Truth and Beauty 3-10

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Before they had taken more than a few steps, however, Roth’s bell gave four double strikes for midnight. This quiet, almost genteel sound was followed immediately by rushing feet and shouting voices as the watch below came on duty. Captain O’Brian cocked his ear to the sound. “Are we not at anchor watch?” he asked.

“No, sir,” said sub-Lieutenant Greenstreet. “All such orders lapsed with the change of command.”

Jack looked sharply at Mister Greenstreet. This was true, of course; once Jevons was superseded most of his orders lapsed. Yet usually the second-in-command, now the temporary-in-command, enacted new orders to fill the gap. “Very true,” he said. “But now I am here, let us stand down to anchor watch. And we can have divisions tomorrow - there’s, there is no need to rouse the men tonight. We can catch the highlights tonight - bridge, engineering, sick berth - and the details then. Indeed, I have a guest coming aboard, I am hopeful that if we make him comfortable he may consent to be our surgeon, and that would be an ideal way of giving him a tour.”

In the cursory review of the Roth that followed Jack saw what he expected to see: a brig that was holding her breath for his inspection, lest any of her perfectly aligned valves might come adrift, or any of the painstakingly squared crates and barrels of supplies, stuffed into every free space, might reveal itself to be slightly out of true. Jack’s was a professional eye, however - he had been in space for most of his adult life and much of his childhood - and he pierced through to the essential truths behind the facade: Roth was an obsolete, largely worn-out transport with a reasonably happy crew and officers who for the most part knew their jobs, but had little imagination. Her armament, 4 GW plasma-arc cannon, might be enough to fight off one of the smaller French privateers, but there was no denying that Roth was no warship.

Her master engineer, a young man named Humphries, was justifiably proud of her engines, however. As Jack had surmised, these were Algonquin-Electric 375s. What was more, Master Engineer Humphries was entirely to his new captain’s way of thinking regarding refitting Roth’s fuel rail with independent, multi-point injectors. He had already retrofitted her engines with Caterpillar feed valves and Scotch-Weiss preheaters and exhaust manifolds, and was eager to get the most out of his brig, even if it meant trying something new. Roth might not have teeth, but if her engines performed as advertised, she could certainly run.

Well, Jack thought, having bid good night to his sub-Lieutenant at the end of their tour and retreated to his sleeping cabin, all in all, things could be worse. He took off his hat, coat, and breeches, hanging them on the wall. After a moment’s search, he found the light switch and shut off the light, and in a practiced, unthinking movement, slid into his cot. And, I suppose, not having a gun in my cabin - cabins - nor the pass to the magazine, means that my cabins won’t have to be knocked down when we go to quarters. He lay back in his cot and studied the mood lighting for a moment, then closed his eyes for sleep.

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