The Dream Factory

The Flying Dutchman

The Flying Dutchman. 

'There she is!' Hellson whispered, his eyes fixed on the apparition. 

'I'll be dammed if I'll get on that thing.' muttered Smalle under his breath. 

'Quiet Smalle. We need their help. You'll do as the Captain told you, bring us in on a course to intercept her.' 

Captain Heartwood's weathered face, crooked as tide swept wood, pitted as Saturn's moons, watched the Dutchman's approach. 

She came up on them fast. Shaped like the clippers of myth, from an era when corsairs were said to run ligum spices from the Renies, where one ship's load could make a man's wealth for life. But this spectre, to look at her, was long since a derelict. From inside its twisted hulk red lights flickered through its ribs like the dying embers of a long discarded fire. What drove her he could not tell, no sign of the red flare of life supporting engines. Its hull, stained with rust, clung desperately at the pieces of skin plate which flapped uselessly at its side, occasionally giving vent to great plumes of white steam purging itself from the body of this wandering Kraken emerging from the depths of space.  

This was the ship that had responded to their Mayday calls, in nothing but its presence.  

Heartwood pulled the ships log from the drawer, slipped it into his bible and dropped them into the outer pocket of his jacket. 'That its then, let's go.' He switched the master controller off and the angry panel of buzzing lights in front of him shimmered and died. 

'I'm not going!' Smalle sat back in defiant morbidity and crossed his arms over his shallow chest. 

'I understand Smalle, may God be with you.' Heartwood held out his gnarled hand and shook Smalle's, 'we'll see you on the other side. One day.'  

'It's the devils work,' shouted Smalle after them, 'no good will come of it.' 

Heartwood looked at the Dutchman through the airlock's window as he helped Hellson into his suit. The ship loomed up, casting them into the shadow of the suns glare. It had matched their speed and now lay a hundred metres offside, an overwhelming behemoth compared to their feeble lugger. 'Quickly now Hellson, we don't have much time.' He lifted the oxygen pack onto Hellson's back, secured it into position and checked the dial. 'Set your timer, you've got eighteen minutes. Let's hope they've got some oxygen on that ship.'  

Through his helmet's radio he could hear Hellson's ragged breath as he struggled to lift the oxygen pack onto Heartwood shoulders. 'Take it easy Hellson, you need to conserve your oxygen.' 

'Twenty two minutes.' Hellson slapped him on the shoulder, 'that gives you four minutes watching me die.' 

Heartwood set his timer. Together they leant into the wheel on the airlock door and pulled it round against the juddering gears. Heartwood heaved the door back and he and Hellson crawled out.  

'Captain?' 

'Hellson', Heartwood wrapped his giant arms around Hellson's bulky suit. 'When I say, now, you're to let go. I'm going to kick us of The Hercules and we'll cross the gap. It's not far.' 

'Do you think Smalle was right?' Hellson bent his head so he could see the bulk of the ghost ship above them.  

'We're about to find out Hellson, Now!'  

The time covering the gap seemed interminable. Clutching Hellson, Heartwood watched the distant stars spinning around him and the awe that always filled his soul when he looked into the depths of the great cosmos flooded into him and the stillness and humility of the spectacle ate into his very being. As the wheels of the universe turned Heartwood reflected, he had done his time, sixty years traversing the long reaches of space, often alone in his thoughts, was more than he could have ever wished for. He had his bible, unlike Hellson he was ready to meet his maker whenever they chose to show himself.