The crew seems in favour of riding the winds. I myself profess to being curious as to whether it is possible... certain philosophers have postulated that it could be done... but I have never heard of it actually being used. Better not tell the men that, though. Wouldn't want to make them nervous. No, they must believe that I,
Aello of Ireyos, am completely confident that this will work.
"Rig up those sails, Captain, let us ride the Solar Winds! I have a good feeling about our luck if we turn that way, for even if that fails, the winds won't blow us directly towards our dear Sun. We are ready to batten down the hatches and give our lives for you."
"Well spoken,
Tynios! Up from those benches, help me rig these sails. We ride the winds!"
"Aye! The winds comin' may be fierce but if we ride 'em we may stay just ahead of the storm." Is the bellow from the burly stroke on the port side. "But if ye want to fix yer contraption, I yield to me coxswains command! If she wishes we out-row this hell fire then we comply with mirth! Right ya weaklings?"
"Ah,
Kataramemi... as confident in space as you are on the seas. I'm glad I can count on your unwavering support! Keep the men rowing till we have the sails up- but beware; vast and blue the sky may be, but the ocean it is not. The wise sailor is not reckless in uncharted waters!"
A young hauler of average build speaks up from behind the Captain, placing his cargo gently on the floor for a short moment of respite. "Captain, let us rig the sails and catch the solar winds! Besides, there is nothing for us to lose if things were to go awry; we have achieved our greatest dreams: grasping the sky!"
"
Neotypo, speak not of death! We have achieved one dream, now we have a hundred new dreams to accomplish! Come now; you and Tynios will help me rig the sails- and do so before the sun catches us, as that we may dream on!"
With Tynios' and Neotypo's help, I unfurl the sails and begin the complicated process of rigging them to catch the winds properly- a process made all the more complex by the lack of a proper way to do so.
I built my vessel in emulation of a light warship; thirty oars, fifteen to a side; single mast for a square sail in the center. However, no sails adorn my mast; I used it to hold up my Ptathuon Drive- cutting it down a little to make the drive more accessible. I took sails- strong things, interwoven with silk- but did not really consider where I might hang them.
The crew rows without pause... but the sky is a thicker medium than water, and the heat of the day grows steadily as the sun catches up with us. They begin to falter in their strokes- Kataramemi's encouragement can only push them so far. Eventually, in desperation, I tie the sails to the broken Ptathuon, then pull them down to the level of the deck. Rowers are displaced in the process- but they do not mind overmuch. With a nod to Tynios and Neotypo, I tell the rowers to stop, then pull the sails taut and hope for the best.
...
For an agonizing minute, nothing happens. The sails catch none of the ethereal winds, and a crewman passes out in the heat. One reaches overboard, to try to scoop up some of the sky, perhaps thinking to quell his thirst, having forgotten what medium he was upon.
I stop him just in time.
"You fool! The sky is twice as cold as ice! Your hands would freeze if you held them in it for more than a second!"
"If the sky's so cold", a crewman asks, "why's it so hot?"
"Solar rays displace the air- it repels the stuff the sky is made of. That's how sunlight gets through the sky- it pushes it aside as easily as a boat pushing through water- as easily as these ethereal winds push through our mortal sails."
The crewman sits, dejected. "So", he says glumly, "This is it? On an ocean of ice we will die of heatstroke?"
"It's not an ocean- it's not a liquid...", I begin... but the heat is getting to me. I cannot finish correcting him.
...
Minutes pass like hours. The sun grows ever larger as it approaches. The sky around us seethes, and the boat begins to bob up and down. With parched lips, I say what might be my final words.
"Great. As if things weren't bad enough, now I'm going to die seasick."
Interesting how the solar winds mimic the regular winds in that they cause waves in the sky, but will not fill our sails.
...actually, that is very interesting.
Very interesting indeed.
"Eureka!", I cry- although with my parched throat, it does not sound as triumphant as it might. The crew look up- those of them who are still conscious.
I get up, stumbling across the heaving deck, and head for the ice container. I heave the rock bin out from under the prow, and open it up. The ice inside has long since melted. I motion to the crew who are still conscious, and let them splash themselves with the cool water and slake their thirsts.
I then tip the rest of the water overboard.
"If this works, we live. If it doesn't, we die. Whether to let the rest die with wet throats or live with dry ones is not a very difficult decision", I explain to the shocked crewmen. "Now, tie me a cradle for this thing."
A cradle of rope- crude, but solid, is crafted, and the ice-bin is lowered over the side. It requires some poking to actually go under the 'surface' of the sky, but it does, and quickly fills up with the bright blue [NOT A LIQUID, NEKROTHEON]. We heave it back up, and I, forgetting my own advice, cup my hands and splash handfulls of the freezing stuff over the sails. The crew join in and soon we notice the effects. The winds- which we can now all but see, ripples in the air like the haze of heat seen on distant rocks, bearing with them faint sparkles, resembling motes of dust illuminated in a beam of sunshine- the winds begin to fill the sails. Where the sky-stuff taints the sails, a violent sparking occurs, and the winds- which previously passed through ethereally- are diverted around. As more and more of the sail becomes covered, the ship begins to creak, and move- away from the sun, as promised.
My hands, by this point, had become entirely frozen into bowl-form, and the pain had worryingly seized to be sharp, and become more of a dull throb. Nevertheless, I continued- as did the crew- until every inch of the sails were covered in the sky-stuff. The ship was all but bouncing along the 'waves', and the sun- though still close, all but overhead- was no longer gaining on us.
I all but collapse from exhaustion. I feverishly explain to the crew still with me what must be done. They pull ropes and levers by my direction, and as smoothly as a bird, the ship lifts off of the sky, and speeds away from our homeworld- though slowly compared to what the Drive might accomplish, were it in any state to run.
Indeed, so slow is our travel, that we must decide on a destination at once, and not waver or slow on our way, for surely our stocks of food will run very low indeed afore we reach it. My hands are still frozen, unable to navigate the ship; again the decision falls to the crew.
We can circle around the world, and
land on the moon. Previous expeditions report that the legendary tribe of Amazons- those all-female warriors who roamed the chilly southlands- exist in great number in frozen forests beneath the moon's surface. Whether they are friendly or not is not certain... but I can see the crew grinning at each other merely at the mention of Amazonians.
We go west,
set a course for the Red Star- one of the wandering stars, which previous expeditions report to be inhabited by an agressive, if simple people- and rich in life and minerals, well suited for resuplying, provided we can fight off the natives.
Or we can head east,
bound for the Bright Star- another wandering star, said to be devoid of intelligent life, but rich enough in game and vegetation, provided one can navigate the wind-swept canyons of its surface.
"So, crew- decide amongst yourselves, then one of you take up the tiller and set us upon a favourable course. I... am going to sleep now. Wake me up when my hands have thawed, okay?"
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Topic: The Ptathuon Drive (Read 7586 times)