by Jordan Rivet
“How quickly do you think they’ll notice these two are gone?” she interrupted, pointing at the sailors Dirk had knocked out. “What if someone comes down to check the cargo?”
“We’ll pop ’em like fish in a barrel.”
“Great way to guarantee they’ll notice something’s wrong,” Esther snapped. “You’d better hide these guys and pray no one comes looking for them until we’re clear of the main traffic channels. And until you start thinking with that lumpy head of yours, you’d better listen to me.” Esther was bluffing, but she was also angry. They were going to ruin everything.
Dirk, well over six feet tall, loomed above her, muscular arms crossed. Esther waited for him to raise the lead pipe again, but to her supreme relief he chuckled. “All right. Calm down. We’ll stick to the plan.”
She nodded. “Good. Now if you’ll let me get to work . . .”
The men hid the two sailors in the corner and collected weapons. There were no firearms in the hold, but they gathered pipes, ropes, and tools—anything they could use to appear threatening. Anything that would defend them better than brittle stage rifles.
Esther ripped open the boxes from the Mist, nearly bursting into tears at what she found. The boxes contained RO filters, and at least a third of them were the same type she used on the Catalina. They were exactly what she needed. She could rebuild their desalination system to accommodate the other ones. This would keep them going for years—if they could just find the Catalina.
Esther pulled the handheld radio from her pocket and switched it on. “Byron, come in.” She waited. “Can you hear me?” She hoped the thick hull wouldn’t render the radio useless. “Byron?”
Finally, a voice crackled through the radio, barely intelligible. “Byron here. What’s your status?”
“We’re in the hold. Filters are good.”
“Right behind you. Out.” Esther slowed her breathing and waited. Byron and his crew would follow the Lucinda toward the water ship. In a few minutes, David would hail Lucinda’s captain from his yacht, the Abby Rae, and talk himself aboard. Esther waited for Byron to confirm David’s position. She listened to the low crackle of the radio, keeping her eyes on Dirk and the others, trying the gauge their mood. They were not patient men. They were capable of taking off with the Lucinda and leaving the Catalina to its fate.
Esther could feel the Lucinda’s speed through her shoes. Even though it was just a delivery run, she was swift. The rush of the waves and the hum of the engine buzzed through the room.
Suddenly, footsteps clomped down the stairs to the hold door.
“Rogers! Quincy! You in here?”
Esther switched off the radio and dove behind a box as the door opened and a beam of light split the floor.
“Rogers? Quincy? Where are you, you lazy bastards?”
The sailor walked a few steps into the room, giving the boxes a cursory glance. Dirk crouched opposite Esther, twisting the lead pipe in his hand. She gestured violently for him to wait. He stared at her for a moment, then relaxed his grip on the pipe.
“Dammit. Probably off napping somewhere,” the sailor muttered as he left the hold, slamming the door behind him.
The oilmen emerged slowly from the corners. “How much longer we gotta wait, girl?”
“Wait for the signal or we’re cooked,” she said.
“How much longer?” he repeated.
“We’ve gotta be almost to the water ship by now. We’re moving fast.” Esther clicked the radio back on. “Byron, you there?” Had she missed the signal? “Byron?” But there was no answer.
Esther had lost track of how much time they’d spent in the hold. What if she’d missed the message? She wanted to kick Dirk for knocking out Rogers and Quincy. One of the two had regained consciousness, but his bindings held him securely.
She went to the door and eased it open. The passageway outside was deserted. The oilmen gathered around her, hulking shapes in the darkness. They waited, breathless, for any sound from above. All they heard was the hum of the engines, the whisper of the sea.
Then the radio crackled. “It’s time.”
Esther and the oilmen shouldered their weapons and stalked silently through the door. She walked a few steps ahead to make sure their path was clear and found a narrow passageway of crew cabins. She tiptoed along, listening for any sound of movement. There was a metallic clatter behind her. She whirled around. One of the oilmen sheepishly picked up a dropped pipe.
At the end of the passageway, Esther found a ladder leading up to a hatch that should open out on deck. Carefully, she climbed up and pushed the hatch open a few inches. Sailors walked back and forth in front of her, only their feet visible, shouting and laughing as they went about their normal duties. Esther pushed the hatch up a bit farther so she could see more of the deck and a strip of the sea beyond it. There was no sign of David and his crew, and the Lucinda was almost to the water ship.
“Stop,” she whispered to the men behind her. “We can’t go up yet. The others haven’t made contact.”
The water ship grew larger, looming above the deck as Lucinda sailed nearer. They were going to miss their chance. They were too late.
“Come on, David, don’t let us down.”
A pair of feet started toward her, and Esther crouched lower, only her eyes above the line of the deck. Had someone seen her? The feet weren’t moving too quickly. She prayed their owner had some other destination in mind than this hatch.
Then a shout came from beyond the bow. “Ahoy there!”
The voice was faint, but Esther almost cried in recognition.
“You, on the Lucinda. We’re down here on the Abby Rae. Where is your captain?” It was David.
The pair of feet on the deck turned around. Other members of the crew followed, heading for the bow.
“What’s your business, Abby Rae?” said a woman.
“Permission to come aboard. This is David Hawthorne, the captains’ spokesman.”
“We’re already on goddamn delivery duty. What do they want now?”
She had a scratchy voice like an old hinge.
“I have a new mission for the Lucinda when you’ve completed your drop,” David called.
“So, radio it in and let me get on with my business,” the woman shouted.
Esther imagined the ingratiating smile that must be spreading over David’s face as he answered, his voice full of charm. “This mission is sensitive. It’s ideally suited for an exquisite ship like the Lucinda. She’s the most beautiful thing on the water for a hundred leagues, Captain.”
The woman snorted, unimpressed. “Too sensitive for radio?”
“Yes, ma’am. I received it from Captain Boris. He instructed me to deliver the message to you in person. May we come aboard?”
The woman was quiet for a moment. Mention of Boris seemed to convince her in a way that flattery hadn’t.
“All right then,” she barked. “Lewis, get the ladder.”
The crew gathered around, and Esther counted pairs of feet. Eight. Ten. Twelve. It was close enough. She held her breath until David’s shiny boots appeared on deck. He was still singing the praises of the Lucinda to the captain as Neal and the others came off the ladder. The hijackers were in place.
David’s voice rang across the deck, close now. “Thank you ever so much. Now if you’ll just allow us to bring a special shipment aboard, I’ll explain the mission. My crew may need some help.”
Esther knew more of the hijackers would be rolling barrels of oil onto the deck of the Abby Rae to be loaded onto the Lucinda. It didn’t matter if they got all of it on board before they made their move, but it would certainly get the attention of the crew.
“What the hell’s all this?” the captain demanded.
Esther pushed her head a little farther out of the hatch. The woman, who wore a cap with the bill pulled straight over her eyes, and several others watched David’s crew hoist barrels up the side of the Lucinda with ropes.
The captain scowled at their e
fforts. “You going to fill me in on this mission before you start loading up my ship?”
“Don’t worry, Captain. This is just a bit of insurance,” David said.
“That’s the signal,” Esther said to the men behind her. “Let’s move.”
They burst onto the deck, hollering and brandishing weapons. Paris had coached them in how to carry the weapons so they looked real—and loaded. The oilmen rushed the crew gathered in the bow, who whirled around, confused. The oilmen swung their pipes, cracking as many heads as they could reach before the sailors knew what had hit them.
At the first shouts from the oilmen, David’s crew heaved a large barrel across the deck, knocking down two sailors with the momentum. The barrel tumbled toward the pilothouse and crashed to a halt.
David tackled the captain, wrestling with her to keep her from running to the pilothouse.
Esther darted to the starboard rail. Zoe, Eva, and Toni ran past, heading aft to catch anyone who might be hiding at the stern. Zoe had a grim smile on her face. Another group, brandishing stage guns, headed for the pilothouse.
Byron was waiting, his water taxi bobbing below Lucinda’s shoulder. He tossed a rope ladder up to Esther and she secured it. The crew from the water taxi—including Dax, his remaining friend, Raymond, and Adele—scurried up the ladder and onto the ship to join the fray. Adele looked remarkably convincing with her fake machine gun.
Two gunshots rang out from somewhere, but that was all. Everyone had been warned to take charge of any real guns as quickly as possible.
It was over in seconds. Esther looked around. The deck was quiet. David had the captain in a headlock, but he stood calmly as ever, surveying the damage. The Lucinda’s sailors were either unconscious on the floor or sitting beneath the barrels of the stage guns. A muffled shout came from a man in the stern, but he was soon quieted.
“Well, lookee here. This turned out well.” Byron climbed from the ladder to the deck of the Lucinda.
“We’re not done yet,” Esther said. “Let’s get the rest of the supplies on board. Neal, get to the bridge and see whether anyone had a chance to send an SOS. Come on people, let’s move.”
Neal saluted and dashed to the pilothouse. Byron and a few helpers began to unload his boat and help the children safely aboard.
Esther ran to the bow and scanned the water ship looming over them. Had anyone seen them? David’s crew loaded the last of the oil barrels and supply crates onto the Lucinda. They’d managed to procure an impressive amount. They set the Abby Rae loose from her moorings and let her drift gently away.
Meanwhile, David was trying to drag the captain to the pilothouse, but she was putting up a fight. Her cap had come off, and her wiry dark hair clung to the sweat on her forehead. David yelped as she bit into his arm. Esther arrived just in time to catch hold of her and help him.
“Look,” Esther said as they pulled the captain along. “We need your ship. Help us get her under way, and then we’ll send you back to the Galaxy. No one gets hurt. Don’t make this harder than it has to be.”
The captain glowered at them and her struggling intensified.
“Hey, Esther! What do you want us to do with these goons?” Dax shouted. He was standing over a group of sailors, a stage gun in his hand.
“Get them onto Byron’s taxi. He should be done unloading by now. Destroy the radio and disable the engine. Watch them to make sure no one sends up a warning too soon.” She forced an extra dose of menace into her voice. “If they swim for it, shoot them.”
They were drifting awfully close to the water ship. Esther looked up its sheer sides again. Was that the outline of a head above the bulwarks?
Someone else called to her. “Esther, where do you want the kids?” Byron’s wife had taken charge of the three children in addition to Thera who were coming along with their families.
“Take them to the cargo hold for now. Bring a man with you to get the two sailors tied up in there.”
Toni popped her head out of the hatch. “Esther! Dirk said to tell you the engines are clear. We’re fired up and ready to go.”
“Thanks. Check in with Byron, will you? Find out how much time we have.”
“Got it.”
David was watching her over the head of their captive captain. “It seems you’re in charge, Esther.”
“What? We don’t have time for this. Up you go.”
Esther grabbed the captain’s belt and used it to push her into the compact pilothouse. The woman was not light, but with David’s help they got her in front of the wheel. They had agreed it would be easier to get the captain to steer them through the Flotilla than to waste time figuring out how to operate the Lucinda during these crucial moments.
“All right, we’re going as far away from the Galaxy as we can get. Take us east.”
“Fuck you and the horse you road in on.” The captain spat, but Esther’s grip on her neck kept the spittle away from her shoes.
Neal had already taken over a headset at one of the control consoles. “We got people asking what’s up, Esther,” he said. “We need to move now.”
Esther nodded. “Come on, Cap. Let’s go.”
The woman didn’t budge. They needed her to cooperate. They were too near the other ships. Anyone could look down and see something was wrong.
David spoke up. “Here’s the deal. That taxi we just loaded your crew onto? It’s rigged with explosives. You help us, or we’ll blow the whole thing sky-high. You have ten seconds.”
“You’re bluffing,” the captain said.
David’s face remained impassive. “You want to bet the life of your crew on that? Ten, nine, eight . . .”
She stared daggers at him. Esther gripped her tighter, ready for an escape attempt.
“Fine.”
The woman sprang into motion, and Esther stepped back just enough to let her take the helm. The Lucinda had drifted even closer to the water ship, but the captain turned the wheel hard and throttled the engines, and the ship sped past the hull. The Lucinda really was fast.
They cleared the water ship, and for a moment all Esther could see was pure blue water and the broad afternoon sky.
Then a shout came up from the portside. “It’s the destroyer!”
Chapter 26—Pursuit
The destroyer came out of nowhere, cutting toward the Lucinda like a hulking gray hurricane. She was big—five hundred feet of crisp steel topped with a bulbous radar tower—and she was fast.
“She’s supposed to be on the other side of the Flotilla,” David said. “I checked this morning.”
“Someone must have reported us,” Neal said, his face ashen.
“We can’t let her get too close. Come on, faster!” Esther shouted, slamming a fist down on the control console. The destroyer would cut them off before they could even get up to thirty knots.
The captain, seeing everyone was distracted, wasted no time. She killed the engine, turned the wheel hard, and dug her heel into Esther’s foot. The ship lurched. Chaos erupted on the bridge as everyone fell sideways. David stumbled, losing his grip on the captain. Pain shot through Esther’s foot as her stitches finally ripped open. She dropped to the floor, pulling the captain down with her. She tried to flatten the larger woman beneath her while David grabbed the wheel.
Neal regained his footing and pulled one earphone down. “The destroyer’s on the radio, Esther. They know what we’re trying to do.”
Esther struggled, barely maintaining her grip on the captain. Blood from her reopened cut was filling her shoe.
“Talking won’t help now. Neal, take this one down and throw her overboard. She’s too much of a liability.”
The captain protested. Neal flagged Raymond to help him. They took the captain’s arms and dragged her out of the pilothouse, not letting her feet find the deck. Seconds later, Esther heard another litany of curses—and a splash.
“It’s up to you now, David,” she said, getting to her feet. “Hurry it up, will you?”
Da
vid nodded. His fingers flew across the control panel, and soon the engines had chugged to life again. “Let’s see what this lady can do.” David leaned over the wheel, eyes intent on the destroyer.
The warship had made up a lot of distance already and was nearly upon them. Its deck was alive with activity, and a huge gun in the bow stood out in sharp relief against the sky. “That’s a four and a half inch Mark 8,” David said. “All the Type 45s have ’em.”
“You reckon it’s loaded?” Esther said.
“It’s loaded. The Hampton doesn’t have any missiles left, though, so that’s something.”
The distance between the ships shrank. David sailed straight, speeding toward the narrowing gap that was their only hope of escaping the Flotilla. They weren’t going to make it. The destroyer was too fast.
“Whatever you do, don’t stop moving,” Esther said. Then she picked up the microphone Neal had abandoned, flicked the switch on the control panel, and shouted into the radio. “You on the destroyer! Can you hear me?”
A moment of silence. Then: “Copy. This is the HMS Hampton.”
“This is Lucinda. We have captives aboard. Hold your fire.”
“Lucinda, by order of the Galaxy captains you are to cut your engines immediately.”
“We’ll kill the captives if you don’t give us safe passage out of here,” Esther said.
The radio was silent for a moment. Then a new voice came on the air: “Permission to allow casualties has been granted. Turn back or we will fire.”
Rust. “Repeat: we have captives aboard . . . and a missile aimed at the deck of the destroyer.”
David glanced at her.
“Repeat: permission to allow casualties has been granted. Turn back.”
Esther gripped the edge of the console so hard her fingers ached. They were still picking up speed, but not fast enough.
“What are your terms?” she asked.
“This is not a negotiation,” said the voice on the radio.
David waved at her and mouthed, “It’s Boris.” For the first time, he looked nervous.
Esther thought fast. “Yes, it is a negotiation. I have friends on the Flotilla, and they’re watching us. If you refuse to negotiate, they will tell everyone you gunned down Galaxy civilians. Panic will spread through the ships.”