by Philip Roy
Before I finished eating, I heard noises outside. Hollie was flat on his side now in deep sleep, and didn’t hear anything. Outside, a parade was going by. I waited until it passed by the window, then stood up and watched. Hundreds of people were marching up the street, carrying poles with slogans on them. It wasn’t a parade; it was a protest. I had never seen a real protest before, so I paid for our meal, put the rest of the pizza into a box, slid Hollie into the tool bag, and went out to follow the marchers.
They went up one street and down another, shouting, “NO MORE MINING! SAVE OUR PLANET! NO MORE MINING! SAVE OUR PLANET!” It was an environmental protest! I had surely come to the right place.
The protestors marched to the front of a large government building, and stopped. There were police on horseback there, but they didn’t look surprised or angry. The protestors didn’t look angry either. Everything was well organized and orderly, as if it were something they did every week. A handful of protestors took turns speaking from a megaphone. They had strong Australian accents, and it was a little hard for me to understand. Mostly they seemed to be demanding that the government stop giving tax breaks to mining companies, and put more money into saving the environment. They wanted big oil companies to pay for their oil spills, and they wanted more money spent on saving whales, sharks, and turtles. I couldn’t have agreed more. Then I heard one person say to another, “Ahh, they just say the same things. They never change anything.” “Yeah, but just wait till Brass-knuckles Bennett has a turn,” said another. “They’ll get an earful then.” “Who’s Brass-knuckles Bennett?” asked the first. “A big-shot barrister from Sydney. Goes to bat for the whales.”
I moved closer as a large man stepped up to a podium and took hold of a microphone. TV cameras closed in on him as he spoke. I strained to hear every word.
He was a big man but had a soft voice. There was something very compelling about it, so that I think I would have listened carefully even if he were selling farm machinery. He looked like someone who might sell farm machinery, too, not practise law. Basically, he said the same things that Margaret had said: that too much damage had been done to the environment already, and that it was too late to stop global warming. All we can do now, he said, is buy time and try to save the things we can, but we can only buy time if we stop opening new coal mines and refineries, and close down the old ones. If we don’t do that, and do it now, he said, then we can kiss the Earth goodbye sooner rather than later.
It was the same message Margaret had given me, and yet, somehow, with his gentle manner and soft voice, it hit home even harder for me. I felt as though I was listening to a soft-spoken angel declaring the end of the world.
When the protest was over, I wandered back to the industrial pier with a heavy heart. Was it really too late? If so, why did the world still look okay to me? I mean, I had been all around it, and had seen some terrible things, yet never got the impression it was actually dying. I knew it was in trouble, not dying. Still, that speaker’s words affected me deeply. They were so measured and certain I almost felt the air had less oxygen in it than it had before he spoke.
Chapter Eight
SHE WAS SITTING ON THE floating pier beside the sub. She was the only one there. I was pretty sure I had seen her at the demonstration. I wondered what she was doing here.
She was about thirty years old, I was guessing; it was hard for me to gauge the age of anyone over twenty. Her hair was light brown, her eyes blue, and her face had a soft expression, as if she were an animal caretaker, or kindergarten teacher, or something like that. She was about my height, and athletic, but not a sailor. I could tell by the way she was staring at the sea. She wasn’t looking at the sub, either, even though she was sitting right beside it, and could see it easily enough, and that gave me the impression she wasn’t interested in it. She fooled me that way.
“Hi,” I said, because she pretended she didn’t see me when I stepped onto the pier. Hollie followed at my feet.
“G’day,” she said. “You’re going to sea, are ya?” She had that kind of Australian accent that made every sentence sound playful.
“Yes. Eventually.”
“Is the little dog going with ya?”
“Yes.”
“That’s all right. Where are you going to next?”
I looked at her. There was something behind her questions, I could feel it, but didn’t know what it was. “We’re going to Tasmania. We’ve got a few weeks of sailing ahead of us first.”
“That’s all right, too. That’s quite the contraption you’ve got there. Been at sea long?”
“A couple of years.”
“How old are ya?”
“Sixteen. Turning seventeen.”
She almost laughed, but caught herself. I figured she was going to keep asking me questions unless I asked her one. So I did. “Did I see you at the protest today?”
She smiled. “Yeah. Ya did.”
“You must be interested in saving the environment then.”
“Yeah, I sure am. And you?”
“That’s why I’m here. I want to learn how to save the oceans.”
“That’s brilliant. Good on you. Did you learn anything at the protest today?”
“I think so. I learned something from listening to that big lawyer.”
“A lawyer?” Now she was really curious. “Who was that then?”
“I don’t know his real name, but I heard somebody call him ‘Brass-knuckles Bennett.’”
She laughed, dropped her head, and shook it from side to side. “Brass-knuckles Bennett?”
“Do you know who he is?”
“Yah, I know who that is.”
“You do?”
“Yeah. That’s me.”
“What?” She must have been joking. “But…he was a man.”
“Yeah, that was Pritchard Lovelace you were listening to. He’s a good speaker.”
“Sorry.”
“No worries. I get that a lot. When people hear you’re a tough barrister, they just assume you’re a man. Anyone called ‘Brass-knuckles Bennett’ must be a man, right?” She stuck out her hand. “My name’s Jewels. What’s yours?”
“Alfred.” We shook hands. “Why do they call you ‘Brass-knuckles Bennett?”
“Well, Bennett’s my last name, by marriage. The brass-knuckles part comes from the fact that I don’t like to lose. So I fight hard.”
“Hate to lose what?”
“In court. And, usually, I don’t. But today I did. And the thing that I lost to is sitting right over there.” She pointed south.
“The navy? You lost to the navy?”
She shook her head. “Look a little beyond that.”
“There’s just the oil refinery.”
“Right.”
“You lost to the oil refinery?”
“Not exactly. Have you got a pair of binoculars in your submarine by any chance?”
“Yes, I do.”
“Can we have a look? Would you mind?”
“Not at all. Just a second.” I opened the hatch, climbed in with Hollie, and put him down. He went straight to his water dish, I climbed back out with the binoculars. “Here they are,” I said, and passed them to her.
She raised them and looked. “Yeah. There it is. The Indigo. Have a look.” She handed the binoculars back.
“What is it?”
“A tanker.”
“Oh.” I took a look. “I see her.”
“Yeah, why do you sailors always call a ship a her? What’s that about?”
“I don’t know; it’s a tradition.”
“That’s a steel machine weighing who knows how many thousands of tons, and its belly is filling up with stinky black oil, and you call it a ‘her’ as if she’s a little girl or something.”
I stared at Jewels. I wondered what she wanted. I could tell she wanted something.
“Tell me, Alfred. Can you make tea on your submarine?”
“Yes, I can. Would you like some?”
&
nbsp; “I would wrestle a croc for a cup of tea.”
“Come in.”
So she followed me in. She came down the ladder slowly, and found a spot on the floor beside the observation window in the bow, next to Hollie’s blanket. It was the only comfortable spot I had for a guest. I brought her a pillow to sit on, then put a pot of water on for tea. Jewels looked around curiously, but wasn’t as interested in the sub as people usually were. I didn’t think she was much impressed by machines.
“So, where are you from, Alfred? And what brings you to Australia?” I passed her a cup of tea, and she raised the cup to her lips, took a sip carefully, and stared at me. She was studying me. I felt as though I was on the witness stand.
“I’m from Newfoundland, Canada, and I’ve been sailing around the world for almost a year now, but I’ve been at sea on and off for two and a half years. I came here because I want to become an active environmentalist, if it’s not too late, and I heard that Australia is the best place to learn about it.”
She smiled with genuine enthusiasm. “This is synchronistic, Alfred.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means that we were meant to meet, because I’m keen to save the environment, too. But tell me, why did you say, ‘if it’s not too late?’ What’s that about?”
“Well, I met somebody at sea who told me that it’s definitely too late. And that speaker at the protest said it is. And scientists on the radio say it is. Do you think it isn’t?”
“Are you alive?”
“Yes.”
“Then it’s not too late.” Jewels took another sip of tea, and stared over the cup at me. She was thinking of something else for sure. I wondered when she’d come out with it. “You’re from Canada, you’re a sailor, and you want to become an environmentalist, so…you must know about the Sea Shepherd Society, right?”
“I think I’ve heard of them, but I don’t know who they are.”
“You don’t?”
“No.”
“And Captain Paul Watson? You know who he is, right? He’s a Canadian hero.”
“No.”
She laughed. “You’re a wannabe environmentalist from Canada and you’ve never heard of one of the most important environmentalists in the world, who’s from your own country?”
“No. Who is he?”
“He’s the patron saint of whales. He created the Sea Shepherd Society to stop the slaughter of whales, dolphins, and other creatures in the sea. But he’s not your typical environmentalist. He’s more like a vigilante. He’s a whaler’s worst nightmare. He flies the Jolly Roger.”
“The skull and crossbones? Is he a pirate?”
“He is if you’re killing whales. Otherwise, he’s a pretty nice guy. Right now, he’s in Hobart, getting ready to return to the Southern Ocean to fight Japanese whalers who are not supposed to be there, but who go there every year to hunt whales anyway. You must know that there’s a moratorium on whaling, right?”
“Yes.”
“Well, the waters of the Southern Ocean constitute a special whale sanctuary. They’re protected waters. Nobody’s allowed to hunt there. And yet, Japanese whalers hunt and kill thousands of whales every year, and call it ‘research.’ Then they sell the meat on the market. Everyone knows it’s not for research, but nobody has the guts to stop them, except Captain Watson. Nobody lives in Antarctica, so there’s no police force, which is why the Sea Shepherd Society must go there, find the whalers, and stop them. They do everything they can to prevent the killing. If you want to be an environmentalist, Alfred, then you must agree with them, right?”
“Yes, of course.”
“And that’s why I’m here from Sydney. That tanker over there, the Indigo, is filling up with oil as we speak. The day after tomorrow, she’s scheduled to sail for the Southern Ocean, where she’s not supposed go, because oil tankers are not permitted below the 60-degree latitude line, where an oil spill would be catastrophic for whales, seals, penguins, and all sea life. But no one’s stopping her. That tanker is going to refuel the whalers so that they can keep hunting. Otherwise, they’d have to go home. So that’s why I’m here, to bring a court injunction to stop the Indigo from leaving port tomorrow.”
“But it didn’t work?”
“That’s right, because the pockets of oil companies are deeper than everybody else’s, and politicians are in the habit of rewarding whoever funds their political campaigns. So, we lost this battle, but not the war. Did you follow that?”
“I think so.”
Jewels took another sip of tea, and stared over the cup. “Alfred?”
Here it comes. “Yes?”
“Let me ask you a hypothetical question.”
“Okay.”
“Let’s say you wanted to stop a ship like the Indigo from leaving port, just for a week or so. What would you do, short of blowing it up? I’m just talking hypothetically here, of course. I’m not being serious.”
She sure sounded serious. “What would I do?”
“Yeah, what would you do, but so that you wouldn’t get caught? Just for fun, what would you do?”
I thought about it. “Well, I might try wrapping ropes around the propeller. They’d twist up and shut the engine down maybe, and possibly cause some engine damage. Well, it would burn out the engine of a smaller boat for sure, but maybe not a tanker. The big engines of a tanker probably have safety features built in to protect them from things like that. Probably it would shut them down just for a day or so.”
“But for longer than that, what would you do? Just hypothetically.”
She stared at me so closely it felt as though she were counting the hairs of my eyelashes. I stared back. She didn’t look like the kind of person who would sabotage a tanker. On the other hand, I didn’t know what a person like that looked like. “I suppose if I really had to stop a ship from leaving port, I’d probably cut through the blades of the propeller with a blow torch, or at least part way. Then, I’d wrap a chain around the blades underwater, so that when the ship started up her engines, the chain would snap the propeller blades clear off. The propeller of a tanker like that has probably got four blades, or maybe five. You’d probably have to cut through just two blades to keep her from sailing. I’m guessing it would take them at least a couple of weeks to get another propeller, if not a month. I think that’s what I’d do. I sure wouldn’t want to get caught though.”
“No, of course not. It’s just a hypothetical question anyway. Nobody’s going to do that.” She smiled strangely. “How long would it take to cut through two blades?”
“Probably a couple of hours. Maybe more. But it would have to be somebody who knows how to operate a welding torch under water. That’s a pretty specialized skill. And you’d have to do it right next to the navy. That’d be pretty crazy.”
“I suppose.”
“And that’s sabotage.”
“Yeah.”
“Maybe it’s terrorism.”
“Nah, that’s not terrorism.” Jewels sipped her tea and stared at the periscope, but her eyes were out of focus. Her mind was far away. I might have guessed where.
Chapter Nine
WE WERE UP BEFORE the sun. I took three water bottles, a bag of dog biscuits, my jacket, hat, sunscreen, sleeping mat, one-man tent, two hundred dollars, and squeezed it all into a knapsack. The knapsack hung over one shoulder, and the tool bag hung over the other, criss-crossing my front. I climbed out with Hollie, put him down on the bank with all of the stuff, and told him to wait there. He didn’t like that, but he obeyed me. Then I went back to the sub.
I motored out to the small breakwater that protected the pier. It was just a hundred feet away, but the harbour floor dropped to seventy-five feet there. I wanted to set the sub on the bottom, out of sight, and out of temptation. By the Law of the Sea, a foreign submarine had to stay on the surface inside a country’s three-mile zone. I knew that. But I wasn’t actually leaving the area of the pier I was just submerging within it. I planned to take a lon
ger hike with Hollie, because I wanted to see a little of Australia before we went back to sea, and I wasn’t comfortable leaving the sub where people could climb in and steal stuff, or fiddle around with the controls, or even start the engine and head out to sea. Any sub could become incredibly dangerous in the wrong hands. I figured the harbour police would agree with that, and would understand me wanting to hide it because they were the ones who gave me the isolated berth in the first place.
But setting the sub on the bottom was not my favourite thing to do, because it meant I had to open the hatch under water, climb out, shut the hatch, seal it, and swim to the surface. I had done it a number of times before, but it was always unnerving. If I could be as fast as the last time, only a couple of feet of water would enter the sub, and the sump pumps would remove that in less than ten minutes. If something went wrong, and the sub completely flooded, it would probably take an hour for the pumps to empty it. There wasn’t much danger to me climbing out, unless I slipped, fell, and banged my head. But I knew that wouldn’t happen. I was so comfortable under water. I could hold my breath for two minutes when I was calm, and that was plenty of time to seal the hatch and swim to the surface. Climbing into the sub was much harder.
And so, I descended to the bottom and shut everything off, except for the pale blue emergency light that used very little power but let me make my way around inside. I picked up everything off the floor and put it on my bed. I did a double check to make sure the compartments in the stern were sealed, then climbed the ladder, took a few deep breaths, and spun the wheel. I waited until it was completely unsealed before pushing the hatch up and letting the sea flood into the sub. No matter how many times I did this, it was always a shock. On the outside, I was calm, and my movements were quick, careful, and measured. Inside, I always had to fight down a feeling of panic. I pulled myself out against the incredible force of water trying to push me back down. It was so strong! I felt like a rat crawling out of a flooding sewer drain. But once I was out, shutting the hatch was easy. I spun the wheel from the outside, sealed it, and swam to the surface. When I stuck my head out of the water, I saw a yellowish orange streak in the east. The sun had travelled across the desert, and was about to reach the sea. It was time for a seriously long walk.
