V
The name of the place was Bayonne.
Vern said: "One of them's _got_ to have oil, Sam. It _has_ to."
"Sure," I said.
"There's no question about it. Look, this is where the tankers came todischarge oil. They'd come in here, pump the oil into the refinerytanks and--"
"Vern," I said. "Let's look, shall we?"
He shrugged, and we hopped off the little outboard motorboat onto alanding stage. The tankers towered over us, rusty and screeching asthe waves rubbed them against each other.
There were fifty of them there at least, and we poked around them forhours. The hatches were rusted shut and unmanageable, but you couldtell a lot by sniffing. Gasoline odor was out; smell of seaweed anddead fish was out; but the heavy, rank smell of fuel oil, that waswhat we were sniffing for. Crews had been aboard these ships when themissiles came, and crews were still aboard.
Beyond the two-part superstructures of the tankers, the skyline of NewYork was visible. I looked up, sweating, and saw the Empire StateBuilding and imagined Amy up there, looking out toward us.
She knew we were here. It was her idea. She had scrounged up a navalengineer, or what she called a naval engineer--he had once been astoker on a ferryboat. But he claimed he knew what he was talkingabout when he said the only thing the _Queen_ needed to make 'er gowas oil. And so we left him aboard to tinker and polish, with a coupleof helpers Amy detached from the police force, and we tackled the oilproblem.
Which meant Bayonne. Which was where we were.
It had to be a tanker with at least a fair portion of its cargointact, because the _Queen_ was a thirsty creature, drinking fuel notby the shot or gallon but by the ton.
"Saaam! Sam _Dunlap_!"
I looked up, startled. Five ships away, across the U of the mooring,Vern Engdahl was bellowing at me through cupped hands.
"I found it!" he shouted. "Oil, lots of oil! Come look!"
I clasped my hands over my head and looked around. It was a long wayaround to the tanker Vern was on, hopping from deck to deck, detouringaround open stretches.
I shouted: "I'll get the boat!"
He waved and climbed up on the rail of the ship, his feet danglingover, looking supremely happy and pleased with himself. He lit acigarette, leaned back against the upward sweep of the rail andwaited.
It took me a little time to get back to the boat and a little moretime than that to get the damn motor started. Vern! "Let's not takethat lousy little twelve horse-power, Sam," he'd said reasonably. "Thetwenty-five's more what we need!" And maybe it was, but none of themotors had been started in most of a decade, and the twenty-five wasjust that much harder to start now.
I struggled over it, swearing, for twenty minutes or more.
The tanker by whose side we had tied up began to swing toward me asthe tide changed to outgoing.
* * * * *
For a moment there, I was counting seconds, expecting to have to makea jump for it before the big red steel flank squeezed the littleoutboard flat against the piles.
But I got it started--just about in time. I squeezed out of the trapwith not much more than a yard to spare and threaded my way into openwater.
There was a large, threatening sound, like an enormous slow cough.
I rounded the stern of the last tanker between me and open water, andlooked into the eye of a fire-breathing dragon.
Vern and his cigarettes! The tanker was loose and ablaze, bearing downon me with the slow drift of the ebbing tide. From the hatches on theforward deck, two fountains of fire spurted up and out, like enormousnostrils spouting flame. The hawsers had been burned through, the shipwas adrift, I was in its path--
And so was the frantically splashing figure of Vern Engdahl, tryingdesperately to swim out of the way in the water before it.
What kept it from blowing up in our faces I will never know, unless itwas the pressure in the tanks forcing the flame out; but it didn't.Not just then. Not until I had Engdahl aboard and we were out in themiddle of the Hudson, staring back; and then it went up all right, allat once, like a missile or a volcano; and there had been fifty tankersin that one mooring, but there weren't any any more, or not in shapefor us to use.
I looked at Engdahl.
He said defensively: "Honest, Sam, I thought it was oil. It _smelled_like oil. How was I to know--"
"Shut up," I said.
He shrugged, injured. "But it's all right, Sam. No fooling. There areplenty of other tankers around. Plenty. Down toward the Amboys, maybemoored out in the channel. There must be. We'll find them."
"No," I said. "_You_ will."
And that was all I said, because I am forgiving by nature; but Ithought a great deal more.
Surprisingly, though, he did find a tanker with a full load, the verynext day.
It became a question of getting the tanker to the _Queen_. I left thatpart up to Vern, since he claimed to be able to handle it.
It took him two weeks. First it was finding the tanker, then it waslocating a tug in shape to move, then it was finding someone to pilotthe tug. Then it was waiting for a clear and windless day--because thepilot he found had got all his experience sailing Star boats on LongIsland Sound--and then it was easing the tanker out of Newark Bay,into the channel, down to the pier in the North River--
Oh, it was work and no fooling. I enjoyed it very much, because Ididn't have to do it.
* * * * *
But I had enough to keep me busy at that. I found a man who claimed heused to be a radio engineer. And if he was an engineer, I was AlbertEinstein's mother, but at least he knew which end of a soldering ironwas hot. There was no need for any great skill, since there weren'tgoing to be very many vessels to communicate with.
Things began to move.
The advantage of a ship like the _Queen_, for our purposes, was thatthe thing was pretty well automated to start out with. I mean nevermind what the seafaring unions required in the way of flesh-and-bloodpersonnel. What it came down to was that one man in the bridge orwheelhouse could pretty well make any part of the ship go or not go.
The engine-room telegraph wasn't hooked up to control the engines, no.But the wiring diagram needed only a few little changes to get thesame effect, because where in the original concept a human being wouldtake a look at the repeater down in the engine room, nod wisely, andpush a button that would make the engines stop, start, orwhatever--why, all we had to do was cut out the middleman, so tospeak.
Our genius of the soldering iron replaced flesh and blood with somewiring and, presto, we had centralized engine control.
The steering was even easier. Steering was a matter of electroniccontrol and servomotors to begin with. Windjammers in the old moviesmight have a man lashed to the wheel whose muscle power turned therudder, but, believe me, a big superliner doesn't. The rudders weighas much as any old windjammer ever did from stem to stern; you have tohave motors to turn them; and it was only a matter of getting out theold soldering iron again.
By the time we were through, we had every operational facility of the_Queen_ hooked up to a single panel on the bridge.
Engdahl showed up with the oil tanker just about the time we got thewiring complete. We rigged up a pump and filled the bunkers till theywere topped off full. We guessed, out of hope and ignorance, thatthere was enough in there to take us half a dozen times around theworld at normal cruising speed, and maybe there was. Anyway, it didn'tmatter, for surely we had enough to take us anywhere we wanted to go,and then there would be more.
We crossed our fingers, turned our ex-ferry-stoker loose, pushed abutton--
Smoke came out of the stacks.
The antique screws began to turn over. Astern, a sort of hump of muddywater appeared. The _Queen_ quivered underfoot. The mooring hawserscreaked and sang.
"Turn her off!" screamed Engdahl. "She's headed for Times Square!"
Well, that was an exaggeration, but not much of one; and there wa
sn'tany sense in stirring up the bottom mud. I pushed buttons and thescrews stopped. I pushed another button, and the big engines quietlyshut themselves off, and in a few moments the stacks stopped puffingtheir black smoke.
The ship was alive.
Solemnly Engdahl and I shook hands. We had the thing licked. All, thatis, except for the one small problem of Arthur.
* * * * *
The thing about Arthur was they had put him to work.
It was in the power station, just as Amy had said, and Arthur didn'tlike it. The fact that he didn't like it was a splendid reason forstaying away from there, but I let my kind heart overrule my goodsense and paid him a visit.
It was way over on the East Side, miles and miles from any civilizedarea. I borrowed Amy's MG, and borrowed Amy to go with it, and the twoof us packed a picnic lunch and set out. There were reports of deer onAvenue A, so I brought a rifle, but we never saw one; and if you wantmy opinion, those reports were nothing but wishful thinking. I mean ifpeople couldn't survive, how could deer?
We finally threaded our way through the clogged streets and parked infront of the power station.
"There's supposed to be a guard," Amy said doubtfully.
I looked. I looked pretty carefully, because if there was a guard, Iwanted to see him. The Major's orders were that vital defenseinstallations--such as the power station, the PX and his own barracksbuilding--were to be guarded against trespassers on a shoot-on-sightbasis and I wanted to make sure that the guard knew we were privilegedpersons, with passes signed by the Major's own hand. But we couldn'tfind him. So we walked in through the big door, peered around,listened for the sounds of machinery and walked in that direction.
And then we found him; he was sound asleep. Amy, looking indignant,shook him awake.
"Is that how you guard military property?" she scolded. "Don't youknow the penalty for sleeping at your post?"
The guard said something irritable and unhappy. I got her off his backwith some difficulty, and we located Arthur.
Picture a shiny four-gallon tomato can, with the label stripped off,hanging by wire from the flashing-light panels of an electriccomputer. That was Arthur. The shiny metal cylinder was his prosthetictank; the wires were the leads that served him for fingers, ears andmouth; the glittering panel was the control center for theConsolidated Edison Eastside Power Plant No. 1.
"Hi, Arthur," I said, and a sudden ear-splitting thunderous hiss washis way of telling me that he knew I was there.
I didn't know exactly what it was he was trying to say and I didn'twant to; fortune spares me few painful moments, and I accept withgratitude the ones it does. The Major's boys hadn't bothered to bringArthur's typewriter along--I mean who cares what a generator-governorhad to offer in the way of conversation?--so all he could do was blowoff steam from the distant boilers.
* * * * *
Well, not quite all. Light flashed; a bucket conveyor began crashinglyto dump loads of coal; and an alarm gong began to pound.
"Please, Arthur," I begged. "Shut up a minute and listen, will you?"
More lights. The gong rapped half a dozen times sharply, and stopped.
I said: "Arthur, you've got to trust Vern and me. We have this thingfigured out now. We've got the _Queen Elizabeth_--"
A shattering hiss of steam--meaning delight this time, I thought. Oranyway hoped.
"--and its only a question of time until we can carry out the plan.Vern says to apologize for not looking in on you--" _hiss_--"but he'sbeen busy. And after all, you know it's more important to geteverything ready so you can get out of this place, right?"
"Psst," said Amy.
She nodded briefly past my shoulder. I looked, and there was theguard, looking sleepy and surly and definitely suspicious.
I said heartily: "So as soon as I fix it up with the Major, we'llarrange for something better for you. Meanwhile, Arthur, you're doinga capital job and I want you to know that all of us loyal New Yorkcitizens and public servants deeply appreciate--"
Thundering crashes, bangs, gongs, hisses, and the scream of a steamwhistle he'd found somewhere.
Arthur was mad.
"So long, Arthur," I said, and we got out of there--just barely intime. At the door, we found that Arthur had reversed the coal scoopsand a growing mound of it was pouring into the street where we'd leftthe MG parked. We got the car started just as the heap was beginningto reach the bumpers, and at that the paint would never again be thesame.
Oh, yes, he was mad. I could only hope that in the long run he wouldforgive us, since we were acting for his best interests, after all.
Anyway, I _thought_ we were.
* * * * *
Still, things worked out pretty well--especially between Amy and me.Engdahl had the theory that she had been dodging the Major so longthat _anybody_ looked good to her, which was hardly flattering. Butshe and I were getting along right well.
She said worriedly: "The only thing, Sam, is that, frankly, the Majorhas just about made up his mind that he wants to marry me--"
"He _is_ married!" I yelped.
"Naturally he's married. He's married to--so far--one hundred and ninewomen. He's been hitting off a marriage a month for a good many yearsnow and, to tell you the truth, I think he's got the habit Anyway,he's got his eye on me."
I demanded jealously: "Has he said anything?"
She picked a sheet of onionskin paper out of her bag and handed it tome. It was marked _Top Secret_, and it really was, because it hadn'tgone through his regular office--I knew that because I was his regularoffice. It was only two lines of text and sloppily typed at that:
Lt. Amy Bankhead will report to HQ at 1700 hours 1 July to carry out orders of the Commanding Officer.
The first of July was only a week away. I handed the orders back toher.
"And the orders of the Commanding Officer will be--" I wanted to know.
She nodded. "You guessed it."
I said: "We'll have to work fast."
* * * * *
On the thirtieth of June, we invited the Major to come aboard hispalatial new yacht.
"Ah, thank you," he said gratefully. "A surprise? For my birthday? Ah,you loyal members of my command make up for all that I've lost--all ofit!" He nearly wept.
I said: "Sir, the pleasure is all ours," and backed out of hispresence. What's more, I meant every word.
It was a select party of slightly over a hundred. All of the wiveswere there, barring twenty or thirty who were in disfavor--still, thatleft over eighty. The Major brought half a dozen of his favoriteofficers. His bodyguard and our crew added up to a total of thirtymen.
We were set up to feed a hundred and fifty, and to provide liquor fortwice that many, so it looked like a nice friendly brawl. I mean wehad our radio operator handing out highballs as the guests stepped onboard. The Major was touched and delighted; it was exactly the kind ofparty he liked.
He came up the gangplank with his face one great beaming smile. "Eat!Drink!" he cried. "Ah, and be merry!" He stretched out his hands toAmy, standing by behind the radio op. "For tomorrow we wed," he added,and sentimentally kissed his proposed bride.
I cleared my throat. "How about inspecting the ship, Major?" Iinterrupted.
"Plenty of time for that, my boy," he said. "Plenty of time for that."But he let go of Amy and looked around him. Well, it was worth lookingat. Those Englishmen really knew how to build a luxury liner. God restthem.
The girls began roaming around.
It was a hot day and late afternoon, and the girls began discardingjackets and boleros, and that began to annoy the Major.
"Ah, cover up there!" he ordered one of his wives. "You too there,what's-your-name. Put that blouse back on!"
It gave him something to think about. He was a very jealous man, Amyhad said, and when you stop to think about it, a jealous man with ahundred and nine wives to be jealous of r
eally has a job. Anyway, hewas busy watching his wives and keeping his military cabinet and hisbodyguard busy too, and that made him too busy to notice when I tippedthe high sign to Vern and took off.
VI
In Consolidated Edison's big power plant, the guard was friendly. "Ihear the Major's over on your boat, pal. Big doings. Got a lot of thegirls there, hey?"
He bent, sniggering, to look at my pass.
"That's right, pal," I said, and slugged him.
Arthur screamed at me with a shrill blast of steam as I came in. Butonly once. I wasn't there for conversation. I began ripping apart hiscomfy little home of steel braces and copper wires, and it didn't takemuch more than a minute before I had him free. And that was veryfortunate because, although I had tied up the guard, I hadn't done itvery well, and it was just about the time I had Arthur's steel casetucked under my arm that I heard a yelling and bellowing from down thestairs.
The guard had got free.
"Keep calm, Arthur!" I ordered sharply. "We'll get out of this, don'tyou worry!"
But he wasn't worried, or anyway didn't show it, since he couldn't. Iwas the one who was worried. I was up on the second floor of theplant, in the control center, with only one stairway going down that Iknew about, and that one thoroughly guarded by a man with a grudgeagainst me. Me, I had Arthur, and no weapon, and I hadn't a doubt inthe world that there were other guards around and that my friend wouldhave them after me before long.
Problem. I took a deep breath and swallowed and considered jumping outthe window. But it wasn't far enough to the ground.
Feet pounded up the stairs, more than two of them. With Arthurdragging me down on one side, I hurried, fast as I could, along thesteel galleries that surrounded the biggest boiler. It was a nicechoice of alternatives--if I stayed quiet, they would find me; if Iran, they would hear me, and then find me.
But ahead there was--what? Something. A flight of stairs, it lookedlike, going out and, yes, _up_. Up? But I was already on the secondfloor.
"Hey, you!" somebody bellowed from behind me.
I didn't stop to consider. I ran. It wasn't steps, not exactly; it wasa chain of coal scoops on a long derrick arm, a moving bucketarrangement for unloading fuel from barges. It did go up, though, andmore important it went _out_. The bucket arm was stretched across theclogged roadway below to a loading tower that hung over the water.
If I could get there, I might be able to get down. If I could getdown--yes, I could see it; there were three or four mahogany motorlaunches tied to the foot of the tower.
And nobody around.
I looked over my shoulder, and didn't like what I saw, and scuttled upthat chain of enormous buckets like a roach on a washboard, one handfor me and one hand for Arthur.
* * * * *
Thank heaven, I had a good lead on my pursuers--I needed it. I was onthe bucket chain while they were still almost a city block behind me,along the galleries. I was halfway across the roadway, afraid to lookdown, before they reached the butt end of the chain.
Clash-clatter. _Clank!_ The bucket under me jerked and clattered andnearly threw me into the street. One of those jokers had turned on theconveyor! It was a good trick, all right, but not quite in time. Imade a flying jump and I was on the tower.
I didn't stop to thumb my nose at them, but I thought of it.
I was down those steel steps, breathing like a spouting whale, in aminute flat, and jumping out across the concrete, coal-smeared yardtoward the moored launches. Quickly enough, I guess, but with nothingat all to spare, because although I hadn't seen anyone there, therewas a guard.
He popped out of a doorway, blinking foolishly; and overhead theguards at the conveyor belt were screaming at him. It took him asecond to figure out what was going on, and by that time I was in alaunch, cast off the rope, kicked it free, and fumbled for thestarting button.
It took me several seconds to realize that a rope was required, thatin fact there was no button; and by then I was floating yards away,but the pudgy pop-eyed guard was also in a launch, and he didn't haveto fumble. He knew. He got his motor started a fraction of a secondbefore me, and there he was, coming at me, set to ram. Or so itlooked.
I wrenched at the wheel and brought the boat hard over; but he swervedtoo, at the last moment, and brought up something that looked a littlelike a spear and a little like a sickle and turned out to be aboathook. I ducked, just in time. It sizzled over my head as he swungand crashed against the windshield. Hunks of safety glass splashed outover the forward deck, but better that than my head.
Boathooks, hey? I had a boathook too! If he didn't have anotherweapon, I was perfectly willing to play; I'd been sitting and takingit long enough and I was very much attracted by the idea of fightingback. The guard recovered his balance, swore at me, fought the wheelaround and came back.
We both curved out toward the center of the East River in intersectingarcs. We closed. He swung first. I ducked--
And from a crouch, while he was off balance, I caught him in theshoulder with the hook.
He made a mighty splash.
I throttled down the motor long enough to see that he was stillconscious.
"_Touche_, buster," I said, and set course for the return trip downaround the foot of Manhattan, back toward the _Queen_.
* * * * *
It took a while, but that was all right; it gave everybody a nice longtime to get plastered. I sneaked aboard, carrying Arthur, and turnedhim over to Vern. Then I rejoined the Major. He was making aninspection tour of the ship--what he called an inspection, after hisfashion.
He peered into the engine rooms and said: "Ah, fine."
He stared at the generators that were turning over and nodded when Iexplained we needed them for power for lights and everything and said:"Ah, of course."
He opened a couple of stateroom doors at random and said: "Ah, nice."
And he went up on the flying bridge with me and such of his officersas still could walk and said: "Ah."
Then he said in a totally different tone: "What the devil's the matterover there?"
He was staring east through the muggy haze. I saw right away what itwas that was bothering him--easy, because I knew where to look. Thepower plant way over on the East Side was billowing smoke.
"Where's Vern Engdahl? That gadget of his isn't working right!"
"You mean Arthur?"
"I mean that brain in a bottle. It's Engdahl's responsibility, youknow!"
Vern came up out of the wheelhouse and cleared his throat. "Major," hesaid earnestly, "I think there's some trouble over there. Maybe youought to go look for yourself."
"Trouble?"
"I, uh, hear there've been power failures," Vern said lamely. "Don'tyou think you ought to inspect it? I mean just in case there'ssomething serious?"
The Major stared at him frostily, and then his mood changed. He took adrink from the glass in his hand, quickly finishing it off.
"Ah," he said, "hell with it. Why spoil a good party? If there aregoing to be power failures, why, let them be. That's my motto!"
Vern and I looked at each other. He shrugged slightly, meaning, well,we tried. And I shrugged slightly, meaning, what did you expect? Andthen he glanced upward, meaning, take a look at what's there.
But I didn't really have to look because I heard what it was. In fact,I'd been hearing it for some time. It was the Major's entire airforce--two helicopters, swirling around us at an average altitude of ahundred feet or so. They showed up bright against the gathering cloudsoverhead, and I looked at them with considerable interest--partlybecause I considered it an even-money bet that one of them would beplaying crumple-fender with our stacks, partly because I had an ideathat they were not there solely for show.
I said to the Major: "Chief, aren't they coming a little close? I meanit's _your_ ship and all, but what if one of them takes a spill intothe bridge while you're here?"
He grinned. "They know better," he bragged.
"Ah, besides, I want themclose. I mean if anything went wrong."
I said, in a tone that showed as much deep hurt as I could manage:"Sir, what could go wrong?"
"Oh, you know." He patted my shoulder limply. "Ah, no offense?" heasked.
I shook my head. "Well," I said, "let's go below."
* * * * *
All of it was done carefully, carefully as could be. The only thingwas, we forgot about the typewriters. We got everybody, or as near aswe could, into the Grand Salon where the food was, and right there ona table at the end of the hall was one of the typewriters clackingaway. Vern had rigged them up with rolls of paper instead of sheets,and maybe that was ingenious, but it was also a headache just then.Because the typewriter was banging out:
LEFT FOUR THIRTEEN FOURTEEN AND TWENTYONE BOILERS WITH A FULL HEAD OFSTEAM AND THE SAFETY VALVES LOCKED BOY I TELL YOU WHEN THOSE THINGSLET GO YOURE GOING TO HEAR A NOISE THATLL KNOCK YOUR HAT OFF
The Major inquired politely: "Something to do with the ship?"
"Oh, _that_," said Vern. "Yeah. Just a little, uh, something to dowith the ship. Say, Major, here's the bar. Real scotch, see? Look atthe label!"
The Major glanced at him with faint contempt--well, he'd had the pickof the greatest collection of high-priced liquor stores in the worldfor ten years, so no wonder. But he allowed Vern to press a drink onhim.
And the typewriter kept rattling:
LOOKS LIKE RAIN ANY MINUTE NOW HOO BOY IM GLAD I WONT BE IN THOSEWHIRLYBIRDS WHEN THE STORM STARTS SAY VERN WHY DONT YOU EVER ANSWER MEQ Q ISNT IT ABOUT TIME TO TAKE OFF XXX I MEAN GET UNDER WEIGH Q Q
Some of the "clerks, typists, domestic personnel and others"--that wasthe way they were listed on the T/O; it was only coincidence that theMajor had married them all--were staring at the typewriter.
"Drinks!" Vern called nervously. "Come on, girls! Drinks!"
* * * * *
The Major poured himself a stiff shot and asked: "What _is_ thatthing? A teletype or something?"
"That's right," Vern said, trailing after him as the Major wanderedover to inspect it.
I GIVE THOSE BOILERS ABOUT TEN MORE MINUTES SAM WELL WHAT ABOUT IT Q QREADY TO SHOVE OFF Q Q
The Major said, frowning faintly: "Ah, that reminds me of something.Now what is it?"
"More scotch?" Vern cried. "Major, a little more scotch?"
The Major ignored him, scowling. One of the "clerks, typists" said:"Honey, you know what it is? It's like that pross you had, remember?It was on our wedding night, and you'd just got it, and you keptasking it to tell you limericks."
The Major snapped his fingers. "Knew I'd get it," he glowed. Thenabruptly he scowled again and turned to face Vern and me. "Say--" hebegan.
I said weakly: "The boilers."
The Major stared at me, then glanced out the window. "What boilers?"he demanded. "It's just a thunderstorm. Been building up all day. Nowwhat about this? Is that thing--"
But Vern was paying him no attention. "Thunderstorm?" he yelled."Arthur, you listening? Are the helicopters gone?"
YESYESYES
"Then shove off, Arthur! Shove off!"
The typewriter rattled and slammed madly.
The Major yelled angrily: "Now listen to me, you! I'm asking you aquestion!"
But we didn't have to answer, because there was a thrumming and athrobbing underfoot, and then one of the "clerks, typists" screamed:"The dock!" She pointed at a porthole. "It's moving!"
* * * * *
Well, we got out of there--barely in time. And then it was up toArthur. We had the whole ship to roam around in and there were plentyof places to hide. They had the whole ship to search. And Arthur wasthe whole ship.
Because it was Arthur, all right, brought in and hooked up by Vern,attained to his greatest dream and ambition. He was skipper of asuperliner, and more than any skipper had ever been--the ship was hisbody, as the prosthetic tank had never been; the keel his belly, thescrews his feet, the engines his heart and lungs, and every movingpart that could be hooked into central control his many, many hands.
Search for us? They were lucky they could move at all! Fire Controlwashed them with salt water hoses, directed by Arthur's brain.Watertight doors, proof against sinking, locked them away from us atArthur's whim.
The big bull whistle overhead brayed like a clamoring Gabriel, and theship's bells tinkled and clanged. Arthur backed that enormous ship outof its berth like a racing scull on the Schuylkill. The four giantscrews lashed the water into white foam, and then the thin mud theysucked up into tan; and the ship backed, swerved, lashed the water,stopped, and staggered crazily forward.
Arthur brayed at the Statue of Liberty, tooted good-by to StatenIsland, feinted a charge at Sandy Hook and really laid back his earsand raced once he got to deep water past the moored lightship.
We were off!
Well, from there on, it was easy. We let Arthur have his fun with theMajor and the bodyguards--and by the sodden, whimpering shape theywere in when they came out, it must really have been fun for him.There were just the three of us and only Vern and I had guns--butArthur had the _Queen Elizabeth_, and that put the odds on our side.
We gave the Major a choice: row back to Coney Island--we offered him aboat, free of charge--or come along with us as cabin boy. He cast onedim-eyed look at the hundred and nine "clerks, typists" and at Amy,who would never be the hundred and tenth.
And then he shrugged and, game loser, said: "Ah, why not? I'll comealong."
* * * * *
And why not, when you come to think of it? I mean ruling a city isnice and all that, but a sea voyage is a refreshing change. And whilea hundred and nine to one is a respectable female-male ratio, still itmust be wearing; and eighty to thirty isn't so bad, either. At least,I guess that was what was in the Major's mind. I know it was what wasin mine.
And I discovered that it was in Amy's, for the first thing she did wasto march me over to the typewriter and say: "You've had it, Sam. We'lldispose with the wedding march--just get your friend Arthur here tomarry us."
"Arthur?"
"The captain," she said. "We're on the high seas and he's empowered toperform marriages."
Vern looked at me and shrugged, meaning, you asked for this one, boy.And I looked at him and shrugged, meaning, it could be worse.
And indeed it could. We'd got our ship; we'd got our ship'scompany--because, naturally, there wasn't any use stealing a big shipfor just a couple of us. We'd had to manage to get a sizable colonyaboard. That was the whole idea.
The world, in fact, was ours. It could have been very much worseindeed, even though Arthur was laughing so hard as he performed theceremony that he jammed up all his keys.
--FREDERIK POHL
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