The Bloody Herring. Phyllis Ann Karr
man who could take on any two and, in certain cases, any three of us at once. With you on our side, devilish little chance we’d have of ever finding anybody at all to attack.”
Yes, Chandra thought, my inner man really is quite a fine figure of a male, isn’t he?
* * * *
The pirates’ ship, the Divine Emollient, weighed anchor at dawn and rode out on a fresh tide, with a favorable wind. The sun rose in a clear blue sky, a few small whitecaps danced on the waves, the Jolly Roger flapped merrily overhead, and Chuck realized he was dangerously near hoping his mission would be a long one. At least in virtual time; for Osborne’s sake, they should maybe hope it was short “out there.”
Chuck leaned on the rail of the poop deck, inhaling the salt air and watching the crew at work. If they were incompetent at piracy, at least they were good at sailing and singing.
“Come, friends, who plough the sea!
First-class navigation,
Each man at his station—
This is the way that we-eee
Go about our piracee!”
The cheerful bustle on shipdeck made him think of H.M.S. Pinafore, which made him think of the scene in which Ralph Rackstraw announces his intention of committing suicide, and his crewmates, dolefully singing their grief, do all in their compassionate power to help him, by loading the pistol and passing it up to him. Humorous in its proper stage context, the image was disquieting here. Sir Ruthven had said earlier that he rarely attempted suicide at night through fear of the less pleasant aspects of the other world. Might it follow that a bright, sunny, invigorating morning would inspire him with the boldest ideas of self-destruction?
Dr. Falcon looked down, searching the decks below. Sir Ruthven was still chumming with Frederic. They stood together at the afterdeck rail, throwing bread crumbs to the gulls that were flapping along almost batlike behind the ship, diving occasionally into her wake for the tidbits. A peaceful enough picture; but if the baronet should suddenly feel moved to put a pistol to his head or jump over the side, the pirate apprentice would probably prove very cooperative. Chuck decided to lose no time joining them.
He was halfway down when a long, sharp, intense, tremendous roll of staticky thunder split the air—shaking vessel and ocean alike. The pirates were in instant confusion, shouting and running from port to starboard and vice versa, scanning the horizon in varying degrees of hope and timidity, looking for the enemy ship which was nowhere to be seen. The pirate king, trailing a string of picturesque oaths, came running around the corner of the cabin and almost careened into Chuck.
“What is it?” Chuck demanded. “Any chance some of our own guns went off by accident?”
The pirate king shook his head. “Samuel, Frederic, and myself are the only men aboard who know how to load the blasted things, and Samuel’s not working at all today—his birthday. Stand by to repel boar-r-ders!” he shouted, brushing past Chuck to rally his men against the invisible foe.
Chuck sprinted, reaching the after-rail in seconds. At least Lozinski’s virtual world had not winked out—but a sudden fog was coming up over the sea on all sides…
He found Sir Ruthven staggering, supported by Frederic and Ruth. “What happened here?” Dr. Falcon demanded, pushing Frederic aside almost brusquely in order to take hold of Sir Ruthven himself.
“Ah, Dr. Falcon!” Reeling, the baronet attempted a weak smile. “Absurd, really—seems to be a touch of…of mal-de-mere, I suppose. I say, I never asked—are you a medical doctor or a D.D.?”
His eyes closed, he swayed in Chuck’s grip, and the fog became several degrees darker. Ruth shuddered and untied the knot that held her workaday shawl about her shoulders. “It seemed to begin at the time of that incredible thunder,” said Frederic.
“Shock, I daresay,” murmured Sir Ruthven. “Set up a reaction, no doubt…bit of vertigo, I suppose. Dreadfully embarrassing, never seasick before…”
“Lord bless us!” ejaculated Ruth, staring up into the fog, which was so dense and black now that they could barely see the ship around them. The piratical maid took off her shawl and wrapped it around the baronet.
If…whatever…hadn’t happened within Lozinski’s virtual world, it must have been something “out there.” Chuck spoke low, trying to impress the baronet with his own sense of urgency. “Sir Ruthven! You remember what I’ve been trying to tell you?”
“What? Ah, you mean…” Sir Ruthven shook his head, clearly trying to go along with what he must consider a diversionary tactic. “That theory…self as center…the self as…stranger with a Japanese name? Odd sort of moment to bring it up.”
“No. It’s the vital moment to bring it up. Something’s happened in the outer world—”
“Ah, the thunder?” Sir Ruthven smiled hazily.
“I’m going back out there and see what the hell’s happening.”
The baronet nodded. “I assume you’ll…be flying upward through the air? Forgive me if I do not see you off.”
He reeled again and fell to the deck. The fog grew several degrees darker yet. Kneeling beside Sir Ruthven, Dr. Falcon squinted around, trying to see Ruth or Frederic, calling them and getting no answer. The ship was preternaturally quiet, and the deck boards seemed to be melting, fusing with the atmosphere.
“Lozinski!” Chuck bent and spoke the name like a command. The baronet’s eyelids fluttered—in recognition of his name, or in mere acknowledgment of the sound? “Listen to me,” Chuck went on. “If you want to suicide, this is your chance—all you’ve got to do is let go. But if you care about the people around you—the pirates, Frederic, Margaret, all the others—if you care about your whole world here—then you’d damn well better hang on! I don’t know if something’s happened to you ‘out there’ or if it’s some…something else wrong, but if it’s some outer threat, for God’s sake, fight it!”
Sir Ruthven frowned up. “Do you presume to command me, Dr. Falcon?”
“Damn right I presume to command you!”
“Very good. I do it on compulsion.”
Dr. Falcon helped the baronet sit up and wrap Ruth’s shawl more closely around his shoulders. The fog was still darkening, but now, to his relief, he again heard the voices of Ruth, Frederic, and the rest of the pirates. Good. All he had to do now was remember how he himself got back “out there”…
“Oh, I say, Dr. Falcon, when shall we two meet again?”
“If I don’t make it back aboard the Divine Emollient, I’ll try to meet you in Portsmouth.”
A helmet, that’s right. He was in a virtual suit…all he had to do was lift off the helmet with its goggles and earphones…
Chapter 7
Interlude
The virtual helmet came off. Other hands than Chandra Falcon’s had lifted it from her head. She looked around the medical lab.
Misaki Lang was at the keyboard, typing and joysticking desperately.
“What happened?” Chandra demanded.
“Doc!” Misaki exclaimed joyfully, without turning around, and “Oh, thank God!” Sister Harriet echoed, holding the virtual helmet she had just lifted from Chandra’s head.
“What’s going on?”
Before either Misaki or Sister Harriet could answer Chandra’s question, Deuteronomy Osborne burst into the room. “It’s gone down,” he said. “And it’s big. Damn! It’s big.”
White-lipped, Sister Harriet told Chandra, “Shipnet’s crashed.”
“Shipnet’s…crashed? My God!”
“It