Chapter Two
Chapter Two
Marrissa barely heard the sound of the doors opening, but she did hear them closing, and the sound of boots on the quarter deck above her. She'd left the program open to others joining, in hopes that her parents would join her, or perhaps one of her friends. Jay Gordon had been interested in the book at least. The boot steps were too far apart to be one of her friends though.
She looked up from where she was examining a cannon bellow decks to discover Captain Picard descending from the deck above. She quickly turned towards the Captain and came to attention. With a nervous undertone, she said, "Welcome aboard the HMS Indefatigable, sir."
"Thank you, Marrissa," Captain Picard said, placing his tri-cornered hat under his left arm, as it would have brushed against the low deck-head. "I hope you don't mind me sharing your program. I noticed that you had left it open for others to join, though I doubt you expected me to do so."
"No, sir, I don't mind and I didn't expect ..." Marrissa began, nearly stuttering. Captain Picard cut her off with a wave, before bending down to examine the cannon before her.
"You know, many a Starship Captain has wished for simpler times, and for some unfathomable reason the Napoleonic Wars keep coming up," Picard said, grabbing the rope to pull the cannon inboard. "My first captain, a proper Englishman name Edwin Styles, thought it wasn't the simplicity of the era, but the writers who wrote about it. Of course, the era was really anything but simple, with the constant shifting alliances, and these wooden hulled ships that in some ways are even more complicated to command than a Galaxy Class Starship. At the time, I had some objection to the stories, but as you've no doubt discovered, Forrester is infections."
"Not just Forrester, Kent, Reeman, Pope, and O'Brien, too," Marrissa said, before putting her hand over her mouth. It seemed wrong to interrupt the Captain with her own opinion. He was the Captain, in the words of Kent, one step below God on ship.
Picard looked down at the girl, before swabbing the bore of the canon. "I have to agree. Hmm ... quite clean. I'd say the computer is giving you a good crew in your section."
Marrissa nodded. She stepped back a bit, bitting her tongue She could feel her face warming. This was the Captain. She shouldn't be so familiar with him.
"Well, are you ready to start?" the Captain asked. Marrissa nodded. "Then I believe your division awaits, and I am expected on the quarter deck."
...
Captain Jean-Luc Picard stood to the port of the wheel on the HMS Indefatigable as the ship suddenly filled with officers. It was winter on the Bay of Biscay, a French winter which he was familiar with, in land. The Bay of Biscay was a bit different, though. The ship had just escaped from an westerly gale, where it had to claw it's way safe from shore with the icy sea spray providing ice coated rigging and wet clothes, allowing the bitter cold to penetrate to the body.
As Captain Pellew, a historical Captain, unlike most of Forrester's, he stood in command of that Captain's most famous command. The British had the famous Captains of the era, not that there were not a few good Frogs, to use the lingo of the era, but the British Navy of the era ruled the waves.
It was almost time for inspection. The Midshipmen and their divisions were already mustering, and Jean-Luc was sure that young Hornblower was about to discover something in hers. It would be interesting to see how close the young girl followed the script.
...
Marrissa could feel the sense of restlessness on ship, as she looked over her division in advance of the Captain's weekly inspection. Something looked wrong with the next man standing before her in her division. "What's the matter with your face, Styles?" she asked, barely remembering his name.
"Boils, sir, awful bad." On Styles' face there were a half dozen sticking blobs of plaster.
"Have you done anything about them?" Marrissa asked, recalling the primitive nature of the medicine of the Napoleonic Wars.
"Surgeon's Mate, sir, 'e give me plaister for 'em, an' 'e says they'll soon come right, sir." Styles stood stiff and erect, and she could find no fault with him, but the men beside him, they seemed amused for some reason.
Marrissa looked sternly at the two flanking Styles. "Is there something amusing about Styles' condition that you wish to share?"
They immediately duplicated Styles' stiff posture. "No sir!" Something about their response made Marrissa suspicious. She'd be talking to the Surgeon and Surgeon's mate after inspection. One more walk down her division and back, looking at the dregs that filled the crew of this ship of His Majesty's Navy, and she judged them ready for inspection.
...
Captain Jean-Luc Picard descended to the gun deck, his Cabin Boy trailing behind him ready to take notes. To the port was Kennedy's division, and to the starboard Hornblower's. They were the least senior of his midshipmen, and he'd chosen to see to their divisions last. "Mister Kennedy, let's see how your division stands up."
Kennedy's side was all properly arrayed, with nothing much to comment on, other than a bit of sloppiness in deportment which Picard filed away without comment. "Very good, Mister Kennedy. Now, Miss Hornblower ..." He turned to the division currently being run by Marrissa.
The plasters on Crewman Styles caught his eye, immediately. He decided to throw Marrissa a bit of a bone. "Miss Hornblower, please find out if I need to be concerned about this Crewman's treatment."
"Aye sir!" the girl responded smartly.
"Very good, Miss Hornblower," Picard said. "I shall expect the same or better next time. Crew, as you were. Mr Bracegridle, join me in my quarters."
