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Require immediate assistance."
"Prow stove in?" Church repeated in a puzzled tone. "From what?"
"They didn't say, Lieutenant."
Church started for the door. "I'll inform the captain. Tell theCroganCastlewe're coming at full steam."
Sparks's face took on a pained look. "Please, sir, I can't."
"Do it!" Church commanded. "I'll take full responsibility.'
He turned and ran down the alleyway and up the ladder to the wheelhouse. Worley was still sitting in the wicker chair, swaying with the roll of the ship. His spectacles were dipped low on his nose and he was reading a dog-earedLibertymagazine.
"Sparkshas picked up an SOS," Church announced. "Less than fifty miles away. I ordered him to acknowledge the call and say we were altering course to assist."
Worley's eyes went wide and he launched himself out of the chair and clutched a startled Church by the upper arms. "Are you crazy?" he roared. "Who in hell gave you the authority to countermand my orders?"
Pain erupted in Church's arms. The viselike pressure from those huge hands felt as if it were squeezing his biceps into pulp. "Good God, Captain, we can't ignore another vessel in distress."
"We damn well can if I say so!"
Church was stunned at Worley's outburst. He could see the reddened, unfocused eyes and smell the breath reeking of whisky. "A basic rule of the sea," Church persisted. "We must render assistance."
"Are they sinking?"
"The message said `taking on water.' "
Worley shoved Church away. "The hell you say. Let the bastards man the pumps until their ass is saved by any ship but the Cyclops."
The helmsman and the duty officer looked on in amazed silence as Church and Worley faced each other with unblinking eyes, the atmosphere in the wheelhouse charged with tension. Any rift that was between them in the past weeks was hurled wide open.
The duty officer made a move as if to intervene. Worley twisted his head and snarled, "Keep to your business and mind the helm."
Church rubbed his bruised arms and glared at the captain. "I protest your refusal to respond to an SOS and I insist it be entered in the ship's log."
"I warn you
"I also wish it noted that you ordered the radio operator not to transmit."
"You're out of bounds, mister." Worley spoke coldly, his lips compressed in a tight line, his face bathed in sweat. "Consider yourself under arrest and confined to quarters."
"You arrest any more of your officers," Church snapped, his anger out of control, "and you'll have to run this jinx ship by yourself."
Suddenly, before Worley could reply, the Cyclops lurched downward into a deep trough between the swells. From instinct, honed by years at sea, everyone in the wheelhouse automatically grabbed at the nearest secure object to keep his footing. The hull plates groaned under the stress and they could hear several cracking noises.
"Mother of God," muttered the helmsman, his voice edged with panic.
"Shut up!" Worley growled as the Cyclops righted herself. "She's seen worse seas than this."
A sickening realization struck Church. "TheCroganCastle, the ship that sent the distress signal, said her prow was stove in and her superstructure damaged."
Worley stared at him. "So what?"
"Don't you see, she must have been struck by a giant, rogue wave."
"You talk like a crazy man. Go to your cabin, mister. I don't want to see your face until we reach port."
Church hesitated, his fists clenched. Then slowly his hands relaxed as he realized any further argument with Worley was a waste of breath. He turned without a word and left the wheelhouse.
