Star Winds

The acceleration was crushing. Even Zhorga’s knees buckled, despite himself, and he sprawled full-length, scarcely able to breathe for long minutes that seemed like hours, as a colossal weight pressed him against the swaying deck.

Then the torture abruptly vanished and was replaced by a novel feeling of lightness. Zhorga lunged to his feet, looking about him and experiencing this new sensation with enjoyment.

His pleasure did not last long. Staggering toward him came a crewman who mouthed at him appealingly from within his helmet. Zhorga saw that he clutched the fabric of his suit with both hands, and that air was escaping from a large tear. For a moment Zhorga stood nonplussed, wondering how to save the man. But already it was too late. The sailor collapsed, gaping like a fish, and turned blue.

Zhorga hesitated, aware of many eyes watching the scene. Then he glumly unhooked the dead man’s safety line, lugged the corpse to the side, and threw it unceremoniously overboard.

***

After this, Rachad was alarmed to see a spirit of mutiny appear in the crew, many of whom ignored orders, refused to work and huddled together in a sullen group. Zhorga waded in to restore discipline, aided by Clabert and a few other stalwarts. In the silence of the void brief scuffles took place, made more weird by the thuds and clumps that were transmitted along the timber of the deck and through the soles of the boots of those present. But the disaffected men lacked the determination to put up any real resistance, and before long they were back at their posts, helping to put into effect the final stage of Zhorga’s launch plan—the parasol canopy with which he intended to sail across the vast gulf between Earth and Mars.

The masts were levered erect and the upper yards swung fore and aft. The outboard sprits and booms were raised above the level of the decks. Clambering up the ratlines, men hammered in pins and rings so as to reeve new running rigging and rearrange the sails. When the sails were finally run out, they formed a multi-tiered canopy over the Wandering Queen.

The ether wind filled them immediately, and the galleon, in a smooth majestic movement, responded by swinging round to present her bottom to the sun. For a short time she oscillated to and fro, like a pendulum, but then became rock steady.

Zhorga breathed out a sigh of relief and immense satisfaction. All his careful calculating of weight and balance had paid off. The ship was trim. The inertia of her hull perfectly balanced the forward impetus of the sails.

There was a long pause in which no one moved. Every man gazed about him, the harsh sound of his own breathing loud in his ears, and saw a sight that perhaps had been familiar to his grandfather. Earth shone to port, a stunningly beautiful shield. Farther off floated the moon, small and brilliant.

The sun could not be seen. It was below the hull, blowing ether straight into the sails. Yet the scene on deck was far from dark. Apart from the glow of Earth and moon, there was a shimmering blue radiance cast down by the sails—a ghostly glow of reflected sunlight.

A more fanciful ship would never have made it, Zhorga told himself proudly. A clipper, a chebec—even a more elaborate galleon—would by now be lying in tatters on the ground, or at best be helpless in the lacuna.

To one side of the taut sails he found a prominent red spot, and stared at it avidly and hungrily, for a long time.

Angry, challenging Mars stared back.

***

The real mutiny did not come until many hours later, by which time a great deal of work had been done. The transparent cover known as the air balloon had been fixed and sealed to the hull, covering the sternhouse and part of the maindeck, and was now inflated. The ship’s interior had also been filled with air. The caulking had been checked seam by seam, and any leaks made staunch.

An urn of powdered air smoldered in Zhorga’s cabin where, in the presence of Rachad, he conferred with Clabert over the disposition of watches and other matters. The three men swayed slightly in the weak gravity the ship’s steady acceleration provided, though their feet remained firmly planted on the deck due to the lead weights with which their boots were shod.

Rachad waited for a break in the conversation. “What about me, Captain?” he then asked eagerly. “You said I could learn to work in the rigging.”

“Very well,” Zhorga agreed. “But keep your face out of direct sunlight as much as possible. It’s always been a bane to space travelers—Earth’s atmosphere filters out the harsher rays, apparently, which cause skin diseases.” He nodded to Clabert. “Find a place for him—”

He broke off at the sound of boots treading the deck outside. Someone had come through the balloon sphincter, even though the whole crew was at this moment supposed to be recuperating down below.