Josh Roseman - The Clockwork Russian and Other Stories

William watches as the two men work a complicated pulley system; his car, docked at the end of a long, narrow girder, begins moving closer. As he steps up onto the platform, he feels the ship’s engines thrumming harder. A moment later, he’s hanging on tightly as a loud horn sounds from the bridge deck. That sound is picked up by other ships, echoing outward across the broad, sand-swept plain. Behind William, more than 50 other ships feed power to their engines and, seconds later, the ground below the ship is moving at a much faster clip than the stately twenty-per-hour it was when William had docked his car and come aboard to see the Commodore.

Oh well. It’s not as if he’s never done this before.

William nods to the enlisted men as he reaches the bottom of the port ladder, then takes two quick steps across the skid before climbing onto the car and lowering himself through the opening in the roof. He has to angle his body uncomfortably to drop into the driver’s seat. The car is still in neutral, its wheels moving as fast as the ship to which it’s docked; William starts the engine and calls the OOD. “I’m ready to go. Thanks for your help.”

“Yes, Lieutenant.” William sees the ensign’s hand come close to the video pickup; the young man works his console and, with a clank and a lurch, the magnetic clamp disengages from the side of the car. William shifts into gear and steps down on the accelerator; the engine catches and he turns the wheel left, veering away from the Commodore’s ship. It’s the only one, he notices, that still has a gleaming-white hull; the rest of the ships in the Demetrius Colony are rusted or discolored or battle-scarred, but somehow the Royal Admiral has stayed as clean on the outside as the inside.

William drives past the colony before reversing course; it’s easier to dock at his home ship if he’s coming up from behind. The rear-guard gunners salute as they see his dusty beige car pass, but he doesn’t acknowledge them. He’s busy navigating the small sea of colony ships, which have all accelerated to 110-per-hour, keeping one eye on what’s in front of him and the other on the position display — wouldn’t do to get in the way of another vehicle, but this time there’s no one else out except for him and a couple of patrols, picked out in pale yellow on his screen.

Up ahead, he sees the broad stern of the Mighty Mississippi , its huge turbines mounted to long-disused fiberglass paddle-wheels. He calls the supercargo, whose features fills his display. “Ready to board,” he says.

The supercargo’s dirty face is streaked with sweat. “You’re cleared for Slot 12. Opening main door.”

“Got it.” William shuts off the screen. In front of him, the huge panel at the aft of the Mighty Mississippi eases downward, clanging as it hits the dry, cracked ground. William lines up his car, then presses hard on the accelerator; the little vehicle zips up the ramp and into the hold. Through his open roof he hears the heavy ka-chunka-chunka of gears pulling the door closed behind him, but he’s already hitting the brakes hard, seatbelt locking, preventing inertia from throwing him through the windshield. Once he’s down to ten-per-hour, he flicks on his lights and drives to Slot 12; as soon as he’s in, the slot lowers itself thirty centimeters, effectively locking the car in place. He engages the emergency brake anyway, then shuts down the engine and steps out.

“Any problems?” asks the supercargo.

“None.”

“What about the Commodore? I heard the horns, but…”

William gives the man a nod. “We’re going,” he says.

The supercargo’s face brightens as he smiles. “Finally! You know my youngest has never actually seen a true storm?”

“Now he will.” William knows the supercargo has three sons. He knows everyone on the Mighty Mississippi ; he’s been living here for the past fifteen years. “I’m heading upstairs. Say hi to Dinah and the boys, will you?”

“Sure thing.”

William claps the supercargo on the shoulder, then heads for the door. Couldn’t hurt to check his models one last time.

William wakes in the middle of the night, jolted out of a dream by the sound of horns. This time, it’s not the deep horns that warn of a course change; this time, it’s staccato bursts that signal an attack.

“How did they find us?” Andie asks as she climbs out of bed. “The scouts said we were clear for fifty kilometers!”

“I have no idea,” William says. He watches Andie pull off her nightgown and struggle into her uniform. Objectively, Andie’s prettier than his wife was, though Rina’s still his first love. He doesn’t think Rina would mind, though, that he’s sleeping with the first officer of the Mighty Mississippi .

Andie adjusts her jacket, then pulls her gray-streaked brown hair back into a tail. “Are you up?”

He’s awake, but he knows what she means. “No. Not until next week.”

“Then get to a saferoom and stay there,” she orders. “I don’t want anything to happen to you.”

“Why, Andie,” he says, sitting up in bed and grinning, “I didn’t know you cared.”

She gives him a frustrated look. “Don’t be an ass. Of course I care.” The look turns wry. “Who’ll find us water if you get killed?” She blows him a kiss, then leaves the cabin, boots loud on the old wooden floors.

He shakes his head, then gets up and gets dressed. Under his feet, the deck shudders as the Mighty Mississippi increases speed; the turbine engines are at full bore now. It sounds like they’re pushing the ship at the colony’s maximum speed of 150; the Mighty Mississippi can reach 175 with a good tailwind, but 150 is still more than the engineers will like.

Dressed, William locks his cabin — not that anyone would steal from him, but it’s an old habit — and makes his way to Deck Four.

The all-clear message arrives four hours later, and William sees the sun coming over the horizon as he and the hundreds in the saferoom rush out to see what’s happened while they were locked away. William stands at the railing, next to one of his neighbors, looking out at the ships nearest to them. “Not too bad,” the man says. “We’re still moving, anyway.”

William nods. He’s standing next to the casing that holds the port-side paddlewheel. There’s smoke coming from a large yacht 30 meters distant, but nothing else looks out of place. He goes back into the ship, to the ladder that goes between the decks.

Up on Deck One, William finds Andie on the open platform aft of the bridge. Though he’s not fond of being a Lieutenant, having rank allows him to be present. He brushes her hand and she flashes him a quick smile. “Did we lose anyone?” he asks quietly.

“One of the gunships was bombed,” she says. “The Brasilia . Sixteen dead, and we had to scuttle the ship. Two more died when their trucks were rammed. Don’t know how many injured, but Royal Admiral estimates fewer than 100 overall.”

William wants to touch Andie, to reassure her — and himself — but the set of her shoulders and the lines around her mouth tell him not to. “How about our ship? Anything I can do?”

“No.” Her comm chimes, and she reads something off the small screen, then presses a couple of buttons and clips it back onto her belt. “We took a couple of shells, but they missed the engines and the paddlewheels. She’s a tough old bitch.”

He smiles. Andie loves the Mighty Mississippi ; she’s passed up several chances to command newer or faster or stronger ships. He knows the Commodore wants her on the Council, but only ship’s captains can serve. It doesn’t matter to either of them, though; they’re together on the Mighty Mississippi , happy most of the time, and — unlike the smaller colonies they’ve absorbed or the bigger ones that have trouble keeping their citizens happy — they have William and his computer models to help them find water.