Chapter 4: The Voyage is At Last Begun

The RLS Legacy made her launch into space at nine o'clock a.m. After a brief rally of the men for roll call, a last count of the provisions, and a new inspection of the well-oiled helm, I bade the lookout, Mr. Onus, to please ring the bell to signify we were ready to cast off.

Mr. Arrow escorted an intrigued Doctor Doppler (but no Jim, who I assumed had stayed in the galley with Silver) from below deck, and took his usual place beside me on the bridge. Mr. Arrow then shouted to the hands to prepare themselves for the launch, and when Doppler, still in his suit, clomped up the gangway to the port flying bridge, I leaned confidentially toward Arrow. "Is it a good idea that the Doctor be on the bridge when we launch?" I inquired quietly.

Mr. Arrow leaned toward me and murmured in reply, "I thought he might like to observe the launch, Captain. What better place than on the bridge?"

"I don't think he has any idea of what he's doing."

"If he falls into trouble, what better person to pull him out than yourself?" Mr. Arrow said, smiling as he straightened up. I sighed, annoyed but smiling, watching him, and opened my mouth to say something else when Turnbuckle, the helmsman, hurried up the gangway onto the bridge and grabbed the helm. "We're all ready, Cap'm," he informed me. "On your command, ma'am, we'll head out."

"Thank you, Turnbuckle," I said, without a glance his way for I had taken notice that Doppler was fumbling in his metal space boots down the gangway toward the bridge once again. I gritted my teeth subtly, part of me hoping he wouldn't take a spill, another part of me thinking how amusing it would be if he did. But despite what I hoped he did or did not do, he managed his way down without a scratch, and was in a moment's notice beside the helm and inspecting the view below. I turned to Mr. Arrow.

"Well, my friend," I said with a short exhalation, "Are we ready to raise this creaking tub?"

Mr. Arrow bowed his head. "My pleasure, Captain."

And so, with my nod of consent, he turned to the crew on deck and shouted for them all to find their stations.

The deck below bustled with disorderly work in immediate response. Meltdown waded his way through the crowd to find his place in the engine room, and the riggers scuttled like ants atop the masts to the sails. Some of the ropers pulled back at the lines of the sails, while others prepared to release the astral anchor. Slowly but surely, the sails opened to reveal their shell-shaped bellies, billowing little by little as the fibers caught the sun, weaving it into threads as the energy cascaded through the masts and was directed to the engine room, where Meltdown was awaiting enough accumulation to launch us.

Among the busy crewmen on deck, I caught sight of Jim Hawkins, who was leaning far over the bulwarks in awe as the RLS Legacy ascended high into the air.

There was a slight tremor that fluttered through the hull of the ship's entirety as the Cresentia's gravity lost hold of us, and in few seconds practically everyone was levitating three or four feet off the ship. The Doctor, to my surprise, lifted up like a balloon caught in an updraft. So, (to put it as Mr. Arrow had), to pull him out of trouble, I directed my command to the gravity specialist Snuff, (who had quickly assured us when Mr. Arrow and I met him that he could understand English) and instructed him to engage the ship's artificial gravity. His assurance proved to be the truth, for he saluted me noisily, threw the correct lever, and we all fell to our feet back on the ship's floor. The Doctor took the spill he had so triumphantly avoided on his way down from the port flying bridge, but I took no amusement in it, and told the helmsman, "South by southwest, Mr. Turnbuckle, heading 2-1-0-0."

"Aye, Cap'm," he responded professionally. "2-1-0-0."

The ship swung starboard, her bow tipped a few feet higher than her stern, facing the Etherium. I raised my chin, ready to cast off, and commanded, "Full speed, Mr. Arrow, if you please."

Mr. Arrow turned to the communication tube that enabled us to speak with Mr. Meltdown below deck, and ordered, "Take her away!"

There was a hum of engines as they readied themselves to launch. The Doctor, who had been fumbling for his feet since his sprawl across the bridge, finally retrieved his footing, and as he dusted his ridiculous suit off, I warned him, knowing he wouldn't take it truly to heart, "Brace yourself, Doctor."

He made no reply to me. I, for one, took my advice, and as the engines blasted back a powerful surge of solar energy, the RLS Legacy rocketed into the Etherium, tossing the Doctor nimbly off his feet and rifling him backwards. The inertia carried him fully five feet off the ground before he collided heavily against the mizzenmast, sending him again sprawling, where he, since the launch had begun, lay quite without bother for some time.

The RLS Legacy flew as smoothly as a space captain could possibly think to ask for. She was a sturdy little schooner, with a white hull and a gentle temperament, complete with three masts and a peppery engine. There was a sort of cubby within the bulwarks on the bridge where one could view the control panel, which I immediately checked to see that everything was in proper order. Everything proved just so, to my satisfaction, and I looked up again to see several small pods of Orci Galactici, which are leviathan-like creatures that inhabit the colder parts of the Etherium. Their pods, angled into a 'V' formation common to other migratory creatures such as geese, surrounded our ship soon enough, and seemingly everyone slowed in their work to watch as several of them flew above and beside the RLS Legacy. I frankly had no objection to that; they are, indeed, majestic creatures, and no matter how many times one has seen them before, one really never tires of them.

However, traveling too close to a pod can be hazardous to both the ship and the Orcus, were a collision to occur, and I quietly bade Turnbuckle to be alert in his work. When I straightened up I noticed, to my slight interest, Doppler had made it back on his feet and up to the starboard flying bridge, and I rather wondered how I had failed to hear him clank up the steps. Nevertheless, I realized he was gazing in awe over the side at an Orcus drifting almost directly below the flying bridge. The Doctor was intrigued, declaring something I couldn't quite understand, for his back was turned to me, and he straightened to his full height and hit a button of some sort on the chest of his suit. He must have taken the liberty of plugging the rheostat in again after he had left me, for a camera jutted out of his suit at the touch of the button. "Smile!" I heard the Doctor shout cheerily as he leaned forward to snap a shot of the passing creature.

Unfortunately for the Doctor, he was right in the range of a good spatter from the Orcus's blowhole, should any be in the offing. I knew from my own observations that such a discharge was unpredictable, and so I raised a cautioning finger for the Doctor, who couldn't see it anyway, and called to him from the bridge, "Uh, Doctor, I'd steer clear of that—"

But a rush of intergalactic mucus spewed up from the Orcus Galacticus, rushing upon and then raining down onto him, interrupting me and quickly soaking the whole of Doctor Doppler.

Amusing though it was, I managed to stifle my chuckle a little, letting my finger drop. And then there was a rumbling voice calling, and my features were wiped clean.

The grand old cyborg Silver, out on deck for no real reason, was tipping his cloth hat in my direction as soon as I placed my eyes upon him.

"Ah… 'Tis a grand day for sailin', cap'm!" The man informed me jubilantly. I made no effort to respond, and he pointed a swift, metallic index finger in my direction, continuing spiffily, "and look at ya'! You're as trim and as bonny as a sloop with new sails and a fresh coat a' paint." Having complimented me thus far, he executed a sweeping bow, withdrawing his hat from the top of his head to enhance the flattery.

I could perceive the ingratiation instantly, and on a better day with a better crew I think there may have been a better chance that I'd have taken it, but, lacking the two, I was not at all interested in accepting Silver's flattery. Shortly I stated, "You can keep that kind of flimflammery for your spaceport floozies, Silver," at which the cyborg's smiling cheeks fell. As if with the intention of increasing my dislike for the cook, a small, pink-colored gel creature (known widely as a Morph) drifted forth and, quite remarkably, took a form uncannily resembling me. The creature then commenced to mimic my statement in a squeaky voice three times before Silver was able to conceal it within his hat. Quickly he peered up at me and remarked piteously, "You cut me to the quid, Cap'm… I speaks nothin' but me heart at all times."

"Nothin'butmeheart…" I heard the morph echo from his hat.

I rolled my eyes, noting during the procedure that not only was my simpleton cook disregarding his duties, so was his new cabin boy, who hung idly from the shrouds in a juvenile bout of happy preoccupation.

"And, um… by the way," I sneered, "Isn't that your cabin boy aimlessly footling about in those shrouds?"

Silver again sagged in dismay, swiveled his head about to look at the boy, and then turned back to me. "Ah… a momentary aberration, Cap'm! Soon t' be addressed. Jimbo-o!"

In spite of myself I smiled at the nickname given to the boy as Silver marched off to tend to his responsibility, and, taking in a deep breath, I turned from the bridge with the destination of my stateroom in mind.