The Price of Freedom

by Chris Kennedy

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  I got up once the sun set the next day—it took a long time for my body to heal my wounds—then polished off the rest of the food in the cabinets. As prepared as I could be, I snuck out of the house and went back to the beach. Even though I was about a mile away, I could easily see the tanker that was now alongside the massive pier. I snuck along the inside edge of the jungle and approached to within a half-mile, where I stopped to observe. Although a pair of binoculars would have been helpful, my vision worked well enough for me to see what I needed.

  Four ships were tied up to the pier, two on each side. In addition to the tanker, there were three cargo ships, all of which appeared to be loading or unloading.

  Happily, security for the pier consisted of a permanent station at the end, where identification badges were checked, and a roving patrol that walked the nearly-mile-long length. I smiled. Due to the length of the pier, there were large gaps in coverage, which I would be able to exploit.

  As far as tankers went, the one tied up to the pier was only a medium-sized products carrier; I doubted they needed the massive crude supertankers that once plied the ocean. Demand was probably a lot less now, and the Aframax-class tankers could get into a lot of ports the supertankers couldn’t. Even though the ship was fairly large, at over 700 feet in length, I knew its crew would be relatively small—probably around 25 officers and men. Almost all of the ship was devoted to oil storage, with engineering, bridge, and limited living spaces for the crew.

  A number of ropes crossed from the pier to the ship—as well as the hoses they were using to fill it—and the ship’s anchor was down on the side away from the pier, just begging for an enterprising swimmer like me to scale it. I smiled again; this was going to be easy.

  * * *

  I was sitting at the captain’s desk in his stateroom when he walked in. He stopped and started to back out, but I waved him forward with my pistol. He frowned but came in and closed the door.

  “Who are you?” he asked as he turned toward me. His voice spoke volumes about what he thought of being held at gunpoint on his own ship.

  I put the pistol in my holster. “Sorry about that,” I said. “I didn’t want you to run off until we had a talk.” I nodded to his bed. “Please, sit down.”

  “And if I don’t want to?”

  “Then you can stand,” I said with a shrug. “I don’t want to be a jerk, and I don’t intend to hurt you, but I do want to talk.” I smiled. “This might take a while.”

  “You don’t intend to hurt me?” he asked with a raised eyebrow. “The way you word it, it doesn’t sound like it’s out of the question.”

  I shrugged. “It is an unfortunate sign of the times,” I said. “Sometimes people get hurt these days.”

  “Like last night at the headquarters building? I take it that was you? Where is the rest of your attack force?”

  “Yes, that was me,” I said with a sigh. “There was no one else; it was just me.”

  “Did you really need to kill all those people?”

  “I thought so. I needed to make a point to JalCom’s corporate management.”

  He chuckled. “I daresay you did. You wrote it in the blood of five separate corporate heads. ‘No more abuse of children.’” He chuckled again. “I don’t know what else you could have done to make it clearer, aside from killing all of them.”

  “Wouldn’t have worked,” I said shaking my head.

  “Killing them all? Why not?”

  “If I killed them all, how would any of them have learned?” I shrugged. “Now, all of the survivors have memories of what happened—and what could possibly happen again—to help guide their decisions. Besides, they started throwing untrained people at me to try to stop me, and I just couldn’t take the slaughter anymore.”

  “Sounded like they almost had you a couple of times.”

  “There were a couple of times they were close,” I allowed.

  “And now you’re here.” I nodded. “Why?”

  “I’m hoping you’ll let me ride along when you leave. I would like to go to the United States—or what is left of it—without having to kill anyone else here. If they find me, I suspect that will be very difficult to accomplish.”

  The captain snorted. “There’s the understatement of the year. They have a bounty on your head that is worth more than what any of the people around here would make in several lifetimes.”

  I smiled sadly. “I’m sure it’s enough to make people do stupid things to attempt my capture; things that would get a lot of innocent people killed.”

  “And you don’t want that.”

  “No.”

  “You’re a complicated man, Mr.—”

  “Let’s just call me Mr. Jones and be done with it, shall we?”

  “You’re not JalCom; that’s obvious. Where did you come from, Mr. Jones?”

  “Somewhere that no longer exists. I promised someone I would do something, and I need to do it, then I will be free to go about my own business.”

  “Storming around the planet, righting wrongs, and tilting at windmills? Maybe next, you’ll speak of the pompatus of love?”

  That elicited a smile from me. “No, I don’t think any of that will happen. I’m normally a pretty boring guy when left alone.”

  “Until you feel the need to wipe out 200 or 300 people to make a point.”

  “In all fairness, I didn’t plan to wipe out that many. I had to kill most of them because they were doing their damnedest to kill me.”

  “You could have left any time you wanted.”

  I shrugged. “I wasn’t finished with what I needed to do.”

  “Are you finished now?”

  “Are you asking if I intend to kill you and your crew?” The captain nodded. “I don’t want to, but I will defend myself. With whatever force is necessary.” I shrugged again. “If you take me north, I will leave without hurting a single member of your crew. I would like nothing more than to vanish.”

  “You appeared from nowhere; I’m sure you could disappear again just as easily.” I nodded; it was something I was good at. “Why are we having this talk?”

  “Like I said, I need to go to the United States. This ship is an easy way to get there. It would be relatively quick, and I wouldn’t have to kill anyone.”

  “How can you be sure someone on my crew won’t figure out who you are and try to turn you in for the reward?”

  “I’m counting on you to come up with a good cover story that will allow me to blend in. I will work for my passage. I’m easily stronger than any of your crew and can pull my weight.”

  “Let me think about it. It would be better to not have you do anything that advertises you’re different or makes you stick out.”

  “So you’ll let me come?”

  The captain finally sat on the side of the bed, and his shoulders slumped. “Let me tell you a little story, Mr. Jones. A long time ago, I had three children. The corporate wars got all of them. Two were part of JalCom’s military; the other happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time. My wife was killed in the latest exchange of pleasantries; she was shopping in Barranquilla when the bombs fell. I don’t have much to live for anymore, aside from trying to do what I can to help put this world back together.”

  I started to say something, but he held up a hand and continued, “I’m as guilty as anyone, I suppose, although I hope you don’t decide to kill me. We all heard rumors about what some of the directors were doing—how some children went missing from time to time. I asked about it one time, and the chief of security showed up at my door. He made a lot of threats, and I decided it was easier to let it go and work on the edges, doing what I could to help those I could. I mean, the Board was doing good things most of the time—a little…nastiness…could be overlooked in the pursuit of the greater good, right? Besides, I don’t have the skills you do—I wouldn’t have been able to do much before they shot me down.”

  He turned to me, and I could see a tear
running down the side of his face. He wiped it away. “I am, however—or was—a parent,” he continued, “and if only half the rumors are true, then what you did was needed. I will get you out of here, under two conditions.”

  “Which are?”

  “First, no more killing, at least until we put you ashore. I have a feeling, based on what you said, that fulfilling your promise will require more killing.”

  “Fair enough,” I said with a nod. “Assuming no one attacks me, I promise not to kill anyone. I will also attempt to disable, if possible, even if I am attacked. I can’t promise there won’t be deaths if that happens, though.”

  “Granted,” he replied with a nod.

  “And the second?”

  “You never come back to Puerto Colombia, ever again.”

  “Agreed.”

  The captain stood and offered me his hand. “Welcome onboard Profit Motive.”

  Sometimes people make good choices in this Fallen World.

  * * * * *

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  I hid out in the captain’s cabin for the next four days as we crossed the Caribbean to Cancun, Mexico, subsisting on the fruit the captain brought back from the mess. I slept on a pad on the deck, slowing my body’s functions as much as possible so I wouldn’t need to eat a lot. Normally, I eat about double what someone my size would, so this was a substantial reduction. If he’d wanted to try to capture me, that would have been a good time; it would have taken me a little time to bring all of my systems out of hibernation.

  Happily, he didn’t, and we reached Cancun without incident. I slipped off the ship and was waiting on the pier when the captain walked onto it in the morning. I flagged him down and said all the things he said to say, answered his questions the way he’d told me to, and then was hired on as a Profit Motive crewman.

  A few of the crew resented him for hiring me for the trip to Bayou La Batre, but most were fine with it when they found out I wasn’t being paid, and they would still receive their full shares for the cruise. Two of the crew chose to express their displeasure with me one night in the crew’s quarters; they were considerably nicer when they got back from getting their noses set by the person who functioned as the corpsman.

  When the captain asked me how their noses got broken, I feigned ignorance and suggested they had been fighting each other. He didn’t look like he believed me, but he let the lie stand as no one had actually been killed.

  Everything went well in Veracruz and Tampico, and I was accepted by the crew after I helped pull in the hoses we used to offload part of our cargo. I didn’t use my full strength, and I made it look like I was straining, when I wasn’t, but I made it considerably easier on them. One of the two men who’d challenged me actually smiled and said he was sorry. I took that as a win.

  Finally, though, we pulled up next to the oil terminal at Bayou La Batre, Alabama. I had hoped to stop in New Orleans, where there used to be a Teledyne office, but apparently the city had taken a number of nukes in the war and was a mess. I doubted the city had been completely wiped out, but we weren’t stopping there.

  The oil terminal was just inside Isle Aux Herbes. Calling it an island was a disgrace to real islands everywhere; the landmass was nothing more than a mud flat that rose slightly above sea level. Looking toward the town from the oil terminal about 1,500 feet offshore, there wasn’t much to see. There was a small port—empty of ships—but that was it.

  Extremely unimpressive.

  “That’s it?” I asked the worker I was helping horse the last connecting hose into position. “That’s all there is?”

  “What?” he asked with a grunt as we finally got it connected. “The hose?”

  He looked up, and I nodded toward shore. “No, the town. That’s all that’s here?”

  “Don’t know.” He turned the valve to start the oil flowing, and I realized I’d plumbed the depths of his knowledge. Unfortunately, it wasn’t anything more than a puddle.

  I went in search of the captain, who I found on the bridge.

  “Get off my bridge!” he ordered with a look of distaste.

  I looked down and smiled wryly. The coveralls I’d been given had gotten pretty trashed connecting the hoses. “I’d be happy to,” I replied. “Can you confirm that’s Bayou La Batre?”

  “Yes,” he replied, tapping his foot.

  “Doesn’t look like much,” I replied.

  “I’m not your tour guide. I said I’d bring you here; I have. Now, get off the bridge.”

  His attitude was beginning to grate, but I assumed killing him would violate our agreement, so I let it go. “Last question. How do I get ashore?”

  “You could jump off and swim,” the captain said with a smile, then he pointed out the window at a boat that was approaching and added with a wry smile, “or you could wait until they come to pay us.”

  I nodded once, thanked him for the ride, and left the bridge. I walked down to the ship’s ladder, where I could see the crew tying the boat up to the tanker under the watchful eyes of the ship’s executive officer. Four crates came over from the boat, and I helped bring them aboard. Based on their weight—they were heavy, even for me—I guessed they were full of gold.

  When the two men from Bayou La Batre finished their negotiations with the executive officer, I caught his eye.

  “We also have one person that would like to go ashore here,” he said, nodding to me. “He won’t be coming back aboard.”

  Both of the newcomers turned and stared at me for a few seconds. “You’re planning on staying in Bayou La Batre?” one of them asked.

  I shook my head. “Nope; just passing through. I need to go to New Orleans.”

  Both of the men looked at me as if I’d just grown a second head. “What do you want in New Orleans?” the same man asked. “Ain’t nothing there going on that’s any good. We hear stories from the refugees; it’s grim there.”

  “I’m sure it is,” I replied. “Still, I need to go. I have family there that I would like to take back to the west coast.”

  “I heard most of the west coast is gone,” the second man noted. “Where is it you’re heading?”

  “Pacific northwest. Even though the big cities are gone, there are still some small ones that are functional. No radiation there, either.”

  “That, at least, makes sense,” the first man said. “So you’re just passing through Bayou La Batre? Will you be spending the night?”

  “I would like to spend the night, then get started first thing in the morning.”

  “Got any money?”

  “You mean like dollar bills?” I asked. “Umm, no. I’m fresh out.”

  “No, I mean like gold or silver. Barter items would be okay, too. The law still holds in Bayou La Batre, and Sheriff Winston tends to settle things permanently for issues of theft and violence to persons.”

  “Well, I’m not looking to cause any trouble, so I’ll just pass through and won’t spend the night.”

  “I’ll pay for his stay,” the captain said as he walked up. He handed the first man a small bag. “This should pay for the night and a meal or two. If there’s anything left over, you can give it back to me on our next run.”

  “Thanks, Captain,” I said with a smile.

  “You’re welcome. I couldn’t have you working for free, and you certainly did your share while you were aboard. Now get the hell off.” He winked, then he turned and walked back toward the bridge.

  It turns out that gratitude still exists in this Fallen World.

  * * * * *

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  The men asked me a bunch of questions as we motored back to the town. Generally, I tried to avoid them as they were personal and regarded things I didn’t want to talk about until I knew how things sat in Bayou La Batre. Although the town was pretty close to the dividing line between Obsidian and Teledyne, it was solidly in Obsidian territory, and I didn’t know if there would be any lingering animosity toward me. Better to not discuss any of that than t
o have a bunch of pistols pointed at me.

  We passed the boat basin and went up the little river to the actual town. On the way, we passed a number of small shipyards and boat builders working on a variety of craft from tugs to trawlers to small cargo carriers. Not only were there facilities ashore, there were also several fairly large dry docks. My eyes opened a little wider in surprise—I had no idea Bayou La Batre was a place to get ships built, and I definitely wouldn’t have expected it to still be engaged in shipbuilding after the war.

  After the shipbuilding facilities, we passed three big seafood processing plants, then finally arrived at the town. Before the war, it was probably a pleasant little town, with several buildings on a little inlet that were probably restaurants on the riverfront. Although they had let in some refugees, the men with me had said the town’s population was still below 5,000, which made feeding them, while hard, possible. The town had a small refinery, and it was trading petroleum products with a couple of other towns up the coast to get additional food. Between that and their indigenous trawler fleet, they were doing okay. Looking at the men, I didn’t think they were overfed, but they didn’t appear malnourished.

  As long as the oil continued to flow. If something were to stop the JalCom supply, like someone blowing up the Puerto Colombia pier or sinking a ship or two alongside it—two things I had considered—things would go quickly from bad to awful. I hadn’t really thought about how those things would have disrupted life in other places, and I was pretty glad I hadn’t done them to prove my point.

  I was still feeling pretty good about my decision-making skills as we pulled up to the bulkhead alongside one of the buildings. Two men caught our ropes and pulled us in, while another man stood and watched with his hands on his hips. I could see the large man was armed, although he kept his pistol in a holster. He looked like a man you would cross at your own peril, from the top of his cowboy hat to the tips of his boots. He was wearing some sort of knockoff Obsidian sheriff’s uniform, which got my cockles up, and I took a deep breath to relax.