Truth and Beauty 13-9

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“The fiddle?” repeated Stephen.

“Yes, sir,” said the marine, grasping the edge of the table as the Roth plunged. “The fiddle.”

“Indeed,” sad Stephen. The unperturbed demeanor of the marine and the master’s mate forced him to be equally calm or lose face. In a bid to keep the marine talking, Stephen quizzed him about the fiddle; a series of questions and answers that grew increasingly strange until the marine realized that while he was discussing the raised lip of the table, Doctor Russ was discussing a violin.

* * *
Two levels up, Bollwerk appeared with a spill-proof mug of coffee and a pocket full of cereal bars. Jack had not left the bridge, except for a brief trip to the bathroom, since the storm had started in earnest. This was partly from professional duty, partly from curiosity - this was Roth’s first blow under his command, and patly because he simply loved a blow.

“Sir,” said the radar man, “it’s getting very difficult to see the far side of the convoy.”

Mister Greenstreet, to whom the comment was ostensibly directed, nodded. Jack left several seconds of silence. He did not want to appear distrustful of his first lieutenant, a man with whom he was saddled for the foreseeable future. But eventually he moved over to where he could clearly see the radar displays.

Fuzzy waves swept across the screens, with many of the ships of the convoy shown in the yellow of extrapolated data, rather than the green of a solid return.

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Truth and Beauty 13-8

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The wardroom was only three-quarters lit for the overnight shift, but after the stygian gloom of his cabin it felt like an assault, and he closed his eyes. Two voices greeted him.

A hand took his, and he allowed himself to be guided into a seat. He opened his eyes into a squint, finding himself beside Sergeant Strasser. “Thank you,” he said.

“Not at all,” said the sergeant. “Difficult weather we’ve got - expect the skipper’ll be rigging lifelines any moment.”

“Ah,” said Stephen. He wished he could come up with something braver to say in the face of certain destruction; lifelines must mean that Roth was near the end. Casting his eyes about he saw Mister Henreid sitting in his usual place, quietly turning the page of a book. I’m sailing with the original group of stoics, he thought.

“There’s a chess board in one of the stern lockers, if you fancy a game,” said Sergeant Strasser.

“Chess?”

“Oh, the pieces screw in,” said the sergeant quickly, “just a quarter turn to keep them in place, and the board clamps to the fiddle.”

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Truth and Beauty 13-7

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The weather continued to mount and fall into disorder; two storm systems seemed to be colliding. Roth’s motion, already vigorous, became chaotic. Stephen, now buckled into his cot, was tightening his straps still further when a groan, then a series of creaks, filled his cabin. There was no corresponding call to quarters or rushing of feet, however, nor did the mood lighting around the cabin door illuminate, and he lay in the heaving darkness, pondering.

Perhaps the noise is only in my room, he thought, staring at the vague outline of the outer wall of his cabin. He wondered exactly how much steel, or aluminum, or titanium, or whatever it was lay between him and the void of space. If the wall ruptured, death would be near instantaneous.

He closed his eyes, but his ears fastened on every sound. When a particularly loud groan shook the metal frame of the bunk he unbuckled himself and tumbled from his bed, landing on all fours on the floor. A sudden lurch sent him into something, possibly his chair, but before he could grab hold he was sent into the door. He fumbled for the latch, and crashed through to the wardroom.

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Truth and Beauty 13-6

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Part of the grin was also because he had managed to use Mister Holley’s presence to instruct his premier on the proper handling of a crew, without the sublieutenant feeling personally slighted, but this was not to be spoken of aloud. Some hours later, after the combined crew had snugged everything down and the larboard watch had retreated below for a few hours of fitful rest, Roth began to rock.

The effect was subtle at first, but in the space of a single bell her gyrations became severe enough that the wardroom steward turned up the fiddles on the table, and transferred Stephen’s wine to a wide, low plastic tumbler, slightly chipped. An Erlenmeyer flask might be more appropriate, Stephen thought, perhaps with a rubber base.

Half a bell later, Stephen untangled his seat belt and buckled himself in. This was labor lost as far as productivity was concerned, however, for by now his papers were sliding freely across the table top, and tapping the correct portion of his tablet’s screen had become a matter of chance. He gave up, grabbing hold of his scattered notes as each slid by him, then gazing longingly at his glass of wine, marooned on the far side of the table.


On the bridge, Jack waited with increasing impatience for Vindictive to give the signal for the convoy to spread out. The idea of one of the convoy’s merchentmen blundering into them - most likely Taconite, stationed directly above them; or the Two Brothers, off their port beam - filled him not exactly with dread, but certainly with concern.

“Vindictive to all craft, ‘assume loose formation,’ sir,” said the radio man (a woman, actually), and Mister Greenstreet issued orders to the helm.

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Truth and Beauty 13-5

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“Come,” called, Jack, and Mister Midshipman Holley entered.

“Mister Henreid’s compliments, sir, and this just came through on the twix.” He handed a tablet to his skipper.

“Indeed,” said the skipper, reading the report. “Mister Greenstreet, it appears that we are in for a blow.” He glanced at the regulator: half a bell to go before the end of the watch. “Mister Veidt has the second dog, I believe,” he asked his sublieutenant.

“Yes, sir,”

“Mister Holley,” said Lieutenant O’Brian, and the boy took a more formal posture, “tell Mister Henreid to rig for heavy weather at four bells.”

“Yes, sir,” said the boy, receiving the tablet back. “Both watches will be on deck, do you see,” Jack added kindly, seeing the boy’s confusion. “Fifteen minutes will make no difference, we’ll still be ready and with time to spare before Mister Rains pipes ‘down hammocks’.”

The midshipman saluted and left. Mister Greenstreet, who had profited from the interruption by surreptitiously add some ice to his coffee, drained his mug and withdrew, leaving Jack alone.

A grin spread across his face as he returned to his now-cold meal. “I do love a blow,” he told the empty room.

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Truth and Beauty 13-4

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Jack’s meal, held in the great cabin one bell later than the wardroom’s, also showed the benefits of new stores - roast leg of Achillian lamb with green beans and long-grain rice, and bottled white wine, whose cap Bollwerk unscrewed with all appropriate gravity before pouring his skipper a glass.

The meal was solitary, though, and Jack found himself daydreaming of his years in the wardroom - even his years in the midshipman’s berth. He had yet to entertain the wardroom, he realized, though he had owned the Roth for - he worked backwards through the calendar in his head, “good heavens,” he said, “three months on - on Tuesday. A quarter of a year. Bollwerk! Pass the word for Mister Greenstreet, if he is available.”

The sublieutenant was available, and when he appeared, with formal bearing and clean-pressed uniform coat for his summons to the Cabin, Jack said, “Bollwerk, a glass of wine for the lieutenant - you’ll take a glass of wine? Oh. Coffee? Light? Sweet? Bollwerk, scrub the wine, make that coffee, black and bitter.”

Once Mister Greenstreet was seated, with coffee at hand, Jack went on. “I’ve been sadly remiss,” he said, “but I hope you and the wardroom will join me for dinner tomorrow.”

“Yes, sir,” said the sublieutenant, and indeed he could hardly have given any other reply, save for extra-ordinary circumstances. Custom dictated that the skipper refresh his premier, which he did; and custom dictated that the premier accept the refreshment, so having already taken the rare option of declining the first refreshment offered, Mister Greenstreet could hardly now decline the invitation.

Custom also dictated that the sub-lieutenant finish his refreshment with in five to ten minutes, and in this perhaps Mister Greenstreet was unwise to decline milk, since without it his coffee was quite hot. He was saved from the choice of a scalded throat or diplomatic faux-pas by a knock on the door.

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Truth and Beauty 13-3

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“Do the crew do the same?” Stephen asked, lifting other covers to reveal real rice and steamed broccoli, a sight that made him salivate.

“They lay in butter and condiments,” said Mister Humphries, “cake and sweets for afters, and the like, but their meals are made in batch, so there isn’t the same opportunity for stores - private stores, that is. Nor are they allowed spirits outside the ration.”

“Speaking of which,” Sergeant Strasser said to Ms Lund, “the bottle stands by you.”

Ms Lund refilled her glass and sent the bottle on its way, but by the time it worked its way around to the marine it was empty. “Treason,” he cried, “rank treason! Steward!” But the steward was an insightful man, and was already reaching for the bottle to carry it over to the drinks machine and refill it. “My sister is on the Lion,” the sergeant continued, “Captain McGill, and they have two bottles, no waiting for refills.”

“We have two bottles,” said Mister Humphries.

“Two of red and two of white, I mean,” replied the sergeant. “Four bottles.”

“Lion must be a fifth rate or better,” said Mister Blaine.

“She’s a third rate. Tiger class. But that’s not the point. We could buy a second set of bottles. Whitehall need never know,” he added in response to the purser’s frown.

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Truth and Beauty 13-2

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There was indeed not a moment to lose, with 22 transports and the Vindictive champing at the bit to be off, while Roth still had to off-load all of her old cargo and take on all of the new, to say nothing of visiting the condensing dock to have her coolant recompressed, and then a seal blew on the master cylinder of the docking stanchion, requiring two space walks to repair. Eventually, though, eventually, everything was squared away, and the forced delay gave time for the gunner to replace all of his defective caps, the master to exchange the filters on the water circulators, the purser to replenish his stock of paper (toilet and writing), and both Jack and Sergeant Strasser (caterer to the officers’ mess) to lay in some private stores, as was explained to Stephen when he found real chicken under the first tray cover that he lifted that Thursday evening. “And you will find that your earnings have been docked accordingly,” explained the Purser.

“Really?”

“Yes,” said the Purser. “In some ships you have to buy in with ready cash, but Roth uses the payroll - so much easier, not having to make sure you have ready money when you depart, and never quite knowing how much to set aside, since you’d have to borrow otherwise.”

“Typically from the purser,” said Sergeant Strasser, “at a high rate of interest.”

“Well,” said the Purser, blushing, “not all pursers are created equal.”

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