Truth and Beauty 6-6

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* * *

Stephen found that shipboard life pretty quickly fell into an ordered routine, regulated by the bells that rang through the speakers fitted into every corner of the Roth, including the lavatories (or heads, as he heard the sailors call them).  It soon seemed perfectly normal to rise each day at six bells in the morning watch, shower, shave, and dress, and then join Jack for breakfast in the great cabin at seven bells (Jack’s second breakfast, actually, he having been up since two bells, attending to the office work of commanding the Roth).  This meal was invariably a warm yellow loaf of what passed for scrambled eggs (“it tastes right, though perhaps the shape is a bit, well, unusual,” said Jack), accompanied by printed bacon, chilled juice, and hot coffee.

At eight bells the sentry announced the officer of the morning watch, who gave the formal report of the overnight watches before joining Jack and Stephen for his own breakfast.  Bollwerk entered at the stroke of one bell, chivying them away so he could clear and clean their plates, and Stephen made his way down to sick bay.  Thursday was a particularly special day in this regard, as he made the entire trip without making a single wrong turn.  Only Franklin remained as an inpatient, and after quickly checking the sign-in sheet posted by the medical suite’s outer hatchway (no new cases had presented), Stephen stepped into the ward.  “Good morning, Franklin, how do you do?”

“Good morning, your honor,” said Franklin in the at-death’s-door voice that had made Stephen’s heart skip a beat the first several mornings, but that now seemed almost mandatory.  “I don’t complain, though the pain is something cruel,” his usual comment.

Stephen checked the monitor’s record for the overnight.  Everything was within normal limits, with no abnormal trends, and though Franklin had a button he could press for analgesia he had not used it.  In fact, the button was lying on the deck, where it had no doubt fallen as Franklin slept.  Wiping it off with a sanitowel, he handed it to his patient.

“Oh, thank you, your honor,” said Franklin, now speaking normally, “but I dursn’t need no old pain button.  I don’t suppose my staples might come out today when you change my bandage, though?  The helmet presses on them fu- er, devilish hard.”

“Yes,” said Stephen, having inspected the wound.  “I think we might even dispense with the helmet itself tonight, though you’ll need it to get out of bed, of course.  We should try the steps - the companion - today, with suitable precautions.  Good heavens,” he said, steadying himself against the bulkhead as the Roth began to rock.  “What do you suppose this is about?”

“The rolling, your honor?  That’s just the swell, or perhaps the wake off a larger vessel, in which case it will peter out in another minute or so.  I remember in the Courageous, Captain Just, we had a three-day blow that spun us about like the pea in a can of spray paint.  Tore all of the boats from their clamps and shifted a motor mount.  Injuries, too, and grievous.  But a small swell like this I dursen’t worry about."

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Truth and Beauty 6-5

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“Yes,” said Jack, standing up and collecting a glass from the sideboard and inserting it into the drinks printer.  “Rye, scotch, beer, milk - just turn the knob to highlight the category you want - hard liquor, see?  Then push to select, turn again for the drink - you said rye?  And push again, select your volume.  Select you temperature.  Any extras - rocks?”

“Please.”

“And press run,” Jack finished, pressing the worn green button that started the printer.  The machine clicked, hummed and clicked several more times, and finally whined as something within it spooled up to speed.

“It sounds like a centrifuge,” said Stephen.

“Doesn’t it?  And there we are,” said Jack, raising his voice slightly over the clatter of falling ice cubes, one of which cracked as amber fluid drained into the glass.  The machine chimed and Jack retrieved the drink.  “To your health, doctor,” he said, raising the glass in salute and passing it to his guest.

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STO'B 6-8 Captain Fitton

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Having extracted himself from the engineer, Philip looked over the men on duty in the engine and boiler rooms, as much as he could in the weak light of the oil lamps.  These men were hard at work, sweating in the warm, damp air, shoveling coal into the boiler and raking it into place, minding the feed and the steam gauges, and reaching into the engine with oil cans.  The furnace door opened for the stoker to rake the coals and in the burst of light Philip saw that the crew’s clothes were grimy with coal dust and oil.  “Very good, gentlemen,” he said, before escaping to the comparative 90-degree coolness of the berth deck.

The only things that remained were the bread room, tin-lined against the rats and poorly-stocked though in good order, and finally the magazine, reached by a trap-door hatch in the floor of the officers’ store room, but only after lighting the lamp in the light room (again more of a cupboard, and in this case entered via a hatch in the deck of Philip’s personal store room).  Philip removed his boots, belt, coat, and sword belt, laying them carefully aside before donning list slippers and an apron and tapping on the hatch.

Mister Horrace opened the hatch immediately, greeting Philip as if he had never met him, rather than as if they had spoken a mere half a glass earlier, and stood aside to allow Philip past.

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Truth and Beauty 6-4

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Some time later, Stephen returned to the great cabin to find Jack sitting with an empty glass that looked to have held whiskey.  A tablet computer and a stylus lay on the table in front of him.
“Good evening, Doctor,” said Jack.  “Would you like a drink?  We have scotch, rye, wine, beer - anything generic, I’m afraid, it’s only what the machine can print.”

“You are very kind,” said Stephen, still standing awkwardly in the hatchway.  “I’m very sorry.”

“Oh, no,” said Jack, who had in fact until this moment been blaming Stephen for Roth’s clumsy jump into hyperspace.  “No, no.  Not at all.  You had no way of knowing.”  Stephen entered the cabin and Jack went on.  “I should have warned you.  Going into hyperspace is a ticklish thing in any event, especially once the sensor array is withdrawn.  That leaves us blind, you see, and you have to be lined up just so with the coils, but if you leave the sensors deployed they’re liable to snap off with the acceleration.”  He sighed.  “But how are your patients, Doctor,” he asked as Stephen sat down.

“They will do,” said Stephen.  “The head injury is resting, I expect a full recovery but won’t know for sure until he wakes up.  The broken arm should be excused form duty for a few days - I’ll know better tomorrow, once the drugs have had a chance to work - then light duty for a week or so as the bone remodels, then we can add labors as his condition merits.  The rest I’ve told already that they can go back to their work.”

“You fixed the head injury,” asked Jack, who had already written to the admiralty to let them know of Roth’s accident, including the lamented loss of Franklin Whyte, engineer’s mate.  But Roth had yet to pass a beacon, so the message had yet to upload, and he could still amend it.  “You think he’ll survive?”

“I do.  It was a routine epidural bleed, and not terribly severe at that.  Once I’m satisfied that he’s stable I’ll put in a Hillman patch, and he’ll need a helmet until that ossifies, but there was no herniation.  With a little luck, there should be no permanent deficits.  I think you said that the printer can print rye?”

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STO'B 6-7 Captain Fitton

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Philip knew that the big-end of the rod would be warm without touching it, but he allowed the engineer to guide his hand into the engine. More than warm, it was hot. “Shut her down, Mister Stevens,” he told the engineer. “We will proceed under sail alone. Have you anything else to report?”

“No, sir. Just that the pins need to be checked, and the keys, and the stuffing box - the stern gland, that is - is taking an increased flow, though nothing the pump can’t handle, and of course the donkey still needs that key. And we’re overdue for cleaning the fire here, there’s too much clinker on the grate, it’s leaving holes in the fire and needs to be raked out.”

“Very good, Mister Stevens, you may shut her down.”

 “And the weep holes on the main bearing are starting to run dry. I suspect they’re merely gummed but won’t know until I’ve flushed the bearing, sir, and maybe dismantled her.” He sniffed and wiped the back of his hand across his nose. “Either way, I needs to shut her down.”

“Very good, Master Engineer, you may shut her down.”

“And the supplies of tallow and sulfur are running low, sir. I doubt we’ve got enough to run her another watch.”

“Thank you, Mister Stevens.” said Captain Fitton. “Please shut her down.”

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