Chapter 6: The Voyage

The first few weeks of the voyage went relatively smoothly. The crew did its best and eventually found a place for themselves in the more tolerant realms of my perception. My basic opinion of their working efforts changed from pessimism to general optimism: continuous blunders to clumsy persistence. However, my distrust toward them evaporated sooner, for I developed the assumption that they were only crewmen with meager work ethics and tendencies to eves-drop, and not all-out evil mutineers plotting for blood. There has never been a mutinous crew that didn't show signs of it before, and these men were not demonstrating signs; basically all they seemed to prove to be were kittens with bad habits.

The Doctor had taken up residence in the guest's quarters two rooms below mine, and, every once in a while, moved into my company. He could eventually spend time lapsing into almost half an hour with me, discussing topics regarding the voyage and astronomical jargon, always intending to be of help to me, but usually making himself a bit of a spectacle. He proved to be useful in some cases; for instance, he knew an impeccable amount of information concerning astronomical concepts. He could also determine how far we were from our destination by judging what he could remember from the map, neither one of us having taken the liberty of consulting Jim Hawkins about opening it. We faired well despite the unopened map, although I did have a subdued desire to see it activated. The Doctor was, in some aspects, an interesting man to have around, albeit a rather risible one as well. It always took a bit of persuasion before he gained confidence in himself, and to this day I do not believe I saw the whole of his self-confidence until after the voyage was done.

Also, Jim Hawkins seemed to undergo a few subtle changes. As the days progressed, he did not seem to be so sullen, and I noted a few weeks after the voyage began that his eyes had gained a bit of light and the dark jacket he usually wore had been discarded. I had only to assume the cook Silver was behind this subtle transformation, he having sent the boy straight to work and never seeming to let up. One morning a few weeks into the voyage I found both Silver and Mr. Hawkins dangling from the bulwarks of the port stern. They were sitting on a plank of wood hanging from two pieces of rope fastened to the sides of the ship to form a manufactured swing. When I peered over the bulwarks to investigate the two bits of rope thrown over the side, I saw Silver and Jim Hawkins below, Silver overseeing and Mr. Hawkins prying barnacles off the hull. I had meant to have Hands handle that vocation later at noon, and I shouted down an inquiry as to why Jim was working on it instead.

"The lad didn't come back, ma'am, after deliverin' your latte this mornin', an' now he's payin' for it," Silver called back. I laughed, and when Mr. Hawkins glanced up at me, I said, "All right, then, Mr. Silver. If the punishment fits the crime..."

"I figure it does, Cap'm."

"Then by all means continue, Mr. Hawkins."

Later, when I informed the Doctor of Jim's encounter with the barnacles, expecting his amusement as a result, I instead received moreover his heartfelt approval. "Jim needs the discipline," the Doctor explained concisely, and that's all he told me regarding the matter.

Beyond the mornings at seven o'clock when my latte was delivered, I saw little of Jim Hawkins. The first few weeks he would say nothing to me at all, except a murmured 'Good morning, ma'am' upon entrance. It grew to be wildly amusing to see what Silver was having him do: Jim often wore a white apron hanging from his neck, and his face or clothes (despite the apron) were usually splashed with traces of flour or other such evidence that he had been helping prepare breakfast. And he would always be in a constant state of sullen detachment, rarely saying anything at all while he placed the latte upon my desk. He usually then would flee, whereupon I occasionally shouted teasingly after him not to run and hide, although the hull could use a little scraping.

There was a small expanse of time where I was obliged to discuss with Silver the random mornings of which I would find a candy eyeball floating round in my latte, watching me intently as I went about my business at my desk. The first time this occurred, I will own that it startled me to a certain degree; after the first or second, however, it was no longer such a surprise. It was slightly degrading to be had by practical jokes in my own stateroom, but I never did bring it up with Silver, for the game was put to rest a few weeks after it started.

I spent many an afternoon up on the bridge. I would often see the Doctor out on deck during the afternoons, or appear there in the evenings. A small telescope through which he would gaze interestedly at the stars usually accompanied him. After the first or second week, I noticed he would take notice of me, and on the first night during the third week he addressed me, and then continued to address me in the evenings following that—"How are you, Captain" and "Lovely weather we're having"—and other such casual conversational prattle.

One night he actually ascended to the bridge to speak with me. He made his way up the gangway, after confirming to himself that I was doing nothing particularly important there, and said with a tone balancing both a polite and casual approach as best it could, "How are you, Captain?"

I enjoyed amusing myself by bantering and teasing the bashful Doctor for the rest of the ten or twenty minutes he was too introverted to be a good conversationalist, during which time he wriggled like an eel in his embarrassment, attempted his part in the conversation with his 'lovely weather we're having' observation, until he soon excused himself to leave. However, after a few more nights passed and his confidence at last came round, he could board the bridge and greet me without seeming as inhibited.

Then some few weeks later I found him on the bridge before I'd reached it late one evening. I smiled wryly and called mockingly up to him as I approached, "How are you, Doctor? Lovely weather we're having!"

The Doctor took his telescope from his eye and said spuriously, but good-naturedly, "I agree. Good evening to you, as well, Captain!"

I stopped to look up at him, and told him lightly, "You look just like a fledgling astronomer, Doctor, what with your telescope in hand and no one to acknowledge your work."

He smiled. "Rather… presumptuous of you to tell me my work is unacknowledged."

"Rather presumptuous of you to take to the bridge before me. And it was not particularly brazen of me, my good Doctor Doppler... If you consider it, fledglings are much more hard-working, persevering, and overall more admirable compared to the lazy old experts who've done it all and have little else to aspire for."

The Doctor looked at me. "Do you mean to tell me— in the most roundabout way possible— that you think me admirable?"

I lifted my eyebrows and smiled ambiguously at him. "Let me assure you, Doctor, I—"

However, I could not complete my sentence, for, quite unexpectedly, a blow to the RLS Legacy's starboard hull sent her yawing at a twenty-five degree slant off course to the left. The impaction sent me, the hands, and I believe the Doctor sprawling our lengths across the deck within seconds. I regained my feet as quickly as I could, stupefied, as the Doctor's head came up again over the railing of the bridge, putting forth his own exclamation of surprise as he did so. He brought forth the telescope he'd kept safe under his arm and peered out at the Etherium in a sort of a flurry, and for a brief lapse of time there was a lull of silence. It was then that I heard a sharp, popping sound a far distance off. Unnerved, I turned quickly around and looked over the bulwarks of the ship, and witnessed a red and blue explosion to the west; a danger I had never before come up against.

"The star Pellucid…" I heard the Doctor call. "It's gone… supernova!"