The Ship That Sailed The Time Stream Part 36

"I had no thought of ever seeing home again. Perhaps they still live."

"The young man?"

"Man? Ah; I had no novio. Once a boy stood below my window. My father investigated. His family was not suitable so the boy was told not to walk down our street again."

Cook produced rye bread and dried goat stew. All hands crowded in the galley. "So now what?" Dr. Krom asked.

Joe explained his theorizing about thousand-year jumps.

"What proof have you?" the old man asked.

"As much that I'm right as you have that I'm wrong,"

Joe said, and silently d.a.m.ned the quibbling old man.

Holy Neptune but he was tired! Would he ever get enough sleep?

Abe Rose choked down a lump of stringy meat and cleared his throat. Behind the black whiskers his mouth was slightly lopsided, as though still clamped around an imaginary cigar. "Why not jump again and see if we can pick up something oil the radio?" he asked.

Joe was tempted to turn in but remembered what a night's sleep had cost him the last time. "Square away the galley and set up the still," he said.

He went on deck again. The ground swell was un-

changed and there was still no land. The sun was slight- ly lower and farther left so he guessed it was midafter- noon. Time jumps were getting his stomach as con- fused as jet travel.

Raquel appeared and they faced each other across the lashed wheel. "You are tired," she said.

Joe agreed. "That's the princ.i.p.al recompense for be- ing captain."

"You did not wish to take the other girls," she pur- sued.

"No," Joe agreed.

"Why did you take me?"

"Why uh . .. Well, you saved my life."

"Is that all?"

"What can you expect?" Joe asked. "Admittedly, love at first sight is a great time saver, but I'd known you all of five minutes when you came aboard." He paused.

This wasn't coming out the way he meant it to. How could he explain this gradual growth of confidence- his increasing ease in her simple, often pointless con- versation? "After a time . . ." be began. What he wanted to say was how nice it was to be around someone who was quiet when he needed silence-someone who made no demands nor expected him to solve all problems.

He glanced up and she was gone. "d.a.m.n it!" If she had just stuck around another moment he felt sure he would have found a way to say it. Oh well, some day he'd have more time.

The horizon was clear, the sea calm. At last they would be making a jump under less than frantic cir- c.u.mstances. This time Joe would be below, watching every dial and meter. Sooner or later he would control this phenomenon.

Dishes were cleared away. Inside its makes.h.i.+ft bell jar the still sat amids.h.i.+ps of the galley table. The Alice's crew and Ma Trimble crowded into an attentive circle.

The blondes regarded the prospect of another jump

with monumental apathy. They scattered about the yawl, fixing each others' hair, mending clothing. Up by the chain locker one blonde unraveled a tattered jersey. Joe wondered what she intended with the yarn.

Not socks for sure; the Mediterraneans hadn't invented them yet.

"All set," Gorson reported. He humped over the vac- uum pump. Cookie regarded the bell jar and slapped a dough patch over one point where the seal threatened to rupture.

Joe felt his stomach tighten. Would they materialize in the middle of a desert? Or a hundred feet above or below it? "You may fire when ready," he said.

Freedy flipped the switch. Nothing happened. They waited for tubes to warm up. Still nothing. Freedy flipped the gang switch up to middle range and began cranking up the pot. Abruptly, vision s.h.i.+mmered for a microsecond and Joe felt that now-familiar twisting, as if gravity had gone off for half a heartbeat.

The blondes glanced up from their hair fixing. The girl unraveling a sweater up by the chain locker had disappeared. Up on deck, Joe guessed. He went up through the after scuttle and for a moment wondered if he hadn't imagined the twisting sensation. The Alice still sailed herself under jib and jigger, beating gently toward the sun in a calm sea. Then he noticed: the ground swell was gone-they were in deep water!

Judging from the cloudless sky, they must be well off- sh.o.r.e. He glanced at the binnacle and released a long- held breath. They were in the northern hemisphere.

It was the emptiest ocean Joe had ever seen. The sky had a strange, leaden color and the sun shone like molten bra.s.s. Gently rippling water stretched in all directions toward a horizon which curved upward until the Alice seemed alone at the bottom of an immensely empty blue bowl. Which ocean, Joe wondered? There

was not a bird in the sky, nor a weed in the water. He took a final glance around and went below.

Gorson and Cookie had dismantled the bell jar so it was safe to turn on the other gear. "Three hundred and ten fathoms," Freedy reported. "No scattering layer."

"Tried the radio?" Joe asked.

Freedy's little mouth flew open. "Hadn't thought of it," he confessed, and flipped switches. Joe waited not very hopefully for the set to warm up. He knew there were immense stretches of practically sterile ocean, yet something about that absolute emptiness worried him.

Maybe he'd read too many stories of atomic doom, but if he had overshot and landed ahead of his own time . . .

He wished there were a geiger counter aboard the Alice.

Gorson nudged him and pointed at the barometer.

Abruptly, Joe understood the emptiness and that weird yellow light, the absence of birds. How many hours did he have? He tried to remember what he knew about hurricanes and typhoons. According to the barometer this was going to be the granddaddy of them all.

The radio warmed up and Freedy started at the shortest band. Aside from clicks and pops of atmos- pheric electricity, nothing came in. Then Howard Mc- Grath was pulling Joe's sleeve.

Still wearing nothing but a pair of borrowed skivvy drawers, he hunched his shoulders and humped his thin body unhappily. "Mr. Rate," he whispered, and glanced about embarra.s.sedly. "Mr. Rate," he whispered again, more urgently now, "it hurts when I pee."

Joe clapped a hand to his forehead. Closing eyes tightly, he searched for an adequate phrase. None came.

He lowered his hand and his elbow caught Ma Trimble in the ribs. "Talk yourself out of this one," he growled.

"My girls were clean when they came aboard," Ma Trimble snapped. "You think I don't know the signs?"

Joe turned to Howie. The G.o.d shouter swallowed

and looked miserable. "I don't know, sir," he said. "May- be it was Chloe, or the old lady. You see, I-"

"Spare me the details," Joe groaned. "You must've really spread that old gospel around." He turned to Ma Trimble, who still huffed like a catscratched bulldog.

"You've had the experience," he said. "You can hold shortarm inspection."

Freedy still gaped at the unhappy G.o.d shouter.

"Well?" Joe asked.

The minuscule mouthed radioman went back to twirl- ing k.n.o.bs. Abruptly he pursed his lips and stopped.

After a moment the fuzzy, faintly audible noise broke into dots and dashes. Joe could not recognize a single letter. Freedy was also puzzled. Gorson abruptly took charge. "Get a fix!" he snapped, and reached for the direction finder.

Joe rushed into his cubicle, then returned. He couldn't lay out a line of position unless he knew where the signal came from. "Can you read it?" he asked.

Gorson gave him a wry look. "No, but I know what it is."