Baswin

by Aurora Springer

  “Brilliant. We’re going on a free holiday.” Rosie grabbed her sister’s hands and swung her around the room in an impromptu dance of celebration.

  Laughing at her sister’s enthusiasm, Holly joked, “And if we are chosen for further training, we’ll tell them we met a couple of cute Warrish guys.”

  “Yep.” Rosie took up the fake narrative, “And these hot guys invited us to visit their family on their home world.”

  “Sounds okay,” Holly said cautiously. “Maybe it’ll fly as an excuse.”

  “Who cares?” Rosie grinned. “By that time, it will be too late for them to object to our decision.”

  “We’ll call Mum tomorrow,” Holly decided.

  Chapter 8

  ON THE DAY AFTER THE cargo ship departed from Hawaii, a fierce storm whipped the waves to enormous heights and battered against the freighter. Their progress slowed. Impatient to reach his goal, Baswin grew bored of spending his days in a stuffy cabin while he waited for the waves to subside. He had no fear of drowning in stormy seas.

  At the first sign of a lull, he buckled on his tool belt with the repair kit and collected his tablet. Donning his hard hat and yellow waterproof, he walked toward the stairs. His job as com tech gave him a legitimate reason to check on the external sensors. During the storm, he had noted the absence of signals from one of the monitors and another emitted sporadic spikes.

  As he passed the officers’ mess, Chief Mate Diego called out, “Where are you going, Brown?”

  “To check the deck monitors. Two of them were damaged in the storm. “

  “Okay. Be quick. Another squall is brewing.”

  “Yes, Sir.” Baswin hurried to the stairs and climbed to the upper cargo deck.

  Once on deck, he gazed at the heaving seas. The wave crests no longer towered above the cargo ship, although spray showered over the railings at each new surge. He yearned to dive into the next swelling crest and swim to the haven of the Warrish embassy. But it would be a long and hazardous journey. According to his charts, the Warrish embassy still lay many kiloms from the ship’s current position. He would be safer staying on board as long as the freighter was traveling closer to the island. However, the ship would soon veer in a northerly direction for its destination on the northeast coast of the Sino Pacific Pact. He had to time his departure carefully.

  Baswin went first to the broken sensor and replaced the module. Then, he toured around the deck, pausing by each monitor to assess its condition and note the result on his tablet. Near the forward bow, he entered a spot he had discovered between the containers and the railing. This particular space was out of sight of anyone on the bridge and also not covered by any of the cameras.

  Once in the secluded spot, he halted by the railing to look around and listen for any hardy sailors who had ventured onto deck. All was still, although the thunder of the waves would drown fainter sounds. It seemed a perfect opportunity to contact the embassy. Nobody was likely to interrupt him in this turbulent weather.

  He placed his tablet on a crate and keyed the emergency code into his qtel. Leaning against the side of the cargo container, he waited for a response.

  A minute later, a cautious voice said in Warrishan, “Who calls?”

  “Tallis. Webale’s man. Swimming to embassy.”

  “Urish. What do you want?”

  “Can you pick me up?”

  “If you’re within a distance of ten dozen faran.”

  “I’m on a cargo ship.” He added the ship’s identity code.

  Considering the ship’s projected course, he calculated another day on the ship would take him as close as possible to the embassy. He would still be outside the range mentioned by his unknown contact, but he would be happy to swim the final farans. He replied, “Not yet. In two-thirds of a cycle.”

  “Call when you are within range.”

  “Urish.”

  As he shut the connection, he noticed a white streak running down the sidewall of the adjacent crate. He examined the container. The chains had loosened in the storm and the stack of crates had shifted. A rusty seam in the sidewall had cracked open and something had leaked out. On reviewing the registered items of cargo, he found nothing that would leave a white residue.

  He touched a fingertip to the sticky trail and brought it to his nose. The acrid smell had sharp overtones reminiscent of the addictive extract of julibe and suggested an illegal substance.

  The ship rocked in a heavier swell. A puff of white powder spurted from the crack, He peered closer. A shiny surface, possibly a plastic bag, lay inside the crate. Was somebody in the ship’s crew smuggling drugs? Or had the bags been planted before the containers were stowed on board?

  He stepped away from the evidence. Should he alert the officers? Yet, who had introduced the illegal cargo? Was the smuggler a member of the crew or one of the officers?

  A faint noise shot adrenalin into his nerves. He swung around.

  Scowling in anger, Fernandez rushed at him.

  Baswin dodged aside. He aimed a kick at his assailant’s knee.

  Fernandez stumbled. Spitting a string of curses, he recovered his balance and grabbed Baswin’s arm.

  Well-trained in hand-to-hand defense, Baswin used his opponent’s momentum to slam him onto the deck.

  For a second, the man lay stunned.

  Baswin caught his breath.

  He retrieved his tablet and ran off on the walkway. Before he had taken six steps, a second man appeared in front, blocking his path. Cartwright, a buddy of Fernandez.

  Cartwright hissed, “Stop,” and pulled a gun from inside his jacket.

  Reacting swiftly, Baswin threw his tablet sideways at his enemy like a discus.

  Cartwright ducked. The tablet grazed his ear. But it had accomplished its goal. Cartwright had not fired his weapon.

  Seeking an escape, Baswin twisted around to look backward.

  No luck.

  His initial assailant, Fernandez, leaped and tackled him to the deck.

  Baswin struggled to wriggle from under his heavy weight. But his other opponent grabbed on to his arm and wrenched it painfully. Caught between the two bigger men, Baswin had no chance to escape.

  Cartwright snarled, “He’s been snooping around our cargo.”

  “Guy’s a foreign agent,” Fernandez said. “I sneaked up to listen. Reckon he were calling his boss. Spoke a weird lingo. Styx. You get to hear a dozen foreign lingos in this job. Never heard anything like he spoke.”

  Someone flung a coil of thick rope around Baswin’s chest, pinning his arms to his sides. He was bound and helpless, while they punched his face until he tasted blood.

  The unknown man standing behind tightened the ropes until Baswin could scarcely breathe. “Who’s your boss?” he grated. “You work for the Reds?”

  Even under the barrage of hatred, a remote part of his mind responded in a flicker of amusement. He did work for the Reds, the Red Tridents.

  Fernandez said, “Bet he’s paid by the Snakes.”

  They spit questions at him, demanding answers, “Who are you?” “Who sent you?” “Why are you spying on us?”

  He did not answer. His warrior training enabled him to endure under torture. His thoughts slid to the bottom of a bleak abyss. He became as mute as an animal.

  A wave splashed over the rails, drenching the men. A new storm had blown up.

  A nervous voice said, “We can’t stay out. They’ll get suspicious.”

  “Get rid of him. He’s not ratting.”

  He scarcely registered the sharp blow on the side of his skull.

  The immersion into the churning waves shocked him into momentary awareness. He flung out his arms. His left forearm whacked against a hard object. The ship’s hull?

  Nerves screaming danger, he plunged away from the ship and deeper into the sea. They must not retrieve him. They would strip off his clothes and discover his gills.

  Too numb to feel any pain, he drifted in and out of consciousness.

&n
bsp; Chapter 9

  HOLLY YAWNED.

  After a long and boring flight, the sky had grown lighter and the jet plane was descending to land in Hawaii.

  Early on the previous day, an agent of Taxyon Space had driven the Moon sisters to the New London Spaceport, escorted them through security and deposited them at the gate for the intercontinental flight.

  After rising before dawn, Holly had slept for most of the journey.

  Now, she gave her sister a nudge to wake her and glanced out of the window. The dark blue ocean filled the view below, wavetops glinting in the golden rays of the rising sun.

  As the plane angled lower, she caught glimpses of white beaches edged in rows of villas and palm trees.

  Rosie leaned across to peer out. “Is that Hawaii?”

  An announcement blared from the overhead loudspeakers, “We are approaching the international airport on the Island of Oahu. Please prepare for landing.”

  “We won’t have time to look around,” Holly said. “We’ll have to fly to the Warrish embassy.”

  “Pity. I’d love to play on those beaches.” Rosie sighed and settled back in her seat.

  The plane rumbled onto the tarmac and taxied to the terminal.

  The Moon sisters collected their bags. As instructed, they had packed lightly, including swimsuits and casual wear for a week in a hot climate. They had been advised that suitable clothing would be provided if they moved into the next stage of the selection process.

  In the terminal, they were met by another agent of Taxyon Space. He wore a big smile and a tight blue T-shirt with a large spiral logo and a badge with the name of Ekewaka Kalama. His job title of ‘Taxyon Space Security’ gained credibility from his stocky build and well-muscled, tattooed arms.

  He greeted them, “Aloha, Holly and Rosie Moon.”

  Pointing to the badge on his shirt, he said, “Call me Ekewaka. I’ll take you to the embassy shuttle once the other girls arrive.”

  A young woman wearing a crimson saree, gold necklace and earrings stopped nearby and looked uncertainly at Ekewaka.

  Ekewaka held out a hand. “Welcome to Hawaii. You must be Amitra Dhawan, the candidate from India.” Her dark face and braided black locks confirmed her heritage.

  She offered a shy smile. “I’m expected at the Warrish embassy.”

  “No problem.” He beamed enthusiastically. “Wait with me. I’ll take you to the island shuttle as soon as we meet the candidates from the United African Federation.”

  A few minutes later, three women approached. The one in the lead had a regal poise, a blue dress and an aloof beauty. Her pale face was enhanced by shoulder-length black hair in a revival of ancient Egyptian style. The other two women had darker complexions and contrasting physiques, one was very tall and thin, and the other unusually short. They wore bright yellow headscarves with the ends draped over their necks and cheerful red and brown skirts.

  Ekewaka introduced the African candidates, “Aloha. Welcome to Hawaii, Zabrina Sayad, Keisha Kalu, and Oba Nwachukwu.” Zabrina was the pretty one, Keisha was as short as a pigmy and Oba was the tallest person in sight.

  After a brief round of hellos, Ekewaka said, “You are the last candidates to arrive. The groups endorsed by the Americontinent and Sino Pacific Pact came yesterday. Please follow me to the shuttle.”

  He led them in a straggling line across the crowded terminal to the security gate. When the six women gathered at the immigration desk, he tapped his badge and nodded at the security officer. After a cursory scan of their IDs, the candidates were waved through the barrier.

  Their escort guided them into a quieter section of the airport. With more space available, Zabrina walked beside their escort with Oba, Keisha and Amrita hovering at their heels. Gawping at the glimpses of sunlit sand and palm trees visible through the windows, Holly and Rosie dropped into the rear position. The group passed through an exit and onto a separate airfield with several small aircraft. As they stepped out, waves of heat rose from the tarmac.

  Inhaling the ozone-saturated breeze, Holly gazed across the sun-warmed tarmac at the blue-green ocean and longed to jump into the surf.

  Rosie caught hold of her sister’s arm, saying excitedly, “Doesn’t it look marvelous? I wish we could stay at the beach for a few days.”

  “Maybe later,” Holly murmured. She dared not worry her sister by voicing her inner qualms. If they were rejected as candidates, they might be sent straight home. On the other hand, if they continued to the next stage, they might have to leave Earth for years of training. Recollecting their immediate destination, she said, “The Warrish embassy is on an island. Maybe they’ll allow us to visit the beach.”

  Rosie sighed, “I hope they will.”

  Reluctantly, Holly switched her gaze from the ocean to the airfield.

  The closest aircraft stood about ten meters away. Its short triangular wings bore the familiar logo of Taxyon Space alongside a large red trident.

  Ekewaka pointed at the aircraft. “There’s our transport. This shuttle is reserved for the staff of the Warrish embassy and approved visitors. The red trident is the symbol for the Warrish Triarchs. Those guys are the big bosses in charge of the embassy.”

  After glancing at her companions, Zabrina Sayad, evidently acting as spokeswoman for the Africans, asked, “Is Ambassador Jervaron one of the Triarchs?”

  “No. The Triad of Ambassadors works for the three Red Tridents. You’ll learn more about the Warrish hierarchy at the embassy.”

  A man in the blue uniform of Taxyon Space opened the door of the shuttle and lowered the steps. He waved from the top of the steps. “Aloha, Ekewaka. We’re ready for passengers.”

  Smiling at his entourage, Ekewaka said, “Climb on board.”

  Zabrina led the way, followed by the two darker Africans and Amrita.

  At the rear of the line, the Moon sisters climbed the steps into the shuttle. It had seats for a dozen passengers. The sisters edged past the other women and found two adjacent places in the rear. The other passengers looked bleary-eyed and nervous. Holly guessed they were tired after their long flights and worried about the Warrish assessments.

  After glancing over his entourage, Ekewaka sat at the front behind the cockpit.

  Two young people, a Polynesian man and woman judging by their appearance, hurried into the shuttle. After an amicable exchange with Ekewaka, they dropped into the seats across the aisle from him.

  “Buckle up, guys,” the pilot called. “It might get choppy. We’re flying through the tail end of a big storm.”

  As the shuttle lifted from the runway, the sun rose above the ocean, casting red lights over the waves and low clouds on the horizon. The Hawaiian beaches receded and shuttle droned over the endless, featureless ocean. After the long flight from New London, Holly could not keep her eyes open.

  An hour later, she woke. The steady whine of the engines had deepened. Rosie was still asleep beside her. She glanced over her sister’s head at the window. Still only ocean waves in sight.

  The pilot announced, “We’ll be landing in twenty minutes.”

  “Wake up,” Holly hissed, giving her sister a nudge with an elbow.

  Waking with a start, Rosie murmured, “Are we there?” She looked out at the ocean and complained, “Where’s the island?”

  The shuttle descended at a shallow angle towards the sparkling blue waves.

  The sisters gazed through the window, intent on catching a glimpse of their destination.

  In a minute, Rosie exhaled in satisfaction, and leaned back to give Holly a better view.

  Holly squinted at the horizon. A darker shape rose above the waves. Slowly, the shape resolved into the humped summit of a small island.

  As they flew closer, the rest of the island appeared. The original mount was on a crescent-shaped island forming the center of an arc of islets enclosing a lagoon of aquamarine-hued water. Buildings nestled among the trees on the largest islet.

  The shuttle circled above the atoll, gr
adually losing altitude, before landing on a small airfield adjacent to the ocean.

  Chapter 10

  WHEN THE RUMBLE OF the shuttle’s engines subsided, Ekewaka stood and turned to face the passengers. “Welcome to the Isle of Warra. Remember, the Warrish hold jurisdiction on this site. We must comply with their rules.”

  “What rules?” Rosie whispered.

  Holly nudged her. “Hush.”

  Their guide continued, “The coordinator of this program, Vivian Boyd, will explain when you meet her in the visitors’ residence.”

  They followed him out of the shuttle and crossed the field to a low building. Its walls and roof mimicked the native architecture of wood and thatch. A row of palm trees shaded the entrance, their fronds glistening with drops of water from the recent storm.

  The lobby had a floor of ocher-hued tiles and its open windows admitted a refreshing sea breeze. A woman entered from a doorway on the left of the entrance. She had a pleasant, freckled face, her auburn hair was tied in a ponytail and she wore a trim green dress.

  Ekewaka greeted her, “Aloha, Miss Boyd. Here’s the next batch of future tripilots.”

  She gave a warm smile. “Good morning, ladies. Please skip formalities and call me Vivian. I’m a senior manager in Taxyon Space Enterprises and I coordinate the program to train humans as tripilot astronavigators. For a start, why don’t you tell me your names?”

  The six candidates introduced themselves with differing degrees of enthusiasm.

  “You must be bursting with questions. I’ll answer as many as I can.” Vivian gestured to the doorway. “Let me take you to your rooms and we can talk on the way.”

  Her interest piqued, Holly gripped her sister’s arm and hastened after Vivian Boyd. They entered a corridor with doors and windows on opposite walls.

  Walking beside the coordinator, Holly ventured to ask the burning question, “When will we meet the Warrish?”