by Jordan Rivet
“It’s kinda ugly,” said Toni, stepping up beside Esther at the foredeck railing. Toni had worked with Zoe and Anita on the Galaxy Flotilla. She was tall and lanky, with dark skin and close-cropped hair.
“I love it,” Esther said. She leaned forward over the railing, the wind sharp on her cheeks.
The oil platform rose like an insect out of the sea, a handful of ships clustered around it. The rusty iron and pockmarked concrete of the structure were alive with activity. The rig had stopped extracting oil from the seafloor five years ago, but by then it had become such an important trading hub for the seabound survivors that people kept coming. Visitors would dock for a week or two, giving them enough time to trade their salvage for fuel and whatever they couldn’t make for themselves. They’d also catch up on the news of the world, such as it was.
The rig boss strictly regulated the docks so that no one would stick around for too long. Located above a blighted reef, the Amsterdam couldn’t sustain a huge population. It always had to make room for more trade and more ships, except for a handful of cargo ships that moored permanently at the platform. Their captains and the rig boss were the final authority on the value of the fuel, metal, and sustenance that circulated through their decks. Together, the platform and cargo ships made up the Amsterdam Coalition.
After the Catalina’s run-in with the Galaxy Flotilla, with its massive cruise ships and gigantic tankers, the Amsterdam looked small. Compared to the floating city, it was a measly trading outpost. But Esther still felt a thrill of excitement. Going to the Amsterdam was their only real holiday.
The Catalina chugged toward its usual mooring at the northern end. The water was choppy, making it look like the oil platform was pitching back and forth in the sea. There were a few ships in port that Esther didn’t recognize. The Catalina slowed and drifted to a stop at the edge of the platform, the decks nearly level. The crew tossed lines to the rig boss reps and prepared the seldom-used gangway. As soon as Judith registered the Catalina’s arrival, they would be free to explore.
“There’s Zoe and Anita,” Toni said. “Are you coming with us to check out the vacancies on other ships?”
“I have to pick up a few parts today,” Esther said.
“But it’ll be so much fun to meet the crews!”
Esther studied the insignia on an old warship nearby, a red crab inside a black octagon. The paint covered the national flag of whatever defunct navy the ship came from. It would be fun to explore the other ships, even if she couldn’t leave the Catalina yet. But she had already promised to show Cally the ropes.
“I’ll come tomorrow if you guys are still around.”
“All right,” Toni said. “See you later.”
She went to join Anita and Zoe in the bow. They were eager to move on. The Catalina wasn’t nearly exciting enough for them now that it didn’t need to be rescued anymore.
Esther felt a stab of regret. She didn’t want to lose her new friends. And then there was David. He had been busy sailing the Lucinda since the journey to the Amsterdam began. She had missed his presence in the Mermaid Lounge. She didn’t understand why she cared so much. They’d worked well together during the rescue of the Catalina, but they were too different.
The deck bustled with Catalinans eager to do business with the Amsterdam. Cally’s mother, Constance, and her team of assistant seamstresses carried finished garments they planned to sell in the bazaar in exchange for harder-to-find fabrics and leather. Byron, the former Galaxy water taxi driver, followed them with a long list of sundries he’d pick up if the prices were good. He was the only member of the Galaxy who seemed to fit in effortlessly on the Catalina. He and his family would stay at least.
Esther turned back to the railing. The Lucinda sliced easily through the water between the Catalina and the ship with the red crab and glided up to the oil platform. She was a beautiful vessel, a fast Cyclone-class patrol ship built by the US Navy before the disaster struck. She had quickly become David’s pride and joy.
Esther couldn’t see David from here, but she imagined him double-checking the control panel in the pilothouse before locking it up tight. He was proving to be a skilled sailor. He’d have no trouble going his own way in that ship after she installed her biofuel system. He didn’t need the Catalina after all. He hadn’t broached the subject of her accompanying him since the final engine test. In fact, he’d barely spoken to her. He had been polite and formal when they’d passed in the dining hall the day before. It was almost like he was mad at her.
She shook off a twinge of irritation and made her way toward a patch of bright-red hair sticking above the throng on the Catalina’s deck. Cally had experienced yet another growth spurt recently. She looked more grown up every day, though she still bounced on her heels like a little girl.
“Esther! There you are! Are you ready for this?”
“It’s my favorite time of year,” Esther said.
“I can’t wait to explore! Mom didn’t let me see anything last year. Thought I’d fall off a rigging or something.”
“We’re still not climbing any riggings. We need to pick up some new cables first. I’ll show you the best shops.”
Esther usually did a little trading of her own at the Amsterdam. She’d pick up a few things while waiting for word on the sale of the separator designs.
Dirk stood by the gangway with Judith and Manny. He towered over Judith—who was not a short woman—bulky arms crossed. They were holding a barely civil conversation, while Manny looked anxiously between them. It had been agreed that Judith and Dirk would handle the large-scale trading together, but they would delay any major transactions until after David had auctioned off Esther’s energy technology. She wondered if he’d be able to pull it off.
“Did you hear me, Esther?” Cally tapped her foot impatiently, interrupting Esther’s study of the trio by the gangway. “I asked if Dax can come with us.”
“Hmm? Oh, sure. As long as he stays out of trouble.”
“Great! I’ll go get him. Wait for me!”
“Hang on, Cally. I forgot to mention: you can’t talk about how to make my separator system with anyone, okay? Hawthorne is planning to sell it. He’s going to do all the talking.”
“Sure, sure. Be right back!”
Cally skipped back into the crowd in search of her boyfriend, Dax, who was apparently back in her good graces.
Returning to the railing, Esther let the sounds of the Amsterdam Coalition surround her. Shouts from deck to deck, the grinding of machinery, the inexorable rush of water against hulls and pilings. A speedboat sputtered up to the oil platform between the bigger vessels. Other ships were arranged haphazardly around the structure, their faded paint jobs and windmills protruding at odd angles giving the assembly a ragtag feeling. The gathering might be smaller and less impressive than the Galaxy Flotilla, but it was good to be back.
After a few minutes Cally returned, tugging Dax by the arm. They were the same height now. Dax’s spiky black hair had grown longer, making him look even more like a sea urchin.
“Hey, Esther,” he said. “Haven’t seen you around lately.”
“Been busy. How’s the new crew?”
“Not bad. It’s a lot more work than Guest Services ever was.”
Dax had joined the galley crew, and he was proving to be a decent cook. He was particularly good at making fermented kelp more palatable.
“Where’s Neal?” he asked.
“No idea. Probably brooding in the Tower.”
“I can’t believe he’d miss the Amsterdam!” Dax said, tugging on one of the spikes in his hair. “I’ve heard so many stories about it. I’m pretty excited.”
Esther laughed. “You’re in for a treat.”
The three of them made their way down to the main deck, where the gangway rested. Esther caught sight of her father and Penelope walking arm in arm. They looked like they were out for a long walk on the beach. Esther grimaced and quickly pulled Cally and Dax across to the dock.
“Return by sundown. Do you understand, Esther?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“After what happened on the Galaxy, we can’t risk losing anyone.”
“If you guys hadn’t stayed behind, we’d all be dead!” Cally whispered indignantly.
“It’s fine, Cally. This is a good idea,” Esther said as she bent to sign her name, resting the shell on her knee.
Cally and Dax followed her lead. Esther looked over at the Lucinda. David stood in front of it on the dock, shaking hands with a stranger from the Coalition. Rig officials wore a braid on their shoulders to indicate their station. David gestured broadly, perhaps already in the middle of a sales pitch for the revolutionary new energy system.
“What do you think Hawthorne is up to?” Dax asked. “Do you reckon he’ll join the Amsterdam?”
“He’d make a good rig official, wouldn’t he?” Cally said.
Esther tossed the shell with her name into the bucket a little too hard. Cally didn’t know about Esther’s history with David.
“I don’t know what he’s doing,” Esther said. “Judith, are you having the Lucinda crew sign shells too?”
“Why would I? I’m sure Hawthorne can find his own way back to his ship.”
“I wasn’t just talking about him,” Esther mumbled.
“The Galaxians can do what they want. The sooner they go their own way, the better.”
Judith waved them along and handed a shell and ink pen to Bernadette, who had stepped lightly off the bridge behind them.
David was being introduced to a second Coalition official. He made a joke and clapped the official on the shoulder like they were old friends. Esther’s stomach sank. They’d be parting ways here, she realized. David would sell her plans, and then he’d be gone.
“Where do we go first?” Cally said, tossing her shell into the bucket with a clink. “Come on, Dax. How long does it take to write your name?”
Esther nodded at Judith and turned toward the entrance, which gaped like a wound in the belly of the iron rig. She wouldn’t let David Hawthorne ruin this visit to her favorite place. That man made her feel like a sailboat in a whirlwind, but she would enjoy herself today no matter what.
Chapter 8—Amsterdam Bazaar
Cally led the way, nearly skipping across the platform, and they headed into the oil rig. Voices clanged against the walls, competing with the dimming sounds of the sea behind them. The smell of oil seeped from the concrete. The passageway was short, and soon they were stepping into the brightly lit cavern of the Amsterdam Bazaar.
Once, it had been the workers’ quarters, located next to the main drill floor, but the interior walls had been removed to create a pockmarked expanse, which was filled with the din of commerce. Most ships only stayed at the Amsterdam for a week or two, so the bazaar was an ever-changing tumult of frantic deal making, swindling, and gossip. Someone somewhere was playing a saxophone, the notes adding to the cacophony of the bazaar.
“Wow,” Dax said. “What a mess.”
“You’ll get the hang of it,” Esther said, clapping him on the back.
They pushed their way through the grungy crowd down the nearest aisle. A woman selling handmade dyes displayed a multitude of colorful fabrics laid across a fat pipe. Jars of dye hung from cords around her neck. She was trying to sell an iridescent purple to a customer.
“Got it from a rare sea anemone. Had to go in close to the blasted shore to grab it. You won’t find this shade anywhere,” she said.
A boy with enormous glasses and a shaved head hawked watercolor paintings of “the wonders of the old world. You can hang your memories in your cabin forever!” He was young enough not to have any memories of the old world of his own. Bernadette, the resident artist from the Catalina, stopped to speak to the child. A man with one leg and only four fingers between his two hands shook a dented bucket full of small bolts and washers at them. The rattle of metal was lost in the chatter of the bazaar. Weathered seafarers crowded around dice games on the floor. Groups of women leaned close and shouted in each other’s ears about lost relations. At one table, a skinny girl with a scarred face offered single-page sheets of news gathered from across the sea. The headline screamed “Calderon Group Faces Scrutiny after Sinking of Blue Paradise.” Gossip flowed freely through the shoppers.
“You need some cord cables, girl?” A woman with a braid like a steel bar stepped into Esther’s path. She wore thick red galoshes and a smile.
“Rachel! You remembered.”
Esther gave the woman a hug. Her bones felt sharper, her flesh looser than the last time Esther had seen her.
“Yes, ma’am. I’ll never forget how salt scared you were when you came round to my table asking for cords, I mean cables, er, cord cables all those years ago. My boy gave you such grief! I thought you’d bash his head in with your sharp little fists. A pint-sized pile driver, he called you.”
Esther smiled at the memory. “I was terrified, but I wasn’t going to let him make fun of me.”
“He was a little bastard, make no mistake.” Rachel chuckled, and spidery lines stretched out from her eyes likes spikes on a gear. “What’re you here for?”
“I do need cables actually. T-7s with octagonal links, if you have any.”
“Sure thing. Who’re your friends?”
“This is my apprentice, Cally, and her boyfriend, Dax.”
“You have an apprentice now? Well if that don’t make me feel old.”
Rachel led the way through the crowd toward an alcove by the far wall. Her walk was slower than in years past, but she still stood tall above the crowd. She showed Esther an array of cable coils, while Cally picked through a box of miscellaneous washers. Dax trailed behind her like a string of bubbles, occasionally poking at items hanging around the alcove.
“Where is your son anyway?” Esther asked Rachel. “Getting himself into trouble?”
“Oh, Luke has been getting into trouble all right, but it’s not the usual sort. He works for the Metal Harvesters now. Their recruiters won him over with their promises of adventure.”
“What do they do?”
“The Harvesters? Oh, they collect salvaged metal from abandoned ships and the like to sell here at the Amsterdam. Sometimes they even sail into shallow water to pull up wrecks. They have quite a few ships now.”
“Really? Sounds like a decent gig.”
Esther wondered how Zoe, Toni, and Anita would take to salvaging metal. She’d have to mention the Harvesters to them.
“Maybe,” Rachel said, “but they keep getting into spats with the Calderon Group. I barely see Luke anymore.”
“What’s the Calderon Group? More salvagers?”
“Mercenaries. Pirates, if you ask me. They hire themselves out for supply runs, dispute resolutions, that sort of thing. Rumor has it they’ve taken to attacking ships outright. They’ll do whatever it takes to increase their purchasing power, so to speak. It’s getting bad.”
“What do they want?”
“What else? Oil. Cash. We’re not all focused on survival anymore.”
“Can’t the Amsterdam cut them off if they’re causing trouble?” Esther asked.
“Half the Coalition officials are in their back pocket, and we don’t have the firepower to keep them away. The only thing that keeps them under control is their need for fuel. They still gotta check in every once in a while. They’re not exactly known for being frugal with their reserves.” Rachel pulled a heavy coil from a bin at the back of her alcove. “Ah, here’s the T-7. Will it do?”
“This is exactly what I need.” Esther measured out a length of the cable. “Do you think the Catalina is in any danger from this Calderon Group?”
The Amsterdam had always been a hotbed for privateer types. It was one of the reasons Ju
dith hadn’t wanted to meet up with them. She didn’t trust anyone outside the Catalina.
“Not likely. You don’t have much of value, unless your circumstances have changed significantly since your last docking.” Rachel settled on a stool beside a rack of wrenches.
Esther avoided her eyes. “No, I guess you’re right.” She was suddenly very conscious of her algae oil extraction plans scratched in the floor of the bowling alley, not to mention the completed separator, which had allowed them to sail here without using up any diesel. Nothing of value indeed.
Esther and Rachel completed their trade: all the cable she needed in exchange for a leftover desalination filter that was too small for their own system. Esther said good-bye to Rachel and promised to come back for another visit before they sailed. Cally and Dax had wandered off. Mildly irritated, Esther pushed through the crowd after them. They could get into all kinds of trouble here. There was no sign of them, and she couldn’t see very far past the rough-clad clientele. If only she were taller!
“The end of our tribulation is near!” An old man with red depressions around his eyes stepped into her path. “Seven times three! The number of completion times the number of God! Twenty-one years. I found the formula hidden in the ancient words.” He brandished a warped piece of plywood tacked with disintegrating pages from a Bible. “The end of our tribulation is near!”
Esther shifted the coil of cable further up on her shoulder and dodged around the man. People jostled her, and she pushed toward the edge of the market, where she hoped to get a better view.
She broke through the crowd near the passageway leading to the main drill floor and ended up by the Rusty Nail, a bar catering to the seafarers, crewmen, and nomads who made their way through the Amsterdam Bazaar. The bar itself was made of corrugated shipping-container steel in a random assortment of colors. People used the empty oil barrels arrayed in front of the bar as drinks tables. Alcohol was expensive, but the Rusty Nail was the perfect place to gather information. David had chosen this as his theater to share the news of Esther’s newfound energy source.
