G. Edmondson - The Ship that Sailed the Time Stream

For the time being no one was going to listen to him.

He would only make things worse by flapping around like a mother hen. Might as well climb to the top of the ridge and get a look around. If they really were in the Aegean there might be another island in sight.

He climbed slowly to the top of the ridge, acutely conscious by now that he should have gone back for his shoes. There was neither soil nor tree above the spring but the black volcanic rock had weathered so that the broken-bubble edges of its numerous small caves did not cut his feet.

After fifteen minutes of leisurely climb he topped the ridge and sat. The tiny horseshoe harbor and a miniature Alice were laid out below him like a scale drawing. While he watched, a faint gust rippled the harbor’s narrow surface, the ripples breaking as they crossed the long painter stretching from the yawl’s bow to the pinnacle. The Mediterranean, as he recalled, was not much for tides. That was one less worry. He looked about the cloudless horizon. A faint smudge to the northwest might be land but he wasn’t sure.

Going down was harder than climbing up. His stubbed toes were bleeding by the time he reached the spring.

The fine edge of the Alice’s collective appetite was dulled by now. They had emerged from their several nooks for a more leisurely debauch. The goat revolved over a small fire. The Alice’s men, paired off with the blondes and single brunette, were guzzling wine.

Gorson reared up on one elbow to stare blearily at him. “Shay, Mr. Rate,” he asked, “what year we in?”

There was sudden silence as every eye fixed on Joe.

Damn you, Gorson. Ishtar shrivel your gonadia! He had planned to break the news gently. Or had he intended to tell them at all? They stared, suspicious now and distrusting. He sighed and took the bull by the horns. “Last night,” he said, “remember that bump when we stayed underwater so long and all at once Freedy got a different fathometer reading? It must’ve been working right after all.” A bell was beginning to ring somewhere in Joe’s head but he ignored it. “This time we came out at low tide or something. Anyhow, we weren’t at sea level.”

“What year is it?”

“I don’t know. About 28 or 20 B.C.”

“Before Christ?”

Joe started to explain about Augustus.

Gorson turned to the rest of the crew. “Know what I think,” he said, “I think he done it on purpose. He’s a history nut. He wants to go on back instead of getting us home!”

The silence was more ominous now. Lapham, Dr.

Krom’s college boy assistant, looked uneasily at Joe.

“Is it true?” he asked.

“No,” Joe said distractedly, for he was suddenly aware that he knew how their time jumps were happening.

“When you gonna take us home” Rose asked.

“How should I know?”

“You’re supposed to know everything,” Gorson growled.

“I know one thing,” Joe snapped. “If you want to get home it’ll be easier after you’ve forgotten these trollops and got some water in the Alice’s tanks. And how about snaring a few dozen goats so we can dry the meat-providing the Roman coast guard doesn’t patrol here too often.”

The blondes were restless with all this talk. They had the entertainer’s instinct for crisis even if they didn’t understand the language. One appeared from nowhere, bearing several fresh skins of wine.

“Three cheers for Mr. Rate,” Cookie yelled. “It’s been at least a month since I’ve had a liberty like this!”

Gorson swayed to his feet. “You can’t get away with this,” he growled. “I’ve read the book. I know my rights.” From four feet away the brunette squirted an unerring red jet into Gorson’s mouth. He choked on the wine and began coughing. While the others were still laughing Joe walked off.

What were these girls doing here in the first place?

Where was all that wine coming from? It took a press and vats to make wine. This island was honeycombed with caves but he was sure none was big enough to hide that land of installation.

Away from the noise of the party, he collapsed on the shady side of an oak and piled handfulls of damp leaf mold over his bleeding toes. He’d probably get hookworm or bilharzia but he was too disgusted to care. He dozed off and dreamt of a triumphal march through the streets of Rome. The triumph dissolved into a gladiatorial display with Joe on the wrong end of the sword. He woke abruptly and rolled off the rock which had been stabbing him.

The sun had gone down and the hours of inactivity without clothing or cover had left him thoroughly chilled. He clambered stiffly to his feet and limped back up to the spring. There was no sound now. The Alice’s men sprawled in weird attitudes around the demolished goat. Joe shook one. He grunted but did not waken. Worriedly, Joe made the rounds. All were breathing but he didn’t believe they could be so uniformly drunk. Thank Neptune he hadn’t tasted the wine.

There was not a girl in sight.

With a sinking in his stomach, Joe realized what was up. Should have stayed awake, he told himself. Should have gone down to the Alice. But he hadn’t. Come to think of it, what could he have done alone? He threw branches on the embers where the goat had barbecued and when that blazed up he found the broken bottom of an amphora the girls had kept wine in. The spike bottomed jar fragment held about a gallon.

Straddling Gorson, he poured a gallon of spring water.

The bos’n sputtered. By the third slosh he was on his feet and swearing.

“Yes, I did it,” Joe said. “Now listen you turgid testicled slob—you bigmouthed yourself into this, now bigmouth yourself out. You’re captain from now on.”

Gorson gazed blearily about the clearing and saw the Alice’s men. Abruptly, he was wide awake and sober.

“Jesus, what do we do now?”

Joe savored his moment of glory. “One of the first things you can do is stand at attention when you address your captain.”

Gorson gulped. “Yessir,” he said. “I’m sorry sir, I—”

“Get these men on their feet and let’s get back to the ship.”

Gorson grabbed the amphora bottom and started carrying water. Ten minutes later they stood in the firelight. Dr. Krom’s bushy head fitted his sheepish look. “All right,” Joe growled, “you’ve hit your first foreign port on this cruise. You’ve been rolled and you’ve probably all got a dose. Are you ready to go back aboard?” He stopped and looked at them carefully.

Raquel, he knew, was aboard the Alice. Someone else was missing. “Where’s McGrath?”

“His Holiness stayed aboard,” Villegas said.

The cold knifed deeper into Joe’s stomach. McGrath had been increasingly unstable since that clout on the head. Was Raquel safe? At least the little god shouter hadn’t stampeded ashore after those blonde trollops.

He remembered the tooth marks and Raquel’s cryptic comment. They’d been alone all day. But what the hell, he thought, she can take care of herself. If she wants to.

The Alice’s men still stood in a numbed group, awakening slowly to their position. They had carried no weapons to begin with. Now their pockets were empty.

Joe put them to gathering rocks. When each had filled his pockets and bagged a few inside his shirt they lit firebrands. The oak would not blaze long but with luck it would light them partway down the hill.

Joe’s feet were so sore by now that he could hardly walk. Ought to make Gorson carry me. But he didn’t They started down the valley. Joe tried to remember if there’d been a moon last night. It was very dark now under the oaks and they had not progressed a hundred yards before a torch went out. Halfway down the slope the last brand was extinguished. They fumbled along, bumping into trees, stumbling over roots.