“The point being?” Haley asked. She wasn’t trying to be offensive. She was just curious.
“The point is that we’re wired differently. Like you’re a PC and I’m a Mac. We both solve problems, but we might solve those problems in very different ways. That means that the intricacies of our brain activity differs from person to person. And it’s not just PC versus Mac. There must be a staggeringly big number of differences from person to person, which is why the Matrix kind of goes beyond the suspension of disbelief. It assumes that a human brain is analogous to a standardized computer, but that’s just not true.”
Out of the blue, Tyler entered the discussion. “What if it’s a Babel fish?”
“What’s a Babel fish?” Nate asked.
“Oh, Christ!” Kettle clapped his hands. “He could be right.” He quickly scolded himself for judging Tyler negatively before he really got to know him. Anyone who knew what a Babel fish was couldn’t be all that bad.
“What’s a Babel fish?” Nate asked once again, a little annoyed.
“Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy,” Kettle stated. “It’s kind of a sci-fi comedy. Hilarious book. Kind of hard to explain, actually. Anyway, the plot doesn’t matter, but it’s a sci-fi, so the main characters are gallivanting around the galaxy interacting with various aliens. Communication would be an obvious issue, but the way they get around this is to stick a little fish in their ear called a Babel fish. It happily feeds off of brain energy and excretes kind of this telepathic energy back to the brain. Then when you hear someone speaking a new language, the words run into that telepathic energy coming off the Babel fish, which decodes the incoming language for you. Presto! You understand what people are saying. It’s sort of a universal translator, I guess.”
“That’s ridiculous,” Nate said.
“Yeah, but . . .”
“And it’s not the same situation because it wouldn’t work unless both people had the fish thingy in their ear.”
“Yeah, but . . .”
“The principle kind of make sense though.”
“Yeah, but . . . Wait, what?”
“Brains can’t be standardized, but the function of the Babel fish could be. Maybe that’s what’s going on with the thing on the back of your neck. If it’s pre-loaded with all the languages you need, then it could potentially be doing the heavy lifting instead of your brain. I mean, instead of trying to insert a program into your brain by messing with your neurons, it’s just working like a portable hard drive, or a portable second brain. It’s a piggy-back brain onto your regular brain, one that’s entirely devoted to being a language center.”
“Is that even possible?” Haley asked.
“If I weren’t sitting here watching you two, I’d say there’s no way in hell. But who the hell am I?”
“Okay,” Haley said. “For argument’s sake, let’s say it’s some kind of portable language device, and now Kettle and I can just speak whatever languages it has in there. That still leaves us with a ton of questions.”
“Like?”
“Like why would someone install it on Kettle and I in the middle of a plane crash? I mean, there must only be a few people on the planet who are aware that this technology even exists. So why put it on two nobodies – no offense, Kettle – while we’re falling into the sea? I can’t think of a single reason why that would happen.”
“Plus whatever else he did to us,” Kettle pointed out. “He gave us a couple of shots in the arm before the language thingy.”
“If it’s even a language device,” Nate reminded them. “We still don’t know that for sure.”
Haley huffed out a long breath and ran her fingers through her hair. She was clearly running over something in her mind. “You saw the people who rescued us,” she eventually said. Everyone nodded, knowing what she was going to say before she said it. “You saw their clothes, and you saw their weapons. That’s not normal. Some of them had swords! I know there are pirates around Somalia; I remember seeing them on the news a bunch of times. They have big knives and stuff like that, but they don’t have swords!” She pointed to one of the ship’s crew members near the stairs. “Look at her. Look at that gun on her belt. That’s like something in an antique store, or something on the wall of a pub in London.”
“Not swords,” Dallas said. “Cutlasses.”
“There was something else,” Tyler interjected. “Something that happened on the plane. I’ve been thinking about it, but it doesn’t make any sense.”
“What’s that, brah?” Dallas asked. Kettle was starting to get annoyed all over again by the constant use of the word brah.
“We left DG in the middle of the day. They took our phones, so I don’t know exactly when we departed, but I guess it was a little after twelve. Then we were in the air for what, maybe half an hour before the storm hit. And after that, we started to crash. I don’t know how long that took before we actually hit the water, but when you take all of that into consideration, we probably crashed sometime between one and two pm. But . . .”
“But it was morning when we crashed,” Kettle finished for him. “The sun was just coming up.”
“Yeah, exactly.”
“I noticed that, too.”
Dallas’ eyes went wide. He straightened his back and looked around at the others in a conspiratory glance. He spoke in a hushed voice. “Holy shit. Did we just time travel?” There was only silence. Everyone in the cell looked at each other and clammed up. Kettle guessed that no one was quite willing to admit the ridiculousness of the suggestion.
“Or we jumped locations,” Soup countered. “If we somehow went through a portal that instantly took us from the Indian Ocean to somewhere else in the world, that would explain the position of the sun, too.”
“Is that possible?” Dallas inquired.
“Of course not,” Nate replied. “But neither is time travel.”
“There’s one way we could find out,” said Kettle. All eyes turned on him expectantly. “We could just ask them.” He pointed to a fat woman pulling a squawking chicken out of a cage nearby their cell. “Haley and I speak their language. We could talk to them and find out where we are. And this sounds a bit silly, but we could also ask them when we are, if you know what I mean.”
Nathan shook his head. “That might not be such a good idea. And I think Dallas here would agree. Military tactics dictate that you don’t give up an advantage unless absolutely necessary. Right now, we have the ability to understand what they’re saying, but they don’t know we have that ability. It might be best to just sit tight and listen in. Maybe they’ll divulge some useful information.”
Kettle thought about this. When he had first been thrown in the cell, he had been dazed, in pain and wanting nothing more than this nightmare to be over. He was pretty sure that he had pissed himself on the airplane and then again when he hit the water. Now, however, his curiosity was starting to override the other basic emotions circulating through his mind and body, including fear and shame.
The conversation seemed to have ended, at least for the time being. Each of them returned to their own private thoughts. For Kettle, those thoughts returned back to the events prior to the crash. Immediately, an image of Jay popped into his mind. What had happened to Jay? He had been at the back of the plane trying to help others. His selflessness might have cost him his life. Might have. Kettle refused to believe with certainty that Jay was dead. He had asked the others when they were first thrown in the cell whether or not they had seen him. No one had.
Kettle wondered if it was strange that he wasn’t crying for his friend. Shouldn’t he be more emotional? Shouldn’t he be weeping at the possibility of Jay’s death, let alone all the others aboard the plane? He felt sorrow, but it was a numb sorrow. Maybe his feelings were dulled and blunted because there was a possibility that Jay was still alive. Or maybe it was because he just wasn’t a very good person.
His thoughts drifted to Emma. Numbness faded away. His thoughts sharpened. What was Emma doing
? Was she sitting in Seattle reading the email he had sent her? Was she composing a reply? Or was she furious because he had taken so long to answer her initial letter?
Mostly, he just wondered if he would ever meet his daughter.
2.4 SAELIKO
The sea was lively but not rough. The skies were dappled with puffy white clouds, and the sails were billowing out under the force of a fast breeze pushing them west toward their destination.
Saeliko was immensely satisfied with the way things had gone since triggering the mutiny. As she had guessed they would be, the sailors were overwhelmingly amicable to the idea of turning pirate. Equally important, they had all come to see Janx as the one obstacle standing in the way of that future. Any loyalty they had once had for the harker had been eroded away by months of poor leadership and a gradually steepening slide into poverty.
It was important now to make the crew busy. They needed purpose. They also needed to see that their work was being put to improving their situation. However, before any of that could happen, some decisions needed to be made. She nodded toward Brenna, indicating that she wanted silence.
“All right, all right,” Brenna barked. “Quiet down, you pus-filled warts. Listen up or I’ll shut you up!” Brenna was as eloquent as ever. Saeliko refilled her glass from a nearby bottle while the din died down.
“First thing’s first,” she said once she was sure that her voice could be heard. “When we left Butterfly Island, we held the vote. You’ve all cast your choices, as did I. As I told you before, all votes are equal, just as they will be from here on in.” She let that sink in for a moment. She was going to be emphasizing that point for some time to come. She wanted her crew to feel invested in their joint venture. “Now, we put Shen in charge of counting the votes. She has the results, but before she gives us those results, we need to be in agreement on our Lavic friend here. Is there any woman or man onboard the Epoch who thinks that Shen might try to rig the vote? If so, speak your mind now and no harm shall befall you.” There was silence. A few women looked directly at Shen and nodded their heads in approval. Shen might not have been Maelian, but she was respected nonetheless.
“Right then,” Saeliko went on. “Let it be known that these results will be binding. Are we clear?”
“Aye!” came the resounding response.
The Lavic plotter mounted the steps up to the quarterdeck, parchment in hand. Her blonde hair fluttered in the breeze, strands criss-crossing her narrow face. When she reached Saeliko’s side, she turned and faced the crew. She spoke loudly so everyone could hear. “With Sammaraeli gone, we need a new master rigger. There are eighty-three of us on this ship. Three different candidates were put forward. The final tally was fifty-one, twenty-two and ten. Sistren and brethren, Lakkari is our new master rigger.”
This was no real surprise. Saeliko had already guessed the outcome. Lakkari had been Sammaraeli’s apprentice for the last year since they had added her to the crew in New Dagos. She was short and had a pot-belly, and her spiky black hair was more comical than anything else, but she had proven a hard worker and a quick study. She wondered who had voted against her. Saeliko would probably never know. As vote counter, Shen was sworn to confidentiality. Saeliko spotted the diminutive Maelian amongst the throng of bodies. Other sailors were patting her on the back and smiling.
“For the position of harker, two names were put forward.” This surprised Saeliko. She had hoped to be a unanimous choice. Who would dare vote against having a Saffisheen harker? She didn’t let her emotions show as Shen read off her parchment.
“The votes were eighty and three. Sistren and brethren, Saeliko is our new harker.” Shouts of approval rang out over the deck. Some of the women whistled and cheered. Saeliko laughed, gave out a bellowing hoot, and held her cup up once again. At the same time, her eyes scanned over the faces spread out in front of her. She wanted to know who had voted against her. Most likely, it was Deshi. The seven-year veteran of the Epoch had been openly belligerent when Saeliko had called the palaver to depose Janx. That meant Deshi, plus two other snakes in the grass.
“Since this was expected,” Shen went on after the din died down, “we held a vote for the position of qarlden under the assumption that Saeliko would abdicate the title. There were five candidates put forward.” This sent a murmur across the throng of bodies on the main deck. Saeliko didn’t much care who won the vote, as long as it wasn’t Deshi. “The votes were twenty-nine, twenty-five, fifteen, nine and five. Sistren and brethren, Brenna is our new qarlden.”
“Ah ho!” Brenna yelled, her fists raised high in the air. For once, she was all smiles. She even withheld her usual round of expletives. Congratulatory slaps to the back of the head and cheerful punches to the shoulders came from all around her.
Good, thought Saeliko. Brenna would be fine. She roused the crew well enough, she knew her way around the boat, and maybe more importantly, she would probably go along with just about anything her harker suggested. Unity at the top of the hierarchy would benefit the Epoch.
“Next on the agenda,” Saeliko called out. She waited until the hubbub diminished and eighty-two sets of eyes returned to her. “I have a confession to make. When we left Butterfly Island, I chose our destination and asked Shen to plot a course. I didn’t consult anyone. I made the decision alone, and this was wrong of me.” She extended an arm out conciliatorily and bowed her head for a moment before continuing. “I should have consulted you. We should choose our path through the Sollian together.
“This is how we operate now. The Epoch is a pirate vessel. That means it’s our ship. Not my ship, not any person’s ship. She belongs to the lot of us. There is but one stipulation to this arrangement, and on this we need to be crystal clear. When we are engaged in battle, or when we find ourselves in a situation that demands a chain of command, then my orders will be followed with hair splitting precision.
“Now.” She pointed out toward the horizon over the bowsprit in front of the ship. “My fellow pirates.” The word pirate was becoming more comfortable the more she said it. “I gather you’re all probably wondering just where we’re headed, so I’ll tell you. Our hull is clean, our water barrels are full, and we’ve got a pile o’ meat and fish in our hold, but you may have noticed we’re a bit short on something rather important.”
“What’s that?” Brenna asked. Others raised their voices in question as well.
“Pirates,” Saeliko responded. This is a forty-gun ship. If we’re sailing into a fight, we’re going to be requiring a lot more than eighty-three souls to woman those cannons and do everything else that needs doing.” There were nods all around. Janx had been planning to recruit more sailors in New Dagos, and the crew knew it. Eighty-three was too few. A hundred and twenty or thirty would be reasonable for a ship the Epoch’s size. More would be tight, but maybe worth the squeeze. “Which is why we’re headed to Myffa’s Cove.” This sent a series of whispers and mutterings across the crowd like wind rippling across wheat in the fields.
Jren was the first to speak up. “Sure that’s wise, harker?” Saeliko understood the concern. Myffa’s Cove was pretty much off limits for anyone who hadn’t been officially recognized by the Red Council. They would have to pay a tribute.
“Well, we can’t bloody well sail into New Dagos and start recruiting crew under the governess’ nose. We’ll have nothing more than ropes around our necks for our trouble.”
“What about Meshaltown?” Brenna suggested. “We could have our way with that hog’s turd and just take who we need. Plus I’m wagering that more than a few o’ us could do with a little visit to the Crooked Pig and the fuckhouse behind it.” This immediately roused a cascade of cheers and laughs. Saeliko laughed, too. Amba bent over while Fat Rat grabbed her hips from behind and pretended to thrust inside of her, much to everyone’s great mirth. It took a few moments, plus a few sharp whistles from Brenna, before they quieted back down again.
“Meshaltown is all weakness and despair,” Saeliko told them. �
��You saw the citizens of that snake-infested mud hole. They’re not worthy of standing on this deck. Now, Myffa’s on the other hand, there’s a town with women who have looked down the barrel of a rifle and not flinched. Those are the sort of recruits we need, my sistren. We want women who are resourceful, women who won’t shy away when the cannons start to fire and the grappling hooks are being tossed. We need some women with a little fucking acumen, and we’re not going to be finding them on Dyssal Main.”
“Is there a fuckhouse in Myffa’s Cove?” Jren inquired. Many of the pirates around her grunted their approval for Jren’s line of inquiry.
“Aye, three of ‘em.”
“Three?” This from several at once.
“Yes. Three fuckhouses.”
“Three?”
“Yes, three. Am I stuttering? Last I heard, they’ve got three of ‘em. Biggest one is called the Banana. They say the rentboys and harlots are imported from Qomari. They go through some sort of special training. Extra limber and all that.”
Dommel cut in with his own concerns. “Do they have Qomari girls, too?”
Fat Rat answered before Saeliko could open her mouth. “I heard they’ve got Lannari and Kalleshi girls there, and that they cater to all types of predilections.”
“How young?” Brenna asked. Groans all around.
“Young enough even for you,” Fat Rat confirmed. “I met a guy in New Davos last winter who said he’d been up in Myffa’s Cove for a solid month just drinking and whoring. Said he had a girl who could make him fire his man-cannon four times a day.”
“You believe that, you’re a right amount dumber than I thought you were,” Jren put in.
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