"I'd better look Cofflin up right away," she said to Sandy Rapczewicz. "See if we can't arrange a barbecue or something for our people."
The XO nodded, a little oddly, she thought. She'd also radioed ahead to have accommodation prepared for Swindapa and Isketerol. I'll have to find a place myself, she noted. Probably not a problem, with so many houses vacant. And some office space. She hoped Cofflin was as competent as he'd seemed in the brief time between the Event and the Eagle's departure.
"We'll have to-" she began, about to order the engines fired up.
"Ma'am, it's the island. Chief Cofflin."
Alston blinked surprise and swung down the stairs. She walked back past the helm-only two sailors on the knee-high platforms beside the wheels, on a fair April day with an eight-knot wind-and into the radio shack.
"Eagle here."
"Chief Cofflin here," the familiar voice said. "We've got a little surprise for you-a tow, so you don't have to waste fuel getting into harbor."
"This ship's a little heavy for rowboats," Alston said. Not that the Eagle couldn't be warped in that way, but it would be extremely labor-intensive.
"Too true, Captain. Take a look." Cofflin's voice held a smile.
"On deck! A… something off the port bow!"
"Eagle out," Alston said dryly. She really didn't much like surprises.
A plume of gray smoke was approaching. She leveled her binoculars.
Well, I will be dipped in shit, she thought. The hull looked to be a medium-sized powerboat, a forty-footer, cut down to a flush deck. Wooden paddle wheels framed within a steel circle churned on either side. Each was driven by a peculiar arrangement that looked a little like a Texas oil derrick, nodding up and down. Rocking-beam engine, she thought; they'd been common on steamships a hundred and fifty years ago. Each rocking beam was moved by a single steam cylinder, mounted with the piston rod upward. Between them was a boiler that looked like welded sheet steel, and a tall chimney of the same material. Crewfolk were throwing split logs into a furnace underneath it; someone pulled on a lanyard, and the unmistakable melancholy hooting of a steam whistle greeted them.
Cadets and crew lined the rail, cheering and waving their hats. Alston let them, for a few minutes; it was a special occasion. Isketerol came up beside her, peering as the tug came closer.
"More diesel magic, Captain?" he asked.
She shook her head absently. "Steam," she said. "Heated water. The fire heats the water, the water becomes steam, the steam is confined in metal pipes and pushes, doing work."
The Tartessian blinked and nodded, moving aside and staring hungrily. Did I do the right thing? she thought with slight unease. Just because he's ignorant doesn't mean he's stupid. Neither of the Bronze Agers was that. But the languages would be so useful…
"Ms. Rapczewicz, strike all sail, if you please," she said aloud. "Rig for tow. We're home."
"… and you've done a good job, one that's important in the survival of thousands of our people," Alston said, finishing the brief speech. It wasn't a part of her role that she enjoyed, but they deserved to hear it. The waist was packed solid, orderly ranks as if for Quarters. "I'm proud of you all."
The crew of the Eagle cheered. "Chief Cofflin tells me that he's declared today and tomorrow public holidays, and I've arranged for everyone to draw some of the Town chits we're using for money these days; they're good for beer, at least. Liberty for everyone but the posted skeleton crew. Behave yourselves-but have fun. You deserve it. Dismissed from quarters!" The cheers grew wilder, and hats flew into the air.
Alston looked grimly at what awaited them on the dock. The noise had alerted her first, as the Eagle came through the harbor entrance. Cofflin had said that the Town Meeting had voted a public holiday; she'd expected the harbor to be quiet. Instead there was a surf-roar of noise, and the quays were crowded with people.
"They did say some people would be on hand to say hello," Tom Hiller said.
"Some people… Cofflin didn't say anything about this, the lying hound," Alston snapped.
A huge banner stretched across the steamship dock, WELCOME EAGLETS, with a big gold-painted wooden eagle above it. The quays and streets were densely packed with people; there was even a high school band, complete with drum majorettes and trombones tootling away.
She stood glowering at the three-ring circus. The crew were hiding smiles. Swindapa looked impressed; she suspected Isketerol had seen ceremonies more grand, traveling about the Mediterranean. Alston turned an accusing eye on her sailing master.
"You knew about this, didn't you?" she said.
"Well, the chief, the XO, and I discussed things a bit," Hiller said, grinning.
"Traitor. You all knew."
"We knew you don't like public occasions, at least in theory, Skipper. Consider it a surprise party."
She snorted and relaxed. No use in fighting the inevitable, she decided. Cofflin and most of the Council were waiting to greet her on the dock. And the crew certainly deserved a rousing public reception and cookout.
That reminded her. "Mr. Isketerol, Ms. Swindapa, we'll arrange quarters for you ashore," she said.
Isketerol bowed silently. Swindapa frowned, an edge of panic in her face. "Not stay captain's with… place?" she said. "Send away?"
The Tartessian had reverted to his native dress for the occasion, saffron tunic with a complex folded belt holding knife and short sword of bronze, and a long blue cloak. Swindapa kept to the Eagle working blues she'd been given, the spare pair of a cadet about her size. The hands that clenched the baseball cap were quivering slightly now, matching the desperate look on her face.
"I'm sure there will be room," Alston said hastily. Damn. I'm a sailor, not a trauma therapist! This is as bad as having a chick imprint on you when it hatches. Swindapa relaxed and put on the cap.
Not much choice in the matter. Have to get her some things, Alston noted. She'd have to organize a good deal, get a regular shore establishment going, if she was going to run Nantucket's maritime endeavors as well as captain the Eagle herself. A number of ideas had occurred to her, along those lines. I need a good long talk with Chief Cofflin.
"Ms. Swindapa." The blue eyes turned to her, pools the color of hyacinth flowers. "I'd like you to see the doctor here," she said.
"Already seen Eagle doctor, ma'am. Feel goods-I mean, better."
"All the same, I'd like you to see the one here, please." The Fiernan girl ducked her head in a shy nod. She had an appealing face, really… Careful, Alston reminded herself.
The gangplank swung out and crunched into place ashore. Alston set her own hat in place and walked down the gangway to the waist, past the rows of sailors and cadets now braced to attention. The boatswain's pipe sang out:
"Eagle departing!" The bells rang. Cofflin shook her hand at the bottom of the gangway and handed her a microphone.
"A few words, Captain," he said.
"Ah-" Alston cleared her throat, and Swindapa and Isketerol jumped and started at the amplified sound. "It's all right," she said, flicking the thing off for a second.
Then: "We're all happy to be back, and back with the food the island needed. The trip was… interesting… and there'll be a report, film, and photographs handed out. We accomplished our mission, and we'll probably be able to trade in Britain again later this year. The crew of the Eagle have worked very hard for the community, and in their name I'm honored to accept your thanks." She paused. "That's all. Thank you again."