Multiverse 4

Sitrep: I sent MV4 to Rea yesterday afternoon.
I'm getting into the spirit of the season with decorating, shopping, and printing gifts. (and sanding, priming, and painting them) Not so much with wrapping though, ugh.

   Anyway, MV4 has 8 stories. 1 Fantasy, 1 Sci-Fi, 1 in the Boostrap universe, 1 in the Founding of the Federation time period, 1 just prior to Ragnarok, and 3 stories in the Engineer time period.
Each was fun to write. I tried to stretch myself a bit in a couple of them.

I'm going to post snippets from each of the stories up until it is ready to publish. Here is the first, from the "Flying White Whale"

In port

 

Ishmael watched the morning fleet go out. There were several, the closest in were the small trap ships. They flew small ships that stayed close to the mountains. They'd sometimes go deeper in order to try their luck with their traps.

Usually though they'd stick to the line and lower lines of traps. They'd set traps out and then go out in the evening or the following morning weather permitting to bring them in and reset them.

The wood traps that were set out were of different designs. Some were square, some hoops of different sizes and designs, some made as a ball. The commercial trappers stuck to the square rigs in order to load as many traps on their ship as they can. His aunt had been a trap maker, using her nimble fingers to weave the traps for years before the knuckle disease got to her.

Trappers caught a variety of creatures including some scuttlers on the mountains. The scuttlers had shells, long spindly legs and antenna, and claws. They were good eating, especially cooked with butter. He licked his lips a little in memory of the tasty flesh.

Nothing the trappers caught was wasted. He watched as a trap was cleaned. The plant matter, everything was stuck in a bucket for later sorting and use. Occasionally they lost a trap for a variety of reasons. Sometimes an entire string if a line snapped or a buoyancy bag left out popped. He knew some trappers who tried to kill some of the bats and birds who liked to roost on the buoyancy bags and inadvertently popped them with their claws.

Further out were the trawlers and fishing vessels. The trawlers ran nets out to catch animals in the depths. The fishing vessels ran fishing lines out and tried for the small but big score. He'd run one season on a cousin's fishing vessel the Kahuna. It had been long boring hours of nothing then frantic activity with a lot of yelling and screaming. They'd barely broke even.

The rarest ships were the ones he was after. The air whalers and other ships. Those were the true heart and soul of every community. Without buoyancy tapped from the air whales none of their airships would fly.

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Captain Yanus scowled as he read the morning log. So, they were going to do it. The family that owned his ship had taken his request for 6 new hands and had turned it into just 1. Just 1 lad but supposedly experienced. He shook his head. Always the bottom line with them! They thought of the food 6 bellies would eat, the water, grog, and pay, can't forget that! It was all numbers. They didn't have to deal with being short handed.

He inhaled and exhaled, nostrils flaring. He'd make due, he always did. But if it didn't work out he'd be quick to point out the fault and damn the consequences.

He looked out over the morning gloom. He couldn't quite mate out the tall harbor wall in the distance. It was made out of stone but the arch at the top was made out of wood and stout canvas. Occasionally it rippled in the wind outside the harbor walls.

Despite the shelter of the harbor walls the ship drifted ever so slightly. The bumpers protected ship and pier alike. He instinctively checked the lines, all good there. He gave a nod. They would continue loading then.

He was curious if the lad would show early. If he knew what was best for him he wouldn't. And heaven help the owners if the lad didn't show! He shook his head.

A part of this was his fault. They'd torn too many sails in the last run due to storm damage. Mending had only gotten them so far. He'd insisted on new lines and sail cloth and that was expensive. They'd whined to Tesco for days. This had been the compromise.

He exhaled noisily. Always the bottom line. They had no clue that a ship needed lines that hadn't been mended and lost their slack. They needed sails that didn't have rips in them. He shook his head. Sometimes he wondered why he didn't retire.

And then his eyes turned to the painting on his cabin wall. The painting his predecessor had commissioned of sporting sky whales in the light. The thrill. The thrill of the hunt.

Soon, soon it would be upon them once more.

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In the predawn gloom Ishmael took his usual tour of the town. He was tall and a bit gangly but quick and deft along the streets. He rarely tripped or slipped on the stones and bricks that made up the streets.

He had a reputation as a schemer, always looking for the next fix. He was always willing to throw his light weight behind a project or task he'd been given though. He just never stayed in 1 task for long.

He had long fingers that were quite good at whatever task he was given. He could carve wood, work in the dairy, or do any number of odd jobs. He had the right kind of calluses for any sort of work he could find. He was always careful to stay on the good side of the law.

He had short curly red hair and freckles to go with his green eyes. The girls liked him but he wasn't the marrying type. Many saw him as a sailor. He saw himself as a sailor, one who had hopefully found the ship of his true calling. He hit the port first as he always did. He loved to see the ship's shove off and could be counted on to throw a line or two to help a crew shove off.

Most of the morning fleet was already on the horizon near the harbor exit. The few remaining airships in port were sitting there adrift in what winds got over the harbor walls or through the gate. He saw the giant whaler taking on stores. She was a beaut, dark and mysterious. He paused to admire her for a long moment.

She was full rigged, with masts top and bottom. Just the one mast on the keel. She had spine like spars on her flanks fore and aft but they didn't look like they were used often. There was little rigging on them at any rate. The ship was clean and neat, without flaking paint or slack lines showing neglect. He inhaled and exhaled slowly, drinking the air in.

He'd been plumb lucky getting a berth on her. It had taken quite a bit of doing and luck on his part. He was eager to prove himself and tempted to go over to the ship. But instead he slowed his pace a bit.

Casks, crates, and nets were piled along the narrow wharf to the ship. That was all heavy back breaking work, something he wasn't too keen about lending a hand to. Not on his last day of freedom. It wasn't likely he'd get fed or paid for his labor. He saw a mate stop and turn to look at him. He waved and then went about his business. He had another night to complete his preparations before he was to report on board by midnight to sail with the morrow's tide.

Instead he turned to the industrial section of the town. The industrial section was divided into streets and blocks. The industries that had the highest stinks were on the outskirts of town. Some were dangerous, with chemicals and such.

Along the third lower section of town close to the tree line was the lumber mill and wood worker's row. Dowdall was there, the carver could always be counted on to feed him in exchange for work sweeping shavings or such.

Dowdall was one of the best, a carpenter as well as a shipwright like Perth. He had a way about him with wood that left Ishmael in awe. He freely admitted he was hack handed, something he never lived down to his family.

He'd heard the cutters had brought in a couple quality logs that were being turned and stripped to make plywood. The carpenters were doing some new stuff, making I beams from the wood as well as lattices. Everything had to be light and strong if it was in an airship.

It wasn't that he was completely out of money. Well, he was down to his last pence but that wasn't it. It was a matter of pride to scrounge for his meals and save his money. He had hoped to have enough for his rent, he rented a small room from his sister and brother-in-law but he didn't have it. And the skipper said he couldn't get his sign on bonus until he was actually on board.

Which meant he couldn't spend it beforehand and jump ship. Smart.

He could go check out the clothing district. The far end was to be avoided though, that stank of dies and such. On the other side of the street they had the ink, paper, glue, and paint makers. The leather crafter's were a good source of work for food but he'd cut his hand there the last time and he'd gotten a tongue lashing for bleeding on the goods. He shook his head. No, it was best to stick to smith row.

He looked up to the giant balloons hovering overhead. They had lines running down to stone anchor points. Each of those balloons held excess buoyancy gas for the fleet. He'd done a tour cleaning a few and wanted no part of it.

Smith row it was.

He walked through the sleepy market. Most of the patrons were still abed. Even the pets and animals for sale were asleep in their cages.

Nothing was wasted in the communities and even on board ship. Waste not want not, and for good reason. Much of what they had didn't come cheap or easily. Even garbage was fed to the animals or composted for the gardens.

At the far end of smith row, beyond the hostelries and such was an old workshop. The building was quite big and old. Gregor was brilliant but odd. And Silvina... she could be counted on for work for food though he didn't want to get stuck with a morning crowd. She'd grab him all day and he wanted to enjoy his last day on land.

No, his best bet was to see the tinker. He brightened up instantly. He hadn't seen Gregor in nearly a month. He glanced at the rising sun. If he timed it right... his pace picked up from the stroll to a fast walk, trot and then a full lope. If he could time it right he could get to Silvina's before Abuna showed up to take the morning platter to the tinker. He had to hurry though if he was going to make breakfast.

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