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jeriendhalRolas’ “vacation” turned out to be a boat. Worse, it wasn’t even a boat on a different planet.
“That’s a boat, Rolas,” Melanie said, careful to keep a smile on her face. Rolas had actually gone to the trouble of blindfolding her after he’d thrown their bags into the skimmer. They’d flown what seemed like two hours, landing at a cluster of cheap looking pre-fab buildings on the western coast, set on a beach near a small dock that normally serviced the fleet of survey submersibles taking stock of Greenholme’s oceans. Evidentially he’d been eager to keep things a surprise. Because otherwise I would have been telling him exactly where to stick this idea.
Rolas grinned at her, a boyish expression entirely devoid of his usual glower. He led her up the short gangway onto the deck. “Yes. I call her the Windskimmer. I’ve had her since I was sixteen.” It was a catamaran, a sailboat with a squarish flat deck set on two narrow, and flimsy looking, pontoons, about ten meters long all told.
“Since you were sixteen?” she asked. “Wait, you mean you paid to ship it all the way from Foxen Prime to here?” In fact, the shipping cost was likely greater than the value of a twenty year old boat. Actually, it was a large enough expense that it should have triggered a notification from their bank account. The fact that it didn’t either meant Rolas had to have snuck in the cost by subterfuge, or used his personal allowance. She suppressed a wince. He had really wanted this to be a surprise.
Most of the deck was taken up by the main cabin, with a sort of flying bridge on the top that seemed too close to the boom of the aluminum mast. Rolas led her inside, showing off a somewhat cramped but comfortable set of living quarters, with ust enough room for a double bed, kitchenette, shower, and the Necessary. A suitable den for a teenaged male she supposed.
The happy expression on his face as he showed everything off to her was almost painful to watch. He wants me to love this as much as he does, she realized. This little secret slice of his boyhood that had brought so much obvious joy to him, well before adult responsibilities had began to grind him down. So she kept her smile on and made appreciative noises as he led her back and forth, showing off the accommodations, and, Rolas being Rolas, the first aid kit, life vests and lifeboat.
“So how often did you take this out?” Melanie asked at a break in Rolas' tour, as they paused at the bow.
“Three or four times a year,” he replied, leaning on the bow's railing. “I'd sail her up and down the coast, stopping wherever I wanted, or just staying out at sea.”
“You and your friends must have had fun,” she said.
Rolas shook his head, his expression closing up slightly. “Never took my friends aboard her. This was my private place, just for me.”
And now you're showing it to me, she thought, feeling the knife twist a little more in her gut. How desperate was Rolas? How desperate did he think the situation between them was, rather, that he would take her aboard? He wants to fix things between us. Good. But he's scared that it won't work out. Bad. She sighed inwardly. It's just a week or two. I can survive a week aboard this thing.
“So, where do you want to go in this thing?” Melanie asked.
“Nowhere in particular,” he replied. “I just want it to be you, me and the sea. You won't believe how vast it is, when you sail out of sight of land. It almost consumes you. I once spent six weeks just sailing in circles, the radio, computer, and clocks all shut off, doing absolutely nothing. It was wonderful.”
That actually sounded like her version of a very private hell. I shall endeavor to keep you occupied, Rolas. Very occupied.
* * *
Rolas unloaded more groceries than Melanie thought could have fitted into the boot of the skimmer, carrying them aboard to be set in the refrigerator and pantry in an order only known to himself. She dutifully helped with the loading, setting items here and there under Rolas’ direction. Total time to transfer all the cargo was less than an hour.
“I would have brought a pair of fishing rods to catch some fresh meals for ourselves, but who knows what’s poisonous and what isn’t in this ocean?” Rolas had said cheerily, once the loading was complete.
“Actually, that’s a good point, Rolas,” Melanie said, hoping to divert him from this outing. “Who knows what is in the seas, exactly?”
“Nothing too dangerous, I should think,” he said. “The Large Lifeform Survey was completed four months ago. There’s nothing in these oceans, even in the deep portions, larger than a filter fish or a Terran dolphin. No need to worry about being eaten, so long as you stay out of the water.”
“I don’t intend on swimming, Rolas.” It wasn’t a popular pastime on Foxen Prime, though families were encouraged to at least drown proof their cubs. Salty seas and a furry pelt didn't go together very well, unless you had a fetish for full body shampoo.
Casting off was conducted without ceremony. Rolas gave a wave to the group of curious scientists and techs running the survey center, then pulled in the boat’s lines, hopping up nimbly to the flying bridge, where the traditional wooden wheel and much more modern control console resided. A few taps on the waterproof touchboard and the electric motors mounted at the back of each of the pontoons began to whir, pushing them out of the little harbor. There were solar panels mounted on the roof of the cabin, but the batteries mounted in the hull could keep the boat’s little motors going continuously for a couple of weeks.
Once they were clear of the little harbor, Rolas killed the motors and raised the sails, the nylon sheets snapping smartly in the prevailing wind, drawing them out to sea as Rolas tacked to starboard. Fortunately, a sophisticated liquid ballast system consisting of pipes and electric pumps running between the two pontoons saved Melanie the need to run back and forth to keep the boat properly balanced. Which was good, because the sudden sway of the boat as Rolas turned made her stomach lurch uncomfortably
She watched as Rolas at the controls, his face relaxing as he worked an obviously familiar routine. The expression was so rare she didn’t dare interrupt, until Rolas motioned her up to the wheel to join him.
“Would you like to see how she works?” he asked, after bringing boat on course. Melanie nodded, and he walked her through the control console, explaining the various icons on and their meanings, ending with, “The sails are fully automated, with an option for manual rigging. Since I always sailed by myself, given the size of the boat I normally let the computer handle things.”
“Why didn’t you bring anyone else aboard?” she asked him.
Rolas shrugged, muscles rippling under his open shirt. “Windskimmer is my toy. I don’t like sharing her.”
“When was the last time you took her out?”
“Hmm,” he said. After a moment, he admitted, “Just after I finished my three Service years. I needed… well, I needed time to think.”
“Rolas, that’s nearly fifteen years ago,” she said, surprised. “You just let it sit in dock all that time?
“I couldn’t bear to part with her. I kept telling myself there would be time to take her out to sea again.” He reached over and squeezed her paw tightly. “Turned out, I just needed a good reason.”
She smiled, opening her mouth to say something comforting in return, and promptly threw up over the deck.
“That’s a boat, Rolas,” Melanie said, careful to keep a smile on her face. Rolas had actually gone to the trouble of blindfolding her after he’d thrown their bags into the skimmer. They’d flown what seemed like two hours, landing at a cluster of cheap looking pre-fab buildings on the western coast, set on a beach near a small dock that normally serviced the fleet of survey submersibles taking stock of Greenholme’s oceans. Evidentially he’d been eager to keep things a surprise. Because otherwise I would have been telling him exactly where to stick this idea.
Rolas grinned at her, a boyish expression entirely devoid of his usual glower. He led her up the short gangway onto the deck. “Yes. I call her the Windskimmer. I’ve had her since I was sixteen.” It was a catamaran, a sailboat with a squarish flat deck set on two narrow, and flimsy looking, pontoons, about ten meters long all told.
“Since you were sixteen?” she asked. “Wait, you mean you paid to ship it all the way from Foxen Prime to here?” In fact, the shipping cost was likely greater than the value of a twenty year old boat. Actually, it was a large enough expense that it should have triggered a notification from their bank account. The fact that it didn’t either meant Rolas had to have snuck in the cost by subterfuge, or used his personal allowance. She suppressed a wince. He had really wanted this to be a surprise.
Most of the deck was taken up by the main cabin, with a sort of flying bridge on the top that seemed too close to the boom of the aluminum mast. Rolas led her inside, showing off a somewhat cramped but comfortable set of living quarters, with ust enough room for a double bed, kitchenette, shower, and the Necessary. A suitable den for a teenaged male she supposed.
The happy expression on his face as he showed everything off to her was almost painful to watch. He wants me to love this as much as he does, she realized. This little secret slice of his boyhood that had brought so much obvious joy to him, well before adult responsibilities had began to grind him down. So she kept her smile on and made appreciative noises as he led her back and forth, showing off the accommodations, and, Rolas being Rolas, the first aid kit, life vests and lifeboat.
“So how often did you take this out?” Melanie asked at a break in Rolas' tour, as they paused at the bow.
“Three or four times a year,” he replied, leaning on the bow's railing. “I'd sail her up and down the coast, stopping wherever I wanted, or just staying out at sea.”
“You and your friends must have had fun,” she said.
Rolas shook his head, his expression closing up slightly. “Never took my friends aboard her. This was my private place, just for me.”
And now you're showing it to me, she thought, feeling the knife twist a little more in her gut. How desperate was Rolas? How desperate did he think the situation between them was, rather, that he would take her aboard? He wants to fix things between us. Good. But he's scared that it won't work out. Bad. She sighed inwardly. It's just a week or two. I can survive a week aboard this thing.
“So, where do you want to go in this thing?” Melanie asked.
“Nowhere in particular,” he replied. “I just want it to be you, me and the sea. You won't believe how vast it is, when you sail out of sight of land. It almost consumes you. I once spent six weeks just sailing in circles, the radio, computer, and clocks all shut off, doing absolutely nothing. It was wonderful.”
That actually sounded like her version of a very private hell. I shall endeavor to keep you occupied, Rolas. Very occupied.
* * *
Rolas unloaded more groceries than Melanie thought could have fitted into the boot of the skimmer, carrying them aboard to be set in the refrigerator and pantry in an order only known to himself. She dutifully helped with the loading, setting items here and there under Rolas’ direction. Total time to transfer all the cargo was less than an hour.
“I would have brought a pair of fishing rods to catch some fresh meals for ourselves, but who knows what’s poisonous and what isn’t in this ocean?” Rolas had said cheerily, once the loading was complete.
“Actually, that’s a good point, Rolas,” Melanie said, hoping to divert him from this outing. “Who knows what is in the seas, exactly?”
“Nothing too dangerous, I should think,” he said. “The Large Lifeform Survey was completed four months ago. There’s nothing in these oceans, even in the deep portions, larger than a filter fish or a Terran dolphin. No need to worry about being eaten, so long as you stay out of the water.”
“I don’t intend on swimming, Rolas.” It wasn’t a popular pastime on Foxen Prime, though families were encouraged to at least drown proof their cubs. Salty seas and a furry pelt didn't go together very well, unless you had a fetish for full body shampoo.
Casting off was conducted without ceremony. Rolas gave a wave to the group of curious scientists and techs running the survey center, then pulled in the boat’s lines, hopping up nimbly to the flying bridge, where the traditional wooden wheel and much more modern control console resided. A few taps on the waterproof touchboard and the electric motors mounted at the back of each of the pontoons began to whir, pushing them out of the little harbor. There were solar panels mounted on the roof of the cabin, but the batteries mounted in the hull could keep the boat’s little motors going continuously for a couple of weeks.
Once they were clear of the little harbor, Rolas killed the motors and raised the sails, the nylon sheets snapping smartly in the prevailing wind, drawing them out to sea as Rolas tacked to starboard. Fortunately, a sophisticated liquid ballast system consisting of pipes and electric pumps running between the two pontoons saved Melanie the need to run back and forth to keep the boat properly balanced. Which was good, because the sudden sway of the boat as Rolas turned made her stomach lurch uncomfortably
She watched as Rolas at the controls, his face relaxing as he worked an obviously familiar routine. The expression was so rare she didn’t dare interrupt, until Rolas motioned her up to the wheel to join him.
“Would you like to see how she works?” he asked, after bringing boat on course. Melanie nodded, and he walked her through the control console, explaining the various icons on and their meanings, ending with, “The sails are fully automated, with an option for manual rigging. Since I always sailed by myself, given the size of the boat I normally let the computer handle things.”
“Why didn’t you bring anyone else aboard?” she asked him.
Rolas shrugged, muscles rippling under his open shirt. “Windskimmer is my toy. I don’t like sharing her.”
“When was the last time you took her out?”
“Hmm,” he said. After a moment, he admitted, “Just after I finished my three Service years. I needed… well, I needed time to think.”
“Rolas, that’s nearly fifteen years ago,” she said, surprised. “You just let it sit in dock all that time?
“I couldn’t bear to part with her. I kept telling myself there would be time to take her out to sea again.” He reached over and squeezed her paw tightly. “Turned out, I just needed a good reason.”
She smiled, opening her mouth to say something comforting in return, and promptly threw up over the deck.
