“Let’s hope it doesn’t do that here,” Ryan commented, casting his eye over the rigging above.
“Hey, you wanted to help? Then give me a hand with this,” yelled Orthos, who had left the tiller to come down to the main body of the boat. “We need to gather the sails in while the engine’s fired—that’ll stop it going.”
Dean and Ryan joined the sailor and other fellow travelers in pulling down the ropes and sails from the rigging, letting them rest on the deck once the billowing air had been pushed from beneath them.
“Engine won’t fire,” yelled a seaman, running to them.
Orthos swore. “So long since I’ve used the engine, I don’t know if I could fix it.”
“Let me try,” Dean said quickly, pushing to the rear of the boat where another seaman was struggling with the ignition. Without a word he stood aside as Dean hunkered over the machinery, studying it. He tried the self-starter again; it refused to fire. Pulling the wires from the switch, he tried again, this time by hot wiring. The engine fired.
“Good job it was just a screwed-up switch. Don’t know what I would have tried next.” He laughed.
“Long as it works, don’t worry about it.” Orthos grinned. “Come on. We’re shipping water and need to bale. No rest for any of us until we’re through this.”
Unfortunately for J.B. and Doc, the cooperation of the other boats wasn’t to be echoed on their own vessel. It was shipping water faster than many of the others, as it was weighed down heavily with much of the livestock. Although the engine had fired and the rigging was secured, the boat was still slow because of its weight and was struggling across the white water.
The Armorer and Doc had both moved to help bale water, but were stopped by the sailor who had been on the tiller.
“Don’t move,” he said, holding a Glock.
“We only want to help,” Doc said calmly.
“Think I trust pale ones to be helping? This is our ship, our journey. Leave it to us.”
“For God’s sake, man, what do you think we are likely to do?” Doc countered. “Why should we do any harm? If this ship goes, we go with it. We are all in this together.”
The separatist sneered. “You’re in nothing with us, you stupe old man. I—”
But his attempt at justification was cut short by another wave that swept across the deck. It caught him off balance and threw him toward the rail. Losing his grip on the Glock, which fell to the deck, he toppled over the rail and just managed to catch hold as he fell toward the waves. He screamed with pain as the jolt almost pulled his arm from its socket.
At the same moment the damage from the battering waves caused the ropes on one of the livestock cages to snap; three terrified and enraged bulls stumbled from their captivity and onto the deck.
“I’ll get him. You try to keep them away,” J.B. yelled to Doc.
The old man nodded, understanding immediately that it was a necessity to keep the frightened beasts from the rail near the struggling man. Moving toward them, Doc tried to cut off their progress, shooing them back toward the opposite rail. He beckoned to others to help, and soon there were several Pilatans helping him to round up the cattle and direct them back toward their cage. As the frightened creatures entered what had to have seemed like a secure haven, Doc took a length of rope proffered by a sailor and secured the cage.
Meanwhile, J.B. rushed to the rail and reached over for the separatist’s other arm, which flailed by his side. He knew that to grab the already strained arm would possibly cause dislocation. He had to take the strain from that limb if he was to save the man.
“Give it to me,” the Armorer yelled, reaching for the free hand.
With a look of disbelief and incomprehension etched on his face, the separatist took J.B.’s proffered hand and the Armorer locked on to his wrist, using his other hand to reach over as far as he dare to grab beneath the man’s elbow. Heaving with all his strength, he pulled at the heavy body, tugging it up. The deck was slippery, and he was only too well aware that the boat was still pitching. But he ignored it as he heaved the man upward.