There’s No Way To Predict
- it’ll pull, you know what I’m saying?
- air quotes practically crackled
- he was genuinely ugly
- thought snow, felt snow, smelled snow
- rendered him master of far mightier muscles than his own
“There’s no way to predict how much it’ll pull, you know what I’m saying?”
I did not know what he was saying, but I could smell ozone and grease. The engines’ whine made conversation nigh impossible, and with such a charge in the air, quotes practically crackled with urgency.
“We have no choice,” I shouted into his calm face. He nodded and deactivated the autopilot, giving me full manual control of our lumbering, wallowing vessel. Everyone told us it would be bad luck to break with tradition and use a male name, but everything about the boat told us its name was Archie. He was genuinely ugly, and probably the toughest thing afloat. Archie was a brute among icebreakers and minesweepers, virtually indestructible.
But that didn’t make him unsinkable, and his steering was as genuinely ugly as he was. It pulled quite a bit, as a matter of fact, with the hydraulics cut out of the equation. The storm’s mountainous waves tossed us like a soda bottle. Gales whipped snow and spray across our decks. I concentrated on not smacking directly into any icebergs, although how I would see them through the blizzard I had no idea. I thought snow, felt snow, smelled snow, tuning my mind to the weather gods’ plane for guidance.
“I fixed it,” he said simply, flopping into the other seat and reengaging the autopilot. “Tell me which way to point us.” I loosened my grip on the helm, feeling only then the ache in my hands and shoulders. My companion showed no strain, now that the systems were repaired. The hydro-assist patched into the helm rendered him master of far mightier muscles than his own.
bonus points for using them in order