Chapter One
Under New Management
The early morning sun bathed Nowheregorod out of a clear sky, shining off the snow that had fallen last night. The heavy clouds which had dropped it all had been cleared, and the sun shone down, making it clear that however bad Nowheregorod was, the weather wouldn’t endeavour make it any worse.
The sun didn't reach Stoker in his bunk, deep in the bowels of the ship, though, which was already as bad as it could be. The regular crew got the rawest deal when it came to accommodation, crammed into these rooms packed three bunks high. Mildew spread along the metal walls, the smell of unwashed ponies filled the nose at all hours and socks crawled, hunted, and bred in the laundry basket. Nonetheless, his bed was warm and comfortable (compared to, say, sheet steel) and he was enjoying a mild lie-in.
He felt he deserved it, after last night, dragging Keel through fetlock-deep snow at minus eight with only his regulation boilersuit to protect him. It was alright for Anchorage, of course. Pegasi didn’t have much trouble with the cold, the gits.
And it was just as he was mulling the superiority of his comrades when a unicorn marine came along the row of bunks, whacking the bunk frames with a steel bar bawling, “Come on! Show a leg there!”
Stoker groaned and rolled out of bed. He was still wearing his boilersuit, so at least he didn’t need to wriggle into the bloody thing. He looked around as various grumpy ponies shuffled and grumbled into the hallway. The others may have been about as cheery as their accommodation looked, but Stoker, underneath a veneer of irritation over last night, felt unusually chipper. After all, the new captain got in today.
The crew tramped along interminable lengths of corridors, up endless flights of stairs, through new and interesting sections and decks (although to be honest, most of the ship looked the same from the inside).
They were brought up on deck amidst a crowd of ponies, all dressed in their uniforms, gathered on the foredeck just below the bridge tower. Every crewpony seemed to be up here, all eyes toward the bridge tower. The snow that had fallen on the deck had melted under the hooves of the crew, leaving an unpleasant fetlock-high sea of slush to tramp through. There was a low murmur of conversation, and the breath of the hundred or so crewmembers frosted in the cold morning air.
The unicorn pushed them on, through the crush up to the front, where Stoker took his place. He looked to one side and saw a reassuring bulk beside him.
“Keel!”
Keel looked the worse for wear. The pegasus and the drag through the snow into the ship hadn’t much improved his general appearance, but he was there and that was what counted.
“You’re okay!” cried Stoker.
“Heh, it’ll take more than one pegasus to keep me down,” he said, grinning through a split lip. “I survived Coltava, I can survive that.”
Stoker smiled back. Anchorage sauntered up into the line alongside them, as stealthily as he could.
“Say, anypony know anything about this new captain?” he said, trying to sound nonchalant.
“He’s academy trained, I hear,” Muttered a soot-stained unicorn to their left. “This new pony’s fresh in, came on the Stalliongrad Solidarity Line this morning.”
“Green as grass,” said a navigator nearby.
“Looks like we’ll know soon enough,” said Keel, nodding towards the platform.
The new captain had stepped up. He certainly looked the part of the noble seafarer, with his handsome, chiseled face, blonde mane, actinic white coat and pristine uniform, all gold trim and braid. On his head sat the captain’s hat, further back to accommodate his horn. Anchorage gasped.
“That’s Prince Blueblood!”
Keel and Stoker gave him a look.
“He was in the Canterlotian’s list of most eligible bachelors a while back.”
The look continued.
“What? It was a long watch. Reading material was scarce.”
Eyes were averted. So he was a Prince, thought Stoker. Well, that was promising. After all, weren’t royalty trained from birth to lead? That was the whole point of the aristocracy, wasn’t it? Captain Blueblood cleared his throat and murmuring in the crowd ceased.
“Stallions, mares, crewmembers in general of this fine vessel. I am your new captain, and I expect to be respected as such. I intend to have this ship fighting fit as soon as possible. I will expect much from you, and I will run this ship military! Er, naval! Discipline will be tough, and subversive elements will be dealt with harshly!”
Stoker bit his lip. Hot damn, he even sounded like a captain, his voice strong, yet soft, and with a very handsome accent.
“However, as you have yet to learn this, in practice, I will be magnanimous. All crimes will be forgiven. We will start from a clean slate, but what you do with this slate is up to you.”
Stoker sighed in relief and dropped his head, only to be shoved by a marine and told in hushed tones to stand up straight.
“Furthermore, I wish to make several announcements as to the running of this ship. Firstly, all coming and going between the ship and the town is to stop. The ship must be ready and fully crewed at all times if it is to remain a credible force in these waters, which cannot occur if half the crew is out drowning their sorrows in coffee!”
Keel snorted.
“You mean burying their sorrows alive,” he muttered. “He’s yet to try the coffee round here.”
Stoker stifled a giggle and received another shove.
“Secondly," (and Stoker experienced a little worm of doubt when he pronounced it 'secandlay'), "every pony is to remain at their station at all times. No.... 'bunking off' will be tolerated.”
“Oh! So what will we fill our time with?” Said Keel, perhaps a trifle too loud.
Prince Blueblood’s eyes flickered down for a moment, but his ego assured him he’d heard nothing.
“Full combat drills will be held weekly to ensure the combat readiness of this vessel. And lastly, I want you all to pay no heed to the malcontents at the factory here. They are untrustworthy and lazy ponies and do not deserve your time or consideration. That will be all. Remember, I expect much from you, my first command.”
He nodded to the crowd, gave a smug smile. There was a desultory clatter of hooves, which must have seemed to him like raucous applause, because he strode away with his chest swollen like he’d swallowed a balloon. In his wake, a wave of discontented mutterings arose from the crowd. Keel shook his head slowly.
“It’s a crime, you know, making somepony think they can just be captain,” he said, sagely. “At least old Ironsides had seniority.”
“So what now?” said Stoker.
“Now, you get to your posts, apparently,” said an officer, stepping down from the platform. “You heard the captain.”
* * *
Stoker followed Keel, who limped down the gangway with the other ponies down to the engine rooms. The main part was the boiler hall, in which the boilers were laid out in rows of five, six rows deep in the hull of the ship. Down here was a place of deep shadow, dim orange light from the furnace mouths and ash, where soot-faced engineers, stokers and shovellers toiled.
They filed into the hall. The chief engineer strolled up to the head of the column.
“All right, my little ponies,” he said in his deep Edinbuck accent. “We’re going to be going full steam ahead, right?”
Stoker’s heart sank. He raised a hoof.
“Why?” he said. “We’re not going anywhere.”
The chief engineer shrugged “That’s orders. We’re to have the capacity to go anywhere at the slightest notice.”
Stoker groaned, as did much of the rest of the crew.
“Come on, my little ponies, don’t be like that,” said the chief engineer. “It’s not like we have a choice here.”
Stoker shuffled over with Keel to boiler eight with the other ponies who worked it. They got their shovels, and a hopper of coal was heaved over to them and they started shovelling. The boiler was already cooking, so it was a matter of putting more coal into it and pumping the bellows. Stoker sighed and started shovelling, heaving coal into the boiler. Already, he could feel the sweat beading on the back of his neck. In his mind, he thought dark thoughts about the captain and the chief engineer.
* * *
On the bridge, an officer’s address had been convened, with all the worthies on the ship and their various lackeys and hangers-on invited. They were clustered around a rather nice lacquered mahogany table, which had an unparalleled view of the decks. The view at present, though, was marred by the crew, undergoing fits of panic and dithering about. Captain Blueblood (he was getting used to the sound of that now) paced back and forth in front of the prow-facing windows, head held high.
“I was to understand this was the finest ship in the Equestian navy,” he said, “And while it is hardly worthy of that title now, I daresay I will make it so.”
The first mate, a pegasus of some years named Loggerhead, raised a hoof.
“Sir, in all fairness, they aren't prepared for this. The Ponytemkin hasn't been at anything like combat readiness for months. They can hardly be expected to just slip back into it.”
Blueblood made a dismissive gesture with a hoof.
“Well, they are expected to do it. Every day we spend unprepared is another day for the enemies of Equestria to gather their strength, and strike when we are least prepared. Anyway, I have absolute faith in the crew’s abilities, which is why all able seaponies and deckhooves will be put to the task of weapon maintenance. All the ship’s weapons are doubtless in pretty poor nick after such a long time without seeing use. The ship should be ready to deal with any threat at any time.”
The captain went on, reading from his internal crib sheet “I know as well as anypony that reform must start at the top. I expect all of you to take an active role in the running of this ship. And that goes for all of you!”
Looks were exchanged. The atmosphere was that of an aeroplane whose pilot has just announced he's off chasing the electric dragon. The middies’ representative raised a hoof.
“With all due respect, sir, this ship has officially been mothballed. We won’t even need to be on combat readiness until the ice thaws, which will prevent us from steaming anywhere for the foreseeable future.”
Blueblood made a show of ignoring the comment.
“I want this ship to take its place as the pride of the fleet. I want every member of its crew to live up to the grand naval traditions of the Equestrian Royal Navy.”
“What, thuggery, skulduggery and bugg-“ said the middies’ representative, before someone put a hoof over his mouth. In any case, Blueblood didn’t hear it.
“If that’s all understood, are there any questions?”
“Well... Sir, I was just thinking that it, if I may...”
“No? Good, good,” Blueblood cleared his throat and took a step back to compose himself. “Hop to it, then.”
He stamped his hooves emphatically, turned briskly and walked smack-bang into the door. After some mental and physical legwork, he circumnavigated it and left. The sound of his hooves faded off down the hall. After a while, the first mate spoke.
“What do you think, Beaufort?”
“I think, Loggerhead,” replied the second mate, “that we’re the butt of some cruel cosmic joke.”
“Seconded,” said the chief navigator, solemnly. “That indefinite shore leave was all that was keeping my chaps sane.”
“True as that may be,” said Loggerhead, “but at present, there’s not much we can really do. He is captain.”
The others nodded. An unpleasant fact, but a fact nonetheless.
“Well, look chaps, here’s how I see it,” said Loggerhead. “Let’s just see what happens, eh? No harm in waiting to see if it all sorts itself out in the end...”