Truth and Beauty 1-3

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“Yes,” said Jack, “yes! You’re in! And that’s the big thing!” But the Transport Board was barely in the Navy, an administrative and promotional backwater where careers went to die. He hoped Jevons wouldn’t hear how forced his enthusiasm was - in his own ear it was startlingly obvious - and he made something of a show of forcing a path through the crowd to the Goat and Compasses, where they found space at the bar and ordered drinks. “To the swabs!” they said, draining their glasses. “To promotion!” they said, draining them again. “To prize money!” they said, draining them a third time. “To the Roth! To Lieutenant Jevons! To friendship!”

“What type of ship is she?” Jack finally asked, leaning on his friend for support.

“She’s a - a floating garbage can, actually," he said again. "A Curtis T2 fleet oiler, you remember them, Professor Simmons - Simu - Sim - the engineering professor - was going on about their hulls. Shitty hulls. But she’s a ship, still and all.”

“Well, maybe you’ll be assigned to Anson’s squadron, and with all the fighting there’s bound to be promotions. He’ll need oilers.”

“No,” said Jevons, pulling a cigar cutter from his pocket and accidentally dropping it on the floor. “I mean yes, he will. But we were refitted for general cargo. Pipes all over the place and half of them lead nowhere. Bulkheads. Rust.” He found his cutter, picked it up, and went on. “We’re carrying equipment, water purifiers, to Sephus, leaving as soon as we’ve victualed, day after tomorrow. She’s up against the victualing wharf right now.

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