Author: R. J. Erbacher

The Stormwatch was wrong.

There was nothing on the scanners for this. The projection was for only light chop for the nine-hour trip from New York to Plymouth, England.

Captain Hendrick squinted through the rain slashed windshield, at the tenebrous horizon, the wipers furiously trying to keep them clear. But the USS Table Bay was steady because it rode above the waves. The diamagnetic repellers held the vessel an average of twelve meters above the surface of the Atlantic Ocean. On a calm day. Four blade-like arms descended into the water, supported by graphene nanotubes, connected to hydro-propulsion engines that separate the hydrogen and oxygen atoms of the ocean water and converted the reaction into electricity. The thermolysis motors powered the Table Bay up to speeds of 350 knots per hour. In calm waters. Stabilizers maintained the hydrophobic ceramic keel relatively level regardless of the size of the waves, assuming they were of normal height, but straining that limit now as the storm progressed. Because it was not a calm sea.

The outer door slammed open briefly then closed, letting the lashing rain momentarily drench the wheelhouse, the colloquial mariner term still utilized even though there wasn’t a wheel to steer anymore. Coming in with the wet weather was the first mate, his water-shedding gear dripping onto the floor.

“Where the hell did this come from, Captain?”

“I don’t know, Bernard. The forecast was clear when we pulled out. How are things down below?”

“Operating systems are still green but hovering just below redline. We’re right on the edge. Passengers are a little worried.”

With air travel being curtailed, due to elevated radiation levels leeching into the upper atmosphere, high speed ocean travel was the safest way across the ‘pond.’ Customers were sometimes annoyed that scheduled departures were cancelled or delayed because of weather conditions but they felt secure boarding the SkimShips knowing that they were going to arrive without incident. Stray storms like this were very rare.

Hendrick was checking all the scopes and readouts, calculating in his head. “We should be clearing this nasty cell in about seventy nautical miles. If we stay true. We could divert to the south and be free of this rather quickly, even though it would take us further off our route to circumvent around the severe weather and we would lose a lot of time. But I’m more inclined to broach straight through it. We are already delayed, travelling at this reduced speed, and I would hate to…”

The rest of his words died on his lips.

Sailing from the port side came another ship. And even though it was vastly different in design, it too glided above the water. Its black wood hull was flying untouched, over the crest of the waves, but still lilted to one side, the red canvas sails billowed to tearing, full of the powerful winds. Shadowy men in tattered clothes worked the rigging and ropes. A figure in a cocked hat and matted gray beard stood steady on the center of the quarterdeck, his hands gripped onto the spoked wheel. Unbelievably, the fluyt was moving faster than they were, closing in on their left side, cutting across their bow. Hendrick saw the other captain turn his head from looking over the helm to glare at him, his eyes glowing with blood and fire.

“For God’s sake, turn the ship south Captain! Turn!” Bernard’s scream snapped Hendrick out of his trance, and he manipulated the control panel until the directional servomechanisms angled them starboard.

Toward safer waters.

As the Dutchman sailed onward into the dark distance.