The Ship That Sailed The Time Stream Part 24

Howie was not buying it. His eyes twitched from Gorson to Cookie to Joe. Joe wondered why he had never before noticed how much white they showed.

"No," Howie said firmly. "The still has got to go."

"But can't we-?"

"Now!"

Joe opened the door and slowly stepped out. Dr.

Krom crowded in front of him and waved test tubes.

"Later," Joe said, and kept walking.

Dr. Krom wouldn't be brushed off. "Urgent," he was saying. "Must act immediately."

"What do you know about urgency?" Joe muttered.

Another step and there was Krom again, clutching at his sleeve. The old man was in a real flap; his English had dwindled away into pure Hungarian.

"Nyet, nyista, whatever the h.e.l.l it is in Magyar-no, d.a.m.n it!" Joe said. "Later."

There was a tinkling crash behind them. There goes the still. But all was not yet lost-they'd replaced one broken bell jar. But if that copper coil ever went over the side . . . Slowly, Joe turned.

The G.o.d shouter was backed up against the bulk- head, describing wild wavering arcs with a handful of pistol. "Don't Howie," Joe said. "You're here to save souls, not send them to h.e.l.l before they can choose."

"I've got to get to Rome."

"All right, all right. Has anyone said no? Look at all

these poor souls seeking the light. Give them your mes- sage. I'll interpret."

Howie frowned an instant, then began repeating his private evangel. After a moment Joe interrupted. "Esta loco," he said, "Procuren no hacerle dano. Non compos mentis. Non respondit actas suas." He tried again in Greek, urging them not to kill the Salvation-addled Bible belter.

Howie had the heavenly reward bit down pat by now.

Oh well, as long as he keeps talking, Joe philosophized.

But that thrice accursed pistol still wobbled around, describing in great flamboyant arcs the riches of heaven.

Howie raised both hands in a gesture of benediction and the pistol pointed momentarily upward. Joe caught movement from the corner of his eye-a whistling hiss as Raquel's knife removed the thinnest slice from How- ie's already mangled ear. The pistol went off!

Ma Trimble screamed. Immediately the blondes made it an a capella choir. Howie stared at the pistol, wonder- ing if he had caused all that noise. Something heavy struck him in the forehead. The imam hefted another cup. "Takes one to catch one," he said with a wolfish grin at Joe.

Fragments of heavy, handleless navy cup lay about the shattered savior. His forehead bulged as if a third eye were ready to open. Raquel stepped over the crushed crusader and retrieved her knife. That's the second time she's saved my life, Joe thought.

Schwartz crowded up. "Mr. Rate, what're we gonna do?"

"Can't let him run around loose. Get some merthio- late and cotton."

Dr. Krom crowded up again, waving a test tube and spouting Magyar. "Later," Joe said, but the excitement had blown a fuse somewhere in the old man. "Cookie, fix him up."

Cookie nodded and returned a moment later with a

half cup of cloudy liquid. Dr. Krom took the cup ab- sently and drank it. He coughed and abruptly spoke English. "Most urgent," he began. Abruptly, his eyes crossed. He sat heavily on the settee.

"Foreigners just ain't got no stomach," Cookie ob- served.

"Did we leave anything ash.o.r.e?" Joe asked.

Gorson shook his head. "What're you gonna do with him?" he asked, pointing at McGrath.

"How should I know?" Joe snapped. He knelt again.

McGrath's pulse was steady and regular. He peeled back eyelids and both pupils were the same size. No blood from nose or ears. "Lapham!" he yelled.

"Sir," that young man asked, "what did you give Dr.

Krom?"

"A drink. Get the hammer, saw, and find some nails."

"I'll try, sir."

The young civilian had suddenly started sirring him.

Why? He caught Cookie's eye and they bore the young G.o.d shouter forward. "Any of your things in the chain locker?" he asked Raquel.

She shook her head.

They made McGrath as comfortable as possible atop the jumble of nylon line. Lapham reappeared with some odds and ends of lumber. "Leave room between these slats so we can feed him," Joe said.

Where was Gorson? Joe went on deck and found the chief fumbling in the darkness, trying to shackle the mains'l headboard onto its halliard. "Girls were sewing this afternoon," he explained. "It's unbent."

It was nearly midnight. Working in the dark, they could take all night bending on the mains'l and then run the risk of tearing it. In daylight it would only take minutes. "Get some sleep," Joe said. "We'll get underway at dawn." The bos'n nodded and went below.

Joe took a deep breath and reached for a cigarette.

When would he remember there weren't any? He

needed a shave too but they'd been out of soap for three weeks and he kept putting off the thought of another sc.r.a.pe with that same old blade.

Were they ready for another try at the Azores? He wandered around the yawl's deck, testing the standing rigging with his hand. It was stainless so there was no rust problem, but the Alice had taken several hard knocks. Were there any incipient cracks in shackles or turnbuckles? He meandered up into the bows and ran a speculative hand over the forestay. Someone scooted aside to keep from being stepped on. He squinted and saw Raquel. "Sorry about crowding you out of the chain locker," he said.

"I have not slept there for some time."

"Oh?" Too hot, he supposed.

"I do not enjoy what goes on in the forecastle."

"Nor I," Joe agreed. "Perhaps they'll settle down when we get to sea."

"Haven't we worked hard enough here?"

Joe sighed. He hadn't realized how weary he was. He sat and leaned against the anchor winch. Ought to go be- low, he knew, but all that rustling and giggling filtered into his cubicle. It was cooler up here and the moon was just setting beyond the harbor mouth. His head was resting on something soft but he was too tired to see what.

Somewhat later he heard people moving quietly along the deck but again his exhaustion wouldn't let him care why anyone would be throwing things into the caique he'd salvaged that morning.

He woke to the bleary realization that Raquel had sat all night cradling his head in her lap. She felt him move and dumped him unceremoniously on deck. He scrambled to his feet and started yelling the Alice's crew awake. He stopped with an "all hands" choked crossways as he saw what Raquel stared at. Less than twenty feet away a large bireme was moored. At least

eighty oars were visible on Joe's side. Through the oar ports he caught glimpses of rowers. They looked mean.

He dived down the forward scuttle, dragging Raquel after him. "Stay below," he shouted. "Let's get the h.e.l.l out of here!" Hurling blondes like a berserk snowplow, he lifted the floorboard over the engine.

Rose spun valves. He opened fuel c.o.c.ks, water c.o.c.ks, and exhaust c.o.c.ks. The starter began grinding. Nothing happened. Rose gave a disgusted grunt and reached for the ether bottle. He poured a capful into the air intake. The diesel gave a shuddering explosion and roared into life.