Why do we need to check and repack the windworks?” Per complained for about the hundredth time. “They’re never used.”
“They may not have been used since the time of Faar,” Spader replied, “but that’s our assignment, and we’re going to do it.”
“Of course we’re going to do it,” Per snapped. “I’m not letting you get me in trouble again.”
“Me?” Spader’s blood boiled. How could Per—Forget it, he told himself. Don’t let him get to you.
It had already been a boring, irritating week and at least fifty times a shift—maybe more—Spader had to keep himself from punching Per.
“We have one more vessel to do,” Spader said. “Stop gobbing and let’s get to it.”
The two boys boarded the cruiser docked in the maintenance shed. Per was right, Spader conceded. Alt power didn’t make much sense. Vessels all ran on the much more controllable water power. Some of the smaller vessels, however, came equipped with the ability to harness wind and had the means to do so stowed about in hidden compartments. Aquaneers needed to have basic understanding of alt power, but Spader had never known anyone who had ever actually used it.
Spader crossed the deck to open one of the compartments where the windworks were stored. Because it was considered emergency equipment, everything had to be set up by hand, as it would only go into effect if none of the automatic systems were working.
That’s odd, he thought. He couldn’t find the latch.
“You’re looking in the wrong place,” Per said.
Spader frowned. “The latches on the other boats were here.”
Per strolled to the center of the deck and tripped a hidden lever that was flush with the flooring. The hatch popped open. Per smirked at Spader. “The other boats were Watsu one-twenty-four Bs. This is a Watsu one-twenty-six D.”
Spader’s father had spent hours teaching him about ship design, but there was no way Spader could know every detail of every vessel used on Cloral. Not like Per. Per’s family made the vessels!
“You could have just told me,” Spader fumed. He stalked to the storage compartment, and he and Per raised and secured the center mast. Then they hauled up the sails and tied off their lines. Together they practiced bringing the boom about, which, if the boat weren’t tethered, would have helped them change direction.
They went through the list of required moves in silence. Spader had found not speaking was the best tactic with Per.
As they were reloading the storage compartments, Wu Yenza strode into the shed. “Glad to see you working so well together,” she said.
Per and Spader exchanged a look. Spader wouldn’t call what they were doing “working well together”—more like barely tolerating each other.
“I believe you’re ready for on-water work,” she said.
“Spiff!” Spader exclaimed. “I mean, thank you for the opportunity.”
Yenza smiled. “Most juniors aren’t thrilled by wind systems. But it’s a necessary facet of knowledge for all aquaneers.”
“Understood,” Spader said.
“There have been severe storms around Crasker,” Yenza explained. “Some of their fleet has been damaged as a result, and they’re short on transport boats. So rather than delivering the goods and personnel we’ve been expecting, they’ve asked if we can pick it up ourselves. You’ll be part of the team making the run.”
“Both of us?” Per asked.
Yenzu frowned. “Yes, both of you. Will that be a problem, Watsu?”
“No,” Per said hastily. “No problem at all. Promise.”
Spader had a feeling that was going to be a tough promise to keep.
“I think that’s everything and everyone,” the man on the Crasker loading dock called up. “You’re ready to go.”
The two-day trip to Crasker had been uneventful. They had arrived on schedule, and the shipment of thermal regulators and ballast equalizers had been waiting for them. Three engineers who had designed experimental devices they planned to test on the underwater farms on Grallion had also come aboard with their equipment.
Crasker was interesting, but not really Spader’s style. A habitat devoted to manufacturing, Crasker didn’t have the beautiful farms and open spaces he loved on Grallion.
Or maybe it was seeing the Watsu name blazoned across so many of the buildings. Per’s family manufactured many of the ships used throughout Cloral, and Crasker was one of the biggest habitats dedicated to building them. Even the cruiser they were on was a Watsu. The vessel followed the same basic design of the other ships its size: cargo holds below, living quarters in the middle, the upper deck, and then the pilot’s tower. It was a fairly small vessel, carrying ten crew members, who split day and night shifts. Happily, Per and Spader, as the juniors aboard, were put on different shifts and they barely saw each other.
Once the ship had cleared the habitat, Clayton, Spader’s shift supervisor, joined him at the rail. “Ready for some more drills?” Clayton asked.
“Always!” Spader replied.
“We’ll do some more water sled work,” Clayton said.
“I’ll fetch one,” Spader said, turning to head to the equipment storage below.
“Not so fast.” Clayton tossed Spader a globe. “You’re going to access a sled from the water.”
Spader put on the globe. “I can do that?”
“You’re going to try,” Clayton replied, putting on an air globe so they’d be able to communicate while Spader was underwater. “Put on a harness, too.”
Harnesses were stretchy cords that kept workers attached to the ship. Some were clipped onto rings on the hull; others, like the one Spader was going to wear, were attached to a winch on deck, manned by senior staff. This way a trainee in trouble could be hoisted back onto the ship.
Spader hated wearing the harness—it made him feel like a wee baby just learning to be water safe—but he knew they were required for drills while the boat was under way. He put his arms through the openings and buckled the harness belt around his waist.
“All set,” Spader announced.
“This is a timed drill,” Clayton explained. “In an emergency you may not have a globe with you, so it’s important to work quickly. If you fell overboard, for example.”
“You mean like this?” Spader slid across the deck flailing his arms. With a loud “Whooooo-ah!” he somersaulted over the rail and splashed into the water.
When he resurfaced, he saw Clayton laughing above him. “Yeah, something like that,” Clayton said.
The ship was moving at a good clip, and the harness was dragging Spader with it. He swam to the hull and clutched the grips that were spaced in intervals along the sides. He placed his feet in the lower grips and leaned out, relishing the invigorating feel of the breeze and the spray. He had spent many hours riding “shipside” on his father’s runs.
“Steady on?” Clayton asked.
“Like the ship and I are molded from the same piece!” Spader replied. “So what do I do?”
“The storage units in the holds can also be opened from the water. So you’ll need to find the hatches that correspond with those units.”
“All right,” Spader said.
“Pop the hatch open and get out the sled. Keep in mind, you could need to do this without a harness, an air globe, and while the ship is moving.”
“Is that all?” Spader quipped.
“I’ll be here with the lines,” Clayton said. He glanced at his watch. “And the timer! Go!”
Spader scooted along the hull using the hand and foot grips. He had to push against the force of the water rushing over him, but he made it pretty quickly. Now he just had to figure out how to open the hatch and pull out the sled without falling off the side of the ship, or letting in too much water.
He gazed toward the horizon. A wave was approaching. If he timed it just right…
Hang on…hang on…. The swell of the wave raised the ship, taking Spader with it. At the top of the crest, he quickly popped open the latch and yanked out a water sled and shut the hatch. As the boat slammed back down the back side of the wave, Spader kicked away from the ship on the water sled.
“Well done!” Clayton cheered. “Fastest time I’ve ever seen.”
“Easy-o,” Spader said.
“Now for repair drills,” Clayton said.
“Slack me,” Spader said. “And I’ll be back in a flash.”
Clayton released the entire length of the harness so that Spader could maneuver. Spader had run the same drills en route to Crasker, so he knew what to do.
He submerged the sled and zipped to each of the intake valves under the ship, which he’d inspect if he were checking for damage or maintenance. He quickly returned to his starting point and resurfaced.
Strange… The light had changed. Clayton stood at the rail staring up at the sky. It had grown dark and ominous.
“Come in,” Clayton said. “Now.”
“Should I put back the sled first?” Spader asked, guiding the sled alongside the hull. “Or carry it on board?”
Clayton’s answer was drowned out by a sudden torrential downpour. A huge wave knocked Spader off the sled—and about ten wickams away from the ship. Only the harness kept him from being swept farther out.
It was hard to see with the rain pouring down, but he could just about make out Clayton struggling with the winch. He thought he could feel the harness pulling him, but it might have been the violent chop of the storm.
Another wave crashed down, but this time Spader was lucky. The undertow brought him back in line with the ship.
“Hang on,” Clayton called above the howling storm.
“Doin’ my best, mate!” Spader called back. The high winds and waves buffeted him around badly, wearing him down. His muscles burned as he fought the heavy, roiling water to get to the ladder.
There it was. Spader kicked hard and stretched as far as he could to grab a rung. Yes! He pulled himself halfway out of the water but was instantly swept off by another wave. It slammed him into the side of the boat. His body went limp and he slipped underwater.
“I’ll try to lift you. Forget about the ladder!” Clayton hollered.
Spader felt himself being pulled out of the water. Wham! He slammed back into the side of the boat again.
“Too much slack!” Spader cried. “The ropes are getting tangled.”
Wham! He hit the side of the ship again.
Could he keep fighting the storm to make it back on board? Or was he going to be pounded senseless first?