by Jordan Rivet
The night was relatively warm, and Esther was grateful for that. It would be a cold swim no matter what. She was sweating a bit inside her jacket. She pushed her hands deep in her pockets to steady them.
“Ahoy!” Byron called as his taxi drew up to the platform. “You folks ready to go?”
The workers greeted him by name and piled onto the taxi. Esther kept her head down and climbed aboard. She found a seat in the back row, portside. The taxi had a plastic awning that could be pulled down from a frame over the passengers in poor weather. Esther tugged part of the roll of plastic down so it obscured her further. She concentrated on making herself look inconspicuous.
“Everyone in?” Bryon said.
He looked back at his passengers, and Esther met his eyes. Byron gave a slight nod and fired up the motor. Soon they were speeding away from the Emerald. The sun had set, but the sky was still a murky blue, and the stars hadn’t come out yet. As they sailed through the middle of the flotilla, Esther watched the boat creating wings of wake in the sea beside her.
Byron chatted loudly with his passengers. He seemed to be trying to keep their attention to the fore. As they neared the oil tanker, he shouted, “How ’bout a song? It’s been a rough week.”
“Hell yeah!” someone else shouted. “I need a song and a drink!”
Other voices and raucous laughter added their assent. Then a deep voice rose up from the middle of the group.
Tip and roll
Tip and roll
The sea is tipsy
Rip and toll
A rough sea is like a drunken night
Tipsy-turvy, tip and roll
But a drunken night is fun, right?
And tipsy is the goal
As more voices joined in, Esther kept her eyes on the oil tanker. It was sitting surprisingly high in the water. The hull had concentric rings in the rust, marking where the water had reached at one time. It must not be full anymore.
They were passing close to a floating platform in the tanker’s shadow. It had a ladder that appeared to go all the way up to the deck. Esther looked back at the singers to make sure they were still occupied—and still noisy—then bent to untie her boots. She placed them in the plastic bag and knotted the top.
Tip and roll
Tip and roll
Until your belly
Pays the toll!
At the height of the chorus, Esther swung her bare feet over the back of the boat and slipped into the cold water.
She dove, holding her breath until the boat was farther away. The salt water stung her skin, and she kept both arms wrapped around her boots. When she couldn’t hold her breath anymore, she kicked slowly to the surface.
The sky had darkened even more in the minute or two she’d been underwater. She listened for any shouts of “man overboard,” but all she could hear was the hiss of the water against the oil tanker’s side. She swam to the platform, where an empty motorboat was moored, slapping rhythmically against the platform in the gentle swells. She hid in its shadow for a moment, listening, before pulling herself quickly onto the platform. She put a hand on the cold rung of the ladder.
“Gonna hit the Bridge tonight, mate?” a voice spoke in the semidarkness.
Two men had begun climbing down the ladder from the deck of the tanker. Esther dropped back into the water as quietly as she could, hoping the sounds of the flotilla would mask the splash. She held on to the platform, shrinking into the shadows.
“Nah. Not enough chips. They don’t pay me enough for this shit.”
“I hear ya. Are you driving, or am I?”
Two pairs of boots hit the platform, causing it to rock violently. Esther held her breath. Cold seawater splashed into her eyes. The men climbed into the waiting motorboat. The engine sputtered to life, drowning out the rest of their conversation.
Esther stayed where she was, floating in the semidarkness, until the motorboat had pulled away from the platform and sped off into the flotilla. That was too close. When she was sure the men wouldn’t look back, Esther hoisted herself back onto the platform, shivering from a combination of cold and nerves.
She slung the bag with her boots over her shoulder and shook water from her clothes. She had to focus. She could do this. Seconds later, she was scurrying up the ladder and onto the deck of the tanker. She ducked to the side as soon as she was up and hid behind a large barrel.
The deck was wide and flat. Pipes snaked across the surface, and hulking machines sat at regular intervals. Spotlights appeared intermittently, though they weren’t bright enough to light the whole deck. A crane rose from the stern, but nothing else obstructed Esther’s view of a tall deckhouse at the front of the ship. It rose approximately six levels above the main deck at its highest points. Lights were coming on in the windows. If there were answers, she guessed they’d be inside.
Esther considered her boots but decided she’d be better off leaving them in the bag and creeping forward on bare feet. She slung the bag over her shoulder, keeping her eyes open for more crew. A group clustered about a hundred feet from her beneath a spotlight, but she didn’t think they’d be able to see her in the shadows. They crouched around something on the deck. Perhaps cards or dice. Esther didn’t wait to find out.
The ladder had come up about three-quarters of the way toward the stern of the ship, so she had a ways to go. She forced herself to remain calm as she walked, bent low beneath the railing. This had all seemed like a good idea when discussing it safe inside the Catalina. Now, she was scared. She didn’t want to get caught. A breeze picked up, chilling her wet clothes and making her feel stiff and clammy.
When she reached midship, Esther thought again of the rust rings on the hull and how high the big tanker seemed to sit in the water. The tankers were supposed to be mostly full. What if the Galaxy didn’t have as much oil as they pretended? How could they possibly sustain this many people? A row of large gauges was set into the deck near the middle of the ship. The gauges would be connected to the huge crude oil tanks beneath her feet. She needed to know. Casting a quick look at the men still clustered far away from her, Esther crept toward the nearest gauge. Her heart pounding, she dropped to her knees. Still no alarm.
She raised her head just enough to see the face of the dial. The tank was at 13 percent. She darted to the next one. The men beneath the spotlight were still occupied. This gauge read 15 percent. The next one 12 percent. If all the tanks were like this, the Galaxy Flotilla was dangerously low on fuel. Dax had told them that anyone could turn in their chip-wages for oil to trade if they wanted to leave the Galaxy. But the bank was nearly empty. Would the captains really let people take off with the last of their oil reserves?
Esther stood, ready to dart on to the next gauge. Then a hand appeared out of the darkness and grabbed her.
Esther kicked and struggled, but her bare feet didn’t do much good. The man had one hand on her mouth and one locked around her elbows, lifting her off her feet.
“Don’t make a sound,” a deep, rough voice growled in her ear.
Esther desperately wanted to scream but realized that could make things even worse. She had to know what she was dealing with. She locked her free arm around the hand at her mouth and tried to pry it away. The man’s fingers were like iron and they smelled strongly of oil.
“I don’t know what you’re doing here, but you’ll be in hell if you’re caught. Shut up.”
The man hauled her toward the shadow of the deckhouse and kicked open a door at its base. Esther had been about to bite his hand, but something he’d said stopped her. Hadn’t she already been caught?
The man released his grip on her mouth and twisted her around to pin her to the wall beside the doorway. She felt cold metal at her back. He watched out the door for a moment. He had very dark skin that seemed to stretch over his huge, muscled shoulders. She couldn’t read his expression in the shadows.
“We weren’t seen,” he said, still not lightening his hold on her upper arm. “Don’t know wha
t you think you were doing, but you’re lucky I’m the one who saw you skulking across the deck. You another one of Zoe’s friends?”
“I’m interested in learning more about your energy systems,” Esther began. “I’m building a generator and I wanted to know—”
“Save your bullshit. The tanker is off-limits. You know what happens to people who cross the captains.” He spit onto ground.
“Actually, I don’t. I’m from—”
“I don’t care. Less I know the better. Let’s get you off before anyone sees.”
He turned and steered her down a corridor. She had to run to keep on her feet. They felt numb from the cold. Her boots still bobbed in the plastic bag against her back. She tried to look through the windows in some of the doors set along the corridor, but they were moving too quickly. Once, she thought she heard shouting on the level above them.
The big man pushed her against a wall beside another door and motioned for her to be quiet while he listened for any activity outside. He released his hold on her, and she thought of making a run for it. Before she could move, he’d wrapped his iron fingers around her arm again and pushed open the door. The sky outside was nearly black. They were standing on a poorly lit promenade along the edge of the deckhouse.
Esther could see the man a bit better now. Deep wrinkles cut grooves in his forehead. He was bald, and he wore a faded blue coverall stained with oil. Still tense, he spoke in a quiet grumble.
“See that stack of crates?” he said. “Those are going over to the Crystal as soon as the boat gets here. I know the guys on this shift. They’ll give you a ride, no questions asked. You’re to stay hidden until they dock, then get away from there as quickly as possible, got it?”
“Yes, but—”
“And don’t come back. You don’t need this kind of trouble.”
“But what’s in the deckhouse? Are the other tankers as low on fuel as this one?” Esther asked.
He ignored the questions, strode to the stack of crates, and pulled apart two of them so Esther could hide in the space between.
“Why aren’t you turning me in?” Esther whispered as she wedged herself into the space. “And what’s your name?”
“Better if you don’t know. Keep away from here, got it? Zoe’ll be out in a few days anyway.”
“But I’m not—”
“Shut it, here’s the transport.”
The man disappeared from view. He must have been speaking to the men from the boat, because a low rumble of voices filtered into Esther’s hiding place. They seemed to come to some sort of agreement. Suddenly, the crates shifted. Esther jumped but kept silent. Then there was a grunting, scraping noise, and one of the crates directly in front of her was pulled away, exposing her position. The two men moving it eyed her for a second, then looked away. They lugged the crate toward a winch set near the railing.
Esther crept after them, and still they didn’t acknowledge her. While they busied themselves attaching the crate to the winch, she looked over the side of the tanker. A boat bobbed beneath them, a ladder descending to its deck. Esther looked back, but the big oilman was gone. Should she try to get back into the deckhouse?
Then the man operating the winch gestured for her to hurry. She slipped over the side and climbed down to the deck of the smaller boat. She crept into the cabin belowdecks and tucked herself into a corner, listening to the thump of the crates landing on the deck. After the men finished loading, one checked to see that she was well hidden and then returned to the pilothouse.
It was cold in the cabin, and Esther shivered in her wet clothes. She had so many questions, but the men did not come near her as they sailed across the flotilla. Half an hour later, Esther felt the boat bump gently to a halt. Voices came from overhead, then a scrape and a curse or two. Presumably, they had arrived at the Crystal and the men were unloading their cargo. Esther crept back onto the deck and scrambled up the ladder to the Crystal without looking back.
Breathing heavily, she climbed two decks away from the entrance before sinking down to put on her boots. Her fingers were shaking so much she could barely tie her first lace. What was going on here? The Galaxy didn’t have as much oil as she’d thought. That much was certain. But why all the secrecy? What were the captains hiding in that deckhouse, and why had the oilman helped her to escape but then refused to tell her anything? It made no sense. And what did they want with the Catalina?
As she pulled her second boot onto her foot, something made Esther look up. Eugene, the old man who’d been introduced as a trade representative on the Abby Rae, was standing in a corridor near the staircase, watching her. He wore a simple gray shirt and navy trousers, and seemed almost to blend into the bulkhead.
“Excuse me!” Esther said. “Mr. Eugene?”
She tried to stand but tripped over her half-on, half-off boot. When she looked up again, Eugene was gone. She stumbled to the corridor and called his name, but the hall was silent. She hadn’t seen him since their very first day. Why had he been so elusive if he handled trade? And why did she have the sneaking feeling he knew where she’d been?
Chapter 16—Cabaret
Esther wanted to talk to Neal about what she’d seen, but Neal and Marianna were spending hours every day locked up in the broadcast tower on the Crystal. When Esther asked about it a few days into their stay at the Flotilla, Neal had insisted they were discussing languages and working on the satellite project.
“Marianna’s team is trying to establish contact with any satellites still in orbit. She thinks the ash is finally clear enough to rebuild the old networks.”
A persistent hopefulness had taken up residence on Neal’s face. Esther suspected this had little to do with the satellites. He always seemed to be on the verge of breaking out in song—or tears.
Cally and Dax from Guest Services were spending lots of time together too. She’d come back to the Catalina from their movie date in raptures. She’d spent an hour reporting on the afternoon with a level of detail she never managed when talking about engine maintenance.
“They had sweets packaged in plastic that you could buy with the casino chips and eat in the theater. And the movie! Esther, there were pictures of big fields hundreds of miles from the nearest salt water. And real live horses! Can you imagine? It looked just like Bernadette’s mural!”
Later, Dax had taken her to the smaller library on the Crystal. “We spent hours just reading side by side,” she told Esther as they cleaned out one of the fuel injectors the day after Esther’s visit to the oil tanker. “Can you believe how many books they have? And Dax has been so sweet. He promised to take me to the Galaxy Crown for a special dinner one night. I might even get to see the captains!”
“Judith doesn’t seem to like them very much,” Esther said.
She hadn’t had a chance to report back to Judith about what had happened on the oil tanker. As usual, David Hawthorne and the captains had been keeping her busy.
“Judith is just grumpy. She doesn’t like that someone else is in charge. Anyway, the Galaxy Crown is supposed to be beautiful, even majestic. I want to go there so badly!”
“Mmm.”
Esther’s hands were busy checking and double-checking each element of the injector she’d been working on. It hadn’t been quite right since their journey to the Galaxy.
“Did you hear about the cabaret tomorrow?” Cally’s head bobbed up and down like a buoy on the other side of the engine.
“What’s a cabaret?”
“It’s like a show, but a million times better than the ones we do. Dax told me that we’re all invited. It’ll be on the Galaxy Mist after dinner tomorrow. You should totally come.”
“I might stop by.”
Esther hadn’t visited the Mist yet, but she’d heard from Byron that it was one of the more sparsely occupied ships. A substantial portion of it was used for storage. Maybe she could poke around, find out what kind of supplies were being kept there. It would be good to have something more to report to Judit
h. Despite herself, she wanted to impress Judith, to prove she’d made the right decision by asking Esther for help.
“Apparently, they have this big theater, and they serve dinner and drinks while you watch the show. Isn’t that amazing?” Cally sighed, her work neglected yet again.
“Sure,” Esther said. “Maybe I’ll see if Neal and Mar— . . . if Neal wants to go.”
She was keeping Neal’s secret, even from Cally. She still didn’t know anything about Marianna’s husband.
Esther caught Neal in his tower after her shift. He was alone for once. He had already been planning to ask her to go to the cabaret show with him. Marianna and her husband were going, and Marianna had urged him to bring a “date” to avoid any unnecessarily awkward situations.
“I need you to have my back, Es,” Neal said. His headset was down around his neck as usual. The high decks of the Emerald loomed outside the windows. “I’ve never met the guy, but Marianna seems to think we’ll get along swimmingly.”
“Why would you want to meet him? Aren’t you still thinking about stealing his wife?” Esther said. She sat on the floor and pulled her knees up to her chest.
Neal swiveled around in his chair. “Marianna says they have an unconventional relationship.”
“What does that mean?”
“I’m not sure,” he admitted.
Esther sighed. “At least tell me if you guys are actually hooking up,” she said, “so I know what I’m getting myself into.” She scratched at the leftover scab from the explosion in the desal room. The cut was mostly healed, but it still itched.
“It’s not like that. I just want to be around her . . . listen to her voice . . . watch her lips move.”
“You’re just making this harder on yourself,” Esther said, “but okay, I guess I can come to this carberay thingy. Might be interesting.”
“Thanks, Esther,” Neal said. He bit his lip. “Oh, and we’re supposed to dress up. Do you think you can do that?”
