Ghost pos-1

by John Ringo

  “Okay, you decide,” Mike said. “But the cabins are yours if you want them.”

  “What do you plan on doing this afternoon?” Courtney asked.

  “I’d like to go fishing, frankly,” Mike said.

  “I’m not that into fishing,” Courtney replied. “But I can catch a tan.”

  “If you hook into a sailfish you’ll never look back,” Mike said, grinning. “But I don’t think we will this time of day. If we run out to the Stream we might be able to find some dolphin. Dolphin fish,” he added. “They’re fun to catch on light tackle. Or we could go after grouper.”

  “Is this like big-game fishing?” Pam asked. “In a chair with a big rod? I saw those kind of chairs in the back.”

  “Would be with sailfish,” Mike said. “But, like I said, I don’t think we’ll get any of those today. Maybe tomorrow if we start early. Maybe this evening we might scare some up. Or we can snorkel some more.”

  “I’m game for fishing,” Courtney said, shrugging.

  “Let’s go, then,” Mike said. “We can run out to the Stream and see what we can scare up.” He stopped and touched a control, bringing up a text screen.

  “What’s that?” Pam asked.

  “Text version of the national weather reports,” Mike said, nodding. “I can read the weather around here pretty well and it didn’t look as if anything was coming up. But I didn’t want you to find out how crazy it can get on the Stream on your first day out.”

  “Thanks,” Courtney said dryly.

  Mike unhooked, then started up and spun the boat to point out to sea. As soon as they were away from the reef, he pushed the throttles forward to maximum and set the autosteer, climbing up onto the tuna tower.

  “This is great,” Courtney said, climbing up the ladder, followed by Pam.

  “This is a great view,” Pam said, clutching at the railing as the tower swayed from side to side.

  “Sure is,” Mike said, gesturing to the seats to either side of the captain’s chair. “You can see for miles.” He pulled a pair of binoculars out of a case and tracked around the horizon.

  “Okay, what are you looking for, now?” Courtney asked.

  “Hmmm…” Mike said. “Various things. Certain types of birds, splashes at the surface would be nice, debris, weed lines. Stuff.”

  “Okay,” Pam said, then gasped at the sight in the water below. “There’s a big…”

  “Hammerhead,” Mike said, lowering the binoculars and looking over her side. “About twelve feet. That’s why I like it up here you can see all sorts of stuff in the water.”

  “This is so cool,” Courtney said, then threw her arms around Mike.

  “You’re welcome,” Mike said uncomfortably. “What was that for?”

  “’Cause it’s so cool,” Courtney said, letting him go. “I was worried you were a jerk when we met in the bar. But you’re… this is so great!”

  “Good,” Mike said, smiling. “All that I ask is that you have fun. If there’s something that’s bugging you, or you’ve got a problem, just tell me, okay? And I’ll see what I can do to fix it. But if you want to thank me, have the maximum amount of fun you can have. That’s all the thanks I need.”

  “Why?” Pam asked, frowning. “That’s so weird.”

  “Because I’m a guy,” Mike said, shrugging. “You want the simple answer that’s been the answer for centuries? Or do you want the modern answer.”

  “Both,” Pam said, her brow crinkling.

  “Okay,” Mike said, picking up the binoculars again. “The old, short, answer is that when you’re happy, it makes me really happy. There’s some sort of quote about a man will give a kingdom to make a woman smile. The face that launched a thousand ships. The whole bit.”

  “So what’s the modern answer?” Courtney asked.

  “It takes all the fun, all the soul out of it,” Mike said, lowering the binoculars. “But… males that see any of several expressions on a female face have an endorphin rush from the sight. It’s a form of drug, a high. For that matter, males have an average of forty percent fall-off in long-term decision-making at the sight of a pretty female face. Those are both clinical studies. I could extrapolate from them, but I won’t. However, it’s definitely the reason that there are topless bars all over the place while things like Chippendales are rare. Women don’t have the same reactions. They can be somewhat visual, but they don’t have the same chemical reaction. It’s called ‘thinking with the other head’ but it’s not. It’s just a chemical reaction in the brain. It’s real for all that,” Mike said. “So if you want to pay me back, just smile. It’s worth every moment, every penny.”

  “So we’re a drug?” Courtney asked quizzically.

  “A strong one,” Mike said, shrugging.

  “I can live with that,” Pam said. “But I want to help, too.”

  “I can live with that,” Mike replied, and got the expected laugh. “I hereby promote you to deck wench! Your first duty is to see if you can maneuver a beer up here.”

  “Aye, aye, Captain!” Pam said, grinning. “Courtney, you want anything?”

  “I’ll take a beer,” Courtney said. “If that’s okay?”

  “Let me check,” Mike said, leaning forward and shading the GPS. “By the time she gets back it will be.”

  “Huh?” Courtney asked.

  “Twelve mile limit,” Mike replied, grinning. “Technically, this being an American flagged ship, there’s still some sort of law. But past the twelve mile limit, nobody cares if I let a minor drink. But don’t get hammered.”

  “Trust me, I won’t on one beer,” Courtney said.

  “Three beers, coming up,” Pam said, sliding down the ladder.

  “What’s the deal with the twelve mile limit?” Courtney asked, curiously.

  “Past the twelve-mile limit, we’re no longer in U.S. jurisdiction,” Mike said. “The reality is that the U.S. owns these waters. They’ll stop anyone they want in this region. But the law gets really tricky beyond the limit. And the reality is that things like drinking ages, and gambling, go out the window. Past the twelve mile limit, you’re beyond the law. Doesn’t matter for you guys, really, but I don’t have to worry about getting hassled for contributing.”

  “Oh,” Courtney said, turning around and looking behind them. “Hey, I can just barely see land!”

  “Yep,” Mike said. “And see how the water is changing?” he added, pointing over the side.

  “Getting pretty blue,” she said, nodding.

  “Not real blue, yet,” Mike said. “You’ll see.”

  “Beers,” Pam said. “But getting them up there…”

  Courtney retrieved the Fosters and put them in holders.

  “All I could find,” Pam said.

  “If you’re stuck on something else, we’ll get it when we get back,” Mike said.

  “We can at least buy our own beers,” Pam said, frowning.

  “Ah, ah,” Mike said. “And take all my fun away?”

  “This is good,” Courtney said, taking a swig of the Fosters and rolling the cap in her hand. “Trash?”

  Mike took it from her and flicked it over the side.

  “Don’t look so shocked,” he said, grinning. “It’ll sink to the bottom and decompose. Little fish will use it for shelter in the meantime. You don’t want to deprive them, do you?”

  “I’m just so kneejerk about littering,” Pam said, then tossed hers over the side. “But that felt really fun.”

  “Simple guilty pleasures are the most fun,” Mike said, flicking his over the side. “Better than complicated guilty pleasures.”

  “What are complicated guilty pleasures?” Courtney asked.

  “Think about it,” Mike replied, grinning. “What, you don’t have any complicated guilty pleasures?”

  “I’m lost here,” Pam admitted. “Could you explain?”

  “Not without getting more graphic than I’d like to,” Mike said. “But I’ll ask a rhetorical question: What do you fantasize a
bout when you masturbate?” He looked from side to side and nodded. “The light dawns. Those can be very complicated guilty pleasures. And don’t ask me, nonrhetorically, please.”

  “I won’t,” Courtney said, blushing. “But, you know, complicated guilty pleasures can be fun, too,” she added, wiggling from side to side.

  “Don’t tease an old dog,” Mike said. “He might have one bite left.”

  “So what are your complicated guilty pleasures, Mike?” Courtney asked coquettishly.

  “I told you not to tease,” Mike said, frowning. “Some of my guilty pleasures are really complicated. And really dark. I don’t think we know each other well enough to get into them. But I’ll tell you one: I’ve serviced a few targets in my day, and if I’ve got a regret, it’s that I probably won’t be able to service any more.”

  “Serviced targets?” Pam asked carefully.

  “Killed bad guys,” Mike answered. “I don’t get any nightmares from serviced targets, even the ones that I’ve had to look at for some time. Screwed-up ops, I flashback on those. I had a bad one in Rumrunners the night I met you two. But targets? No problem.”

  That provoked a rather long silence.

  “Okay, now I’m having some problems,” Courtney said finally. “I hadn’t really internalized that I was out in a boat with a guy who used to kill people for a living. Has actually killed people, is what I mean.”

  “Bad guys,” Mike said. “But, yeah, I told you not to tease an old dog. If you want to turn around I will,” he said, reaching for the wheel.

  “No,” Courtney said, leaning forward and touching his hand. “Don’t. It just takes some getting used to. But I’d guess that with what happened to you,” she said, gesturing at the scars, “some of the same things happened to… targets.”

  “Quite a few,” Mike said, having a clear image of the stairway. “But there are some very bad people in the world that desperately need servicing.”

  “Syria,” Pam said, darkly.

  “That was one of those good missions,” Mike admitted. “Very clear cut. But those aren’t the only bad people in the world, ladies.”

  Courtney leaned over and laid her hand on his shoulder, then leaned further over to kiss his cheek.

  “Thank you for servicing targets,” she said, rubbing his shoulder. “And I won’t tease you about your complicated guilty pleasures. Much.”

  “If you do I’ll tease you right back,” Mike said, grinning. “I spent a lot of time in the body and fender shop. And the only thing to read was what the nurses had, which were very very trashy romances. Based on those…”

  “Don’t go there,” Courtney said, leaning back and laughing. “I’ll definitely stop teasing.”

  “Birds,” Mike said, picking up the binoculars and focusing them in. “Yeah, they’re feeding on a surface shoal.” He put his feet down and touched the wheel, turning the boat to starboard slowly. Even with his care, the tuna tower still leaned to the side.

  “Whoa!” Pam said, grasping the rail. “That’s a little…”

  “Exciting?” Mike asked, straightening out. “Courtney, think you can take the wheel?”

  “Maybe,” she said as he stood up.

  “I’ll back off on the speed,” he said, throttling down. “It won’t sway so much. You see those birds,” he added, pointing.

  “Yeah?”

  “Steer for them,” he said, picking up his beer and going to the ladder.

  “Where are you going?” she asked.

  “To get out the rods.”

  “I’m steering this boat,” Courtney said nervously.

  “I know,” Pam replied just as nervously.

  “I don’t know what I’m doing.”

  “I know,” Pam said, trying to sound supportive. “Just… steer for the birds.”

  “They’ve moved,” Courtney said, turning the wheel slightly. The boat turned, and she had to turn back and forth a couple of times to get lined up, the tuna tower swaying, to her, dangerously.

  “You’re doing great!” Mike yelled from the deck.

  “He’s…” Courtney said and stopped.

  “Yeah,” Pam replied. “Is it just me…”

  “No,” Courtney said. “And did you see those pecs?”

  “Yeah,” Pam said. “And he said women aren’t visual. God, what does he do, work out all day?”

  “I know,” Courtney said, steering a touch to port. “It was all I could do to not run my finger over them just to see if they were real.”

  “Oh, they’re real, all right,” Pam said. “And you know what gets me?”

  “Not a single come-on,” Courtney said. “He’s not gay, I can tell that. But he’s not…”

  “I know. It’s like he’s waiting for us to make the first move.”

  “I know. It’s weird. And that thing about… servicing targets.”

  “He’s actually killed people,” Pam said. “I mean, not just maybe. Has. No muss, no bragging, no bullshit.”

  “Which just makes it worse,” Courtney admitted. “When he mentioned romance novels I just about wet my pants.”

  “You too?” Pam said, shaking her head. “He said he stocked up for female visitors. I wonder if there’s a vibrator on board.”

  “You mean other than the seats?” Courtney said. “Besides, who needs a vibrator. I’ve just been crossing my legs and rocking!”

  “Courtney, you are such a slut,” Pam said, closing her eyes and leaning back in the chair. “And he wants to go fishing!”

  Chapter Four

  “Courtney,” Mike called. “You did great, but I’ve got it from down here. You want to come on down?”

  “What’s up?” Courtney asked, sliding down to the flying bridge and looking around. Two heavy rods had been rigged aft, and two more that she pegged as “regular” rods with normal reels were set to one side.

  “There’s a school of bait fish under the birds,” Mike said, throttling down. “What I’m going to do is point the boat at them and let out the lines. When we go through we should hook on to whatever is feeding on them, probably dolphin. I’ve got to get you rigged, though.”

  He set the throttles to a fast cruise and led the two of them back to the aft.

  “This is a fighting rig,” he said, putting a harness on Courtney. “You won’t really need it for dolphin, but it should help. You put the butt of the rod in the holder on your stomach. What happens is that a fish will get hooked. You take the rod out of the holder, set the butt in place and hit the drag. That should hook the fish for sure. These should be chicken tuna, little ones, and that rod is way oversized for them. But what we’ll do is bring one up to the boat and let it stay on the line. That will bring others around. Then we’ll fish for them with the lighter tackle.”

  “Okay,” Courtney said, totally confused.

  “I’ll walk you through it when we hook on,” Mike said, putting another harness on Pam. After he’d done that he let out the lines, already rigged with ballyhoo. He probably could have just used lures, but the hoo made it more likely they’d get a fish hooked and he wanted the girls to get some fish.

  “Courtney, your rod,” Mike said, pointing to starboard. “Pam, that’s yours,” he added, pointing to the port rod. “I’m going up to the bridge.”

  He’d set the autosteer to go past the bait pod, but he touched the controls and turned to port, coming around into the Stream to drag the lines past the edge of the pod. He could see the flash of hunting fish at the surface and even some leaping, dolphin for sure. The dolphin school was huge. This was going to be good.

  “Mike! Mike!” Courtney suddenly yelled as the reel began to scream.

  He went to reverse for a second to take the way off and turned around. “Pick up the rod and put the butt in the holder,” he called, calmly.

  By the time Courtney had the rod in place he was next to her. The dolphin had stopped its initial run, and he leaned over and hit the drag just as Pam’s line started to run. When the line went taut the dolphin
shook hard against it and Courtney nearly dropped the rod.

  “That’s a big fish!” she yelled happily.

  “Not all that big,” Mike said, smiling. “Just reel it in; that line’s way strong enough,” he said, going over to Pam.

  Pam had gotten the rod in place without asking and was holding on tight when he hit the drag. She, too, grinned as she felt the fish on the end.

  “Just reel them up to the boat,” Mike said, going over to the bait well. He had a mess of sardines, most of them still alive, and he scooped out a big netful and tossed them over the side, live chum to bring the dolphin up to the boat. He could see some breaking away from the main school and heading over to the largesse, their bodies flashing silver in the sunlight.

  “Mike,” Courtney said, holding her rod up. “It’s nearly up to the boat.”

  “That’s fine,” Mike said, taking the rod and looking over the side. He reeled in a bit more and set the rod in a rocket launcher, the line tracking back and forth as the dolphin tried to escape. “The other dolphin will be attracted to it, since it’s excited and they can’t tell the difference between being on a line and feeding. So now we really fish.”

  He took one of the open-face rods and hooked a sardine on it by the tail.

  “You ever cast before?” Mike asked.

  “Yes,” Courtney said, looking at the rod. “Nothing this big, but I can do it.”

  “Right out there,” Mike said, pointing towards the bait pod. “When it’s in the water, close the face and then hit this switch,” he said, pointing to the trolling control. “That way when the fish hits it can run with the line at first. Give it three seconds, then flick the switch back and hang on,” he added with a grin.

  He went over and more or less repeated the performance with Pam, but he had hardly gotten to the stage of explaining the open-face reel when Courtney shrieked and he looked over to see the rod bending nearly in half.

  “Now that’s fighting a fish,” he yelled.

  “What do I do?” Courtney asked as the dolphin tracked back and forth.

  “Bow to the rod,” Mike said, coming over and readjusting the drag. “When it gives you line, reel in. When it runs, just let the drag handle it. It will tire out.”