by Kage Baker
The Long John had managed to tie up all six crates. Extending a hook, it caught the looped cable and rose through the water, towing the crates after it like a great unwieldy bunch of grapes. Reaching the limit of its strength, straining upward, the Long John activated a tiny antigravityfield and promptly shot up through the gloom like a cork released from a bottle, the crates zooming ponderously behind as it rose toward the Sirene’s hull…
“Coastal Patrol cutter to port!” roared the Captain, pointing. “Bloody hell, that son of a whore’s got ordinance!”
“You mean cannons?” Alec squeaked, “Oh, wow!”
Turning sharply, the Captain scanned Alec. His sensors picked up the boy’s terror, but to his consternation, there was something more: excitement, anticipation, physical arousal. Alec watched the cutter speeding toward them and, without conscious intent, began to smack his right fist into his left palm, quite hard.
“Are we going to fight ‘em, Captain sir?” he said eagerly. “Or, no, that’s dumb. I guess we’ll just have to give ‘em a run for their money!”
“We ain’t doing neither one, boy,” the Captain snapped. “We’re going to sit tight and lie through yer teeth, understand? I’ll get below and manage the Long John. Just you calm down!”
“I am calm!” Alec protested, but the Captain had already vanished. Alec turned uncertainly to watch the cutter approach as, a fathom below, the Long John dove again and pulled its load into the obscurity of a kelp forest. There it waited, warily scanning the surface.
“HEAVE TO AND PREPARE TO BE BOARDED!” ordered Mr. Leam, his voice echoing across the water. “YOU ARE UNDER SUSPICION OF VIOLATION OF INTERNATIONAL MARITIME ORDINANCE 56624-B, PARAGRAPH 30, CLAUSE 15!”
“ER—OKAY!” Alec bellowed, thrilled to his bones. He felt more alive at this moment than he could ever remember feeling, and wished with all his heart he had a sword or a pistol or even just the ability to launch himself across the space between the boats and start swinging with his bare fists. It took all his self-control to sit quietly at the tiller, an innocent expression on his face, and watch as the cutter pulled alongside and Mr. Leam jumped into the tiny Sirene.
Mr. Leam was furiously angry, because it was obvious he had made an error; the Sirene had no cabin, let alone a cargo hold. Nevertheless, balancing awkwardly on the Sirene’s midship thwart, he demanded, “Identify yourself! What is your business here?”
“I’m Alec Checkerfield,” Alec replied. “Just here on holiday, sir, yeah? I was looking at all the seagulls up there.”
“Well—” Mr. Leam swallowed back his rage and glanced over at the cutter for support. Reilly seemed to be hiding. He looked back at the immense young man. The youth smiled in a friendly way, but there seemed to be far too many teeth in the smile.
“Under the authority vested in me by the Trade Council, I hereby inform you I intend to search this vessel,” persisted Mr. Leam.
Alec raised his eyebrows. “Sure,” he said. His ears prickling with red heat, Mr. Leam bent over and looked under the thwarts. He looked under the seat cushions; checked all along the rail for towlines; ordered Alec to rise and checked among the sternsheets when Alec had politely complied. Having found nothing, he glared at Alec once more.
“Please present your identification disk,” he ordered. Shrugging, Alec got it out and handed it over. Upon discovering that Alec’s father was the earl of Finsbury, Mr. Leam glanced over at the laser cannon and felt a chill descend along his spine. Pinning all his hopes on the possibility that Alec, being an aristocrat, would also be an idiot, he decided to brazen it out and said:
“Very well; everything seems to be in order. I’d advise you to avoid these platforms in future, young man. They are clearly marked as breeding sanctuaries for the black-footed gull.”
“Oh. Sorry,” said Alec.
“You may proceed,” said Mr. Leam, and scrambled awkwardly into his boat, stepping on Reilly, who had been crouching behind the fire extinguisher. Retracting his cannon at once, he put about without another word and sped away, leaving white wake and embarrassment behind him. He was back at the Isle of Wight before it occurred to him to wonder why the Sirene hadn’t shown up on the satellite data.
When he was well out of earshot, Alec howled and pounded on the thwart in delight. “Captain sir, did you see that?” he shouted. “He couldn’t pin a thing on us! That was so COOL!”
“I saw it well enough, aye,” said the Captain irritably, materializing in the prow. “Now we know why the other bastards dumped the loot and took off for Tahiti, and I wish to hell we could do the same. Put her about! We’re getting well away before that looney changes his mind and comes back for us.”
“Aye aye, sir!” Alec leaned on the tiller, chuckling. The Captain did the electronic equivalent of wiping sweat from his brow and peered back at the retreating cutter until it vanished in the lee of the Isle of Wight. Below, the Long John rose from its hideaway and paddled faithfully after the Sirene, towing its clutch of sugar crates.
They kept to a course that took them due south for a while, well out to sea, before the Captain judged it safe to beat to the west and plot a long evasive course back to Poole. Alec lounged back in the sternsheets and congratulated himself on what he thought was the adventure of hislife, replaying Mr. Leam’s search in his head several times, and each time Alec thought of more clever things he might have said, or imagined ways in which he might have turned the tables and captured the Coastal Patrol cutter. If only he’d had a laser cannon too!
He was distracted from such pleasant speculation by a sail to port. After watching it keenly a few minutes, he said, “Captain, they’re in distress over there. She looks like she’s adrift. Shouldn’t we go see if we can do anything?”
“Hell no,” said the Captain. “Just you keep to yer course and mind yer own business, laddie.”
“But, Captain, there’s somebody waving,” Alec said. “Looks like a girl. I can’t see anybody else. Maybe she’s stuck out there all alone!”
“Then she’s safe, ain’t she? Son, we ain’t got time for this.”
“She might be sinking,” said Alec stubbornly. “We have to at least see.” So saying, he steered straight for the other vessel, as the Captain pulled his beard and growled words that would have scoured the barnacles and five layers of marine varnish off a yacht’s hull. None of them dissuaded Alec from his fit of gallantry, however; so the Captain de-materialized and sent his primary consciousness into the Long John, where he concentrated on keeping pace with the Sirene.
“Ahoy!” Alec shouted. “Seasprqy Two? Are you having problems?”
“Something’s gone wrong with my electronics,” cried the mistress of the Seasprqy Two. “I can’t make the steering wheel work and I don’t know what to do with all these sails! Can you come have a look?”
“Okay,” Alec replied, by this time close enough to throw a line to the other vessel and bring the Sirene alongside to tie up. “Permission to come aboard?” he cried jocularly, vaulting the rail of the Seasprqy and landing on her deck with a thump. He had always wanted to say that, and was quite pleased with himself now, and even more so as he gazed down into the eyes of the young lady before him.
“Wow, you’re tall,” she said in awe. She was pretty, with red hair and green eyes, and wore only a small cotton shirt and the bottom half of a bathing suit. She smelled like Paradise.
“Uh—yes, I am tall,” said Alec foggily. “So… you said it was your console, right?”
“It says I’ve got a fatal error!” The girl looked up at him pleadingly. “First the boat stopped and then the sails sort of rolled themselves up and down and now they’re stuck like that. Maybe you’d know what to do?”
“Well, I’m pretty good with systems,” said Alec, feeling his heartbeat speed up. “I guess I’ll just get my tools and have a look, okay?”
“Oh, goody,” said the girl.
When Alec scrambled back into the Sirene, there was a message blinking on the console screen:
ALEC! DON’T BE A BLOODY JACKASS! AIN’T NOBODY SUPPOSED TO KNOW ABOUT THE THINGS YOU CAN DO WITH YER TOOLKIT! ALEC! TELL THE WENCH YOU’LL SEND THE NAVSAT A DISTRESS SIGNAL AND SOMEBODY’LL BE ROUND TO PICK HER UP LATER! ALEC! ARE YOU READING ME, BOY? ALEC!
Smiling confidently, Alec ignored the screen and grabbed up his tool case. He was whistling A Bicycle Built for Two as he climbed back aboard the Seasprqy Two.
He slipped on his earshells and visor, plugged himself into the Seasprqy’?, console, and at once knew perfectly well what the problem was; he could see it like a broken wall in a burning field, strings of symbols in sad disarray, ravaged as though an army had marched through them. But he pretended to run diagnostics and look at components, while the girl watched anxiously and chattered at him:
“… Daddy’s boat and I wasn’t supposed to go out alone but I got mad, I guess that was silly of me, but I really wanted to record the sounds of the open sea for this project we’re doing in Circle and I didn’t know it was so quiet out here, did you? So then I tried to hook up the holocam to get some images, but that’s when it all went wrong.”
“You used the wrong port,” Alec informed her. “And it got a semantic paradox going, and now your console thinks it’s in drydock for maintenance. That’s why it won’t let you go anyplace.”
“Oh,” said the girl, and in her chagrin she added a mildly obscene word, which caused Alec to have a semantic paradox of his own.
He coughed, drew his toolkit over his lap and assured her, “B-but I can fix it, no problem.”
“Oh, thank you!” exclaimed the girl, and she threw her arms around him from behind and kissed his cheek. Alec could feel her pulse racing, hear her quickened breath, and her scent was telling him… His mouth began to water. He held on to his purpose like a drowning man and pretended to do things to the console with a microgapper while he sent his mind roaring through the error zone, adjusting, righting, realigning…
There was a low roar, the fusion generator started up, and a clear precise voice spoke: “All systems operational. Set course, please.”
“There you go,” said Alec hoarsely. “What course d’you want?”
“I just need it to go back to Yarmouth,” said the girl, looking at him with wide helpless eyes. “Can you set the course for me?”
“Course laid in,” said Alec, and put away the visor and earshells. “You can set sail any time.”
“Okay,” said the girl. “Thanks so much.”
He lurched to his feet and she stared at him, or, to be more precise, at the front of his shorts.
“Er,” said Alec, “I guess I’ll just go, then.”
“Um,” said the girl, “Would you… like to see what the cabin looks like inside?” They considered each other a moment. Alec gulped, and in the terribly suave voice he’d heard men use on holo shows said, “So, babe, can I interest you in exploring the amazing mysteries of life with me?” And he gave her the daredevil smile that had caused Beatrice Louise Jagger’s knees to weaken. The girl smiled at the big strong stranger, and her smile was bright and sharp-edged. She glanced up once in the general direction of the satellites, and then—with a graceful inclination of her head that indicated Alec should follow her—stepped down into the secure privacy of the Seaspray’s cabin. Like black stars, a row of asterisks rose above the horizon. Somewhere a train roared down a tunnel, and white breakers foamed and crashed, and a missile was launched in majestic clouds of flame. Skyrockets climbed in graceful arcs through heaven to burst in glory, with a boom and thump that were felt in the marrow of the bones, and the slow fire drifted down gently afterward.
“That was really lucky, you having a packet of Happihealthies,” Alec murmured. The girl yawned and stretched in bliss.
“Saved you going back on your boat to get yours, didn’t it?”
Alec, who was not paying proper attention, nuzzled her and replied, “I haven’t got any, actually.”
“Tsk!” the girl smacked at him playfully. “How many do you go through a week, you wicked stud?”
“Dozens,” Alec lied, nestling in close again and inhaling the fragrance of her hair. “So, anyway… Will you marry me? We’ll have to wait a few years until I come of age, but I’ll buy you a cool engagement ring.”
For a heartbeat’s space more she was as warm and yielding as she had been, and then he felt something like quicksilver run through her.
“You haven’t come of age yet?” she inquired in an odd voice.
“Not exactly,” Alec stated.
“When do you turn eighteen?” The girl grabbed his chin in her hands and tilted his head up to stare into his eyes.’
“Not for another four years,” said Alec. “But—”
She screamed and seemed to evaporate like mist, so quickly she was out of his arms and dragging the sheet between them. “You can’t be fourteen!” she cried in horror. “You’re huge!”
“Half an hour ago you didn’t have a problem with me being huge,” Alec protested.
“But I’m eighteen!” the girl wailed. “Don’t you know what they’d do to us if anybody found out? Don’t you know what they’d do to me?”
“Nobody’ll find out!” Alec assured her frantically, but she wasn’t listening; her eyes had widened as a sense of degradation was added to her terror.
“Ohmigod, you’re in the fourth form!” she shrieked. “I’d never live this down! Get up! Get up and get out of here now!”
Frightened and crestfallen, Alec pulled on his clothes as quickly as he could.
“I’m really sorry,” he said. “Can I look you up in four years? You’re the most wonderful—”
“GET OUT!”
He had recovered himself enough to be grinning guiltily as he put the Sirene about and sped away, but as soon as it was safe the Captain burst into existence, glaring at him from the prow.
“If you ever sing that goddamned “Daisy”’-song at me again I’ll keelhaul you, you ungrateful little swab!”
Alec winced. “I’m sorry. It was funny.”
“Not to a AI, it ain’t funny!”
“Okay. Sorry.”
“And you gone and risked the job for the first lassie you spied, and me down there with the Long John and the cargo the whole time, gnashing me teeth in case that bloody cutter comes back, and what’re you doing? Dancing the pegleg waltz with some duke’s daughter from Yarmouth what ain’t got no more wits than you do! What’d you promise me, eh? What’d I tell you about how dangerous it was?” the Captain raved. “At least she were of age!”
Alec glowered at his knees. “It’s not like anybody‘11 ever find out,” he said sullenly.
“You can be damn sure the lady ain’t telling,” snarled the Captain. “Not with a lifetime in Hospital waiting for her if she does. You ain’t so much as sniffing at another wench until you comes of age, boy, do you hear?”
“Yes, sir,” muttered Alec.
“I mean that, now!” The Captain drew a simulacrum of a large redhandkerchief from his breast pocket and went through the motions of mopping his face. “Bloody hell. You think this is easy for me? Me, what only started out as a Playfriend module? If they’d got you the Pembroke Young Person’s Companion I’d have had some files on puberty ready-made, but oh no, poor old Captain Morgan’s only rated ages two to eleven, everything else he’s got to improvise on his damned own, ain’t he? Jesus bloody Christ, Alec!”
“Yes, sir. Sorry.”
The Captain gave the appearance of collapsing onto the midship thwart, sighing and resting his elbows on his knees. He stared hard at Alec.
“Aw, hell. I don’t reckon yer going to make it to eighteen without setting yer jib boom a few times, but will you promise me you’ll wait a couple more years at least? And don’t never do it again where yer likely to get caught by the Coastal Patrol?”
“Yes, sir.”
“That’s my boy.” The Captain looked away, looked back at Alec. “At least it don’t seem to have given you no traumas.”
<
br /> “Oh, no!” said Alec earnestly. “It was brilliant! Fabulous! Captain, it was the most wonderful thing that’s ever happened to me! Until she started screaming and telling me to leave,” he added.
“Well, that happens, sometimes,” the Captain said. He snorted, “You got away clean, I reckon.”
“And we’ve still got the sugar,” Alec pointed out. “We’re successful smugglers, Captain sir!”
“We’ll be successful when Long John’?, made the drop off Fitzworth Point and that Despres lubber transfers them funds like he’s agreed to,” said the Captain grudgingly. “Not afore. And we ain’t working this bit of coast again, not with that damned maniac and his laser cannon out there!”
“Oh, it’ll all turn out fine.” Alec leaned back again, allowing his grin to return. “And life is pretty cool, isn’t it? Lost my virginity and outfoxed my first customs official all on the same day, yeah? Let’s celebrate! Can I have some music, Captain sir?”
Rolling his eyes, the Captain went through the motions of pulling a battered concertina from cyberspace and proceeded to play a medley of the old seafaring tunes Alec had loved since he was five years old. Music boomed from the Sirene’s console. Alec sang along, baying happily as the little sailboat sped across the water toward their rendezvous at Poole Harbour, with the Long John following faithfully just under her keel.
“This is only the beginning, Captain sir,” Alec yelled. “One of thesedays we’ll be really free! We’ll have a tall ship with a hold full of cargo— and we’ll have adventures—and maybe we’ll find a girl who’ll come with us and, how’d you like a couple of little tiny pirates running around, eh? Sort of grandkids? Wouldn’t that be really cool?” He whooped and beat his chest in sheer exuberance. “YEEEoooo! Today I am a man!”
Not by a long shot, laddie, thought the Captain, regarding his boy as he played on. Glumly he contemplated the puzzle of Alec’s DNA and reflected that Alec was unlikely ever to be a man any more than he himself was one, at least in the sense of being a member of the human race. One of these days the boy would have to be told.
