by James Axler
“We’ve brought dinner,” Raina announced as she pushed a cart into the room. “I hope you are comfortable here?”
“Yes. We’ve been discussing your Chif Engner’s request for a while now,” Krysty replied. “Although we will need to rest and some time to plan, I think we’ll be able to help you.”
Raina smiled. “That’s wonderful news! Please, eat and rest while I go tell the Engner. When you’re finished, we can begin planning to get our freedom back—with your assistance, of course!” She whirled and left them to their meal.
Krysty waited until she couldn’t hear Raina’s footsteps anymore. “Shouldn’t one of us try to get out of here and see if we can find the others?”
J.B. considered the notion then shook his head. “I don’t see the point in showing our hand like that, ’specially if they’re going to let us go up tomorrow. I wouldn’t mind letting them know we’re safe, but I’m pretty sure Ryan already knows that.”
“Right.” Krysty picked up a large shrimp that had been boiled in its shell and began to peel it. “I can’t believe I’m saying this, but I’m actually getting sick of seafood.”
J.B. and Jak had also walked over to the cart, and both were selecting plates and utensils from the second one to create their dinners. “Grew up eating this—always good,” Jak said as he scooped several bonito steaks onto his plate.
“Never got much of this back home. Closest I ever got to seafood was Rocky Mountain oysters,” J.B. said as he piled huge crab claws and a thick swordfish steak onto his plate.
Krysty glanced at him sideways. “I’m not sure I want to know what that is.”
“I’m surprised you didn’t have them in Harmony. All they are is fried bull’s testicles,” J.B. said with a grin. “Delicious when pan-fried in butter.”
His plate almost overflowing, Jak stared at both of them. “If say so.”
* * *
AFTER DINNER, RYAN and his companions walked back to their stateroom in silence. Only when they were inside did Mildred flop onto the bed and let out a low whistle. “I haven’t seen that much crazy gathered in one room in a long time.”
“Ace on the line with that, Mildred. There’s so much weird around here, I don’t know where to start,” Ryan said. “As I see it, we only have two priorities now—getting Krysty, J.B., and Jak back, and getting the hell out of here. I’d rather take my chances in the pod on the ocean than among these crazies.”
“What about pulling a takeover of our own?” Mildred asked. “That way we’d at least remove the nuts up top, and work out some kind of truce between the rest of the Topsiders and Downrunners.”
Ryan shook his head. “No, thank you. Who’s to say the rest aren’t as bug-nuts crazy as their leaders? Trader used to say, ‘Get between two fighting bears, get mauled twice as bad.’ This is no place for us. I say we leave all of them to their own insanity.”
Doc nodded. “I must agree with Ryan, this place is rife with paranoia and strife that we do not need to become involved in any more than necessary.”
“Right—so how do we do that?” Ricky asked.
“Best bet would be to take these gentlemen—and I use that term most loosely—up on their offer, find Krysty, John Barrymore and young Jak within the bowels of this ship, and then commandeer a longboat or take our redoubtable pod and cast off again, allowing us to be once again carried along by the tides of fortune and chance,” Doc said.
Mildred turned to Ryan. “Might as well get some rest—nothing’s going to happen until morning, anyway.”
“Yeah.” He eyed the door speculatively. “I just want to know they’re all right, that’s all.” He glanced at the others. Doc was curled up on one half of the large bed, with Mildred on the other side. Ricky had claimed the faded and sagging couch, and was already asleep. “Think I’ll stretch my legs a bit before turning in.”
“Okay...don’t expect any of us to let you back in,” Mildred murmured between yawns.
“Thanks, but I’ll manage.” Armed with his blaster and panga, Ryan slipped out of the stateroom. He looked up and down the deserted corridor, unsure of which way to go. Spotting a map at the end of the hall, he headed to it and examined the faded illustration, marking two specific points on the ship that he wanted to see.
Walking to the other end of the corridor, he found the stairway right where the map had said it would be and started descending. He’d gone down three flights when he ran into a huge barrier blocking the rest of the way down. Plates of welded steel completely covered the stairwell leading down into the ship proper. In the center, a small hatch was bolted shut.
It was also guarded by a pair of ensigns armed with clubs that looked to have been fashioned from broken oars. The two men regarded him as he approached.
“Hey, you’re one of the Recovered we brought in today, aren’t you?” the guard on the left, a fresh-faced youth, asked.
“Yeah. What’s all this?” Ryan asked.
“Sir, this area is off-limits to Recovered. You really shouldn’t be here,” said the second guard, an older man with a scraggly beard that hung down to his breastbone.
“You boys have nothing to worry about from me, I’m just out trying to get the lay of the land—er, ship, is all,” Ryan replied. “Is this one of the access points to the Downrunners?”
The first guard began to nod before the second one cleared his throat loudly. “You want what’s gonna happen t’Elial to happen t’you, too?” he asked.
“It’s all right,” Ryan said. “I’ve spoke to the captain about your little problem here. And come on—the hatch is here, and can only be opened on the outside. It doesn’t take a bright brain to figure out that you’re keeping someone—or someones—locked in there.”
The two guards exchanged glances. “That may be true, however, this area is still off-limits,” the older one said. “We have to ask you to leave.”
“All right, all right, I’m going.” Ryan headed back up the stairwell. But when he came to the landing for his floor, he kept climbing to the top.
The stairs ended in a simple, plain corridor that stretched a few yards toward the front of the ship. No one was guarding the single door at the end of the passageway, which Ryan found strange, particularly given the existing threat to the abovedecks crew.
I would have thought they’d protect the descendant of their ancestor better, he thought as he slipped up to the door and peered through its window into the room beyond.
It was dark inside, but Ryan could make out De Kooning silhouetted against the moonlit sky. He tried the door, which was locked but loose. The man at the window apparently didn’t hear him, as he didn’t turn from his survey of the front of the ship.
Drawing his blade, Ryan slipped the tip of the narrow knife between the door and the jamb until he felt it give way. He slowly pushed the door open, watching for any reaction from the man on the other side. He still didn’t move.
Well, they never said how old he was...mebbe he’s deaf as a stone, Ryan thought. When the space was wide enough, Ryan slipped inside, heading right for the figure standing at the window.
“Hey, De Kooning...” he said when he was a step away. But the man still didn’t turn or acknowledge his existence in any way. A chill growing in his gut, Ryan reached out to touch the man—and wasn’t too surprised when his fingers contacted brittle skin and bone. As Ryan came around to stand next to the man, the moon came out from behind a cloud and illuminated the window-fronted room—and the body inside it.
The last descendant of the De Kooning line was nothing more than a desiccated, leathery husk. Under his dusty, white cap, the corpse’s shrunken jaw dangled, its white teeth shining in the moonlight. Ryan glanced down to see that he had been wired in place, standing an eternal watch on the bridge to look over his people...forever.
As he crept back over to the door, Ryan wondered how that had come about. One chilling thought ran through his mind: sure hope he was already dead before they did that...
Chapter Twe
nty-Eight
Ryan went back to the stateroom, where he found everyone fast asleep. He locked the door, which was about as secure as De Kooning’s had been, strode into the second bedroom, lay down on the short but wide bed with his combat boots hanging off the end, and instantly fell asleep.
He awoke at first light, and yawned and stretched while checking out the view from his window, which he had to admit was pretty amazing. The blue-green ocean stretched to the horizon, nothing but clear, calm water all around them. He’d gotten used to the thrum of the cruise ship’s systems reverberating throughout just about everything, and was also accustomed to the steady, solid feel of the ship underfoot.
The morning had dawned clear and bright, but there was a series of huge, bright orange-and-gray storm clouds off to the west that didn’t bode well for that afternoon. Ryan walked into the other room to see the others awakening, as well.
“More fruit and fish for breakfast, I suppose,” Doc said around a yawn. “By the Three Kennedys, it will be good to reach dry land again and sink my teeth into some meat that’s got some substance to it!”
“Keep your voice down, Doc,” Ryan said. “We’re playing the part of the Good Samaritans who’re going to help out the captain and his crew with their little problem, remember?”
The old man rubbed his eyes and blinked at Ryan. “Yes, yes, stick to the story, I know the drill. Rest assured, I shall not be saying much this morning. The blasted bed was most uncomfortable.”
“Want to know something even stranger about this boat that I discovered last night?” Ryan walked to the door and peeked out to make sure no one was walking by. He was pretty sure the locals wouldn’t be thrilled about his paying their mummified figurehead an unannounced visit. “Gather ’round.”
In a low voice, he told the others about both the guarded barriers to the lower decks, as well as about the mummified body of De Kooning up on the top deck.
When he was done, all Mildred did was shake her head. “Unbelievable. Just when I think it couldn’t possibly get any weirder, they go ahead and pull it off.”
“Do you think the belowdecks people are the ones being truly oppressed?” Ricky asked. “Isn’t it possible that those above are prisoners of Frost and his people, as well?”
“Those barriers to the decks certainly seemed to prove it’s top versus bottom here,” Ryan replied. “And the guards weren’t shitting their pants at seeing me walk around, so they’re pretty comfortable. We’ll know more once we meet with Frost and his men and take a look at their plans. Now let’s see about getting food before we start planning the mission into the lower decks,” Ryan said. “Don’t know about you all, but I’m starving.”
Despite his earlier comment, Doc perked up at the mention of breakfast. “It is my hope to see some recipes using that breadfruit tree they have on the forward deck.”
“Yeah, let’s all get a good meal in our bellies before descending into God knows where,” Mildred said.
“Not too eager to get on with this, are you?” Ryan asked as he walked to the door.
“Don’t get me wrong, I want John back safe and sound, same as you want Krysty and the others,” she replied. “I’m just getting tired of dancing to other people’s—or computer’s—tunes, that’s all.”
“I hear you, and it won’t be long until we’re changing that tune—” Ryan replied as he opened the door only to find Chief Officer Markson on the other side, his right hand raised as if he was about to knock.
“Hope I’m not interrupting anything?”
“Not at all. We were just coming down to see about breakfast,” Ryan quickly replied.
Markson smiled. “Then my timing is perfect. The captain sent me up to invite you to join him at his table on deck. On days such as this we break our fast outdoors, as the Lord and De Kooning intended. We are also administering Elial’s punishment this morning, and thought you might want seats with a good vantage point.”
“That’s right kind of you. We’ll be right out,” Ryan said, closing the door before Mildred could protest again. “All right, remember—stick to the plan, nod and smile, and we’ll all get through this in one piece.”
Mildred followed him out of the room, with Doc and Ricky bringing up the rear. “I certainly hope so.”
They followed the chief officer down to the main deck, where several rows of tables covered with white cloths had been set out. White-shirted ensigns were busy placing trays of cut fruit and other dishes in a buffet line. On a raised dais at the head of the area, with his back to the towering white wall of the ship, the captain sat at a table with the same number of place settings as the night before.
“Welcome, friends! So glad you could join us! Please, join me at my table, I insist.”
“Thank you, Captain.” Ryan walked up the small steps to the dais and grabbed the farthest chair on the other side of the table. “Putting on quite a spread.”
“When the sky is fair and the winds are calm, we would be foolish not to take advantage of it, yes?” Frost replied. “We have the usual juices, as well as some coconut water, which some of you may find more refreshing.”
The rest of the group sat and selected their drinks. Ryan could tell Frost was very eager to find out whether they were going to assist in the struggle against the Downrunners, but was managing to restrain himself until the right opportunity arose to discuss it. For his part, Ryan was going to draw it out as long as possible. This wasn’t the right place to discuss it anyway, he realized, as there was no telling whether everyone around was truly loyal to the Topsiders. If he’d been leading one of these sides, the very first thing he would have done was try to insert a spy into the enemy’s camp.
A small commotion attracted everyone’s attention away from the meal. Elial, escorted by two guards, his hands bound in front of him, was brought out and seated at a table near the edge of the deck.
“Very kind of you to allow him to eat before you toss him overboard,” Mildred said.
“De Kooning said that every man—even one who is to be punished—should not be made to do so on an empty stomach,” Frost replied.
“Most kind of him, too,” she said, ignoring Ryan’s warning glare.
The rest of the officers joined them on the dais, with Coller looking particularly haggard.
“Rough night?” Ryan asked.
“Spent most of it prepping the plans for you folks, as well as trying to pinpoint the likeliest places your people might be held,” the huge secman replied as he grabbed a glass and motioned for coconut water. “It’s a big ship, with lots of hiding places.”
“Well, we may have some ideas about that, as well,” Ryan said.
Frost leaned forward. “So, you’ve agreed to our request?”
“I didn’t say that—just mentioned that I know where I’d keep prisoners on a ship like this, that’s all.” Ryan had to admit that he got a certain amount of pleasure watching the captain swallow the angry retort that sprang to his lips. Keeping his expression impassive, Ryan took a large spoonful of a white, porridge-like substance and glopped it onto his plate. “What’s this?”
“Cooked breadfruit mash mixed with coconut water and baked in a banana leaf,” Frost replied. “It’s our staple breakfast item, along with fruit, of course. If anyone would like something with a bit more kick, we also serve a fermented kind, too.”
“I think I’ll try some of that,” Mildred said, watching Ryan as if daring him to stop her. He didn’t, although he carefully watched how much she put onto her plate. Fortunately, she took only one scoop.
The meal passed fairly quickly, with the other officers casting sidelong glances at Ryan and his people when they thought they weren’t watching, which was never. Along with the mash and fruit, there were roasted slices of breadfruit, which Ryan enjoyed, finding the taste almost, but not quite, like a potato. The sugared and grilled mango and pineapple slices were terrific.
At last, the breakfast was over, and all eyes turned once again to Elial, who had b
een brought forward to stand at the edge of the deck where a section of railing had been removed. On the other side of the deck, a team of six men stood with the end of a thick rope in their hands. The other end of it trailed over the side and, Ryan figured, ran under the ship to connect to the rope binding Elial’s hands.
Captain Frost pushed back his chair and stood. “Ensign Elial Forth, you have been found guilty of dereliction of your duty to both your fellow crew members and to the Ocean Queen itself.”
As he spoke, the condemned man began hyperventilating, sucking great gulps of oxygen into his lungs.
“Your punishment is to be keelhauled across the front bow of the ship, at which point, should you survive, you shall be brought back aboard and welcomed once more into the fold of your fellow sailors. Let the punishment by carried out, and may De Kooning’s mercy bless you.”
As one, everyone assembled on deck murmured, “De Kooning’s mercy.”
Elial turned so he faced the ocean. Chief Officer Markson nodded at the men on the far side. As one, they all heaved on the line they held. The sailor disappeared off the deck as if he had never existed. Ryan listened for the splash of him hitting the water, but they were too high up.
“Pull hard, men—one of your own’s down there! Let’s bring him back on board quickly and safely!” Markson said as the men hauled the line in as fast as they could. About halfway through, they ran into some resistance, and had to let the line play back out a bit.
“Harder—come on, put your backs into it!” Markson cried as they took up the slack again. The men did as he commanded; however, now they were pulling the line in much faster, as if a weight on the other end had suddenly been cut free. After a half dozen more pulls, all they came up with was frayed end of the line.
“Dammit! Man overboard! I want longboats on both sides looking for him!” Markson’s shouted orders rang out over the crew, who scrambled to comply.
