* * *
Later that night, Stevens rested in his quarters, looking through communications from the company who – once more – wanted to ensure that everything had been prepared and accounted for. The doctor had expertly stitched the wound, and it was healing rather quickly. In fact, Stevens was supposed to be keeping his arm in a sling for the night, but the cloth was draped over the back of a nearby wooden chair.
A knock came at the door, and Stevens granted permission to enter the room without even checking to see who it was.
The officer who had effectively saved the captain’s life earlier in the day stopped in the middle of the room. “The ship is ready to sail, sir. We have all our necessary supplies. Any additional crew will join us tomorrow along with the arrival of the passengers.”
Stevens looked up from his notes. “Very good.”
“As for the matter of the attack this afternoon,” Officer Morris continued, much quieter now. “It’s been handled.”
Stevens looked back at the telegraph messages in his hands. “Did you let the local authorities handle him?”
“No, sir. I’ve handled the problem, permanently, myself.”
Stevens’ head jerked up. “You killed him? Here, at port, you killed a man?”
“Lower your tone, sir.”
The captain heeded his first officer’s advice, but his tone was still vehement. “We’re not at war anymore. You can’t kill a civilian when we’re not even out on international waters.”
“I don’t think you understand what is at stake here, sir.”
“Apparently, I do not. Now is a very good time to explain, Officer Morris.”
The large man was able to keep his tone level, though he forced himself to take a deep breath before speaking. “Sir, there are men who want to keep this mission from succeeding. If we are a part of a major technological step forward in seafaring, then it makes sense that we would have enemies all around us.”
“Name them now,” Stevens said, glaring into Morris’ eyes. The challenge was unmistakable.
“Competitors, for one. Wouldn’t every shipbuilding outfit in the Western world want to claim the success of a ship like the Albatross?”
Stevens did not immediately reply, for he had seen treachery performed in the name of “competition” during his time working as a captain.
Morris continued, “Or even some of the religious loons who think that “man has gone too far this time,” as if we’re going to cast ourselves into hellfire and brimstone because we built a damn boat.”
“Even so, you can’t kill people aboard the ship,” the captain said, apparently satisfied enough with his first officer’s answers. “It’s took risky all for the sake of a possible conspiracy.”
Stevens sat in his chair with a huff, and his first officer stood nearby. Neither man spoke for a moment.
“Sir, are you feeling all right?”
The captain looked back at his friend, “I’m fine. The cut does not even bother me.”
Officer Morris paused, unsure of how to say what he felt needed to be said. “Well, the way you just… fell back like that. It wasn’t like you. If someone charged at you with a knife during our tour of duty, then you would have handled yourself. This conversation would be reversed, and I would be trying to warn you not to kill civilians.”
Captain Stevens stared ahead at a painting of the rough seas tossing a ship about. “My mind… it played some sort of trick on me when I saw that man. Bizarre memories that should not even be possible popped into my head for just a moment, and they were gone just as quickly. I can’t even remember what I saw in that moment, but it was all so vivid.”
The captain’s voice trailed off.
Officer Morris recognized his cue to leave and shut the door behind him on his way out without another word.