“Bachelor,” the captain’s voice came through on the override. “Ignore my first mate. I am the captain of this ship, andI’ll not delay our mission when the end is so close. I need know only one thing from you: Hast seen the Möbius Beast?”
There was a half second’s dead air. Then, “Please repeat.”
“Hast seen,” the captain repeated, “the Möbius Beast?”
“Not a term I’m familiar with, Pequod,” replied the Bachelor, “but if you’ve need—”
She got no further, because the captain cut comms.
At least, she cut external comms; internal comms went wild.
“Captain”—Locke’s voice had priority, which was good because it was the only one that was remotely calm—“I strongly advise that you reconsider.”
“Your advice is noted and discarded. We continue.”
“But Captain—” Still Locke. And then, in desperation, they tried “But A—”
For clarity, though I’ve elided it here, they used her full name. Her personal name. A name that Locke would once have used as an equal.
It didn’t help. The captain remained firm as death and cold as steel. “Captain I am. And Captain you will call me. And while captain I yet be my word is law on this ship.” Fuck, she was sexy. I really wished it wasn’t the kind of sexy that was going to get absolutely everybody killed, but hey, you couldn’t have everything.
And then another voice cut in. It was using Truelove’s ident but wasn’t Truelove. “While youremaincaptain.”
“Is that a threat, Mr. Wolfram?”
“The crew have come a long way, through a great and horrible deal of pain, and I’ve a sense that they’d sorely like to know why you just chose to fuck them.”
“I think some of us”—this was Locke, who despised disorder even more than they despised little things like refusing vital fuel out of pure monomaniac obsession—“would like to know why it’s you speaking on this channel and not Mr. Truelove.”
“Is that so?” Wolfram’s tone made it sound like he was pondering the idea. He wasn’t. “Or would youlikefolk to bewondering that, when in fact I’m just saying what everybody is thinking.”
When the officers’ channels went quiet, the public comms lit up again with noise that lasted until the captain replied, icy calm, with, “If you wish to challenge my decisions, Mr. Wolfram, I will meet you on the foredeck. Now.”
And with that, comms went dead. Because nobody was especially interested in standing by a panel and listening to broadcasts when they could stand on deck and, quite possibly, watch somebody get a spear rammed through the back of their skull and out their mouth.
As I’ve said before, days were long on the barque. We had to make our own fun.
The crew—and it really was theentirecrew; enough was automated that there wasn’t a station on the ship you couldn’t step away from for a minute or two if you were expecting a show—gathered on the foredeck to see the captain standing at the prow, ichor-anointed harpoon in hand. And I can’t say whether it was hope or trust or general sex glow, but in that moment I was completely certain that she had a plan.
Wolfram pushed his way through the crowd. Since he would have been expecting this meeting, been coming from Truelove’s quarters, and been able to get to the front of the mob easily if he’d wanted to, that suggested he wanted the symbolism. A man emerging from amongst the people to tell it like it is.
The captain stared at him. Behind her a storm raged and the clouds—still the white of ammonia here, though we were catching more and more glimpses of the red of the Heart—formed shapes as ominous as they were indistinct. She terrified me then, which continued to be a turn-on.
And she was silent. Letting Wolfram speak first.
He took the bait.
“Captain. It seems that the crew would like you to explain yourself.”
A tightened her grip on the harpoon. “And why should I answer to you? A prisoner and a pirate.”
“Aredeemedprisoner,” Wolfram reminded her, “and areformedpirate. As aremanyof your faithful hands.” He inched aside then to demonstrate that half a dozen former buccaneers were only a short distance behind him. “And of course a loyal devotee of the Church of the Devouring God. But it’s not me I say you should answer to.” He half turned to direct the captain’s attention to the gathered crew members. Once again few were openly armed, but most happened to be carrying something heavy, hard, sharp, or, in many cases, all three. “It’s them.”
And as meek as you like, the captain did as she was asked. “You want to know,” she said to the crew, “why I sent the Bachelor on her way without so much as a handshake?”
There was a chorus of general affirmatives.
“Suppose Ihadstopped and boarded that ship,” she went on. “Do you think they’d have let us have their fuel forfree?”
