Author's Note: I'm back with my laptop fixed. Apparently, the hard drive was failing and it needed to be replaced. I'm just glad that nothing was lost since it is a habit for me to backup and constantly keep my stuff updated (at least once a month). It took a while, because soon afterwards I was dealing with some stressful things. Such as getting my roof repair and a new rain gutter because a storm torn them off. It's extremely expensive and there's still some lingering issues about that.
Anyway, I know that in the previous chapter I said Riddick would appear. But I didn't want to wait any longer, so I'm posting what I've got done so far. I'm still working on the rest of it and I hope to have it done by the end of the month.
Chapter 5
Sharp Blades
Jack and I reached the large section of the Nav Bay, where most of us were already done searching the ship for supplies. We gathered around the pile and begin taking inventory. We didn't get far with it when Johns rushed in, surprising us with his panic state while carrying Riddick's horse-bit. He informed us that he didn't find him and seemed annoyed with how unalarmed we were at the news.
I disregard him and focused my attention back onto the pile, noticing that we have some food mixed in. I did not think we would find anything at all, but it was certainly better than nothing. Fry also uncovered an amply supply of nutrient tablets. It won't substitute actual food, but it will keep our bodies healthy until we find some edible substance.
Zeke and Shazza have plenty of survival gear, including a pick-ax, digging tools, and hunting boomerangs. Johns only had a pistol, shotgun and a baton with him, as well as a knife. Imam showed off a ceremonial blade that was more showy than sharp. When they turned towards me to see what else I had, I just showed off my bottle of water and a rad suit, which I got strange looks at. I shrugged at them, putting the rad suit neatly away and observed what else Paris had to offer to the pile.
Along with the liquor supply and delicacies such as caviar, olives, and smoked oysters, Paris has a number of antique weapons. He straggled in with another armload of objects, and gingerly placed them on the floor.
"What the hell are these?" Johns muttered, nudging the brightly painted weapons with his toe. The curved blades looked like long steel fangs.
"Maratha crow-bill war picks from Northern India," Paris whispered proudly. "Very rare."
Zeke moved closer and picked up a long, carved wood tube. "And this?"
"Blowdart hunting stick from Papua New Guinea. Very, very rare," Paris added, with a superior tone. "Since the tribe's extinct."
Zeke snorted and put the tube back, "Extinct cause they couldn't hunt shit with these things be my guess." He winked at Jack, who quickly muffled a laugh.
"Well, what's the need for this war party hardware, anyway?" Paris shot back with annoyance. He glowered at Johns. "If your prisoner is gone, he's gone. Why should he bother us?"
Johns locked onto Paris' eyes. "Maybe to take what we got," he suggested, voice low and tight. "Maybe to work our nerves. Or maybe he'll come back just to skull-fuck us in our sleep."
The intensity in his tone convinced most of them of the danger of the escaped prisoner. Paris' face seemed to pucker up as if sucking a lemon, while the rest began to rummage through the weapons with renewed vigor. I eyed the ancient weapons with skepticism and didn't move to join them. I got my own way to protect myself against Riddick if he decided to target me. But it would be strange if I didn't grab at least something, even if it is just for show.
I picked up a spear, gripping it firmly to see if it's durable. The wooden stick certainly looks old and feels like it'll turn to dust if I squeezed it too tight. The blade at the top was actually a stone. It's dull, but with the proper tools it could be sharp again. I suppose I could break the top part and turn it into a stone dagger-like weapon instead. However, it may not be worth the effort to do so. I could be remembering it wrong, but I think sharpening stone is harder to do than with an actual metal blade.
I look down at the pile again, picking up another weapon to see if it's any better. This one is a single-edge bladed pole weapon. The pole is longer than the spear, about seven feet in length and the blade is also bigger with a spike on the other side of it.
Paris looked over at me as I studied it.
"Ah, that's a fifteenth century Germany glaive; a weapon that was carried by the bodyguards of the Prince-Electors of Saxony."
"How do you know that?" I asked, glancing at him.
"It is marked with a cross within a rough circle," he said pointing at the faded engraved part of the blade. "It's not that common, but sometimes bladesmiths and armourers tend to mark their works. Other times clientele may have them engraved or etched a family crest onto it. It certainly makes identifying these rare and priceless antiques easier."
"I see," I said, flipping it over to the spike part. "What was this side used for?"
"That was used to grab and hook an opponent, often to pull him down off a horse."
I tested the blade, gently sliding my finger on the edge of it. It's worn-down.
"That isn't surprising. Pole arms lost their importance on the field, and from the mid-16th century, they were reserved for use in sporting contests and by princely bodyguards for ceremony and parade."
"So it's mostly for decoration," I said, frowning. "The blade is too dull to even cut anything, unless I used it as a blunt instrument."
"Don't they say that dull knives are more dangerous than sharp ones?" Jack asked, looking up from playing with a bow-dart stick.
"That's usually about kitchen knives," Zeke quipped. "But I suppose it can be applied to anything pointy."
"It does. It refers to how a dull knife requires more pressure while slicing and the object being cut may unexpectedly give way, which can result in the knife slipping either onto the cutting board or worse, into you," I said, putting the spear back into the pile and keeping the glaive. "With that extra force you'll end up with a much deeper cut than a sharp blade would've given you."
"And it'll give you a really wicked scar," Zeke added, testing the weight of an axed weapon with a few swings.
"Why though?" Jack asked, wiping his dusty hand on his pants.
"Dull blades are jagged and essentially tear your flesh. While a sharp knife requires less force in order to cut things, so it slides through smoothly and cleanly. And any wounds from it will generally heal faster and neatly," I said eyeing the spike part of the weapon. It seems a bit more sharper than the actual blade when I took a closer look.
"But it bleeds longer," Zeke added, looking at Jack. "It's not as easy for clean cuts to clot, which is why they bleed so much. Soon enough you're gonna be sprouting some facial hairs and figured that one out yourself."
"Oh, right, that makes sense," Jack said, rubbing his chin and probably imaging himself with a beard.
I wiped some of the dust off of the weapon and onto my pants. I will need to find something to sharpen it with. A whetstone and some sort of oil or lubricant to reduce heat from the friction that is created when sharpening the blade. I could use water, but I don't want to waste it on that. Either way, there has to be at least one of those things on this ship. I'm just not completely sure where I might find it. I could ask Fry, but I doubt that it's something that a second class pilot would know. Owens won't know either and even if he did I'm not going to be bothering him in his condition.
"I'm going to look around for something to fix this glaive up a bit," I announced, straightening up and taking a couple of steps away from the group.
"What about Owens?" Fry asked, turning away from whatever Shazza and Johns were discussing.
"I won't go that far or take too long," I said, looking at her. "I already checked his wound and it's doing okay. I was also able to get him to drink some water before he went back to sleep."
"It's not a good idea to be wondering off on your own right now," Johns voiced, straighten up and placing a hand on his pistol.
It's interesting that he didn't direct that to statement to everyone, mainly at the kids that seem to make it a habit of going off on their own. I'm sure the only reason he singled me out is because he wanted to add, 'especially for a woman' at the end of his sentence. It's less about being concern for my well being and probably more of an excuse to accompany me as I search.
"I'm tougher than I look. Besides, it's better that I go now than later," I replied, confidently. "While Riddick is still preoccupied with putting distance between you and him. And if he does come back that would mean there's really nothing out there."
"Are you sure?" Shazza asked, concerned.
"Yes. I'll still be within shouting distance," I said, using the glaive like a walking stick as I walked away from the group.
Ships nowadays don't use oil or coal for fuel. They instead use power-cells and liquid gasses to run everything. Though some older ships' main engines burn liquid hydrogen. But I'm more interesting in locating the container of lubrication, which is used for some of the machines on board, especially those with bearings. The use of it makes sure that the machine runs smoothly and that it reduces friction so that it won't wear out so quickly. A commercial ship like this should have at least one type, maybe both solid and liquid lubrication. Either one will work for what I have in mind.
I climbed over loose metal paneling, dodged broken wires and carefully stepped pass broken glass. Of all the places to look, I'm more likely to find what I want somewhere towards the back of the ship. As I squeezed pass a broken beam, I could feel a moving heat following behind me. It wasn't small, so it wasn't one of the children. I walked around a warped metal panel that stuck out from the wall and looked back. I spotted Johns ducking his head from the loose wires hanging above. His eyes met mine when he straighten up.
"What are you looking for anyway?" he asked as he came closer.
I frowned at him. I was hoping to be left alone, but Johns doesn't seem like someone who would be easily discourage or listen to others. I lifted the glaive up in his direction.
"I need a few things in order to sharpen this," I said as I continued on with my search.
"You're gonna find it here?"
"Yes."
I found a utility locker still bolted to the wall at the end of the cabin. I walked over it, pulling it opened and scanning the contents inside. I placed the glaive besides the door as I shuffled through the small bins for a lubricate. There's a lot of junk mixed in with tools. The lack of organization of it is certainly annoying. If I don't find it soon I will have to tolerate Johns presence even longer than I would've liked.
He shuffled besides me and leaned against the wall with his arms crossed. "So, how does someone like you know so much?"
"Someone like me?" I asked, raising an eyebrow.
His eyes roam over my body before meeting my eyes. "You don't look like someone who should be taking a ship like this to get to places."
"Looks can be deceiving. Besides, most would be saying that about Shazza and not me," I said, pushing useless tools to the side of the cabinet.
"She's not the one that has caught my attention," he replied, leaning closer.
"I don't know why," I said, narrowing my eyes. "I'm nothing special."
"Really? You're beautiful and pretty smart too. It's the way you talk and explain things. I find that interesting because most folks can't afford to get that kind of education nowadays."
I shrugged, "So? Everyone is an expert at something. I just happen to be an overachiever that also likes to read a lot too. But that still doesn't make me anything special."
I spotted a roll of duck tape and slipped it into my bag. It's very useful. I consider it to be one of the greatest inventions created. Now, if only someone invented something that could get pesky people like Johns to leave me alone. I would be eternally grateful. He's obviously trying to fish for information about me. I don't know if it's because he's suspicious about something or just nosy.
"Than what's your expertise?"
"Oh, that's right. You weren't there when I told the others," I said, looking at him. "It's engineering."
"Damn," he stated impressed. "And the medical stuff?"
"It was a requirement," I said, sighing as I fiddled with my wristband and checked the radiation levels on it. I'm still safe to be around.
"That's a lot of learning to do," he said, leaning back now that he got something from me. "So why're you here of all places with an education like that?"
"Not that it's any of your business," I said, raising my eyebrow. "But I'm looking for work."
"Huh, I guess I was almost right. I figured you were here for work related reasons," he said, titling his head.
I laughed, rolling my eyes. "If I was I would've taken a more comfortable flight out."
I focused my attention back to locating a lubricate oil. I haven't search the bottom row of the locker yet, so I crouched down looking for it. I spotted a container in the back and pulled it out. I'm relieved to see that the label is for a solid lubricate. However, it's beginning to melt. I may not be able to feel the heat, but I've been noticing that everyone else is sweating more. The ship isn't too bad so far, but it's only a matter of time that it'll become unbearable to stay inside it.
The temperature system most likely got damaged or malfunction in the crash, otherwise it would have continued to work. Unless the computer shut itself off to save energy or redirect it to life-support, engines and heat shielding once it detected holes in the hull. I'm not sure which, but at this point it doesn't matter because the damage is extensive.
"Did you find it?" Johns asked, wondering why I stopped looking.
"..oh, right," I mumbled, stashing the container into my bag.
I take one last look at the rest of the rows for anything useful. I throw an empty cigarette box aside, spotting a bar of sharpen stone behind it. I wasn't expecting it, but I'm relieved to see it as it'll make things so much easier on me. I now have everything to make the glaive into a proper weapon. I grabbed that too and put it away in my bag.
"I've got everything I need," I said, standing back up and grabbing the glaive after I closed the locker.
Johns straighten up and rolled his shoulders as he did so. We headed back to the main cabin to the Nav Bay section. The others greeted us and I found a spot nearby Owens to work at. Jack moved closer, interested to see how sharpening a blade is done. I found a flat surface to placed the sharpening stone down and the half-melted solid bar of lubricate oil.
I first tried to clean the blade as best I can with a dirty rag, before attempting to sharpen it. Once done I checked the stone, to see what type it is because I do know that some are designed to be used wet or dry, but are destroyed when oiled. However, the one I found is specifically designed for oil, and will worked with the lubricate I have.
I flipped the stone to the coarsest side and apply a few drops of the lubricate directly to it. Then I rest the blade's edge of the glaive at an angle and carefully maintain the position as I slide it across the stone from top to bottom. I do that a couple of times before repeating the process on the other side of the blade. I add a bit more lubricate oil and keep at it until the blade is sharpen. Than I flipped the stone onto the finer side to make the edge smoother and extra sharp.
Once both sides have been worked on I move on to the next phrase which is testing it. I press the blade's edge against my skin and carefully drag it across my arm. I did a small patch
"Wait, what are you doing?" Jack asked, confused.
"Testing it. Usually most people use a piece of paper to see if the blade will cut it cleanly without much force. Fruits, vegetables and plant leaves could work too. But we don't have any of that here, so the next best thing is to see how well it will shave the hair off my arm," I said, pleased to see that it actually worked.
Jack motion for my arm so that he could see it for himself. I lifted it up in his direction and he brush the hairless area with his fingers. "Smooth, but what if it didn't work?"
"Then I go back to sharpening it again, and I'll keep testing it until I'm satisfied with it's sharpness," I said, working on the spike part of the weapon. "However, not all blades can be sharpen with the same angle."
"How would I know which angle is right?"
"As a general rule, it's best to follow the existing grind and edge angle of the blade. Something like this though," I said, stopping my work on the glaive and showing Jack the edge and heel of it. "I had to eyeball it. But there's actually an accurate method to do it. I just didn't use it because there's no sharpies around."
"How would a sharpie help?" Jack questioned, leaning back and holding his legs to his chest.
"With a sharpie I would've colored the edge of the blade. Then use a whetstone or sharpening stone to stroke it across. If your angle is too high, the ink will be removed only at the very tip of the bevel. If your angle is too low, none of the ink will be removed. You want to angle it so you are thinning the ink, but not removing it all," I said, working on the rest of the spike part of the glaive. "It also helps you to avoid over-sharpening which can reduce your blade's life."
"That can happen?"
"Yes. It thins the edge to the point that the blade becomes far less durable and can be permanently damaged," I said picking up a dirty rag. I pour a little bit of the lubricate oil to clean whatever dust and grit still cling to the blade. When I finished polishing the glaive, it looked so much better.
"If you don't mind me butting in," Zeke said, walking over to us both. "The 20 degree angle will work well for most knives. Something like, hmm, a machete would need to be about 30-35 degrees angle to be sharpen properly."
Jack eyed him skeptical and Zeke laughed. "I may not have formal education, but in the Outback you do pick up plenty of survival skills."
Zeke turned his attention onto me, pointing at the whetstone and lucubrate oil. "You don't mind if I borrow that for a bit?"
"Help yourself," I said, straightening up. "I don't need it anymore."
Shazza came over, carrying two axes to sharpen and the breather units to work on.
"Where everyone else go?" Jack asked, noticing that it was just us still inside the ship.
"Johns went off to patrol for Riddick," Shazza said, passing the axes to Zeke and sitting besides Jack. "And the others wondered off somewhere outside. They were talking about exploring the area."
"It won't do them any good if they go now," Zeke said, using a dirty rag over to clean the axes up before he started on them. "The breathers ain't done yet."
"Speaking of which, how's that coming along?" I asked, looking Owens over and checking his pulse. I would've also checked his temperature, but I run hot and I wouldn't be able to tell for sure if he's got a high fever or not. It's not unheard of for people to have a low-grade fever or higher than normal temperature after surgery or treatment of an deep wound. Those can be easily treated with ibuprofen or acetaminophen, and sometimes nothing at all.
However, it'll a problem if it the fever is accompanied by symptoms such as nausea, vomiting, an unexplained increase in pain, disorientation, drainage or angry redness around the injure. That would mean he has an infection and I won't be able to do anything about it without antibiotics.
"Not too bad," Zeke said, carefully guiding the blade's edge of the axe onto the oiled whetstone. "Only a few left to do."
"Here, luv," Shazza beckoned to Jack. "You give it a try."
She helped him strap the breather over his nose and chin. Jack sucked on the mouthpiece. A few seconds later he nodded happily. It worked.
"You keep that one," she told him.
"How's he doing anyway?" Zeke asked, pausing to take a look at Owens.
"Still asleep and he hasn't gotten worst which is good," I sighed. "But that could change later on. If that happens I won't be much help."
"You're doing the best with what you got," Zeke stated firmly. "So don't be too hard on yourself. And if anyone gives you trouble for it I'll have words with them."
"Thanks you," I said smiling. "Can you keep an eye on Owens for me?"
"Of course," Shazza said, working on another breather unit.
"What you're gonna do?" Jack asked, playing with a strap for an unfinished breather.
"I'm going to see what the others are up to."