John Ringo - Emerald Sea

Herzer wasn’t sure how long this went on but it was hours at least. Finally, as he passed out of a lethargic stage, his stomach, while protesting, seemed to be under control and the “good” period extended beyond all normal ken. He dragged himself to his feet, using the basin and his good friend the toilet, figured out how to operate the insanely complex lock on the door and staggered down the corridor to his room.

The bucket had spilled at some point but Rachel had cleaned up most of the detritus. The room still smelled foul. After careful consideration he grabbed the coat the kindly Navy had issued him, which was made of heavy wool, and staggered back down the corridor, out onto the deck and down to the mainmast. When he got there he wrapped himself around it and fell dead asleep.

Joel had never been so glad to go on duty in his life. It was apparent that most of the crew was relatively inexperienced with life at sea and a good many of them had succumbed to seasickness as soon as the ship exited the bay. He’d been sleeping and hadn’t really paid much attention to the change in motion until someone slammed into his tier of bunks. His eyes flew open and he started to roll off the bunk, expecting an attack, when he heard the retching.

“Get it out of the compartment for God’s sake,” he muttered, lying back down. But the smell was intense in the crowded compartment and others had begun to react from a combination of seasickness and sympathetic nausea. He could even feel himself starting to get queasy. Finally he rolled out of the bunk, grabbed his peacoat and headed up on deck.

The wind was fresh and clean, which was a pleasant change from below, but there were plenty of puking sailors up on the maindeck as well. He headed forward to the bowsprit and stood looking down at the ship’s “foot,” the wave that the ship pushed up in front of it. Sometimes dolphins would come up and ride in the foot but at the moment all there was was foamy white water, just visible in the gathering darkness. He had another few hours before he had to go on duty and what he’d like to be doing was sleeping. But given the conditions in the compartment, he’d have a better chance up here. So he curled up against the lines at the base of the bowsprit, pulled up the collar of his coat and nodded into a restless sleep.

The dinging of eight bells and the movement of the watch woke him up and he hurried to the small galley at the rear of the ship. It was mainly to keep hot cider going for the crew and officers on the quarterdeck. As he moved across the maindeck towards his duty station the companionway from the officer’s quarters opened up and a large figure stumbled onto the deck. He was one of General Edmund’s party, an aide or something, and obviously not enjoying the voyage.

Come to think of it, Edmund figured largely in that horrible “true-life tale” he’d been reading. If there was any truth to the book at all, this guy probably knew some of the people involved, maybe even the lousy writer. He’d have to pump him for information sometime. But not when he was so seasick he didn’t even notice the steward in the darkness. The guy stumbled across the deck and more or less collapsed at the base of the mainmast. If that was a Blood Lord, the book had to be pure fiction.

Sometime during the night Herzer had made his way back to his cabin and when he awoke Rachel was already gone. She had cleaned up from the night before and the air held only a hint of foulness. He rolled out of the bunk, put on his last clean uniform and staggered down the corridor to the wardroom.

Besides Rachel, Duke Edmund and Commander Mbeki were seated at the table looking at cups of tea. Just… looking.

“Morning,” Herzer muttered, slamming into the hard seat as a wave caught him.

“Morning, Lieutenant,” the commander said. “Enjoying yourself?”

“It was great right up until we cleared the bay,” Herzer said. “After that a combination of that bastard Newton and some stomach bug has made it less pleasant.”

A steward stuck his head in the room and looked around.

“Food?” he asked.

“I’ll take a rasher of bacon,” the commander said. “And three eggs. Up. More tea and some for Herzer.”

“I think I could handle a bowl of mush,” Herzer muttered. “If you’ve got it.”

“Coming right up. Duke? Miss?”

“Nothing for me,” Rachel said.

“I’ll take some mush, too,” the duke replied. “I think I can keep it down. And if I can’t it’s at least soft coming up.”

“Is your throat as sore as mine, sir?” Herzer asked, his voice hoarse.

“I suspect so,” Edmund said. “I just realized that in my long and varied career, I had spent it all on land. I had no idea I was susceptible to seasickness.”

“Just about everyone is,” the commander interjected. “Most get over it after a couple of days at most. There are some, however, who never do. There are also those who say that keeping your stomach full helps. I think they’re cracked, frankly. Oh, and if you had shipped out before the Fall, you’d never have known; your nannites would have easily corrected it before the first symptoms.”

“I wish they would now,” Rachel moaned. “I don’t think I want to even be in the same room with food.”

“Head to the center of the boat,” Herzer said.

“Ship, Lieutenant,” the commander corrected. “The Richard is a ship , not a boat .”

“Sorry, head to the center of the ship ,” Herzer said. “The ride’s smoother there.”

“For now,” Mbeki said. “And it will still be smoother than your cabin. But… have you looked outside?”

“No,” Herzer said. “Why?”

“Bit of a blow coming I think. There’s a hoary old adage that an Indian summer will be followed by the worst blow of the season. Didn’t really hold true with Mother controlling the weather, but I think the conditions might have reestablished themselves. The sky is quite black to the west.”

“Oh,” Edmund said. “Great.”

“Actually, it might be,” the commander said. “We won’t be working the wyverns, not that they’re up to it from what I’ve been told. But it will give us a fair turn of speed south. Assuming we can keep this tub upright; the way the sails are rigged will make fighting our way through a storm… interesting.”

“Is there any good news?” Herzer asked.

“Well, I hear that the ship’s betting pool has it three to one that you won’t dump your dragon the first time you try to land,” the commander said with a grin.

“Joy.”

The storm hit just after noon.

Herzer had heard the call of “All Hands! Shorten sail” and had made his way up to the deck to observe. The sailors were already aloft doing their high-wire act by the time he got on deck and he watched it again, in awe. To work with the sails required them to first climb to nearly the top of the mast and then work their way out on thin foot-ropes. All of this while he was having a hard time standing upright. He did notice, this time, that they were all wearing some sort of harness attached to a safety rope. If one of them slipped the harness would, presumably, keep them from falling to their deaths.

He’d noticed a lot of little touches like that on the ship. Danger areas marked off with yellow and black paint. Notices pasted up where hazardous materials were stored. Warnings about lifting heavy weights. The ship matched some of his expectations and violated others. He had read stories from the old sailing days and back then injuries and death were considered just the common lot of the sailor, like bad food, hammocks and no decent bathroom.