The Deep End of Your Dreams Ch. 09

"Yessir."

McCrea grumbled while he walked the transit in the moonless night, trying to zero-in the horizon, and when he was sure he had it on the line he dialed the vernier until the two horizon lines met; when he was sure he had what he needed he walked into the chartroom and pulled out his tables, started reducing the angles.

He soon realized none of the figures he had worked so hard to take worked, so he walked back out onto the bridge-deck and shot almost-as-bright Altair, knowing that with this one higher in the night sky he had to be more careful with his horizons. Again he grumbled and growled, again he thought he got exactly what he needed, and again he walked to the chart-table, working through the tables and the math by candlelight.

The problem, he soon realized, was simple: neither Vega nor Altair were anywhere close to where they ought to be, and then he felt Levy by his side.

"Problem?" Levy said.

"You could say that, yes. Vega and Altair aren't where they're supposed to be, and I can't account for it."

"No sir, because your sight reduction tables don't go back that far."

McCrea felt the hair on the back of his neck rise. "What do you mean -- that far?"

"They haven't been at these stellar coordinates in roughly eighty thousand years."

McCrea didn't know what to say, so he said -- nothing.

"We find it far easier to move through time, Captain. I'm sorry...I should have warned you, but I didn't count on your familiarity with the stars."

"We?"

"My group."

"Is that sphere...your ship?"

"That...? No, it's more like a tool. Once inside the sphere we slip through time."

"Uh-huh. And where did the sphere come from?"

"Our ship."

"And where, Mr Levy, is that?"

And when Benjamin Levy pointed up at the sky, Captain John McCrea shook his head. "And if you don't mind me asking son, just where the hell are you from?"

"New London, sir."

"Connecticut?"

"Yessir."

"Uh-huh. Right."

Levy chuckled. "Can't say I blame you, sir. I wouldn't believe me either."

"How much longer?"

"Maybe ten minutes."

"Well, let's get back out there."

"Yessir, but...could we keep this just between you and me?"

"Not on your fuckin' life, Mr. Levy."

And Levy laughed, laughed until he couldn't stop. He laughed as he walked out on the bridge-deck, laughed while Roosevelt looked to McCrea, but the Captain simply shrugged and looked away,

A few minutes later the sphere seemed to spontaneously reappear, then, as it shot up into the night sky, the Iowa's systems came back to life. The boilers had to be re-ignited, pressure had to come up again, but diesel generators restored vital systems before that happened and everyone breathed a long sigh of relief.

"Bridge, radar. We're clear across the board here. Repeat, no radar contacts."

McCrea shook his head again, then looked up again. Vega was back where she was supposed to be; Altair and Deneb were as well. He brought the sextant back out and shot Vega, then Altair, taking his time to double check all his angles. He shot them again, just to make sure, then he retired to the chartroom.

An hour later he had reduced all his new shots, and when he crossed the arcs he looked up and smiled. In the last hour and a half the Iowa had moved perhaps a quarter mile. And what...? Eighty thousand years?

He looked up, saw Levy watching him as he worked.

'No,' Captain John McCrea thought, 'on second thought, I think for once in my life I'll just keep my mouth shut.'

The X-O walked over to the chart table and looked at this seasoned navigator's work, then up at his captain. "Orders, Captain?"

"Resume heading of two-nine-nine, speed sixteen knots, and you have the con, X-O. Mr Levy and I are going for a little walk."

(C) 2017 | Adrian Leverkühn | abw | some more fiction...