NEW TOS On the Nature of Wind 27/29 [PG] (Arc of the Wolf)

Title: On the Nature of Wind
Part 5, Chapter 3
Author: SLWatson (watson_stepha...@yahoo.com)
See Part 0/29 for all header information.
Best read (Can I ever state this enough?) here:
http://slwatson.livejournal.com/144363.html#cutid1

--

Chapter 3:

Wednesday, June 14th, 2243
The Lady Grey
On the North Atlantic

"It's gonna be a good sailing day."

Cor's voice still sounded a little shaky and dazed, which wasn't too
surprising.  Scott still felt a bit shaky himself, though of the two
of them, he was in better shape and therefore quietly stepped into the
leadership role.  Directing their crew on what to do with the now-
secured prisoners, directing the boats be hoisted and secured, long
enough to allow his best friend to get his head together.

He paused in his coordinating then though, looking at Corry, who had
his face into the wind that had dissipated the last of the fog left
after the sun rose.  "Aye?"

"Yeah.  Good strong wind, and a following sea."

Scotty tried the same trick, sticking his face into the wind.  But he
couldn't seem to tap into exactly what sixth sense told Corry that.
After another moment, he quit trying and went back to rattling off
orders to the crew, albeit on the low-toned side.  Still, the comment
stuck with him.

"If O'Sullivan doesn't walk the plank willingly, can I push him?"
Albright asked, still rubbing his head from where he'd been hit, as he
made his way over.

Having been on the receiving end of that fist once, Scotty could
sympathize. "Ye'll get first go."

"Good."  Joe took a breath, looking at Cor. "You okay, Corry?"

Corry just nodded, still feeling the wind and probably the sunrise,
and probably the roll of the deck in the easy swells.

"Where's Lewis?" Scott asked, glancing around the deck.

Joe half-shrugged.  "Still making sure our prisoners are comfortable.
We're kind of a packed ship right now.  Want me to go get him?"

"Not yet."

Jansson was the next to join the impromptu design team reunion,
looking tired but cheerful in the orange light. "Well, what's left?
We've got prisoners, we're still afloat... time to go sink the Queen
Mary?"

There was a long pause, and Scotty thought about it.  "Cor... ye sure
about the weather?"

That got Corry to look away from the wind, and he nodded, sounding a
little better. "Yeah, I'm sure."

Scott nodded, gave his best friend a pat on the shoulder, and then
walked away.

"Where's he going?" Joe asked, looking after the shipwright.

--

"Take her."

Sean Kelley was standing at the bulwark, looking at the Queen Mary,
but that was enough to jerk his attention right back to the immediate
vicinity.  He blinked in surprise, eyeing Scott as though he hadn't
quite heard that right. "Huh?"

"Yer ship, Kelley.  Take her.  And as many o' the crew as ye need to
sail her; just leave us the saboteurs, and promise ye won't disable
that jammin' device until sunset."  Scotty looked at the steel full-
rigger himself for a moment.

"Seriously?"  Sean still looked a little shocked, but there was
something disturbingly like... happy in his face and voice, too.
"You're not going to sink her?"

"No."  Then a thought occurred to Scott.  He chewed it over once or
twice, and for the first time in what seemed like a lifetime, had to
fight down a laugh. "Don't win the race, though."

"But you guys aren't going to be able to," Sean replied.  He didn't
sound like he was protesting, though, more like he was just confused.

"We're not, no."

"So... who will?"

Completely despite his best effort, Scotty grinned. "After all o'
this?  I want Command to have to name a starship 'Barely Afloat'."

Kelley stared at him for a moment, incredulously.  And then he started
laughing, hard, practically to the point of tears.

--

"You what?!"  If the fact that they were cutting the Queen Mary loose
wasn't enough to break through Corry's distraction, then the fact that
the Barely Afloat would win the race was.  It was absurd.  And even
though he was still reeling, the back of his throat was tickling with
a laugh at it.  "That's... that's really absurd."

Scott nodded, perfectly earnestly. "Aye, it is."

"So, what're we gonna do between now and sunset?" Joe asked; unlike
Corry, he had been laughing pretty much from the moment the
announcement was made and still was chuckling.  So was Jansson.

"Good sailin' weather, right?"  Scotty shrugged, crossing his arms and
leaning back against the bulwark. "We sail.  Heave to before sunset
and throw some bastards overboard for a quick swim, and then wait for
Starfleet to show up when they realize what happened."

It was amazing how you could want to laugh and cry at the exact same
time.  Corry huffed out a breath, trying to get the feelings back
under control, but he couldn't quite do it.  After the struggles,
after the repeated near-death experiences, after all of it... he
almost couldn't breathe, but it was in a good way, not in that
terrible way where he felt like he was sinking into some place where
man was never meant to go.

"I mean, ye'll have to mind the repairs," Scotty was saying, looking
off to the horizon.  "And ye might have to put up with me heavin' over
the lee bulwarks, or finishin' off the saltines..."

Cor swallowed hard, taking a few deep breaths.  Shaky all over again.
But he managed a slightly cracked, "Thank you."

"It's what I built her for."  Scott chuckled, dryly. "Kinda lost sight
o' that."

"Yeah, me too," Corry said, and didn't feel too bad at having to wipe
his eyes on his sleeve.  But he was chuckling, even if he didn't
exactly know why, and it felt good.  Right.  Geez, he felt okay; dazed
and raw, but...

He felt right.

"Pick a horizon," Scotty said, half-smiling.  "I'm goin' and takin' a
nap."

--

In the end, the Lady Grey took the bone in her teeth and ran; drove
rainbows from under her bow, every thread of canvas rigged flying
aloft.  Hauled over to a portside tack, she nearly buried her lee rail
under the sea a few times in her graceful run.

The Wildstorm's crew, despite their gratitude (and the promise that
they would tell all about the rescue at sea by the Lady Grey at
whatever hearings would be due soon), ended up going with the Queen
Mary.  Most of Kelley's crew ended up going with him, too, aside the
saboteurs; it was doubtful that they'd do anything but be well-behaved
themselves with that many people to keep them in line.

Which left the original Team C with their prisoners, but no one was
thinking about that right now.  There was a certain sense of relief in
the air, almost tangible, certainly as substantial as the wind that
had the Grey bowing and dancing through the water.  As though they had
faced the real trial, regardless of what Starfleet would end up doing.

Half-dozing, sometimes asleep, sometimes adrift, Scotty was sure that
was exactly what it was.  The storm was over.  There was nothing that
a court-martial could do to him that came close to what he had lived
through and nearly died for; nothing that they could take from him
more important than what he'd lost and gained.  In the fire.  In the
water. On the Queen Mary.

And now.  There against the bulwark, in the play between sun and
shadow from the sails, only occasionally getting jolted when the spray
made it up over the weather-side rail where he was reasonably
sheltered from wind and water.

He drifted there, tired all the way into his soul, but a good kind of
tired.  Just weary, and peaceful, and still.  He probably could have
gotten up and pretended to be a sailor; hauled the lines, manned the
wheel or just stood watch, but in the end, this was the spot that he
had come to think of as his.  Braced against a bulwark, secure enough
that he didn't feel seasick.  Even the bells being sounded didn't
bother him, and he'd grinned a bit drowsily at the realization that he
was actually kind of relieved to hear them ring for the normal watches
again.

She wasn't a starship, but he wouldn't have traded her in that moment
for any starship.

This was what he built her for.  To sail fast, full and drawing, under
the command of someone who loved her and who was now probably living
and breathing this run back on the quarterdeck.

It was probably as close as Scott could get to turning back time for
awhile, and it had cost a lot of everyone, but it was worth it.

The Lady Grey was where she belonged, and so were they.

--

_*ding-ding*_

Corry smiled, but didn't open his eyes.  The air was pretty warm, even
into the evening, and after the hours he spent on the quarterdeck or
on the mast, or hauling lines, trimming sails, running the Grey as
hard as her patched hull would allow, it was nice to sit.  He still
felt raw, like his nerve endings were all exposed, but it wasn't in a
bad way.

_*ding-ding*_

"I love that sound," he said.

"It's not too bad," was the grudging reply from the other side of the
brace.  "What time is it?"

_*ding-ding*_

"Start of the First Watch."

"Already?"

"Yeah."

_*ding-ding*_

It was hard to believe how fast the day had gone.  Not to say it was a
short day -- sunrise to now, 2000 hours, in the summer on the
Atlantic, and it would be awhile more until the sun set.  But it still
had gone fast.  Cor had only just slowed down a half-hour or so ago;
settled down on the other side of the brace from Scotty, letting his
crew handle the sailing for awhile.

There were a bunch of times he thought about dragging his best friend
away from his spot there to show him something, but in the end, Corry
had decided that if anyone deserved to spend a day dozing in peace, it
was Scott.  The fact that it was peace, something Corry wasn't sure
he'd ever actually seen from Scotty, made it worth it.

Cor didn't let himself think about what was going to happen at
twilight, when Starfleet showed up.  He would have to give up his
ship, and then there would be inquiries, court-martials, maybe even
prison time.  He didn't regret anything, but he didn't plan on
thinking about it until he didn't have any other choice.  For now,
they were on the ocean.

"I, uh..."  Corry chuckled at himself, shaking his head.  "I wouldn't
be here if not for you.  You know that, right?"

There was a long pause, then Scott grumbled, "Don't go gettin'
sentimental on me, all right?  I'm drawin' the line at heartfelt
discussions."

Cor had to laugh at that one.  After everything, maybe there was a
good point to that plan -- what could anyone ever really say about it
all?

Maybe they'd already said it, in all the ways that mattered.

"I've gotcha," Corry said, not entirely out of the blue, and he knew
that it would be understood.  If only because it was the first time he
truly understood it himself.

He could hear the smile in the answer: "I know."

--

The deck was a bit rowdy, but that wasn't anything like a surprise.
After the past few days, people were having fun; the certain knowledge
that things would all come to an end shortly had something to do with
it.  It was decompression, in a way -- trying to release some stress
before it was over.

"Arrrrrr!" Jansson said, striking a pose, sounding and looking like a
fool and obviously not caring.

Scotty was absolutely sure that Corry would make Jerry look like a top-
billed Shakespearean actor, regardless.

The 'prisoners' were busy glaring darts at everyone else; tied quite
well and with sailors' knots, the only one of them not glaring was
Harrison.  He was still looking kind of stunned, kind of miserable,
kind of terrified.  Scott couldn't blame him -- impulsive as he
himself had been of late, Harrison's terrors and ambitions had gone
much further.

He paused from watching the plank being put out for this little high-
seas 'execution', a moment of indecision, then headed over.
O'Sullivan gave him a long, hard look; Scott only briefly returned it,
one eyebrow up, then ignored him further.

Harrison looked at him in appeal, but Scotty wasn't quite ready to go
grant one.  Still, though, he wasn't about to go kicking a man while
he was down, either. "They can't kill ye," he said, without any
preambles.

"They can kill my career," Harrison replied, swallowing then looking
anywhere else. "Send me to prison to break rocks.  I mean, I held a
phaser set to kill on you.  That's prison time right there."

"Aye, it is."  The fact that the phaser really had been set to kill
made Scott's stomach do a flip, but he managed to keep that out of his
voice.  It was over now, and he was still alive.  "But that doesn't
change the fact that ye'll live to see tomorrow."

"I guess not."  Harrison didn't look like he believed it.  But, Scotty
reasoned, it wasn't his job to comfort someone who could have killed
him -- only, maybe, to be fair about things.

Maybe Harrison would figure out what the important thing was, in the
end.  Maybe not.  At least Scott had.

"All right, swabbies, let's send some blackguards to the briny deep!"
Corry's voice cut through any introspection, and everyone on deck
looked at him.  Then looked harder.  "Mister Albright, please scan and
make sure there are plenty of sharks in the near vicinity!"

Albright was too busy staring to acknowledge the order.  In fact,
everyone on deck was too busy staring to.

The fact that Cor was in full, stereotypical pirate regalia had
something to do with it.  Absurdly bright colors, with a fake gold
hoop in one ear, with fake hook covering his hand, and a not-so-fake
cutlass in his sash, he looked like he'd stepped out of a storybook.

But it was the huge, obviously false black beard that was hanging to
his waist that did it.

"What arrrrrrrre you waiting for?!" he barked, brandishing his hook
high. "Get to it, ya slacks!"

And the entire deck crew, with the exception of the prisoners, busted
up laughing.  Corry kept playing his mad pirate routine, generally
insulting his crew with the worst imitation oaths ever, but eventually
Albright managed to quit laughing long enough to report, "Twenty-three
sharks in a half-mile, Captain Blackbeard!"

"ARrrRRgh!  And bring on the chum!" Corry replied, pulling his cutlass
dramatically once he made sure that no one would be accidentally
impaled.

While they were doing that, he made his way over to Scott, quieting a
little. "What?"

Scotty just shook his head, slowly, trying his absolute best not to
start laughing again.  But it was a fight he was losing. "Ye look
like..."

"Like a fearsome, deadly pirate about to turn people into chum?" Cor
asked, grinning.

"Like an _idiot_," Scotty finished, and was still laughing when Corry
dragged him to the side and threatened to pitch him overboard.

--

"Mister O'Sullivan!  For mutiny, piracy -- arrr, we be hypocrites! --
assault and various other nefarious deeds, we're hearby offering you
to the sharks!  And may whatever higher power you believe in... well,
to Hell with it!  Over with the bastard!"

Far and away, Corry's pirating routine was more memorable than
throwing the prisoners overboard.  Simply because, despite some
growling from the mutineers, the real theatrics were in Cor's over-the-
top performance.

O'Sullivan didn't actually put up any fight, probably to deprive them
of the joy of throwing him over.  He wasn't afraid; despite all talk
of sharks, everyone knew that the scans had been confirming the lack
thereof.  And all of the prisoners had life-vests on before they were
pitched over, along with cadets ready to haul them out if something
did go wrong.

In as such, Keith just gave a long, narrow-eyed look at the crew and
Scott in particular, then stepped off the plank.

As the rescue crew was busy working on hauling him out, Maggie made
the walk.  She was trying to take a page from her boyfriend's book,
but wasn't doing nearly so good a job of it.

"This is absurd!" she said, setting her heels and requiring the cadets
escorting her to the plank to half-drag her the rest of the way.

Corry briefly dropped his mad pirate persona for a moment, grinning
back at her brightly. "Well, yeah.  That's kind of the point."

She didn't apparently get it, just stared at him, incredulously.  The
cadets stuck her on the plank, then nudged her out.  "Why?!"

Scott was the one who ended up replying, with a smirk. "'Cause it's
good for a laugh."

And it was.  Not only did she screech when she was pushed off of the
plank, but she likewise screeched when she hit the cold water.  Corry
and Scotty were grinning as they watched from the bulwark, both of
them rather tongue-in-cheek about the whole thing.

"Those wet clothes cling nice," Corry commented aside, casually.

"Aye."  Scott nodded, in full agreement.  "Shame that if she shed her
skin, she'd be a snake underneath."

Harrison was the last one, mostly because the crew of the Lady Grey
felt the most strongly about his deeds.  While O'Sullivan had a part,
and the others did as well, Harrison was the one who nearly sunk the
schooner and likely had masterminded quite a bit of it.

As of now, he simply looked miserable, as though any fear of being
pushed overboard couldn't compare to the internal grief.  If not for
the fact that he had been so much a part of the whole mess, Scotty
would have probably felt more badly for him.

Corry was about to say something, but Scott cut him off; he didn't
raise his voice much, but after only a few words, the entire deck fell
silent.

"I don't think any of us were particularly thinkin' when we got
started on this whole mess.  I know I wasn't.  And," he shrugged
there, "I don't really think we've got all that much right to judge
ye.  I'm guessin' the inquiry we're all gonna be facin' here shortly
will do a better job than us lot can."

Harrison looked briefly relieved, but then Scotty shook his head and
the look faded as he continued talking, "I'm not goin' to pretend this
isn't revenge.  It is.  Ye damn near destroyed this schooner, damn
near killed a lot o' people, and I don't think there's any possible
explanation or excuse ye could give that'd make any o' that
acceptable.  We all made our share o' mistakes.  But when it came down
to givin' up the race and everything else, or continuin' on and maybe
costin' lives, we made the right call."

There was a long pause, and Scott nodded to the 'executioners', who
pushed Harrison up onto the plank.  It wasn't a huge struggle, but it
was enough of one.

It wasn't all that satisfying, watching Harrison start to panic.  But
the next words were.

"We made the right call."  Scotty tipped his chin up. "Consider
yerself lucky that ye'll someday get the chance to make the right one
yerself."

--

The sun settled down on the horizon, low and vivid.  Things had
quieted down again; on the quarterdeck, it was nearly silent, just the
sounds of the sea and the light of the sunset throwing out the last
warm colors of the day in a brilliant display.

The taffrail he'd gone over to dive under the boat was warm under his
hands, and the internal calm he'd managed to find today was still
entirely present.  It was, for the moment, just the sea and the
schooner and himself.  Corry was up aloft, on his platform, or had
been last time Scotty had looked -- doubtless soaking in these last
moments on the Atlantic, steeling himself for the inevitable,
reflecting on the same strange inevitability that had led them here.

It wasn't really fate.  Or destiny.  Still all about choices -- which
ones could make you, which ones could break you.  Upsea or down.  Sink
or swim.  Maybe even live or die.

The universe may or may not notice.

Scott nodded to himself.

To Hell with the universe.  It could ask all of the questions it
wanted, and some of those could never be answered.  And he could ask
it all of the questions he wanted, and those wouldn't be either.  When
it came down to it...

When it came down to it, regardless of the universe, regardless of
everything, the choices were still his own.

"Shame we won't get to use those guns," Corry said, stepping up to the
taffrail just as the sun's bottom red-orange edge touched the horizon,
likely just down from his time aloft.  It didn't sound like he was all
that bothered by it, though.  More just a random, slightly amused
comment.

"Aye, I think Joey may be mournin'.  All that work, and they'll never
be fired."

"Yeah.  Probably be melted down or something."  Cor leaned on the rail
on his elbows, taking a deep breath and letting it out, watching the
sun sink faster.

Scott nodded himself, and mirrored the motion. "They'll be here in
probably a half hour?  Give or take."

"I know."

Half down, sunk into the ocean, the sun was all red now.  Good sailing
day tomorrow, even if by then they would likely be behind bars or at
least confined somewhere.

"Didn't the navies do somethin' with the guns, to salute other ships?"
Scotty asked, at length.

"Yeah," Corry said, with a side-long glance. "They'd fire their
cannons.  Show that they were willing to put themselves into a
vulnerable position, since it takes time to reload, as a salute to
another nation's ship."

"Well, we do have cannons..."

Corry grinned, just as the sun left the sky.

And when Starfleet's shuttle showed up in the twilight, hovering near
the Lady Grey, for the first time in centuries a full-gun salute was
fired by a ship at sea.
[ Auf dieses Posting antworten ]