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reward is waiting at the end."
"Then it's decided," declared Bowie. "Thorberg, you
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assemble your friends and start working. Any assistance you need, let me know.
In the meanwhile, we'll recruit a crew and gather our supplies."
Enthusiasm for the project welled up within the Texan, filling him with
excitement. For the first time since Resurrection Day, he felt truly alive. It was
good to be working for a cause again. Any cause.
"You picked out a name for this ship already?" asked Crockett, grinning.
"I think so," said Bowie. "Unless you gents object, I plan on callin' the boat
Unfinished Business. Because that's what it's all about unfinished business."
Exactly one hundred and ten days later, they set sail. Along with Bowie and his
friends, the crew consisted of sixty Greek sailors under the command of Lysander
of Sparta. Most of the men had served for the Greek Admiral on Earth and were
hardened veterans of the long war between Sparta and Athens.
It was agreed upon by all concerned that Bowie would serve as leader of the
expedition. A true man of the people, the Texan was one of the few men in New
Athens without enemies. He, in turn, appointed Lysander as his second-in-
command. The Greek soldier was a tough, capable sailor who hungered for action
and adventure. A sixty-year-old man resurrected in a twenty-five-year-old body,
his optimistic expectations provided an interesting contrast to Socrates' cynical
views of the human condition.
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The two men often engaged in long, heated debates contrasting Athenian
democracy and Spartan militarism.
Thorberg's ship proved to be a marvel of Viking engineering. A hundred feet long
and twenty feet at the beam, the longboat had ports for twenty-five oars per side.
There was a solitary mast fitted between two heavy oak blocks, the leeson and the
mast partner. Sail raised, the speedy, maneuverable ship made ten knots with a
following wind.
Like all such ships, it was built from the outside in. The T-shaped keel, cut from
the giant oak Thorberg had shown Bowie, was bowed in the middle so that in a
battle the ship could be spun around on its axis. Attached to it was a thin shell of
oak planks, each one cut from a single tree, bark to core. The boards were affixed
to the stempost and sternpost by roundhead nails and bolts, then joined to one
another in an overlap fashion with twisted and tarred ironwood vines. The
resulting hull was incredibly light but remained watertight no matter how rough
the going.
The boat weighed less than thirty tons when fully loaded with crew and supplies,
and it drew less than three feet of water. To Bowie and his friends, the ship
appeared to almost fly over the river. Thorberg even constructed wooden rollers,
kept in the rear cargo area, on which the longboat could be dragged onto the
beach when necessary.
At the stern was a rudder, some ten feet long, cut from a solid piece of oak. On the
nearby poop deck stood a powerful ballista. The mast was only thirty feet high,
but the sail, made from dragonfish membrane, stretched forty feet across.
The Spartans adjusted easily to the new ship. With its single sail and bank of oars,
it resembled the triremes that they had sailed for Sparta. After several trial runs
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with the new crew, Thorberg pronounced them worthy of his vessel. A hundred
and nine days after starting work, the Viking shipwright informed Bowie that all
was ready.
Anxious to get going, the Texan immediately ordered their supplies loaded onto
the t>oat. Not believing in long good-byes, he decided to set sail the following
morning.
The whole population of New Athens turned out to see them off. The faces of the
crowd reflected a mix of emotions, ranging from anger to joy, envy to disdain.
Bowie no longer cared. Never a patient man, he was happy to be on his way.
Finally, the last of the supplies were loaded, the crew were at their oars, Thorberg
at his rudder. All that remained was to lift anchor and set sail. Bowie lifted a hand
in farewell.
"Speech," called a voice from the shore. "Speech, speech," echoed many others.
Momentarily taken aback, Bowie hesitated, not sure what to say. Socrates,
standing next to him on the poop deck, suffered no such modesty. He stepped
forward immediately.
"My friends, good countrymen," his voice rang out, silencing the cries of the
crowd, "today the bravest sons of New Athens set sail on a great adventure. We go
in search of the gods, those magical beings whom many of you foolishly insist
resurrected us on the banks of this mighty river. Personally, I cannot imagine we
will find them, for as you well know, I strongly doubt that they exist."
Most of the crowd nodded politely, not listening in the least to what the
philosopher said. A few even applauded politely. However, Bowie noticed a
number of unhappy faces. "Make ready to cast off," he muttered to Thorberg as
the boos started.
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"Once before, I stood before such a noble assembly," Socrates continued. "On that
particular afternoon, you graciously condemned me to death for corrupting the
youth of Athens." The boos were growing louder, but the philosopher ignored
them. "A model citizen, I obeyed your command. In my heart, though, I knew
that if hemlock was given to all those in Athens guilty of a similar crime, the city
would stand empty of life!"
By now, the crowd had turned ugly. En masse, the citizens surged forward,
seeking to pull the boat back to shore and rip Socrates to pieces. Pieces of debris
tossed by the angry Greeks pelted the ship. "Up anchor," commanded Bowie
hurriedly, as a stone whizzed by his head. "Fast."
The longship darted into the current like an arrow taking flight. In seconds, it
sped out into the center of the River. "If I encounter the gods," shouted Socrates
in derision, "I will surely warn them of your hospitality."
"Nice and diplomatic," said Bowie with a heavy sigh, as the banks of New Athens
slipped far behind. "From now on, do me one favor. Clear any speeches with me
first."
"I could not bear to leave them without a few words of wisdom," said Socrates,
sounding not the least bit contrite. "At least our departure will be remembered
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for years to come."
"You can say that again, frogface," declared Davy Crockett, joining them. He had
been at the front of the boat during the speech. In a drink match with the
frontiersman a month before, Socrates had let slip his nickname on Earth. Ever
since, Crockett insisted on using it all the time.
"Reminds me of the time when the good people of Tennessee voted me out of
office," Davy continued.
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"For my concession speech, I told the ungrateful scum to go to hell. Then I
gathered up some friends and rode off for Texas."
"Another diplomat," said Bowie, smiling. "No wonder you got killed so often since
Resurrection Day. Telling the truth ain't the way to win many friends."
"I won't argue with that," said Crockett. "But that's one of the joys of living on this
river. You can be as honest as you like and not worry about the consequences."
He paused for an instant, then continued. "Though you make a good point about
wakin' up naked and hairless more often than not. Maybe a course of moderation [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]