. “You want to call it The Gnome-mobile? I think that's copyrighted.”

  “Oh, that is funny,” Robert replied, snapping his fingers. “That's a real thigh-slapper, that is.”

  “Could we get on with it?”

  “Please,” the traveler nodded. “I'd like to get out of here today, if at all possible.”

  “Go on, dear,” Morgan said, giving Azure a nod.

  “I christen The Morgan-mobile,” the blue maiden said,
smashing the bottle against the ship's hull. “May fate watch over you, and all who fly in you.”

  At this, the entire crew burst into applause.

  “Can we go now?” Robert asked.

  “As soon as we raise our flag,” Morgan answered, taking said banner from Cleo and unfurling it.

  “What's it supposed to be?” the traveler asked, trying to make out what the white shape was that was set against the field of black.

  “It's supposed to be a skull and crossbones,” he explained. “I'm just not much of a seamstress... seamster?”

  “Tailor,” Doc pointed out.

  “If you'd asked me,” Celeste said, “I could have helped you.”

  “I wanted it to be a surprise,” he explained. “Plus, this is one of your dresses. I was afraid you wouldn't want me to use it.”

  “Now, can we go?” Robert asked.

  “Absolutely,” Morgan replied, waving his hand up the gangplank. “What's stopping us?”

  Chapter 10: Riding Along in the Morgan-mobile

  “Have you hoisted our colors, Mister Harker?” Robert asked the moment Morgan stepped onto the bridge.

  “What?”

  “Did you get your pirate flag put up?”

  “Oh. Aye, aye.”

  “Stealth field, Mister Qwell.”

  “Aye, sir,” Vox replied, pressing several buttons on one of the computers mounted into the wooden console in front of him. “Our stealth field is active, sir.”

  “Cleo, love, scan for probes.”

  “Cleo, love, is hardly official,” the green maiden said playfully.

  “Miss Zelbizarre,” he corrected.

  “The nearest probe is just over five hundred meters from our current position, sir.”

  “The nearest one we can detect,” Morgan pointed out.

  “We can detect them all,” Robert assured him. “Go grab the holo-emitter, Morgan.”

  “If I do that, won't the probe be able to see the ship?”

  “From that range,” Robert explained, “it can't even see through the holo-image, much less our stealth field.”

  “On top of which,” Vox added. “We're currently using the special little modification Rob and I put together.”

  “Which is eating up the power,” the traveler pointed out. “So, get a move on, Mister Harker.”