Truth and Beauty 4-5

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Some hours later Panzer woke him with a gentle touch. “Coming up on the victualing wharf now, sir,” she said.  Stephen stretched as best as he could within the confines of the wherry, then returned to his seat and fastened the seatbelt.  “That’s the Roth there, sir,” said Panzer.

“The white one with the red stripe?”

“No, sir, that is the frigate Dakota.  Roth is below her.”

“The shabby merchantman?”

The pause that followed these words drew out unnaturally, and Stephen realized that he must have said something tactless.  Fortunately, Panzer did not seem to be in the mood to be insulted, and Barus was too involved in his phone to notice. “Well,” said Panzer, “perhaps we are a little down at heel, sir, but we are a Navy vessel, I assure you.”

Stephen looked at the Roth intently.  She seemed little different than any of the scores of merchant vessels he had seen in his travels; perhaps a bit older and more worn than most, with heavy streaks of oxidation broken by occasional new sheets of steel.  Much of her hull was pockmarked, especially at her front end, reminding Stephen of the photos of smallpox survivors he had seen in a history of medicine class years ago.  A small work party armed with cutting torches clustered around a particularly ragged panel; the replacement panel tethered nearby was almost blindingly bright by comparison.

“Zulu sierra six three seven for approach,” said the wherryman, then after a pause, “Roger, gate C-7.”  He worked his controls and brought them up against the docking collar.  The collar clunked, the wherry’s mood lighting turned blue, and the wherryman turned in his seat.  “Here we are, lady and gents.  Will you be wanting a hand with that old baggage truck, then?”

“No,” said Barus carelessly, “she’s got it.”  He tapped his ID to the reader, entered the Roth’s ID number and his PIN, paused to calculate the tip on his phone, then led Stephen and Panzer through the docking collar into the wharf.

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