G. Edmondson - The Ship that Sailed the Time Stream

If this barbarian does not find the article he needs you will all swim home. DisMISS!” the Roman spun sharply, still at attention. “And you,” he said to Joe, “will wait aboard the prize.”

To his own infinite surprise, Joe saluted. He turned bemusedly and ambled forward along the catwalk. Gorson was awake now. Joe caught his eyes but the chained chief’s look was expressionless. Where were the women?

The sun was nearing noon before a work party clumped across the korax and deposited a small pile of odds and ends in the cockpit. The faceplate was there.

His watch was not. So be it, he decided—a life for each jewel, a hundred for the hairspring. He turned to the nautae who watched. “Give me a knife.”

The stupid act again.

“God damn you all! He rummaged through the pile again, and found one of Cookie’s boning knives. Someone had apparently been trying to cut wire rope with it. Where in hell was the stone? Twenty minutes passed before he found it and another twenty in honing. He stripped, tied the knife to his wrist, and donned the faceplate.

The water was warmer than usual, and oddly murky.

Tiny bubbles rose from the bottom. He remembered Dr. Krom and his test tubes. Was the old man still alive?

He pawed his way downward and was shocked to feel barnacles. When had the Alice been hauled out last?

The water was ungodly murky. He could scarcely see his hand before the faceplate. He swam under her keel and swore, blurping a gob of water inside his faceplate as another barnacle snagged his back. He came up on the far side and breathed. No wonder he couldn’t see; the Alice was in the quinquereme’s shadow.

Resignedly, he climbed back aboard and crossed the korax again. The Roman captain was busy with lunch.

“Don’t bother me,” he said. “Tell him your troubles.”

Joe explained to the quartermaster.

“So what do you want me to do?” the quartermaster asked.

“Put a gang ashore. Warp her around until I can see.”

The quartermaster considered a moment. “All right,” he grunted. “Go back aboard so I can raise the korax.”

By the time the Alice was relocated, nearly two hours had passed. Joe dived sporadically, working by feel.

The tightly wound nylon was not as hard to cut as he had expected.

And now the Alice, at least, was out from under the korax’s iron spike. All afternoon he racked his brains but no plan came to him. The pistol was not among the items returned. He wondered if they recognized it as a weapon or if it had gone overboard. The rifle was gone too. They’d had experience with the weird and wonderful weapons of barbarians. A rifle was not so far removed from a blowgun that Romans could not deduce its purpose.

The water was muddier know. Bubbles rose until each wavelet was capped with dirty brown foam like the dregs of a Bockfest. Dr. Krom must’ve seen something of this in his test tubes. Joe wondered if it were a periodic phenomenon or whether something unusual was abuilding.

From time to time he brought up strands of nylon, mainly to satisfy Roman curiosity and convince them he was not whittling holes to scuttle the yawl. The nautae remained on deck and didn’t help him aboard when he came up for a rest.

Line had whipped round and round the shaft until the ball was bigger than the screw. The outer layers had been easy, for each blind stab had severed a strand.

Closer to the shaft each miss dulled the knife. He tried once to get the nautae to sharpen another knife so he could alternate but they were putting on their stupid act again. Diving in the tepid water had done away with much of his stiffness from rowing but he’d only had that one small loaf to eat in the last twenty-four hours. When would he be fed again? It was late afternoon before he hacked the final twist and felt the wheel turn free. He surfaced and crawled wearily back into his clothes.

The five nautae watched him silently. Their dirty black headcloths and bloused up, topheavy himations gave them an odd, birdlike look, like hooded vultures.

He went below, mentally running over the engine starting procedure again.

The sun had gone down but they would have moonlight in half an hour. He checked the valves again to make sure the nautae’s curiosity hadn’t sabotaged his arrangements. The engine was ready. Or was it? He ran through everything once more and finally, with a silent invocation to Mahan’s ghost, threw the switch.

The engine spun vigorously until he whanged over the lifter bar, then groaned nearly to a standstill. He was reaching for the ether when it suddenly roared into fullthroated life.

A glance at the ammeter showed how hungry the batteries were. He wondered about Rose’s wind charger, then remembered there had been practically no wind inside the sheltered harbor. After a couple of tentative surges the diesel settled down to its steady racketing pound. Joe went on deck and threw in the forward clutch.

The Alice tugged at her stern line. He reversed and was satisfied that no line remained tangled. He pulled the lifter bar. In the sudden silence a sound came clearly from the quinquereme. A girl was screaming.

The hooded vultures regarded him speculatively in gathering darkness. Joe found a length of nylon line.

He made it fast to the mainmast and tailed the strand aft, along one rail, tying it down with marline stops every yard or so. He tailed the line across the stern, up the opposite rail, up and around the mizzenmast on the same side, then back to the rail and almost to the mainmast again. There he tied an overhand knot before running the line aft through the mooring eye.

A light bobbed on the harbor’s surface. It neared and Joe recognized the galley’s longboat. Still in armor, the Roman captain stumped aboard the Alice. He was backed up by a pair of particularly ugly marines. One of the oarsmen handed up a basket and lit another torch before handing up the one in the longboat’s bow.

“Ready?” the captain asked.

“I can make the ship move. Where were you going yesterday?”

“Piraeus.”

“How far?”

“Five hundred stadia.”

Eight to the mile, Joe thought, and calculated rapidly. To keep the Roman from disbelieving him, he doubled his estimated time. “If we leave right now, I can have you docked tomorrow afternoon.”

The hooded vultures were gobbling bread from the basket. Joe kicked them sprawling and helped himself to three loaves.

“One apiece,” the Roman captain snapped.

“They’ll get their share when they work for it!” Joe snapped back. “Are you ready?”

The Roman decided not to make an issue of it.

“Have them cast off their stern line.” While the Roman shouted orders Joe uncleated the line which tethered the Alice’s bow to the galley and bent it onto his previously strung line.

“Cast off and ready,” the Roman said. “What makes all the noise?”

“Have you seep the oil which flows from the earth and makes burning springs?”

“Yes, near Sinai.”

“The noise of its burning pushes the ship.” Joe threw the switch to demonstrate and the arm diesel started immediately. He backed slowly around the pinnacle, taking care not to foul the stern line. The moon rose over the jagged crater top and he hoped his maneuver would come off properly before it got too light. “Douse the torch,” he said.

“Like hades I will! You must think I trust you.”

“All right,” Joe growled. “But tell those useless sons of bitches to stand back astern and sing out when that line comes taut. I don’t want to tear something out by the roots getting under way.”

The Roman captain condescended the tremendous gap which separated him from a nauta and relayed Joe’s order. The Alice had drifted backward until her stern was within a length of the galley’s bronze ram.