Chapter 4:

Saturday, June 10th, 2243
The Lady Grey
On the North Atlantic

 

The first kiss of an ill wind was nearly always enough to make anyone familiar with the ocean stop and look around nervously at the sky. It just was; a primitive understanding, maybe, or maybe it was something as simple as some long-disused instinct. Usually there were signs long before that; a wave out of place, a dropping barometer, or the predominant winds shifting directions almost on whimsy, backing around the compass.

All of those were signs of a storm, but the first actual touch of ill wind was the clincher. Anyone with a lick of sense knew to start dogging down the hatches and securing any loose deck gear.

The crew of the Lady Grey was no different. They knew there was heavy weather on the way, but when the first gust rattled the rigging, every single person on deck paused in what they were doing and started looking skyward.

After a solid week of sailing practice, most of them fancied themselves sailors, which wasn't necessarily a bad thing in fair weather. It gave them the confidence to carry out their duties efficiently. But this wasn't going to be fair weather, and that dreamlike flight of fancy was trickling away.

Of course, Scotty never fancied himself a sailor, no matter how good he had gotten at walking on deck. He knew better; he was a good shipwright, but as for being a sailor-- no. Oh, he enjoyed the ocean and he absolutely loved seeing the Grey perform, but when it came right down to it, he didn't pretend to be even half as efficient as most of the rest of the cadets.

So reeling around on deck during a storm was probably one of the last things he wanted to do.

And, of course, Corry was the exact opposite. Proficient, dauntless, completely fearless; he was a sailor through and didn't pretend not to be. When the wind started rattling the sails, he grinned an almost feral grin at the challenge and prepared to meet it head on.

Standing on the weather side railing, braced against the schooner’s angle of heel, they watched the blackening sky as the rest of the crew scurried around nervously. All the necessary orders had been given.

All that was left to do was wait.

"Best place to be is amidships and on the centerline," Corry offered, helpfully, though he didn't take his eyes off of the black clouds. He didn't need to; he felt the irritated glance Scotty gave him. "What? It's true."

"Nooooo, really?  I didn’t build her or anything, couldn’t imagine how those stability ratings work without outside instruction."

Corry grinned again, more amused now. The biting sarcasm was typical, but the undertone of nervousness wasn't. "Just thought I'd remind you. Better bring along your crackers."

Scotty tried for a scoff and ended up with a chuckle. "Keep it up, and I'll mutiny. Keel haul ye, or somethin' along those lines."

"Sure, I can see you trying to order the crew around without me. 'Pull that rope thingy, turn the wheel thattaway, an' see about gettin' me some crackers.'" Cor snickered, crossing his arms. "Face it, you need me here."

Scotty didn't deign to look over, just reached across the gap and whapped Corry in the back of the head lightly. "'Well, cripes, since I'm so completely in love with myself, I might as well go and save the universe while I'm at it.'"

Corry frowned briefly, but not seriously. "Oooh, Pup came up with a good one. Let's note that one down in the books."

"Wolf. If ye're gonna call me somethin' canine related, get it right."

"Sorry, Mutt," Corry said, this time ducking under the intended assault.

Scotty waited until he was standing straight again, then nailed him a little harder in the head. "Bastard."

Cor smoothed his hair back down, shaking his head with a laugh. As long as he could keep his second-in-command in decent spirits, the rest of the crew would be all right. He might have been the captain, and a good captain, but the crew didn't gauge how scared to be from his reactions. They looked to Scotty.

If he was genuinely upset, it was because there was a very real reason to be.

Up until now, he'd been edgy -- checking the barometer, calculating out different scenarios, double checking the charts -- but not much worse.  Corry intended to keep things going in exactly that direction, so he said, "All nicknames aside, it won't be too bad. Nothing that the Grey can't handle."

"Aye, I know," Scotty answered. More to himself, he added, "She's a hell of a good ship."

Corry smiled, finally turning back to look at the deck crew running around. "Don't go forgetting that while you stumble around with your crackers." More seriously, he added, "And for god's sake, if a wave hits wrong, find something to hold onto and don't let go."

 

 

 

It was a sound that couldn't easily be described. Somewhere between a shriek and a moan, the wind tore the air to shreds and made its eerie cries through the rigging of the Lady Grey, very effectively adding to the sense of inherent loneliness that came with being so far (so terribly far) from dry ground and safety.

The boards creaked at the stress of the waves pounding, but even then she didn't seem to be in danger. She wasn't making much headway, but her bow was kept relatively into the waves, her sails were reefed short for the sake of not careening blindly, and Corry was at the wheel, steering a path into the teeth of this 'weather disturbance.’

Really, it wasn't a bad storm. The waves were sharp and breaking, but not very large. The wind was howling, but it wasn't so awful that they couldn't keep going. The decision had been made to keep on course; if it were really a serious storm, they would have hove to and rode it out.

So it wasn't bad. Really.

Scotty told himself that over and over, braced as well as he could be under the scant shelter of the overhang to the quarterdeck. Mentally, he reassured himself that this would be fine and that he absolutely would not crawl to the leeside bulwark and lose his breakfast, lunch, dinner, and every single damn saltine he'd been nibbling at since it started getting rough. No, he could handle it. No little weather disturbance would take him down, nu uh.

He could hear Corry whooping it up above him, and in a brief flash of immaturity wished something harmlessly unpleasant on his best friend; maybe it wasn't a nice thing to wish, but then, he wasn't in a really nice mood at that particular moment.

The deck rolled to starboard, he leaned to port, waged battle with his sense of balance and gradually won. Felt rather like his stomach was left to starboard, though, and as for any thoughts of ill will towards Cor, they went right over too.

Scotty just didn't have the resolve it took to stay on his feet and think about Corry's disgusting good humor at the situation.

Trying to take his mind off of it, he wrapped an arm around the brace and pulled one of the emergency communicators out of the pocket of his high-vis storm coat. Maybe there would be something hopeful on the weather band and he wouldn't have to suffer for too long. He flipped it open and fiddled with the dial, then held it up close to his ear so he could hear the tiny speaker over the wind, waves and general hellishness on deck.

Static.

Frowning, momentarily forgetting about the storm, Scotty checked to make sure he had it tuned into the proper frequency. The communicators weren't perfect, but they were certainly powerful enough to cut through some rough weather; he could pull in starships in orbit, let alone the planet-wide weather band.

It was right, and there was still nothing but static.

It could have been the communicator, but it had been working just a couple hours ago when they'd checked the forecast for updates. It wasn't storm interference; there was a little lightning, but nothing powerful enough to short out the range on a subspace device like that.

He frowned deeper still, unconsciously finding his sea legs once he stopped thinking about the maelstrom and started focusing on the problem at hand. Twisting the dial again, this time aiming for Spacedock's powerful transmitters, he held it up and listened, uneasily. If his communicator was out, and if everyone else's was as well, then they really were alone out there.

For some reason, that fleeting thought made Scotty shudder from head to toe.

Maybe it was water damage. Nodding to himself, he went over the likelihood that enough water had seeped into the usually watertight circuitry. After all, it was raining-- no, not raining, pouring . Add in the spray from waves hitting the ship and the overall moisture content of the atmosphere, and it was almost a certainty.

So why, when he had such a good reason for the communicator to be out, did he still feel like he was in a desperate situation?

Shoving those thoughts aside, Scotty slipped back to the steps and headed down below, where he could check the delicate internal circuits without risking any further damage. The oil lanterns didn't provide much light, but at least there was more there than on deck, and if he was desperate enough, they had plenty of emergency power lamps stowed away.

It wasn't much quieter down there, but quiet enough. At the bottom of the stairwell, he braced the toes of his boots against the opposite wall, leaned back, and tried one last time to tune in something.  Anything.

The white noise of static seemed unbearably loud, even with the storm howling above.

God, we're alone, he thought, digging through his pockets to find his multitool and penlight. Logically, he should have gone and checked to see if the other communicators were working, but he figured he’d at least confirm it was just water infiltration that took this one out first.

He was just about to pry open the casing and check for damage when a break came through the static. No transmission, but a break. Something that momentarily cut the noise. Sinking down until he was sitting at the bottom of the stairwell, half-shadowed in the back and forth dance of the lamps, he listened.

Static-- emptiness-- c'mon, something caused that. Maybe they weren't totally on their own out there, maybe something was there and the universe wasn't compacted to the small space of a wooden schooner on the North Atlantic.

He realized, abstractly, that sometimes the universe could really be that small. And that he was even smaller.

But not as small as whoever it was whose voice made it through the static, the wind, the creaking. Not that small. With dawning horror, he heard the cry through the night of someone far more frightened and alone than him.

"Please, god... someone hear this... ... ...capsized, going down... ..." a broken sob, "I don't wanna die like this."

 

 

 

Corry stood the helm alternately for Lewis and he was loving every minute of it. Sure, most of his crew looked positively sick and ready to give up sailing forever, but for him, this was the ultimate high. Starfleet could keep their starships, their so-called adventures to other worlds. When compared to the feeling of facing off, one-on-one with nature, their recruitment posters of 'Adventure! Exploration! Advancement! Join Starfleet Today and See the Universe!' seemed pretty laughable.

He thought himself a part of this, as elemental as the wind he was fighting. He never once thought of himself alone out there. Holding on with an unwavering grip, feet braced apart, he was just about to whoop again triumphantly when Scotty stepped in front of the wheel.

There was something in his expression, in his eyes, that completely and totally stopped Cor in his thoughts. Like slamming into a brick wall. He didn't even have time to blink before Scotty jumped into it, "Communications're out, we've got a ship down somewhere, ahead or behind, I dinna ken, but someone's in trouble."

It took a few seconds for Corry to grasp what was said. "Down?"

"Down," Scotty affirmed, with a deadly intensity.  Desperately, he half-begged, "Corry, go!"

Cor leapt into action. He could always get the details of his best friend's reasoning later; right now, he didn't have time to ask. Grabbing Scotty unceremoniously, he shoved him in the direction of the wheel, not taking the time to see if he got the hint. Then, sliding on the wet deck, he nearly ran into the bell post.

-ding-ding-ding-ding-ding-ding-ding-

The bell clanged hard, the brass notes loud and sharp. It struck fear into just about anyone who could hear it, too; this wasn't the watch being called, this was an emergency.

Lewis came skidding up within the minute, "What is it?!"

"Ship going down, don't know where," Corry said, hurriedly. "Get three people to stand lookout on the bow, three on the stern, and two on each rail. Tell 'em to look for anything -- lights, shadows, blurs -- anything!"

Lewis nodded sharply. "You'd best get someone to try to raise Starfleet."

"Communications are out," Scotty interrupted, reappearing next to them, probably having snatched someone to take the helm for him. "I dinna ken how I got even that, but it was broken up all to hell, and there's no way we can get Starfleet."

"We'll get the boats ready to swing out," Corry ordered, more calm now that things were being set into motion. "We'll need to be ready to heave-to in an instant, no less, so I want all hands on deck. I don't care if they're puking everywhere, I want them out here."

"Boats're already bein' prepped." Nodding sharply, Scotty looked less than patient as he awaited the next task to be carried out. "We'll need someone to try'n raise 'em again, and get a position, or their last position, their ident, whatever they can."

"I'll get someone on it." Corry felt a brief flash of gratitude that he had a first mate who was capable of taking the initiative, but didn't allow himself to dwell on it. "Keep at the helm; just hold on and keep us on course, no matter what. I'll have any course corrections relayed, and see if someone with a tricorder can't pick up their emergency transponder signal."

"Aye aye, sir," Scotty replied, before turning and going back to his post.

Corry looked after him for a second, then headed down onto the main deck to coordinate the rest of the crew. 

 

 

 

The Lady Grey battled her way into the night. Looking through the spray, rain and mist, her running lights might have seemed almost ghostly; green, white and red, glowing as brightly as possible. Lewis had mounted a high powered emergency searchlight on the bow, hoping to see enough ahead to avoid any collisions, and it really was the only strong source of light in the wind-torn night.

It wasn't just a weather disturbance anymore, it was a full-throated gale.

And it was the crew that distinguished themselves, proving that Starfleet had not wasted their time on training them. Gone was the grousing; they were all too busy to worry about themselves right then. If Barrett would have been able to see them, he would have been more than proud of all of them.

All but one, that is.

Exactly when it happened couldn't be said, but when Albright went to sound the hull and make certain she wasn't leaking anywhere, he stepped down onto the lower hold floor and found an inch of water.

On the quarterdeck, waging a one-man war to try to hold the Lady Grey on course, Scotty didn't fail to notice that the schooner wasn't reacting quite right; she was almost sluggish, and didn't want to respond readily to the course corrections that Corry shouted back. It was he who had sent Joe down to make certain they weren't taking on water.

Really, he knew before Albright ever showed back up. It was in the deck, the wheel, the different sounds; it just didn't feel right. He had always been apt at listening to his instincts when they said that something was wrong; now wasn’t any different, but for context.

When Albright stepped onto the quarterdeck, all it took was one, brief glance to confirm the truth. The wind shrieked above, a nerve-wracking sound, but it wasn't the cry above that made Scotty shiver, and it wasn't the driving rain either. It was another cry altogether.

For one moment, he was back in the pitch black slip, fumbling with the wires, smoke-blind and breathless, fighting to save his ship as she wailed in his head--

--and in the next, he was moving. "Joe, take the wheel!" With that hasty order, he barely waited long enough for the other cadet to take over before sprinting across the deck. One good wave would have put him right overboard, but fate wasn't that cruel, and he literally slid into the bulwark, grabbed onto it, and all but leapt down the steps to the main deck, landing rough but on his feet.

Corry was still racing around, shouting back and forth with the lookouts, and Lewis had his team on the sails. The entire main deck was almost surreal; lit by nothing but the hastily installed deck lights, spray from the waves washing every which way before washing out of the scuppers, people stumbling and tripping around as they did their best to comply with orders, some of them tethered and most of them wearing life-vests and beacons. Scotty nearly ended up running into more than a few people as he headed for the bow, sliding this way and that on the boards, but he made it without knocking anyone over.

He ended up sliding right into Corry, who only just kept his footing. Cor turned, no doubt ready to start chewing out some other clumsy fool, and stopped when he saw who it was. "Aren't you supposed to be at the wheel?!"

"The Grey," Scotty managed, panting. "We're takin' on water."

"Oh shit." Corry's eyes widened. "How bad is it?"

"Losin' steerage, and she's rollin' further, rightin' slower." Finally catching his breath and getting his tattered thoughts under control, Scotty stood a bit straighter on the heaving deck. "We get knocked over, and we'll lose our rightin' arm that much quicker."

They both knew the math there; if she kept taking on water, then all it could take would be one reasonably large freak wave to hit her on her beam and she would be over. She wouldn't be able to right herself with the water shifting inside of her hull, changing her center of gravity. "Zero moment point,� Cor said, sounding stunned. “God, we can't stop, though--"

"Sir!"

Scotty and Corry turned in unison, though it was Corry who asked, "What?"

Balimer tripped and stumbled over, clutching the communicator in one hand. "It's the Wildstorm. She's on her beam ends and downflooding, they have two boats in the water but the rest can't be launched, her masts are down, most of the people are on the hull. Signal keeps getting stronger, I told 'em to set up an emergency beacon, flare, something."

"Good!" Turning again, Corry barked up to his forward lookouts, "Look sharp, guys, we're getting close!"

"Corry." Scotty couldn’t keep the desperation out of his voice.

Cor looked back. It was time for a command decision, and they both knew it -- if they didn't heave-to and patch the hull, she would become more and more vulnerable. If they did, the Wildstorm's crew would be in the cold water on a sinking ship that much longer, and there were a thousand and one ways to die on a ship going down. They couldn't take the crew away from Lewis to have them man the pumps, not until they were hove-to. Rescue crews didn't even know they were in danger, what with the comm out and the requisite emergency transponders clearly not working.

One way or another, it was a point of no return, no matter what they did.

Corry took a deep breath. "We have to keep going; hold her together, Scotty. However you can."

There was a long moment, and even amidst the chaos, it seemed almost quiet.

Then, nodding smartly, Scotty answered, "Aye aye, sir." And already trying to plan ahead, he turned and headed for the stairs.