Part IV: Zero Moment

Then spoke the thunder
DA
Datta: what have we given?
My friend, blood shaking my heart
The awful daring of a moment's surrender
Which an age of prudence can never retract
By this, and this only, we have existed
Which is not to be found in our obituaries
Or in memories draped by the beneficent spider
Or under seals broken by the lean solicitor
In our empty rooms

-T.S. Eliot; The Waste Land

 

Chapter 1:

Tuesday, June 4th, 2243
The Lady Grey
Belfast Lough
Belfast, Ireland, Earth

 

"Come get your duds in order, 'cause we're bound across the water...!" Corry's voice cut across the waters of Belfast Lough as he sang. Typically it was a sea shanty, traditional to working onboard, but the entire crew of the Lady Grey was on the port side railing, singing for the crew of the Queen Mary.

"Heave away, me jollies, heave away!" Team C answered, in not perfect but intelligible unison.

"Come get your duds in order, 'cause we're bound to leave tomorrow...!"

"Heave away, me jolly boys, we're all bound away!"

Of course, the Queen Mary's crew did their best to ignore the entire affair. It wasn't easy to ignore that many people singing at the tops of their lungs, but they were trying pretty damn hard to do so. A few of them looked over, and Sean Kelley stood on his quarter deck in cadet dress uniform, snorting in disgust, but that was all of the reaction that Team B would give.

Corry had specifically taught this shanty to Team C, mostly for one verse. It was a bit of a hint to Maggie, but then, they were on the starting line of the race and a bit of foreshadowing now couldn't hurt at all.

But right now, Scotty was busy on the refrain. He could sing himself, something that he only engaged in on occasion -- Corry always got a kick out of it, because it was almost always in Welsh -- but his voice carried like he did it for his day job. "Sometimes we're bound for Liverpool, sometimes we're bound for Spain...!"

"Heave away, me jollies, heave away!"

"But now we're bound for old Saint Johns, where all the girls're dancin'...!"

"Heave away, me jolly boys, we're all bound away!"

Corry grinned, taking that beat to wave frantically in Maggie's direction. She didn't look up then, but when he launched into the next line she did-- "So it's farewell Maggie darling, 'cause now I'm gonna leave...!"

"Heave away, me jollies, heave away!"

Maggie looked suitably flattered.

Corry grinned even more broadly. "You promised you'd be true to me, but how you did deceive me...!"

Maggie no longer looked flattered. If anything, she looked like a shadow had just crossed her face, and that did catch the attention of a few select cadets on Team B.

"Heave away, me jolly boys, we're all bound away!"

Team C, on the other hand, looked about ready to just fall over laughing. If the race excitement wasn't enough, and the realization that in about twenty minutes they would be going to sea for two weeks wasn't, heckling the other team definitely was.

Corry wasn't finished yet, though. The decision to weaponize music had been a few days in the making; the sea shanties were easy for him, having grown up with them, so it hadn’t taken him long to teach Team C a handful of them while they were sail training, turning them into something of a riotous choir.

But that wasn’t quite enough for him.

Oddly, it was from Scotty that he got the idea for the other song; he had been looking for something about betrayed love, but nothing in the modern charts was really doing it for him, no matter what search terms he used.  He mentioned his problem, and within five minutes, Scotty had a few of his own collection narrowed down and handed Corry his old headset from Basic.

Cor, being a fan of old films, was kind of surprised to find out his best friend was a fan of old music; the newest stuff Scotty kept was from right after World War III -- the entire (short) collection of albums from a very angry Irish band called Raining Nails, which was apparently his very favorite -- and a fair chunk of the rest of his collection dated all the way back to the late twentieth century, which not-so-coincidentally was back when music was still released on physical media and therefore wasn’t completely lost in the Digital Disaster of 2026.

(“Why, though?� Corry had asked, after he had listened to some of it.  A lot of it was a bit too heavy for his tastes, but it was an interesting insight into what Scotty liked, anyway.  Which-- some of it was upbeat, if in a complicated way, but a lot more of it really wasn’t.

Corry was still chewing over the answer days later; Scotty had said, without blinking, “People were angrier, then.�)

Listening, though, one was definitely left with the impression there were a whole lot of failed romances in the late 1980s.

Now, having practiced for days in the shower -- much to the chagrin of the other people in the Malone Road Dormitory he was moving out of soon -- and having indeed conscripted his fellow cadets to help out, he spun back towards the other ship, focusing on Maggie and wailing it for all it was worth into an imaginary microphone, "Shot through the heart, and you're to blame...!"

And just as rehearsed as before, the rest of the Lady Grey's troops jumped in, "Darlin', you give love a bad name!"

"I play my part and you play your games...!"

"You give love a bad name!"

Even twenty yards away, Maggie's look of horror was unmistakable. Corry just reveled in it, and he didn't fail to take notice of her running up to the quarterdeck to speak to the immaculately turned out Kelley.

Not more than ten seconds later, Scotty's communicator beeped; Corry stopped covering Bon Jovi long enough for Scotty to answer, "Aye, Sean?"

Sean sounded downright pissed off as he answered, "Pipe down over there! You have Maggie upset, and dammit, the race hasn't even started!"

Scotty smirked, devilishly, eyes narrowed a little on the steel full-rigger across from them. "Did we? Give the lass our sincere apologies."

"Sincere, right."

Corry meandered over, leaning over his roommate's shoulder. "Hey, Sean."

"Corry! Dammit, what're you trying to do? Wage psychological warfare on my crew or something with that screeching voice?"

"We're just having some fun," Cor replied, a very study in nonchalance. "We'll quit."

"...well, good."

Scotty shook his head.  "About the race, Sean--"

"What about it?" the irritated cadet asked.

"No hard feelings, all right?"

Kelley took a moment to reply, but when he did, it was even more obvious that he didn't have a clue. Arrogance seeped into his every word. "'Course not. Good luck, Lady Grey."

"Same to you," Corry said. After Scotty closed the communicator, he added, "You're gonna need it."

 

 

 

"And we're back! If you're just joining us this fine day, welcome to the exclusive coverage of the Starfleet Engineering Academy's tall ships race, brought to you by the Terran News Network! Standing here with me is the visionary behind this event, Professor Richard Barrett, Commander in Starfleet and the head of the History Department at the Academy." Chip Wagner's teeth were pure white, his brown hair was brilliantly combed and highlighted, his tan was the perfect shade, and his voice had all of the smoothness of fine silk. And he knew it, too. "Tell me, Professor Barrett, where did you get this unique idea?"

Barrett clasped his hands behind his back. Behind him, the crew of the Lady Grey was hanging over the side of their ship, waving and trying to get on camera. Off to the right, just in view, the Queen Mary's crew were doing the same. "Well, this is my last year here at the Academy, and since I've decided to retire, I wanted to 'go out with a bang' as it were."

"Wonderful." Chip flashed a smile and the cameraman had to turn down the gain on his camera so as not to blind the audience. "Now you say that every cadet in your senior class spent half of the year working on these ships?"

Barrett nodded. "They did. I'm very proud of the effort they've put forth."

"But why sailing ships? These engineering cadets will be out in space onboard Starfleet's finest vessels, why not have them work on something more modern?" Now Wagner was playing the serious, interested reporter.

"I am a history professor," Barrett pointed out, ignoring the shouts of 'Mom!' and 'Dad!' behind him on the two remaining ships in harbor. "Most of the cadets have very little insight into the foundations that Starfleet was built on; that of the world's Navies. To give them a better appreciation for the labor that went into building a fleet of ships, I gave them a single vessel and a budget to work with, as well as a material. I believe they have a better understanding of the hard work that our history originated from."

"True, true." Chip turned and looked at the ships. "These last two ships, why are they being held back?"

"Handicap for the race." Barrett looked as well, smiling a half-smile at the waiting vessels. "These are the two largest vessels, and they're rated the fastest. In order to be more fair to the other racers, we've held them back."

"What can you tell us about them?"

"Well, that vessel over there," Barrett said, pointing to the Queen Mary, "is the Queen Mary , under the command of senior cadet Sean Kelley. She's a steel ship, a square-rigger-- called that because most of her sails are rectangular in shape. Her length is at one hundred and eight feet overall, and her beam is at twenty-six feet. She's the official ship of Team B." The camera panned elegantly over the ship as she sat in harbor, waiting to start her race.

Chip nodded seriously, shifting his stance so his back was to the camera. "And the other?"

Barrett smiled. "The gaff-rigged schooner Lady Grey, captained by Andrew Corrigan, likewise a senior cadet. She's had somewhat of a rough time, but her crew's turned her into quite a vessel. She's mostly made of oak, one hundred and fifty-seven feet sparred length, and likewise twenty-six feet at her beam. She's fore-and-aft rigged, see the difference? All of her sails are lined up along her centerline, while the Queen Mary's are across the beam."

"Both fine ships," Chip Wagner commented, passing by the historical allusion without realizing it. He flashed another smile back at the camera. "Now that you have the basics, we're going to check in with the Belfast Harbor Master, who's counting down the last few moments until these ships are given the go. Andrea, over to you."

Andrea smiled at her camera, trying to stand onboard the small power cutter sitting between the tugs that would pull the Lady Grey and the Queen Mary out of the Lough. "Thank you, Chip. Here we have the master of the harbor, Gregory Jackson. Mr. Jackson, how much time do we have left?"

"Don't bother me, woman, I'm busy, cancha see?"

Not put off, Andrea smiled even sweeter. "How do you think the race will turn out?"

There was a sigh and a beat, and the grizzled old sailor looked back at her. "I think yew better shut up an' let me pay attention to the-- dammit!" Grabbing the pull cord on the horn, he gave it three sharp bursts.

"And there we have it! The racers are officially given the go!" Andrea beamed at the camera. "Back to you, Chip."

Chip pulled his tongue back into his mouth, but not quickly enough to miss being caught on camera. Barrett was completely ignoring him as he watched the tugs pull the last two ships out of harbor to the excited cries of their respective crews.

Clearing his throat and turning red under his immaculate tan, Chip concluded, "We'll be checking in on this race over the next two weeks. Tune in for a special at 2100 GMT for more information! This is Chip Wagner for TNN, signing off."

 

 

 

Getting the cannons aboard the Lady Grey had been difficult at best. Not only were twenty-four guns, plus ammo, powder and accessories hard to hide in the first place (thank everything for storage rental), but getting them from the storage building to the ship without being spotted took some clever thinking.

And some very smooth transporter operation.

Scotty grinned as he paced the gundeck, stopping every once in awhile to make sure the twenty-four pounders weren't going to come loose and knock a hole in the schooner. It had been his quick calculating and even quicker hands that had allowed the cannons to be transported onboard. No easy feat; the design team had managed to commandeer the cargo transport platform on campus as a supposed experiment, relieved the volunteer cadet on duty, and then rolled the guns in at three in the morning.

Six at a time, the transporter tied into the satcom sensors, fine tuned to constantly check even the slightest movement of the ship, and he had transported those cannons on board. By the time 0600 rolled around and the last four eighteen pound deck guns were stowed in the cargo hold, he was so worn out from the fine adjustments that taking a nap down in the fo'c'sle had been a requirement.

But now, into the evening, sleep was pretty far from his mind. It probably had to do with the fact that the Lady Grey was on her way out into the ocean, and she was moving under his feet in a motion he still wasn't used to, even after a few days of sail training in the Irish Sea where he'd been absolutely bombarded with a new set of skills. They hadn't even rounded Ireland yet; if this was typical of life onboard, then he would have a hell of a time when they were into the Atlantic proper and facing more serious wave action.

"...hull speed. We'll have to really make some time if we're going to catch up to her after we round the marker."

Albright's voice disturbed Scotty away from his thoughts, and he stopped pacing the gundeck long enough to look back and ask, "What're ye plannin'?"

Jansson frowned briefly, stepping down the way. "We're trying to make an educated guess at the Queen Mary's speed and our own. Trying to guess where we'll catch up to 'em, mostly."

"I think we'll end up catching them well into our return trip. She's got the advantage over us while she's going with the wind, but not against it." Joe crossed his arms, leaning on one of his guns. "We're already catching the Barely Afloat, and the Queen Mary's falling further behind us."

"Barely Afloat." Scotty couldn't resist a snicker at that. Team F's ship was more of a boat -- fiberglass -- and, well, barely afloat. Her crew had all been terrific, though, genuinely nice lads and lasses. "How far's the Queen Mary?"

"Two miles. She'll never catch us, not how well we're tacking right now. Wind's out of the southwest, and Corry's got us moving really really good." Jerry grinned, brightly. "You trying to hide down here? We could always use a lookout up on the mast, you know."

Scotty shook his head, crossing his arms. "I can barely stand on deck, never mind the climb up there."

"I think you're just a chicken," Corry said, bounding down the steps and joining the little group. He smiled, so openly happy that it was hard not to smile back just because. "It's not that bad. Hell, I'd even go with you."

They couldn't be serious about this. Scotty's eyebrows went up and he tried to keep the uneasiness he felt suddenly from showing. "I think I'll pass on this one."

"You were up there when she was in the slip. What's the difference?"

"She's movin', that's the difference!"

"It's a great view. Just like flying."

Scotty took an involuntary step backwards, running into one of the cannons. This little joke was starting to go too far. "No, I'm stayin' down here. I dinna need t' end up a splatter on deck."

 

 

 

"C'mon, you're halfway there." Corry kept his voice nice and calm; there was no reason to rush, after all. "Just one foot rope at a time."

The ropes were moving, the ship was moving, everything was moving except Scotty. He was too busy clinging to the ropes to move; eyes squeezed closed, knuckles white, breath coming in shaky gasps. He wasn't afraid of heights, Corry knew that for a fact, so it had to be the motion of the schooner that was getting to him. "Bastard."

"I know," Cor said, balancing easily beside his fear-frozen best friend. He decided it'd be better not to mention to Scotty that everyone who wasn't working below was watching; might end up making him even more nervous. "Now look, you helped run these lines yourself. They're not going to give out on you. Just don't look down, pick your foot up, and take another step."

Well, it was up or down at this point, and since down was probably going to be even more nerve-wracking, Scotty chose up. Still gripping onto the shrouds, he pulled himself up to the next foot rope.

Corry followed, being as careful as he could not to jostle the lines any worse than usual. "See? Now we're over halfway."

"Never again."

"Eh, you say that now, but I think you'll be fine when you get there."

Scotty whimpered and went up another rung. "Makin' me more seasick, that's all this is doin'."

Corry chuckled, "This is a nice, calm day. It could be a lot worse."

"Shut up." 

It went on like that, as the shrouds got closer together and Corry had to abandon his roommate to climb ahead. To Scotty's credit, he didn't panic when left to fend for himself; by then, there was no way to un commit to the trip, anyway. When he finally made it up onto the small platform high on the mainmast, he was trembling and green in the face, but still alive and in one piece.

Corry leaned back against the mast on one side, bracing himself by holding onto the edges of the platform. The tops of the masts moved a lot more than the deck below, and the last thing he wanted was to be pitched over the side. "You look kinda like a Vulcan, what with that complexion."

"Hnn," Scotty answered, dazedly, grabbing onto the masthead and clinging to it like he had the ropes. 

Corry didn't comment. Better to let Scotty work it out; now that he was up there, he'd be all right. Might just take a little time.

The sun was nice and bright, and aside from a few traces of high clouds, it was clear. Almost like the powers that be wanted to prove they really were under way, leaving behind the rainy and overcast demeanor of Belfast.

It wasn't hard to imagine what it would have felt like for the sailors who used to do this all of the time; the world looked a whole lot bigger from onboard a ship at sea, than it did orbiting above.

Off of their stern, only visible now by the tiny white spots of her sails, the Queen Mary sailed. Closer aft was the Barely Afloat, having saluted Team C when they passed with honest good humor. And ahead, somewhere, were the rest of the ships in the race. They had a hell of a head start, but Corry knew that the Lady Grey would catch up. Even if she was disqualified, she would be in the lead when she was.

The sails billowed in the wind, and he had no trouble sitting comfortably even at her angle of heel. This was his heritage, after all; salt water and waves. Onboard his own schooner.

Smiling a proud half-smile, Corry tossed a glance at Scotty, who was still clinging to the masthead. He didn't look quite so frantic now; not so green around the gills, even though he still hadn't dared to open his eyes and take a look out from his perch. Corry kept his tone down, accounting for the wind. "Getting any better?"

Scotty nodded. After a moment or two, he chanced a look out over the water, taking a few very measured breaths.  And when he fixed his gaze on the horizon, a trace of a smile crossed his face as he spotted the Queen Mary. "Back there aways, isn't she?"

"Yep. She'll have the advantage whenever the wind's on her stern, but she can't take going against it like we can." Corry grinned, relaxing a little now that he didn't have to worry about his best friend panicking up there. "I told you it was a nice view."

"Hm," was Scotty's noncommittal response. But he gradually let go of the mast and braced himself like Corry, looking over the bow of the ship.

It was blue on blue for eternity.

"Plan on staying up here for sunset? I don't think anyone will mind our absence."

"Depends on whether I care to try climbin' down in the dark."

"Sun doesn't set for another hour."

"I'll think on it."

Corry huffed a little laugh. “Fair enough.�

 

 

 

Scotty did think about it, but only in the back of his mind. He was more interested right then in the way the wind danced in the sails ahead of him on the foremast, and the way that the light of the sun caught on the canvas. The motion of the schooner didn't seem so jarring, even for how much the top of the mast moved compared to the deck; the sounds of the crew working below were distant. There was a good, stiff breeze, and that was really the only thing up there with the two cadets.

Nothing but the wind.

Scotty could have said he had plenty of experience with wind, because hang gliding depended on it in some way or another, but on the mainmast of the Lady Grey it was more-- concrete, more something to work with than ride over.  Which was exactly what the schooner was doing right now, heeled over in a fairly stable manner and rolling over swells easily.

So, he moved with her, rocked with the motion of the ship, losing some of the queasiness so long as he kept his eyes on the horizon or closed altogether. Like a fixed part of the rigging, rather than something apart, he swayed, listening to the sound of the sails, the sound of the water far below, the wind, the stays as they creaked.

The breeze softened with the coming of night, so subtly that neither Corry nor Scotty really thought about it. They noticed it on a more primitive level, lost in their own thoughts or lack of thoughts, not giving it conscious effort. The Queen Mary didn't exist, nothing existed but them, the schooner and the reddening sunset.  It lasted an eternity and went far too quickly, breathtaking out there where there wasn't a single soul. The slow descent of the sun, the way it grew and turned to fire red as it fell, the light flaring on the wispy clouds in orange and gold.

Caught in a perfect moment of life, as the sun vanished from the sky, the two cadets on the mast forgot to breathe.