After the Pandemic – Smith at Sea (1390 hits)
Category: NoneLabels: After_the_Pandemic Smith
Rating: 1.94 on 28 reviews (Rate this item) (V)
Submitted by Jack McCallum (View user info) at 2005-04-22 19:40:19 EDT
ATP - Intro http://www.ubersite.com/m/61238
ATP - Related tales
-Corrigan http://www.ubersite.com/m/61296
-Variant C http://www.ubersite.com/m/61350
ATP - Smith tales
-Archangels 1 http://www.ubersite.com/m/61513
-Archangels 2 http://www.ubersite.com/m/61755
-Archangels 3 http://www.ubersite.com/m/61985
-Archangels 4 http://www.ubersite.com/m/62289
-Archangels 5 http://www.ubersite.com/m/62570
-Smith in D.C. http://www.ubersite.com/m/64167
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After the Pandemic - Smith at Sea
The sea was calm now, the rising sun ahead and just a bit to the right.
The ship was heading northeast.
A gust filled the sails. Canvas rippled and ropes creaked.
Without the stars Smith was lost, and for the last four days and nights he had been in a bitter mood as one squall after another moved over the Coney.
Without solid ground underfoot, Smith was lost. His palms and the pads of his fingers were white, saturated with moisture. He'd been out in the open for the last nine hours, following orders, staggering across the deck of the ship to pull whatever lines had to be pulled and helping what remained of the crew wherever he could.
Without weapons, Smith was lost. One day into the voyage the ship had nearly been capsized by a mountainous surge of water. The cargo crate strapped to the deck and containing all of Smith's possessions had gone overboard. Smith was glad he had paid for his passage before they set out.
Captain Feist stepped out of the wheelhouse with its curious curved roof and onto the deck of the Coney. He offered Smith a cup of chicana, the horrific mix of American-grown chicory and smuggled guarana powder concentrate that many immunes drank these days.
The leeches had retained their taste for coffee and they had a stranglehold on the market for coffee beans. You could smuggle coffee beans into the country, but you got more caffeine for your cash in the powdered guarana. The irony was that caffeine, like nicotine, did all sorts of nasty things to the insides of a leech... so they drank decaffeinated coffee, and all the caffeine extracted from the beans they imported was just washed down the drain.
Chicana tasted like unwashed ass (the mellowness of the chicory and the fruitiness of the guarana did not go well together) but it sure did give you a kick in the pants when your energy was ebbing.
Smith sipped the steaming brew, made the face he could not help but make, and was slapped on the back by the Captain.
"Good lad," the old man said, squinting into the gray haze where sea met sky. He took a fine brass telescope from a sheath on his belt and walked to the bow of the ship.
It had taken Smith all winter to move up the Jersey coast and find the survivor compound the Coney called home. There were half a dozen Nor'east clippers running passengers and trade goods between the Britains and the Americas, and Smith wanted to board one of those ships.
The journey had not been easy. He was missing a finger on his left hand and his face bore a scar from a badly-mended tear in his flesh. A leech had nearly torn his face off in the ruins of Atlantic City, and now he had a slender, puckered line running from jaw to hairline. Where the scar met his left temple the hair now grew snow white.
When he had finally convinced Feist to take him aboard for the voyage to the Britons, Smith was sure his troubles were over, at least for a while. He had paid for his passage. He could relax for six weeks. Five, if the weather was favorable.
It was not.
They had been struggling against the sea for over a month now.
Free marketeer ships like the Coney always launched in bad weather. It kept the leeches from following or tracking them. The downside was that many of the ships never made it across the Atlantic, or were thrown far off course.
Marketeers accepted only one payment for passage. Gold.
Leeches didn't value gold the way survivors did, but in their never-ending rebuilding they used every ounce of gold they could find in electronics, satellites (they had yet to successfully get one into orbit - Incisors I and II were sabotaged on the launch pad) and eyedrones. Eyedrones came in all sizes. Some were as small as houseflies. Some were as big as your head. They were basically floating clusters of electronic eyes. Filters and scanners could pick an immune out of a crowd of holesuckers. They filled the skies over leech republics, and they were starting to appear in areas less civilized (and more appealing to immunes). There were places in the American west where a true test of your shooting skills was taking eyedrones out of the sky.
Eyedrones were nowhere near as effective as satellites, which is why the resistance was working so hard to stop new birds from going up. Once the leeches started locating immune settlements and tracking survivor movements, it would all be over. Eyedrones were a pain in the neck, but they didn't do well in bad weather. Which is why marketers tried to set out to sea in the middle of a storm.
Thanks to the leeches, gold was more rare than it had ever been before.
Within minutes of setting foot on the Coney, Smith puked on himself. There was no shame in it. Aside from skimmers, Smith had never been in a boat before, and he was unaccustomed to the three-way motion of a ship on the sea. It was raining hard even then, and his clothes were quickly rinsed clean as he helped to tie down his cargo box.
That first morning Smith had been huddled in the passenger cabin, a single big hold with sling bunks and folding tables and heavy buckets on locking wheels instead of a squathouse.
A fat man named Johannesson (who must have been rich simply because he was able to feed himself enough to grow fat) had flipped open the lid and sat on one of the buckets, unleashing a thunder as loud as that outside the ship, forgetting to lock down the wheels. The ship had pitched and Johannesson had ridden the bucket across the floor like a kid on a gocart, braining himself on a low beam. Normally the sight of the man lying unconscious with his pants around his ankles as his asshole drooled and sputtered and an ugly swelling grew on the side of his head would have had Smith rolling with laughter, but the only thing rolling had been his stomach.
Smith hadn't been able to eat any of the gunty stew the passengers were offered, and he would not dare to watch the white froth dancing outside portholes only a few feet above the waterline, until Captain Feist had appeared with a pair of crewmen. While the crewmen removed Johannesson to sickbay, the Captain had ordered Smith to slurp down a bowl of slurry, a flavorful chicken and jaybee broth. The rich broth settled Smith's stomach, and the juana butter settled his nerves. Smith was helped into a sling bunk with a stupid smile on his face.
While he slept, his inner ear grew accustomed this new environment. When he awoke, Smith would be steadier on his feet.
Six hours after Smith settled into his swinging bunk, the ship nearly capsized.
Half of the crew was lost in an instant, swept off the deck. Passenger cargo was lost. Valuable trade goods, and the eight passengers, were shaken, but still above water, and in the end that was all that mattered.
The Captain decided to push on. He had already been paid, and crew was easily replaced. Able seamen could be found on both sides of the Atlantic, all of them awaiting a ship on which to serve. Some of the passengers called the Captain a monster. Smith admired the man's resolve and practicality.
The first storm had been the worst. Since then, they had passed through squalls and fogbanks and storms of lesser intensity that slowed their progress.
The passengers had to fill in for the missing crew. Over the weeks they developed a bit of muscle, and a decent sense of direction. Smith had a hard time keeping all the lines straight and didn't think he'd ever know which was which (he simply followed shouted directions and angry gestures and pulled or released as ordered), was terrible at working out their position on the Captain's sea charts, and he gave up on the sextant, but as long as the stars were overhead he could find his way well enough.
They played a lot of cards and chess, and dice games like cornerbounce and fuck yo mamma.
There were no women aboard. Smith was propositioned twice. Since the requests were voiced in a civilized manner, Smith politely declined.
There were fights. Johannesson and young crewman Shiang were constantly at odds. When Johannesson disappeared one calm night while he was sharing a watch with Shiang, all assumed the young man had done in the fat man, especially since they had not heard a scream or a splash, and everyone agreed that a man as big as Johannesson would make a loud and sizable splash into a quiet sea.
Days and weeks passed. Smith wondered if he would ever be dry again.
And now, as the Captain stepped past Smith and raised his telescope, everyone on deck and below hoped they would hear the announcement that land was not far.
The breeze at their backs was growing stronger.
"Well, well..." the Captain said. He gestured to crewman Locascio.
Cornwall, Smith thought. Tell us we have reached Cornwall.
Smith had only vague notions of Cornwall from what he had learned onboard. It was in the southwest corner of the Britons. It was solid land. Beyond that, Smith was content to wait and see what lay ahead.
"Your eyes are sharper than mine," Feist muttered to the crewman. "Tell me what you see."
Locascio looked, fiddled with the brass wheels that moved the lenses within the telescope, and said, "Thank you, God!"
Those would be Locascio's last words.
A dolphin shimmering like polished pewter shot up out of the sea, cleared the starboard railing, knocked the Captain aside and clamped its jaws shut on the crewman's throat. Weight and momentum made hunter and prey slide across the deck.
"Seawatch!" the Captain roared, as the dolphin sucked the lifeblood out of Locascio and began dragging the limp crewman as it wriggled back to the gunwale.
A crewman in the rigging scrambled for the crow's nest and shouted, "Four more, sir! Just surfacing now... they must have been running low!"
Smith reached the Captain's side, made sure the old man was uninjured, and then got a good look at the dolphin.
This was nothing like the ocean-dwelling friend of man Smith had seen in old picture books and slicks like National Geographic. This was no smiling cetacean. Dolphins were susceptible to the bug. These creatures were leeches.
The dolphin's teeth weren't very long, but they all appeared to be incisors. The eyes were bloodshot and full of knowledge. The sleek body was a deception. Look closely and you could see that the creature was all muscle. Locascio was now as white as paper, jerking in the dolphin's bloody jaws like a mouse in the mouth of a cat. Its tail struck the gunwhale and the sleek body began convulsing, jerking.
It was going to flip over the side and take Locascio with it.
Smith took a step and then stopped, feeling the Captain's strong hand close on his arm.
"My crewman is already gone," the old man said. "Help me up. These clever beasts always hunt in packs. There are more of them in the water... and let's hope they are alone."
The Captain headed for the wheelhouse and yelled, "Lances!"
Of the five remaining crewmembers, four appeared on deck and went to the railings, releasing the buckles on long pikes while the fifth remained in the crow's nest.
Smith felt unmanned as he watched the dolphin's muscles surge, the long body flipping into the air and over the side. He made brief eye contact with Locascio and was filled with horror. He stepped close to the railing and looked over the side.
"Portside!" the crewman on seawatch cried. "Two surfacing!"
Smith saw the first dolphin carry Locascio into the blue-gray depths. Locascio's lips were moving as he faded from sight. Smith unbuckled a lance as crewmen stood to either side of him.
"When they jump," he asked, "We stick them?"
"They likely won't jump," a burly crewman replied. "Smart fuckers, they. If there were more of them they might risk it, but this is a small pod. Just hold your lance over the side. That will ward them off."
Smith did as he was told.
The dolphins moved quickly through the sea, circling the ship, looking for an opening. One of them looked directly at Smith, and his lance. There was awareness there.
The pod regrouped portside, and all of the crewmen took positions along the rail, lances in plain sight.
After a few minutes Smith asked, "What are they doing?"
The dolphins were simply watching the men above, and keeping pace with the ship.
Always off portside, close to the bow.
"Scared, they are," one crewman said.
Smith wondered. His back was up, his heart quickening. Something was coming.
The Captain was in the wheelhouse, keeping the ship on course, but everyone heard him call out from under the curved roof.
"Seawatch! What hails starboard?"
Smith looked up as the seawatch shifted his body and looked in the other direction.
The seawatch was suddenly entwining his arms in the rigging, drawing breath to cry a warning.
Smith hooked one leg and one arm around the railing as a shout filled the air.
"Humpbaaacks!"
There was a boom like the blast of a cannon and the ship moved underfoot.
The four crewmen around Smith seemed to float into the air.
Two humpback whales had hit the starboard side of the ship in tandem, coming up out of the water at an angle so they would remain hidden from sight as long as possible. They hit hard enough to raise the ship on one side and buckle the wooden hull.
As the ship rose to starboard and fell to port, the deck dropped out from under the feet of the crewmen. Only Smith was secure.
Smith reached out and grabbed for the burly crewman, getting a handful of denim shirt and slamming the man into the railing.
Two crewmembers were snapped out of the air like bits of bread tossed to seagulls. The moment the humpbacks had struck the Coney, the dolphins had surged out of the sea and into the air.
One dolphin missed its mark. It and the man it had targeted, crewman Shiang, dropped into the sea.
One crewman jabbed his lance into a dolphin's mouth and grabbed for the railing. The dolphin fell away. The crewman laughed, and then screamed as another dolphin plucked him from the railing.
The ship settled back onto its keel, and Smith soon realized only he and the burly crewman were left.
There was a moment of quiet.
"We called him Junk," the burly crewman said.
Smith helped him over the railing and he collapsed on the deck.
"The one who lanced the dolphin. We called him Juggling Junk. He had some sort of fungus on his seedsack. He was always pawing at his privates. Good sailor, though."
"I'm Smith."
"Gallant. Thanks for pulling me back."
The seawatch called out again. "Portside, waterline!"
The humpbacks struck again, and this time Smith heard the squeal and snap of timbers breaking.
"Coming around," the seawatch called.
The Captain appeared on deck struggling with a weapon that looked like a shoulder-mounted cannon.
"Steady me, boys. This little gun has quite a kick."
They all stood at the port railing and watched the two fifty-foot humpbacks surge toward the Coney like twin torpedoes. At the waterline they could see damage to the hull and hear one of the passengers screaming. Water was slowly filling the passenger cabin.
"We're not sunk yet," Feist said, "But if we take another hit like the last we're done for."
Gallant quickly showed Smith how they should lock arms behind the Captain's back to brace him. They tensed when he whispered to them.
"Firing."
Feist's feet left the deck as the gun on his shoulder discharged.
A bloody plume arose from the head of one of the whales. The other veered away from the ship.
"Now that's what I call a skullfucking," the Captain said.
The dolphins began feasting on the dead humpback and the gore raining onto the sea, and the steady wind carried the Coney away from them.
There was a series of muffled creaks and thuds from below, and the ship began to sink.
Feist's shoulders slumped. "The damage was worse than I thought. That was the sound of timbers giving way." He shook his head and said, "Stove by a whale."
I can't swim, Smith thought.
"The dory?" Gallant asked.
The Captain nodded.
Gallant trotted to the wheelhouse and was soon joined by the crewman who had been on seawatch. Together they released a series of clamps and removed the roof of the wheelhouse, which wasn't a roof at all, but a sturdy wooden boat large enough for a half-dozen men.
Smith went to the nearest hatch and slid down a ladder. He walked down a dim corridor and opened the door to the passenger cabin.
The cabin was awash, and most of the passengers were dead, battered by the impacts of the whales. Massive wooden beams had exploded like bombs.
Smith led two survivors up onto the deck, alarmed to realize he was now walking up an incline as he walked down the corridor.
The bow of the ship was dipping into the water when Smith stepped onto the deck. The stern was six feet above the water. The Coney was sinking fast.
Smith was about to step up and offer the crewmen a hand with the dory when the deck shuddered and one of the passengers slid by him, moving down the deck as if it were a child's slide.
The Captain gaped, and then prepared to fire his big gun.
The remaining humpback had thrust itself onto the sinking bow, and was waiting there, mouth open wide. It too was a leech, no longer content with a diet of krill.
Feist was struggling with the weapon, trying to dislodge a jammed shell.
The passenger fell into the whale's mouth. Now useless baleen hung in the whale's gaping maw like torn curtains, behind which were teeth. The teeth were not very sharp, but they were big. The teeth closed down on the passenger and his body burst like a ripe fruit. Blood and body vanished in a single swallow.
Two dolphins slammed onto the deck. One of them sank its teeth into the abdomen of the remaining passenger, who shrieked as he was gutted. The other whipsawed after the crewmen tending to the dory, and in their panic they leaped overboard. The dolphin followed and slipped over the side.
Feist was enraged. "Fish-flinging Christ!"
He set the gun on the deck and took a knife from a boot sheath. He began prying at the big revolving cylinder that contained the shells.
There was a series of sounds. A whump and a hiss and more whumps. Blue smoke that smelled of blast powder filled the air, and when the wind carried it away the Captain was in two pieces.
The weight of the whale was dragging the ship down. Water washed across the deck and slammed Feist's torso into Smith's shins.
The Captain was still alive. Where his hips should have been was a cauterized mess. He reached up and grabbed Smith's hand.
"The dory," he whispered. "If you can take it, keep the sun facing your right shoulder until noon and try to hold that course."
The Coney sank deeper, and seawater chilled Smith's genitals.
"We are only a day, maybe less, from land." Feist was bobbing like a cork. He let go of Smith and began to float away. "The Coney was a good ship... kick, like a rabbit..."
Smith looked over his shoulder. The dory was drifting away. He swam for it, and pulled himself inside.
The whale was closer now. With a twitch of its tail it moved across the ship and closed in on Smith.
Smith jammed the oars into the locks and began rowing.
He may have been seconds away from being eaten, but Smith was not going to give up.
The Coney sank out of sight. The dolphins suddenly scattered, but the humpback was still coming for Smith.
A thrashing in the water to either side of the whale caught Smith's attention.
Blood and motion in the water attracted sharks. There had been a lot of blood and motion in these waters. There were now a lot of sharks.
Smith did not know the names of the species. There were little ones taking nips out of the whale's tale, and big ones with gray tops and white bottoms eating the whale alive.
The whale may have become a bloodthirsty leech, but sharks had been playing that particular game for millions of years, and the big mammal didn't stand a chance.
Smith rowed.
When he took a break to catch his breath, he noticed some sort of mounting in the center of the boat by his feet. There was a small circular opening in the mounting. Smith pushed aside a fold of canvas and some loose netting, and found three metal tubes with threaded ends.
An hour later Smith had erected the dory's simple mast and sail, and the wind had him.
Darkness fell. Smith knew northeast from the stars.
Smith was dozing in the early morning light when he reached land.
He woke up when the boat ruptured against black rocks. He splashed and fought his way past the rocks underfoot, struggling against the tide, until he was standing on a rocky beach.
Smith walked up the beach to a hill. Once on top of the hill Smith looked back. The dory was already gone. There was no sign that anyone had passed this way.
There was a village not far away. Empty buildings. The ruins of a church.
Smith uncovered some signs. The church was St. Sennens. Down the road were the burned remains on the First and Last Inn. The inn was nothing but ash and blackened timbers, but in what used to be the kitchen Smith found tin cans. He took them back to the church.
The cans were unmarked. He smashed them open with stones, one at a time. Most were full of rot. One had edible corn, and one held peaches. Smith ate, and then slept under a broken crucifix.
In the morning he set out. He passed a sign. Lands End, Cornwall. His destination, Edinburgh, was almost all the way across this great island.
He had a very long way to go, empty-handed and alone.
Smith started walking.
User Reviews
Submitted by Fey (user info) at 2008-06-29 15:11:51 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
Smith couldn't swim yet he swam for the dory? Smith is a capable, competent man, a force to be reckoned with yet he can't adapt to sailing?
Submitted by zakalwe (user info) at 2005-09-25 14:57:27 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
don't remember reading this the first time round.
what happened to the burly sailor - Gallant - and the other sailor who had been on seawatch? they were alive and well with the Captain when Smith went to check on the passengers, and then they got no further mention. curious.
Submitted by Jack_McCallum (user info) at 2005-08-03 12:27:04 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
Supreme Overlord damage control...
Submitted by Supreme_Overlord (user info) at 2005-07-21 22:32:08 EDT (#)
Ranking: -2
shite
Submitted by notyou (user info) at 2005-07-13 12:24:01 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
No Comment
Submitted by nrduncan (user info) at 2005-05-12 17:58:08 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
I have just got done reading these all and I have enjoyed them all. Great work everyone, +2's for all!
Submitted by JonnyX (user info) at 2005-05-05 19:25:39 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
xcellent, as usual
Submitted by hcp28 (user info) at 2005-04-27 16:56:17 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
This is awesome, but I don't see Smith as a sword kind of guy. Also, I can't believe he would lose his revolvers like that, that's just uncalled for. Oh well, it is a great story maybe he can meet up with some resistance fighters and pick up a new six shooter.
Submitted by Phinch (user info) at 2005-04-25 16:32:23 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
keep smith alive.
Submitted by Yes (user info) at 2005-04-25 16:09:47 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
holy shit...
Submitted by Jack_McCallum (user info) at 2005-04-25 11:57:22 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
Submitted by mbstateside (user info) at 2005-04-25 11:19:34 (#)
Ranking: 2
Just remember guns would obviously be a lot harder to find in England and the largest preditor we have is the Badger.
--
That made me laugh.
Actually, it's gonna be a little more old-fashioned than that. The UK got hit hard. HARD. Their tech is in the toilet and life is rough.
Smith is gonna take up a sword... storm a castle, and rescue a damsel in distress.
I keep thinking I'm gonna kill him off and he keeps surviving. Weird.
(In the rough 1st draft of Archangels, Smith bit the big one.)
Submitted by mbstateside (user info) at 2005-04-25 11:19:34 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
More good stuff! I liked the change of setting too and can't wait to find out what happens to Smith on his way up North.
Just remember guns would obviously be a lot harder to find in England and the largest preditor we have is the Badger.
I really must get round to having a go at one of these myself.
Submitted by shitfuck (user info) at 2005-04-25 01:59:06 EDT (#)
Ranking: 1
Jack, I was just commenting on your caged affection for fat gay conservative men.
Submitted by spedmonkey (user info) at 2005-04-23 21:39:04 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
It seemed a lot less polished than many of the previous ones, which I guess can be explained by the fact that you did, indeed, write it at work. Still a damn good story, though.
Submitted by tlozoot (user info) at 2005-04-23 21:17:13 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
This kicks ass, of course, but I think there are some inconsistencies, maybe I just didn't understand though. For example, Smith says he can't swim but then he swims to the lifeboat? I dunno.
Submitted by munkeypants (user info) at 2005-04-23 17:59:43 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
http://www.ubersite.com/m/64690
Submitted by munkeypants (user info) at 2005-04-23 17:48:35 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
save the whales indeed!
excellent!
Submitted by Jack_McCallum (user info) at 2005-04-23 17:03:14 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
Submitted by shitfuck (user info) at 2005-04-23 15:09:50 (#)
Ranking: 1
I bet you'd give your left nut to stroke off domenad into your mouth.
--
??????!??????!!!????!???????!
Submitted by shitfuck (user info) at 2005-04-23 15:09:50 EDT (#)
Ranking: 1
I bet you'd give your left nut to stroke off domenad into your mouth.
Submitted by thecaes (user info) at 2005-04-23 13:43:52 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
Tim, if w_t_a_s_y_r_m or whoever was here, I'm sure he would say this about your roomate:
"GO ON SON, DICK HIS FACE!"
So, take that for what its worth.
Submitted by MyNameIsTim (user info) at 2005-04-23 02:55:32 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
you continue to outdo yourself. very entertaining.
i love how the whole dolphin/shark thing is the opposite of everything that we learned on flipper.
i want to smash the face ofm y stupid jerkoff roommate who smokes in the house and makes the entire place smell like sm oke.
Submitted by thecaes (user info) at 2005-04-23 00:22:00 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
Wow, you really went on a seaman-killing tear. You were like a concentrated x-ray beam to the crotch, man.
Good story, interesting change of setting.
Submitted by garcon_fou (user info) at 2005-04-22 23:15:29 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
cool, glad to see another episode
Submitted by Jack_McCallum (user info) at 2005-04-22 22:30:16 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
60+ hits and 3 reviews. Most Hated!
Submitted by zakalwe (user info) at 2005-04-22 19:58:14 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
I should have gotten into these at the start.
Submitted by jack11058 (user info) at 2005-04-22 19:55:17 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
I haven't read all of these, but I like the ones i have read.
Submitted by Zoidberg (user info) at 2005-04-22 19:53:35 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
dunno, killer dolphins?
I like the rebirth of the age of sail though
Submitted by Jack_McCallum (user info) at 2005-04-22 19:41:31 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
Blew through most of this at work today. Probably dropped the ball on the spell-checking. Anyhow, enjoy it, and have a good weekend, everyone!