by David Poyer
10
New Faces
Perrault kept them a point or two off the wind, enough to stay headed west. He left Madsen topside and went below with the others.
In the salon, Auer had the castaway hoisted onto the table. The heavy slicker lay like a shed skin on deck, streaming water. A padded jacket lay beside it, and Eddi was struggling with a tartan-patterned pullover. “Just cut it off,” Bodine said. He lurch-walked forward and with a click the black blade of a combat-style knife flicked out. “Is he still breathing?”
“Shallow, but it’s there,” Perrault said.
“Careful,” Sara couldn’t help saying. Bodine’s glance met hers for just a second, affectless, remote. As if he orbited at such times beyond human feelings. He pulled the wet cloth taut, and the serrated blade slid through with barely a whisper. White waffled underclothing came into view. He sliced this off too.
“He’s not shivering,” Dorée observed.
“Because he’s in hypothermic shock. Roll him over. Gently! You two, on that side. One, two, heave. Towels, and blankets. Lift that right leg. Knee up—yeah, like that. I’ll get a core temperature. Then we’ll put him in Georgie’s bunk.”
Bodine lifted the upper buttock and carefully worked a thermometer into the unconscious man’s rectum. Sara couldn’t take her eyes from the smooth hairless chest, the husk of maleness at the groin. Short curly hair. A helplessly curled, uncircumcised penis. Chubby cheeks and closed eyes made the slack face look very young. As Georgita tugged the ruins of clothing from beneath him something clicked to the deck. She rose with a pair of gold-framed glasses. “These must be his. I’ll keep them for him.”
Bodine was searching through the ribboned fabric of khaki trousers. His face changed as he came up with transparent plastic. He unzipped it and took out a billfold and a maroon-backed passport. He flipped the wallet open. “In Japanese. Of course. Here’s a license of some kind. And … this is interesting. An ID from Tokyo University.” He looked at Sara. “What’s a guy from a university doing on a whaling ship?”
She frowned. “I don’t know. But isn’t the first thing to get him warmed up?”
Bodine extracted the thermometer and straightened the boy’s legs. He examined it, then wiped it on his pants. “Ninety-three Fahrenheit. He ought to be okay, but it might take a while. Sara, get his legs. Dru, under the shoulders. Eddi, ready to be his snuggle bunny?”
“It won’t be that hard.”
“Ha-ha,” said Dorée. “Maybe we can make it hard. If we both snuggle in, one on each side.”
“Enough.” Perrault laid a palm on the pale forehead. “Mick? I have Calvados.”
“No alcohol. That actually reduces core temperature. Heat up some rice or oatmeal. Use it for hot packs. Ready? All together—lift.”
When he was settled in one of the bunks Eddi stripped off to sports bra and panties. The tattoos writhed over her shoulders, down her back, as she stretched and sighed. Then turned back the blankets and crawled in. She embraced the seaman, wrapping him with arms and legs. Kissed his forehead. “Life,” she murmured, as if invoking a spirit. “Life.”
The others looked on for a while. Then drifted out.
* * *
Sara microwaved two makeshift hot packs and took them in to Eddi. Then went aft to see how Quill was doing.
She hadn’t been in the mate’s quarters before. She was surprised at how small the space was. Barely more than a cupboard, next to the captain’s cabin. He was doubled in an uncomfortable-looking half-sitting position, holding a towel to his belly and staring up into his reading light. Following his gaze, she was confronted with the wide-open crotch of a foldout nude taped to the bulkhead. She cleared her throat. “How you doing, Jamie? Anything I can get for you?”
“I’m all right. Just a nick.”
“We picked up a man overboard from the whaler. After you got hurt. We’re not really sure yet how he got in the water. Fell off the stern, we think.”
“That right?” He didn’t seem especially interested. “There’s one lucky bugger, for sure.”
“One funny thing. His wallet and passport were wrapped in plastic. When we took them out of his pants, they were still dry.”
“Then he didn’t fall. He jumped. If he wrapped his shite waterproof before he went.”
“That’s what I was thinking.”
“What’s he got to say for himself, then?”
“He’s hypothermic. Unconscious. Eddi’s warming him up.”
“Send her in here next. Unless you got a free minute.”
“Uh, right … Well, thanks for keeping me from going over. When that fire hose hit us.”
Quill shrugged. Looked back at the pinup, then at her. Not her face, but at her chest. She sighed. “I’ll look in again. Sure there’s nothing you need? Juice? Something to eat?”
“Old Mick says I’m not to eat for a while. Gave me some antibiotic pills. But thanks.”
“Okay then.” She waited a moment more, then backed out and clicked the door closed.
* * *
She made potato soup for lunch, or whatever meal it was—the time of day seemed to matter less and less when dark and light did not alternate. The potatoes all had eyes, which she carefully cut out. Knowing, as a scientist, that it was a waste of effort, but her mother had told her when she was little, back on the island, that the dark nubs were poison. She caught her eyepatched reflection in the stainless steel of the stove. Did she still need that? She lifted it and peered out. The world leaped into 3-D. She took it off. Her eye smarted, but seemed better.
She cut up and sautéed onions and the last green pepper and thickened the soup with corn starch. She laid out crackers and canned butter and made coffee. They were finished and getting up from the littered table when Eddi wandered in. “He’s awake,” she said.
Bodine lurched to his feet. He walked stiffly to the curtain and drew it back. “Hey there. You with us, amigo?”
“He’s Japanese, not Mexican,” Dorée said, smoothing back her hair. A rash or some skin eruption showed blotchy at her neckline. “The word for friend is tomodachi. The reason I know that—”
“Doing okay, buddy? Speak any English? Doesn’t respond. Well, takes a while to come back from a hypothermic episode,” Bodine said. “See if he wants coffee. Put a lot of sugar in it.”
“I’ve got it.” Sara poured a mug and pushed the curtain aside. And was embarrassed at the dangling bras she’d hung to dry after hand-washing in the sink. Was her underwear the first thing he’d seen when he woke?
He was sitting up, wrapped in blankets. Heavy eyelids, but bright black eyes peered out from under them. His skin tone was darker, less waxy. But he still looked very young. “Hello,” she said, enunciating very clearly. “My name is Sara. Would you like some coffee?”
“Thank you.” He blinked slowly, looking around. “I am on your boat?”
“That’s right.” She held the mug to his lips. He sipped slowly, then greedily, lashes fluttering. Finally he lay back, sighing.
The curtain rattled again. Perrault and Bodine, with Dorée close behind. “He’s awake,” she told them. “Took some coffee.”
“Parlez français?” the captain said.
“Nein,” the man in the bunk said. A smile dawned. “But a … little English. Thank you for, for, handling me.”
“For picking you up? Not a problem.” Bodine took his wrist. “Good pulse. How you feeling?”
“Hungry?”
“I’ve got more soup,” she said. “It’s okay for him to have it?”
Bodine said it was, and she left, pushing through the crowd.
When she came back they’d all managed to fit themselves into her cubicle, Dorée, Bodine, Georgita, Perrault, and Eddi. “He says his name’s Kimura,” Auer whispered.
“So what’re you doing here with us, Kimura?”
“It is Hideyashi, first name. To you Hideyashi Kimura. I worked on the ship.”
“Okay, Hideyashi. What did you do o
n the ship?”
“They used me as translator, but I am a PhD candidate.”
That explained the academic ID. “What discipline?” Sara asked him.
“Neurobiology.”
“Really.” The others looked at her; she picked up the thread of the questioning. “Of whales, I take it?”
“Whales, yes, that’s right.” He sipped more coffee; he seemed to be growing more responsive by the minute. “I was … hired as part for the research team. But I quickly realize it is not real research.”
“It’s slaughter,” Bodine said.
“You are very right, sir. They do not even weigh stomachs like they say. Only when cameras watch.” His gaze came back to Sara. “You are scientist too?”
“A behaviorist. Specializing in … primates. At least, I was.”
“So desu ka. Do you know Dr. Tetsuro Matsuzawa?”
“Of the Inuyama Primate Research Institute? I heard him present in Chicago.” She straightened, nodded at the others. As if to say, He’s real.
“So you didn’t fall overboard,” Perrault said. “By the way, I’m the captain. Dru Perrault.”
Kimura took his hand gravely, then struggled to sit up. “Captain? Thank you so much. Thank you. No. I did not fall. I jump. I see your small boat try to stop the killing. So very brave. So I am ashamed. And I try to swim to you. But the water, so cold I cannot move. Then sleepy. I wake up here with”—he examined their faces, nodded at Eddi—“that one, no-clothing with me. Very pretty lady. I see her irezumi—I do not know the word—like yakuza.”
“My tattoos.” Eddi reached out to rub his head. “So you didn’t mind me sprawling all over you.”
“Is very nice.” He looked hopeful. “You do more now?”
They all laughed. “Not right now,” she said, but it didn’t sound like an unequivocal refusal.
Bodine hoisted himself with his arms, and Sara saw how the Japanese’s eyes widened as they noted his prosthetics. “We’re glad to have you with us, Hideyashi, but we better let you rest. Sara’ll get you some hot soup. And give him carbs—chocolate or honey. You’re okay otherwise? Do you take any medicine, Hideyashi?”
“Only aspirin. When head aching.” He hesitated, then said in a rush, “Captain. Is it possible I radio my family? Tell them I am all right? I do not wish them to worry. It was risk, yes. But worth dying, to be off that evil ship. I want to stay with you. Help stop this horrible slaughter. This very dreadful impurity.”
Perrault patted his shoulder. “We can get a shortwave message off to our shore office. Maybe in two hours? We have a scheduled contact then.”
“Thank you, Captain. Thank you, everyone.”
“Okay then. Let him rest.” Bodine shooed them out and slid the curtain closed.
Back in the salon, he frowned. “What do you think?” he murmured.
“What do you mean?” Sara said.
Perrault made a hushing gesture. “Let’s go to the engine room,” he suggested. “You, me, and Sara. Or—just a moment. Let me look at the sky, and get Eddi to relieve Lars. I will meet you down there.”
* * *
Heat still radiated off the massive hulks of steel, though they were shut down. She found a perch between the starboard engine block and a large piece of metal and rubber ductwork, and enjoyed the toasting until the door opened and Perrault stepped down, followed by Bodine and Madsen. The Dane looked taken aback at seeing her there. Bodine just glanced over, then away.
Perrault waited until they all found places to lean, then took off his watch cap and ruffled his hair. Was it her imagination, or was it grayer than when they’d left Ushuaia? “All right, what does everybody think?”
“I’ve been topside,” Madsen interjected.
Bodine brought him up to date in a few sentences. He finished, “He says he’s a neurobiologist. Sara?”
“Well—a doctoral candidate. Probably working on his thesis.”
“Is he what he says?”
She lifted her eyebrows. “He knew a prominent primate researcher.”
“He knew his name,” Bodine corrected. “Which he could have been primed with.”
“Primed with for what?” She frowned.
“To make us accept him,” Madsen said.
She understood suddenly. “You think he’s been, what—sent here?”
“It’d make sense.” Bodine absently scratched a prosthesis as if it were a real limb. “Look at it from their point of view. They know Greenpeace. They know Sea Shepherds. But they don’t know CPL. We’ve tried to keep everything low-key. Funded with private donations, not public appeals. No press releases. An unknown quantity. Faced with that, any commander would want intel.”
“By having one of his men jump overboard?” She shook her head. “If I hadn’t seen him, he’d have died. If Dru hadn’t gotten to him in time, he’d be a floating popsicle. He’s some kind of spy? I don’t think so.”
“Or worse,” Madsen put in darkly. “That was Captain Crunch on that bridge. Same guy who killed two protesters a couple seasons ago. I can see him sending somebody aboard with orders to make trouble. Maybe even scuttle us.”
Sara remembered a middle-aged Japanese, a swarthy, hard face glaring down at them. Then turning away, to snap an order that was tantamount to murder. But what the boy had said had the ring of truth to her. “Oh, for heaven’s sake. Scuttle us? He’d go down too.”
“Why not?” But he sounded defensive. Perrault looked doubtful too.
She said, “I just don’t see it, Mick. I think he, Hideyashi, is either brave as hell, or maybe, slightly nutty. In a harmless way, I think. But I don’t think he’s what you’re suggesting.”
The captain said, “What about this radio message he wants us to send?”
“It’s to his parents, for God’s sake. The whaler will report him lost at sea.”
The Frenchman sighed and dug something out from between his teeth. “I’m worried about Jamie, too.”
“I think he’ll be okay,” Bodine said. “If he doesn’t get an infection. That’s the big hurdle there.”
“So you think he’s what he says he is? Sara?”
“It’ll be easy to tell if he’s actually got a background in mammalian neuroscience. Nobody’s going to be able to fake that at short notice.”
“I’d keep a close eye on him,” Madsen said. “Keep him tied to his bunk.”
The captain looked at the overhead. “Sara will test him. But I’m not tying him to the bunk. For one thing, we don’t have enough beds to start tying people into them. He’s going to have to share anyway. At least until we give him back.”
Sara frowned. “Give him back? But—”
“There may be legal issues involved. Right now, I don’t know. I radioed Maru Number 3 that we recovered a man overboard. That much we owe them, in case they’re searching for him. I also notified our home office, so the legal people can do the research. Meanwhile, he needs to share someone’s bunk. Lars?”
Madsen drew back. “I don’t want him.”
“You could keep a better eye on him.”
“How? He’d be up when I was asleep. And vice versa.”
“Just do it,” the captain said. The Dane looked sullen, but nodded curtly.
The door opened and they turned. It was Eddi, and she looked scared, hugging herself, eyes wide. “What is it?” Perrault said.
“Mick? I think you better come. There’s something bad wrong with Jamie.”
* * *
Sara stood in the doorway while Bodine and the captain crouched next to the bunk. It was shaking. Quaking so hard it squeaked. The mate was conscious, but his whole body was spasming so violently it was a wonder he didn’t buck out onto the deck. Bodine had his thermometer out, was about to thrust it into Jamie’s mouth, when Perrault said, “Mick.”
“What?”
“The thermometer.”
A blank look; then comprehension. “Gotcha.” He bent and from a small locker under the mate’s sink extracted a liter bottle.
Popov. Wiped down with vodka, flicked dry again, the instrument went under the mate’s tongue. “Don’t bite through it,” Bodine warned. “We don’t have a spare.”
“’Ry not oo.” Quill tried to haul himself upright, but shook so badly he slid down flat on the bunk again. He blinked above the thermometer, which presently commenced a shrill electronic peeping like a tiny truck backing up. Bodine whipped it out and examined it. But didn’t immediately speak.
“Well?”
“It’s high.”
“How high,” Sara prompted.
“Hundred and four,” Bodine said reluctantly. “How you feel, Jamie?”
“Not too bad, except for this fucking shaking.”
“Chills? Feel cold?”
“Yeah. Course, that’s nothing new.” He forced a grin through his beard, but was beginning to look apprehensive. “What’ve I got, sawbones?”
“Might have a bug,” Bodine said.
“Thought you already gave me some shite for that.”
“Yeah, well, we’re gonna give you more. Be right back.” To Sara he said, “Better get him another blanket.”
She followed him out while the captain drew a chair up beside the bunk. Down the corridor, past the master suite, she said in a low voice, “What’s he got?”
“It’s not good. Something sharp perforated his stomach. We never did figure out what. Probably a piece of stray wire, something like that.”
“His stomach … his intestines?”
On into the salon, continuing forward. Bodine kept all his medical supplies up in the forward tunnel. He muttered, “Couldn’t tell. No X-ray equipment. I cleaned it out with Betadine and bandaged it. Gave him a thousand milligrams of ciprofloxacin. A wide-spectrum antibiotic. I’ve seen some pretty serious gut wounds pull through on cipro.”
“Yeah, but they were operated on afterward—right?”
He didn’t answer, just ducked through the hatch. She didn’t pursue him, just stood there in the cold. Then recollected: blanket. She ducked behind her curtain. Kimura quickly covered himself and smiled. “Can you spare one of these?” she asked him.
