The Flying Dutchman

Fiction by Philip Brian Hall

The interviewee blinked in the bright lights as yet another furry microphone was thrust into his face. "So, Johann, next week, you're on your way to Mars on humankind's first interplanetary mission. How does being the only European to make the crew feel?"

“Great,” he said.

There was no slick way to cope with monosyllabic responses like this, so, for the tenth time, an enthusiastic TV reporter lined up the same trite segue for the rapidly-diminishing proportion of the American viewing public who hadn't heard it yet. "They're calling you The Flying Dutchman. You're not worried that's an unlucky omen?"

"I'm a scientist," he replied. "That means I'm a rational man. No rational man believes in omens or any other kind of supernatural event."

"Right. But maybe you could just explain the old story to our viewers, Johann?"

The interviewee didn't usually suffer fools gladly, but his NASA contract compelled him to sit through a fixed number of media hours. He recited the accepted scientific explanation.

"It probably all began with an episode of Fata Morgana," he said. "That's a type of mirage which makes objects below the horizon appear to be above it. It's a natural meteorological phenomenon, but centuries ago, ignorant sailors didn't understand what they saw.  It appeared to be a Dutch vessel flying in the air, so they assumed it could only be a ghost ship."

The young lady behind the microphone was unusually determined. "But surely there's more to it? What about the accursed mariner, sailing on forever, repeatedly blown back to sea whenever a harbor looms in view?"

"That’s an allegory of the human condition." The interviewee gave the attractive reporter a less-than-paternal look. "We always want our failures to be someone else’s fault, don't we? So, we make up tall stories about dark forces. If a ship floats in the air, then its crew must be cursed. If they're cursed, then they must have offended some supernatural being, yes? Such a fairy tale, repeated and embellished in dockyard taverns for centuries, begins to sound like real history. Old sailor-men in dockyard taverns are always happy to astonish the gullible for the price of a glass of rum," the interviewee explained. "Their lurid tales, repeated and embellished for centuries, become legends."

“So how can a legend exchange hails with other craft? Or try to send messages to people who’ve been dead for centuries? How would they even know their names?”

“They wouldn’t, but the charlatans who peddle the story would.”

Mere months after this interview, Houston lost all contact with Mars One. No wreckage was ever located, and eventually, the search was abandoned. NASA reluctantly conceded that the ship had vanished with all hands due to unknown causes. There appeared to be no rational explanation. 

***

Slowing to make a sub-light transit of the Sirius system, the starship Scorpio picked up a signal on an obsolete waveband. Scorpio was an interstellar trader operated by a giant commercial conglomerate based in Amsterdam, Netherlands. Three officers were on bridge watch. Their workplace—uniformly surfaced in pale green, self-cleaning plastic and delicately scented to camouflage the stale recycled air—was fifteen meters long and twelve wide. Even so, spaceship designers still worried about claustrophobia. 

"It’s a consistent pattern, captain," Lieutenant Zara Schultz reported. "Three short tones; three longer tones; three short again; then a pause; then the phrase repeats. It must be artificial."

"It’s very weak," Captain Vanderdecken observed thoughtfully, "A beacon perhaps? Can you trace the source?"

Within moments, Schultz narrowed down the origin of the feeble emissions. Matching course and speed with the object was demanding; Scorpio was never normally required to go so slowly except when docking. 

Schultz got up from her chair and came to stand beside her captain. They both stared out of the viewport.

"It’s less than twenty kilometers away," she muttered. "We should be able to see it clearly."

"It must be very small," Vanderdecken said.

With caution, he conned the huge ship closer to the radio source. At one kilometer, he could make out its origin; at eight hundred meters, he hove to. The craft was tiny, little more than thirty meters in length and barely eight in width. Streamlining suggested it was designed to operate in an atmosphere as well as space.

"Clearly man-made," Vanderdecken noted, "but I've never seen anything like it. From its appearance, I’d guess it uses rocket propulsion."

"But that's Iron-Age technology! Rockets took six months just to get from Earth to Mars!" objected Axel Zeeman, the Executive Officer, rising from his chair and approaching the viewport. "What’s a rocket doing out here? It would have used up all its fuel before it even left the solar system."

"The computer has a record of this type of signal," announced Schultz, responding to a buzz from her console. "It's called Morse. It dates from the very beginnings of technology. This sequence is the letters SOS–once used as a distress call." 

The signal abruptly stopped. 

"Odd," Vanderdecken said. "Perhaps its power source has failed?"

"Maybe someone switched it off." Schultz smiled.

"On a rocket?" Zeeman expostulated. "If that thing came from Earth, it was launched centuries ago. Its crew is long dead."

"And death might have been a merciful release," Schultz agreed. "Can you imagine life on board a ship that small? At least two-thirds of her must be fuel and engines; I'll bet the whole living area's smaller than my cabin."

The communications system was still tuned to the frequency of the distress signal; from it, there now came a hiss of static. 

"Unknown vessel," a voice said. "This is Mars One calling unknown vessel. We are on a peaceful exploratory mission from the planet Earth. We were caught in a cosmic storm and have lost power. We need help. Can you hear me? Are you able to understand my language? Unknown vessel, please respond."

 "Mars One!" exclaimed Zeeman. "That's absurd! The first Mars mission was lost with all hands way back in the 21st century." He put his hands on his hips and stared at Schultz as though she were somehow responsible for the nonsense emanating from her equipment.

Vanderdecken flipped the transmitter switch. "Mars One," he said calmly. "We hear you. This is the starship Scorpio. How can we be of assistance?"

"Starship?" hissed the radio. "And you speak English? I don’t understand, but explanations can wait. We're losing oxygen. Can you help us?"

"How many of you are aboard?" asked Vanderdecken.

"Five," the radio squawked. 

"Do you have space suits?"

"Yes, we do."

"Then I suggest you get into them, and we’ll come and fetch you." Vanderdecken turned to his two officers. "Take the cutter. Fix a transport tube between your airlock and theirs, and pressurize it. Let's not lose what atmosphere they have."

"We'll need to send a message to Earth," the radio spluttered. "People will be worried. We’ve been unable to contact Houston for a month."

"A month?" said Zeeman, rolling his eyes as he headed for the airlock. "They've been out of contact for a month?" 

Vanderdecken waved him away. He was a rational man, and there was a scientific explanation. For the moment, the priority was to save lives. 

***

From Scorpio's bridge, Vanderdecken saw Zeeman lay his cutter alongside the antique rocket. There followed a period of silence.

"Captain," Schultz called, "we’re having trouble raising them. We’re tuned to their wavelength, but there’s no response. Can you try?"

"Mars One," Vanderdecken called, "Scorpio here. Our cutter is alongside you. Do you read me?"

"Scorpio, Mars One. We read you. I’m in the airlock with my navigator. It's too small for the whole crew at once, but we’re all five suited up. We can open the outer hatch when you're ready."

"Stand by, Mars One," said Vanderdecken. 

He relayed the news to Schultz. 

Moments later, she called back. "Airlock door opening, captain." 

There followed a confused, scuffling sound. Vanderdecken was about to call again when he heard Zeeman.

"What the hell? How could this happen?"

"Report, Axel."

"Sorry, skipper, but there’s been some kind of accident. Both crewmen in the airlock are unconscious." Zeeman was breathing harder than normal and his voice rasped. "There isn’t room for us to get in there until we get them out, but their suits are stiff and hard to maneuver."

Vanderdecken knew better than to press someone who needed complete attention on the job at hand. Patiently he waited.

"Skipper, we have them both aboard." Zeeman panted. "Their visors are too dark for us to see their faces, but I don't think they're alive. Their backpacks have no air."

"Axel, how can that be? They've only been suited up a few minutes. And if they’re dead, who opened the airlock? Take off one of their helmets. Go carefully; appearances may be deceptive."

"Not this deceptive, skipper!" Zeeman's reply was half-choked. "Helmet's off. The guy's mummified. Not enough exposure to the elements for decomposition, but totally desiccated. He's been dead for centuries."

"And just how do you account for my holding a conversation with a long-dead corpse?" demanded Vanderdecken. "Check the second suit."

Zeeman did as he was told. A few moments later, he reported a similarly depressing discovery. 

"Do you want us to board the rocket and check the other three crewmen, captain?" Schultz asked.

"Wait just a minute," replied Vanderdecken, thinking furiously. 

He switched frequencies again. "Mars One, Scorpio," he called. "Do you read me, Mars One? We have a situation here. The occupants of your airlock are dead. If you can hear me, can you confirm the rest of you are alive and well?"

"We're not dead, captain," replied the same voice as before, "though we did get a shock. When we opened the outer door there was no transport tube, just empty space. We can see Scorpio, but we can't see your cutter. What's going on?"

"I wish I knew, Mars One," Vanderdecken responded. "My officers report recovering two bodies from your airlock. Are you still in contact with the three you left aboard?"

"I’ve just spoken to them," the voice replied.

Vanderdecken’s scientific brain was struggling to make sense of the phenomenon. "Please tell me your name and the name of your colleague in the airlock," he said.

"I’m Captain Leyden; my navigator is Lieutenant Romero," came the reply. "How is this going to help?"

"Please bear with me, captain," said Vanderdecken. He switched frequencies again. "Sparks," he called, "are there name tags on those space suits?"

"Affirmative, captain. Leyden and Romero." 

"As I recall my history," said Vanderdecken, "Leyden was the captain of the Mars One mission of 2045." 

"That's right. The one that was lost without a trace." 

Vanderdecken reached his decision. "Close the airlock; undock carefully and get back here," he instructed. "Bring the bodies with you."

***

The three of them were gathered around the 3D astrogation unit in the bridge's center. Schultz and Zeeman were still flushed and sweating from their exertions. 

"There has to be some kind of spatio-temporal anomaly," Vanderdecken said. "Look at our key facts. Leyden says they contacted their base a month ago; that means in 2045 when their ship was somewhere between Earth and Mars. Four hundred years later, his ship is a drifting hulk in the Sirius system." 

"And Leyden is long dead," said Zeeman. "As proof, we have his body aboard Scorpio." 

"Okay, I understand how we can see the derelict; it's in our time and space." Schultz was struggling with the concept. "But how can Leyden see Scorpio? We're not only four centuries later, we're in a different solar system." 

"And how can he speak to us?" Zeeman was puzzled too.

"The anomaly must connect the past Mars One to the present one," Vanderdecken said. "Temporarily, at least, they somehow exist simultaneously." 

"You mean, what Leyden called a cosmic storm is actually a wormhole?” asked Zeeman. 

"Something of the sort. Sometime soon, I'd guess the past ship will be sucked in completely, and as far as 2045 is concerned, it will just disappear." 

 "The wreckage of Mars One was never found," said Schultz.

"One more complication," added Zeeman. "Leyden can't see or contact the cutter, yet he can see and speak to Scorpio. And so could we when we were in the cutter. That doesn't make sense!"

"It could," insisted Vanderdecken. "Look, suppose I was on top of a hill between two valleys, and you, Axel, were in one valley whilst Zara was in the other?" Vanderdecken outlined the topography with his hands. "It would be perfectly possible for me to see and wave to each of you, and both of you could see me and wave back, but you couldn't see or wave to each other. What we have here, metaphorically, is a sort of hill between two valleys in space-time." 

 "Okay. I get the general idea." Schultz said. "But more importantly—what can we do to save a crew that, according to linear time, has been dead for centuries?"

"Nothing," said Zeeman. He shrugged fatalistically. "We've two bodies aboard. So whatever we might attempt has already failed. Leyden and Romero are not going to be saved. And since they were in the airlock, that means the others are still aboard, and they've also been dead for four hundred years."

"Not necessarily," argued Schultz. "We're still in contact with them. What's to stop them from changing places?"

"Good thinking!" said Vanderdecken. He slapped her on the back, then smiled apologetically as she staggered. "I agree with Axel. We can't save Leyden and Romero, but if we can pass through the wormhole into Mars One, we might still save the other three."

"You'd have to pass through the wormhole without passing through their airlock!" Zeeman protested. "It must be part of the present because we found the bodies in it."

"No, no. Not so fast," said Vanderdecken. "In 2045, Leyden is standing in that airlock looking out at Scorpio. The airlock exists in both space-times."

"All right. If they can change places, it will follow the other three must have left the ship, or at least left the airlock, in order to allow Leyden and Romero back where we found them. It wouldn't mean the others got out alive, though." 

"But there's a chance!" insisted Schultz. "If there's any hope at all, we have to try."

"I agree," said Vanderdecken. 

"We’re going to have to get closer. We know the cutter can’t help. So we’ll have to rig a line. I'll space-walk," Schultz said.

"I don't believe it! You want to try pulling someone through a twelve-light-year, four-century wormhole on the end of a piece of rope?" exclaimed Zeeman.

"Do you have a better idea?" Vanderdecken asked.

Zeeman shook his head. "But what's to say we won't fall off this space-time hilltop if we move?"

"If we don't move, we can't get anyone out," argued Schultz. "I can't space-walk eight hundred meters."

Nodding his agreement, Vanderdecken called up Leyden and explained.

"It makes sense," Leyden replied stoically. "If there's a chance of saving the others, we must try. Before we saw you, we'd all given up hope anyway. So, Romero and I will go back inboard and send the others out. In case we lose the wormhole and don't manage to speak again, I'd sincerely like to thank you for trying. Good luck, captain."

"And my best wishes to you, Captain Leyden."

Vanderdecken set about the delicate business of maneuvering Scorpio within two hundred meters of the drifting rocket. When the relative positions were stabilized, he called Mars One again.

"So far, so good." Leyden breathed a sigh of relief. "We still have contact."

Vanderdecken nodded. "Now for some very basic technology," he said.

Schultz took a line across to attach beside the rocket's airlock. Zeeman and Vanderdecken watched her go, a slight figure steering herself tidily with a gas jetpack. She made the two hundred meter space-walk look easy. They both knew it was anything but.

"Mars One, Scorpio," Vanderdecken called. "We've got a safety line strung between our two ships. My officer is standing by to help you across. The first two can leave the airlock now."

"Airlock door opening, captain," said Schultz.

No-one emerged. Vanderdecken saw the space-suited figure of his lieutenant move to the airlock and peer inside.

"Captain," she reported, "the airlock's empty. There’s no one here."

"And that," declared Zeeman in an I-told-you-so voice, "is exactly how we left it ten minutes ago!"

"No, it’s not, Axel," Schultz said. "We left it closed. Something or someone's opened it."

"Mars One," called Vanderdecken. "We see the airlock open again; we do not see anyone inside."

"Stand by, please, captain," Leyden responded. After thirty seconds of eerie silence, he called again. "Scorpio, my people in the airlock report a similar experience to my own. When the door opened, they could see your ship but not your officer or the safety line."

Vanderdecken thought quickly. "There’s a difference, captain. This time she found no bodies in the airlock."

"Thank goodness!"

"In both cases, you opened the airlock yourself?"

"That's right."

"And we've twice seen the door open." Vanderdecken paused, genuinely puzzled. "There has to be a cause in our space-time."

"What do we do now?"

"We have to work fast. For now, it's enough the door will open. But your people in the airlock can't see Lieutenant Schultz, and she can't see them. I’d say that means there's a dimensional discrepancy at your end, at least the size of the distance between your inner and outer airlock doors."

"That seems likely."

"Also, there's the problem of locating our end of the wormhole. You can see Scorpio but nothing between us, while for us, any objects between us are visible. I'm hypothesizing this is due to the difference in ship size. It could be the whole of Mars One is in contact with the wormhole, but only a part of Scorpio. If we imagine the wormhole as being similar to a transport tube between airlocks, I'm outside my end, but you're inside your end." 

"Sounds a promising theory."

Vanderdecken frowned. "Unless our end is an airlock, we're going to have a hard time tracking it down, let alone accessing it. But we already know it can't be the airlocks we've used so far; you'd have seen them opening. So let's experiment. There are five other airlocks on your side of Scorpio. What I'll do is open their outer doors remotely, one by one, and switch on their interior lights. Okay? I’m closing all view-port shutters on your side of my ship now, so there’ll be no other lights. I'll start from the stern and work forward, naming the airlock each time. If you see a light, please sing out."

"I understand, captain," Leyden replied. "I confirm all your lights are now extinguished."

Vanderdecken went quickly through the sequence he'd outlined, awaiting a response each time. As luck would have it, he'd started at the wrong end of the ship, and even his resolute scientific demeanor was emotionally charged as he opened the final one and called out, “Bridge emergency exit.”

"That’s it!" came an excited crackle from Leyden on the old radio band. "I see a light right forward…. Just a moment, captain, stand by..."

There was a pause. 

"Captain, our outer airlock door just closed, and the inner door opened, both without us doing anything."

"Yes!" said Vanderdecken, pleased with himself. "The airlocks are the key! I believe our bridge airlock’s inner door corresponds to your airlock’s outer door and our outer door to your inner door. If my theory holds, your crewmen in the airlock could step through their outer door into what appears to them to be empty space and find themselves on our bridge. But..."

Again he exhaled slowly. "Normal space still exists between the two airlocks for objects that don't enter the wormhole at one end or the other. My officer and her rope are in normal space, and she can’t enter the anomaly from the side. It’s as though, for her, the wormhole doesn’t exist. So, if my theory’s wrong, your people will end up out in normal space with depleted air supplies. The preferable scientific test, therefore, is for me to suit up and try to come aboard your ship via my bridge airlock."

"That’s an unacceptable risk, captain. You’d be putting your own life in danger!"

"Not at all," declared Vanderdecken. "What’s the worst that can happen? If I miss the wormhole, I end up in normal space attached by a line to my ship, just like Lieutenant Schultz. We’re not short of air.  It’s a simple experiment. This is a scientific problem, and I’m damned if I won’t get to the bottom of it!"

Next to him, Zeeman shivered and quickly crossed himself before looking back at Vanderdecken. "I don’t like to hear words like that, skipper," he said in reply to an interrogatory glance. "It’s bad luck."

"Axel," Vanderdecken chided him. "I do believe you’re superstitious!"

"You shouldn’t tempt fate!" Zeeman defended himself obstinately. "It's an old maritime tradition. Goes right back to the earliest days of sail when they’d never make assumptions about the wind out loud for fear of angering the god who controlled it."

“Pshaw!” With a dismissive gesture, Vanderdecken moved to the locker room adjoining the bridge and put on an EVA suit. It took him less than five minutes. In Leyden's day, it would have taken half an hour and a couple of assistants. He first called Schultz and then Leyden. 

"Let’s have everyone out of the Mars One airlock and well clear of the doors," he instructed. "We don’t know the exact dimensions of the anomaly, and we can't be sure what might happen to someone in normal space who got in the way." 

Vanderdecken stepped into the emergency airlock and closed its inner door behind him. He attached himself to a space-walk line and secured the line to a bulkhead ringbolt.

"I’m opening the outer door and stepping through now," he told his two lieutenants. 

Zeeman watched the repeater instruments as the air was sucked from the lock and back into the ship. He heard the hiss of the opening outer door. Then silence. Looking through the glass plate in the inner door, he could see the airlock was empty. He called Vanderdecken several times without a response.

"Sparks," he called anxiously, "What can you see?"

"No sign of the captain, Axel. I never saw him come out. But then, if he's right about the geometry of the wormhole, I wouldn't have seen him. I can see a second safety line, though. It’s floating loose at this end and secured to Scorpio's bows. It looks like it's been cut. Maybe Mars One’s outer airlock door cut it when it closed? But I don’t understand how the rope could have got out of the wormhole if it was originally inside."

"Mars One," called Zeeman anxiously, changing frequency. "Is our captain with you? His safety line’s been cut."

"Negative, Scorpio," replied Leyden, as the radio signal weakened and crackled even more. "We vacated the airlock as requested; the inner door closed of its own accord, as we expected, but it didn't re-open, and no one materialized this side of it. Our scanners say there's nobody in the airlock."

"Then where the hell is he?"

"I don't know, Scorpio," said Leyden, sadly. "I can't tell you how sorry we all are if we’ve lost him. But, given our systems are crazy, there must be a chance the scanners are wrong. Since Romero and I are effectively dead already, we'll go back into the airlock to investigate. We'll let..."

No further communication from Mars One was logged by Scorpio's flight-deck recorders. Zeeman tried repeatedly to raise the rocket again. Not so much as a crackle of static. He relayed the substance of Leyden's last message to Schultz. 

"We're left with no choice, Axel," she replied. "I have to go and see who or what is inside this ship. Someone or something in our time has to be opening and shutting the door."

"Go carefully, Zara," Zeeman said.

"Copy that," called Schultz, noting that Zeeman, who never normally called her by name, had just done so.

Zeeman watched as Schultz opened Mars One's airlock manually and stepped inside. A moment later, the outer door closed.

"Can you still hear me, Zara?" he called in agitation.

"Will you relax? I told you, no heroics. There’s still no one here. Shutting the outer door didn't do the trick. I’m opening the inner door now. I’ll keep talking so you know I'm okay...

"Right, I’m stepping through into the interior. It’s unbelievably small. The three other crewmen are all here, but they’re not moving. I expect they’re long dead, just like Leyden and Romero. Same old-fashioned space suits. No atmosphere; no sign of the captain...

"There’s a hatch to my right; I guess it leads to the flight deck. I’m opening it now...

"Affirmative. Flight deck it is, or what I believe they used to call a command module. It's not much bigger than the airlock; nobody here. I’ll go back and check for an interior access to the engine compartment...

"Roger that. Hatch here leading to a fuel tank area–a gangway beside the tanks, thick ice on the handrail. No one here. No footprints in the rime on deck... 

"Here’s another hatch; this one leads to an airlock-sized space—a safety area between the tanks and the engines, I guess. I’m opening what I think should be the last hatch now...

"Affirmative. Engine room. Another gangway but no hatch at its far end. Rocket engine, just as we thought. That’s all there is. I’m sorry, Axel, the captain's nowhere aboard."

"No chance you might have missed him?" Zeeman demanded. "No nooks and crannies?"

"Axel, there isn't anywhere else. This ship is minute. Anyway, if he were here, he'd have seen me. Why would he hide?"

"In that case Zara, you’d better get yourself back over here. There’s no point remaining at risk aboard that thing. We sure as hell don’t want the anomaly to swallow you too."

"Copy that, Axel," Schultz responded, "but I suppose I’d better give the other three crewmen a quick once over... I’m on my way back there now... All right. Let’s have a closer look—absolutely no life signs. Name tags are... Burns... Konchevsky... Oh, my God!... Axel, the third name tag is Vanderdecken!"

"What! Is it the captain?" Zeeman's astonishment raised his voice almost to a shout.

"Not unless he switched suits in the time it took me to get in here. And why get out of a modern suit and into one of these museum pieces? I’m taking off his helmet now... Wait, it’s stuck... Okay, it’s coming... Ugh! Another mummy, Axel."

"I don’t understand," said Zeeman.

"Well, that makes two of us," replied Schultz. 

"Okay, Zara, there’s no more you can do there," Zeeman instructed. "Get back here, and we’ll think this through."

"I’m on my way," she replied.

As he stepped through the airlock door, Vanderdecken found himself not in space but in the cramped crew quarters of the rocket. He smiled in triumph. He'd figured the anomaly correctly. 

He saw two space-suited figures. 

"Hello there!" he said. "Good to meet you. I'm Captain Vanderdecken."

"That's not funny, Johann," said the man on his right.

"How do you know my name?" asked Vanderdecken, puzzled. "But, yes, I'm Johann Vanderdecken, captain of Scorpio. It's as I thought. I've stepped straight through the wormhole. We can get you off the same way. We don't have much time. Where's Captain Leyden?"

"In the airlock, Johann, with Alberto. You saw him go through. What's got into you? It was five minutes ago that Scorpio's captain tried to come across. He never made it, and his safety line was cut. We can only hope they managed to get the poor bastard back somehow, but there's no way we'll ever know. The wormhole's gone, and Scorpio's gone with it. Come on, Johann. Pull yourself together. Don't you go crazy on us."

"This doesn't make sense," exclaimed Vanderdecken. "I stepped straight across. Five minutes ago, I was talking with Captain Leyden from my own bridge. What do you mean the wormhole's disappeared? Just who exactly do you think I am?"

"Well, in answer to your first question," said Burns, patiently humoring his crewmate, "just look out the viewport. Scorpio's gone. One second she's a couple of hundred meters away, so big she blots out half the galaxy; the next second, she's not. Believe me, it's not hard to tell the difference." 

"As for the second question," added Konchevsky, "If you just look down there on the front of your suit, you'll see your name. Lieutenant Johann Vanderdecken, it says. Go on, look."

Vanderdecken looked. He did not need to read the name. He saw an antique space suit, not the modern one in which he'd left Scorpio. He turned and looked out of the tiny viewport. 

No giant starship, no man-made object of any kind obstructed his view of the limitless universe. With a sigh of relief, Zeeman saw Schultz's small figure emerge from the airlock and start working her way back along her safety line. Then, as he watched in astonishment, a second figure emerged from the airlock behind her.

"Zara!" he exclaimed. "Who's that with you?"

"It's me," Vanderdecken's voice replied. "Who did you expect?"

"Captain?" Schultz gasped, looking back. "Thank goodness! But where were you? I was all over that ship."

"Oh, I was there," the voice replied. “but for part of the time, it wasn’t now; I was in 2045.”

“You were? Does that mean we can still bring them out?”

“I'm afraid not. Leyden and Romero insisted on following me into the airlock.”

“Oh no! That was a stupid thing to do. And now we've lost radio contact." 

"But you're safe. You had us scared to death, captain," Zeeman interjected. "We thought we'd lost you."

"No chance." The voice sounded amused. “I’m not damned,  I'm indestructible. Not even the devil will take me!" 

"You'll always find old sailor-men happy to astonish the gullible for the price of a glass of rum," the interviewee explained, "and lo and behold, you have a legend."

"That's not very romantic." The reporter looked disappointed. "Just because no rational man believes in the supernatural doesn't mean the supernatural can't exist, does it? Once upon a time, rational men wouldn't accept a heliocentric solar system."

"Trust me," the interviewee said. "There's no such thing as The Flying Dutchman. The supernatural belongs to a past age of superstition, not the modern age of science."

"Well, if anyone's a man of science, you are. You should know." She smiled. "Thanks for the interview, captain."

Johann Vanderdecken waved her goodbye as he strode off across the Earth-orbiting space station's giant departure lounge towards the dock where Scorpio was berthed. 

Outside the boarding gate, endless space and time awaited him.