Her Master's Voice

by Jacqueline George

  “So there they were. They could fish for food, and they had rice anyway. Firewood, water cans to catch rain, they were quite happy. We offered to take them off but they didn’t want it. They were just going to wait until they drifted ashore and they could get the boat onto its side. Then they were going to unload it—I don’t know what they were carrying—and pull it upright, and start again. Hard to believe, isn’t it? We gave them bottled water and left them to it.”

  Tim thought about that. It was quite believable, even in the land of tall tales. “I guess we’re all pretty slack. I’ve never heard of divers working the way they do here. They don’t seem to have any surface support at all. They don’t even go down fixed lines, just splosh over the side. Free diving, and no decompression chamber within hours. Even most of the Krumbein’s operation would be laughed at in the States or Europe, and you know the fuss they make about their professionalism and all that crap.”

  The Captain stretched luxuriously. “That’s the way it’s always been out here. It’s good. I like it. You should see places like the North Sea. Every other guy you meet out there is some kind of inspector. Can’t get a job done for all of them looking over your shoulder. Here you can just get on with it. The Indonesians won’t bother you, as long as you’re polite to the devious little bastards.”

  “How long have you been doing this, Captain?”

  “Since Vietnam. No place for people like me back home, so I just stayed on. Kinda neglected to file my IRS for a few years, so there’s no way I could ever go back. They’d just throw my ass into jail so, what the hell. I like it better out here anyway. Working on getting me an Indonesian passport, just in case. Sulawesi, that’s the place. Beautiful! When I finish up here, I’m going to get me a schooner out of Ujung Pandang and live on it. When I need a change, I’ll rent a couple of hands to help and just drift up the coast a bit. What else do you need? Most of the island doesn’t have roads anyway, so everyone lives with one foot in the sea. It’ll suit me.”

  “What about the people? Will they accept you?”

  “No problem. They like foreigners, and once they’re used to you, you’re part of the family.”

  “You’re not Muslim, are you?”

  “Me? Hell, no! I don’t hold with all that stuff, and if I did, there’s no way one of those doctor butchers is going to trim the end off my prick. Anyway, there’s lots of Christians on Sulawesi, and all sorts of local religions too. A lot of them don’t even speak Indonesian properly. There’s even some Dutch folk left over.”

  “So you don’t get too many Islamic crazies?”

  “In Sulawesi? Why would they bother? Sometimes the villages fight a bit but I guess they’d be doing that anyway, religion or not. However you look at it, there’s nothing there for the really vicious ones. I tell you, you’re more likely to get into trouble around here than Sulawesi. There’s always a few who get crazy with religion, same as anywhere I guess, but here there’s lots of foreign targets to blow up. So Allah tells them to go and kill a few people, wouldn’t be difficult. Just think of the publicity they’d get. Knocking off a few village people’s nothing. Wouldn’t even get into the Indonesian papers, but if they were to get a PetroFrance guy, well, you can imagine. There’d be television, foreign papers, everything. They’d be celebrities.”

  It was not a comforting thought. Tim stood up to stretch and look for CCB-1. It should come into sight soon.

  “When do you reckon we’ll get there?” he asked the Captain.

  “After midnight in the rain. That’s the way it’s got to be. Traditional. What’s for dinner?”

  “Spaghetti. You don’t want to wait until we get there? Think of Renaldo’s cooking.”

  “I’ll be dead of starvation if we wait until then. Why don’t you take a shower and I’ll get started?”

  They were back on the verandah, stomachs over-full, staring forward at the tug. The night-time sea was glassy smooth and the barge moved as if it was still in its delta. Below them Raymond and the guys had brought chairs out onto the deck and were sitting at the rail, chattering quietly and trailing fishing lines. Ahead, the bright lights of the tug made a stage set of its after deck. In the distance, sometimes visible, sometimes hidden behind the tug’s bridge, shone the lights of CCB-1.

  “Think I’ll lie down for a couple of hours,” said the Captain. “You going to stay up? Someone should.”

  “Fine. I’ll call you if anything happens.”

  Tim sat alone. He liked being offshore. It appealed to his sense of adventure. He stood at the railing and looked along the side of the barge. Water was foaming past the tyre fenders. He reminded himself to shorten their ropes tomorrow. Sea snakes liked to climb up on them and he could do without them. The night was cloudy and horizon invisible. There was nothing to see. Far astern, the flashing buoys of the delta channel had disappeared. In the whole world there was only the barge, the tug and the distant lights of CCB-1. It was a satisfying feeling.

  He turned over in his mind the memory of Sherry on Pulau Ikan. Pleasant thoughts. Initially he had worried about her reaction to the chains. He had been frightened that they would scare her off permanently, but that had not happened. It still surprised him that she had done what Alistair had predicted and accepted them. Even enjoyed them in the end. She had been fantastic on their last morning on the island, making love with such enthusiasm and finesse. She had never been so good at it before, and the way she had lost control of herself and come and come... It had been a wonderful experience and he wanted to repeat it. Right now if he could, except that Sherry was back in Singapore, and there would be no substitute for her out here on the ocean. He would just have to dream, and remember one of the nicest things about the whole trip. When he had opened his briefcase at the airport, looking for his passport, he had found a greetings card. Addressed to My Love Tim and containing Sherry’s single ticket to Heathrow. Nice thoughts; but there was nothing he could do about them now. He sat and read until the cold wind drove him inside.

  Years of practice woke the Captain when they were drawing close. They could see CCB-1 clearly now, moored to the tall well platform, a well-lit steel island in the rising sea. The wind was fitful as the black sky prepared to rain. The Captain got on the radio to call CCB-1 and to give instructions to the tug. They were steaming into a rainstorm. Tim put a rain slicker on and went out to watch.

  It hit them as the tug slowed to bring them alongside CCB-1. Immediately Sea Sprite IV started to drift, crabbing sideways.

  “Have the guys stand by for a rope,” ordered the Captain. “We’re only going to get one go at this. Why don’t you get down there and help them?” He had his walkie-talkie in his hand and was standing on the open verandah, dripping rain. Tim went down to join the men on deck. They had huddled in the shelter of his verandah.

  A catspaw spun into them and wild rain slashed under the verandah. Water was everywhere, running off their hair and faces, soaking them inside their slickers. The barge swung wildly towards a massive platform leg. Tim watched as the black bulk of CCB-1 heaved ponderously up to show its barnacled hull and drew one of its mooring cables up high out of the water. Sea Sprite IV would catch it amidships.

  Then the barge spun round as the tug plucked it sideways as if on a rubber rope and took them away from the black churning danger. The Captain had decided to abandon this run and Tim went upstairs. He found the Captain hanging up his clothes to dry. They would sleep and wait for calmer weather and daylight.

  They came alongside at first light and moored sweetly to the crane barge. They were in time for Renaldo’s breakfast, and for Captain Straughan to hitch a lift back to land on the helicopter bringing the PetroFrance representative for the planned operation.

  They sat in the steamy mess eating their viande fumeé. It felt good to be in Renaldo’s care again and, from his beaming face in the kitchen, he was happy to see them. Renaldo liked old friends. He came to sit and gossip when the CCB-1 crew had left to start their day’s work.

/>   “Capitan y marinero, non?”

  “Yup, that’s me. I’ve decided to be a sailor,” said Tim. “Sailing the ocean blue. Or the ocean brown around here.” The Captain just smiled.

  “So, they give me new billy boy, you see? Very pretty. Muy linda!”

  They looked again at the kitchen hand washing the plates. In an apron and small white cap he—or she—looked normally male at first sight. Slim, dark, lightly built, just like most Indonesians, but there was something about her face, plucked eyebrows maybe, or fuller lips, that made for uncertainty. Tim looked for breasts under her loose shirt. She started scrubbing vigorously at one of the stainless steel surfaces and his doubts evaporated. There were items of interest under that shirt. She looked up suddenly and caught him staring.

  “Ah-ha! So Tim is interested,” laughed Renaldo. “Come and I will introduce you.”

  Tim was embarrassed. “No, certainly not! I was just curious,” but he was too late. Renaldo had called her over.

  She had a pretty, open face and stood shyly beside Renaldo. “Now guys, this is Janice, my new offsider. Janice, this is Capitan Straughan, he’s a very big man, and this is Mr. Tim, he is my friend. He likes cornbread and coffee like me. While he is here you take good care of him, OK?” Janice muttered something under her breath and hurried off, swinging her hips.

  “Very nice, Renaldo,” said the Captain. “She must make you very happy.”

  “Me? Oh no. I leave that for the young men, like Tim here. No, no, I don’t look, I don’t ask no questions. She works good, and if she wears a skirt in the evening and plays with the crew, well, not my business. The crew, they like to have a billy boy. You see when they go for break, they all put on their life jackets, climb into the fast boat. They take care of her, help her go down the side, just like a sister.”

  “You’re right there. Even the island schooners like to have a billy boy along if they can,” agreed the Captain. “See ‘em all the time. Don’t know how that works on a small boat. Don’t want to know, come to think of it.”

  The tannoy was calling and the Captain grabbed his bag and made for the helideck. The characteristic wup-wup-wup of a Huey filled the air and the bird was overhead and settling. Minutes later it flew on its way again and the PetroFrance engineer and his Indonesian counterpart came down the stairs. Work on the rig-up could start.

  Tim and the crew spent a slow day, mostly waiting for the crane. At intervals, when it could spare a few minutes, it swung over Sea Sprite IV and picked up their equipment a bit at a time. When everyone else was ready, Tim would circulate the well with fresh water to kill the pressure.

  Tim did not start killing the well until after lunch. For once, it was simple and the well behaved itself. He pumped water until he killed the well. It died and stayed dead. The company man gave the word, and the slick line unit closed the subsurface valve. Now came the critical stage. The well’s master valve had been leaking and the whole wellhead would be replaced. The wellhead specialists set to work with hammer wrenches to disconnect the old head. There was a long hour of quiet and tense work until the retaining bolts on the new head were hammered up and Tim could start pressure testing. The sun was falling before he pumped diesel from the crane barge bunker to circulate the well and unload the bottom hole pressure to the point where it would flow again.

  He sat alone in his accommodation unit, reading after dinner, when there was a tap on the door. Janice stood there on the verandah with a stack of his laundry neatly folded. She pushed her way in and Tim stepped back in surprise. She closed the door with her elbow and smiled.

  “Where I put these?” she asked in a low voice.

  “Er—in there,” he stumbled.

  “You wait, huh?” and she disappeared into the bedroom and closed the door behind her.

  Tim returned to sit with his book but he could not read. He heard the bedroom door open and then she moved into the bathroom. The door clicked shut.

  Janice came in fully dressed and with make-up. Her luxuriant shoulder-length hair had been clipped back at one ear to show a sparkling gold star in her ear lobe. She wore a red dress, flared and light, hemmed at her knees. It was tight at the waist and had a deep décolletage giving a tantalizing glimpse of her breasts. And she wore high heels. She looked stunning, and totally out of place on an oil field barge.

  Tim sat and stared before snapping himself awake. “Wow, Janice! You look fantastic. Sit down. Would you like something to drink? Tea, coffee?”

  “Kopi susu,” she said and sat on the small sofa, crossing her legs and arranging her skirts around her. “Mr. Renaldo send me. You like?”

  “Er—yes. Very good. Very beautiful.” He went to prepare the coffee and wondered what would happen next. He had no experience of entertaining beautiful women of doubtful gender on his barge. He felt nervous.

  Janice was not nervous. She sat comfortably and relaxed, and waited for the kettle to boil. She was enjoying herself.

  He brought her coffee and went to sit on his chair, but she grabbed his wrist and pulled him down to sit beside her. “You sit here,” she said with a smile. “You no like me, Mr. Tim?”

  “Oh, I like you,” he said. “You look very sexy. That’s a beautiful dress, and your hair… and make up. Very nice.”

  She did not answer but held out her hand palm downwards for him to admire. Her nails were neatly manicured and had dark pink varnish. He took her hand. It felt small and feminine. Her skin felt dry and warm. She purred a little and shuffled nearer. She smelt exciting. She casually put her hand on his thigh and reached for her coffee. She watched him over the brim of her cup.

  He felt a delightful anticipation. He did not know what was about to happen, but he knew this beautiful woman would do something wonderful. He put his arm along the back of the sofa, around her shoulders. She snuggled nearer and rested her head against his cheek. He breathed her scent, feeling her lively body against his own.

  Her hand moved on his thigh, stroking closer and closer to his swollen and hungry sex. Then her fingers were tracing the shape of his bulge, stroking him, diving deep and then returning to circle and press the head. It felt good.

  He moved his arm down from her shoulders until he could reach under her arm to touch the side of her breast. He could feel her bra and the tight orb inside. She turned to him and reached up to kiss his lips. She tasted spicy. He pulled her to him, reaching under the black satin curtain of her hair to hold her head as he kissed her deeply.

  When they broke, she smiled happily. At the moment when any woman is at her most attractive, Janice looked truly beautiful. She came to him for more and his hand dropped to her breast. It was small and firm. He reached inside her dress to feel more. She intoxicated him and he wanted everything.

  Janice sat up and reached behind herself to unzip the dress. She shrugged it off her shoulders and let it fall into her lap. She wore a simple bra of black lace, cut wide to display her cleavage. It had a heart-shaped plastic clasp between her breasts and Tim reached for it. The bra fell open and she dropped it behind her. Her breasts were perfect, adolescent, with dark pointed nipples. Tim cupped one and brushed its point with the side of his thumb. She purred and wriggled extravagantly.

  She was undoing his belt and his zip, tugging wildly at his trousers. He lifted his hips and let her pull his clothes down to his ankles. “Oooh yes!” she said in triumph as she clutched his shaft, “I like him!”

  He helped her by unbuttoning his shirt and shrugging it off. He was naked with a hot and beautiful woman ready to devour him. He reached around her and pushed her dress down over her hips. “Stand up,” he whispered and she stood in front of him, her dress falling in red folds to the floor. She was wearing the smallest of black lace panties. He reached for her and turned her. She pirouetted slowly to show her charms. Like many Indonesian women, she had narrow, boyish hips. Slim, brown, unashamed, she looked completely desirable.

  He stared at her sex when she turned back, trying to make out what lay hidden in
the black lace. He reached out to push her panties down but she quickly knelt between his knees, opening him up and reaching for his cock. He sat back and gave himself up to the sensations. She came very close to him; he could feel her breath on him. Her hands busily cupped his balls and worked his shaft as she examined his swollen plum. She looked happy as she brought his sex nearer and brushed her cheek with it. The electricity brought Tim’s heart to his mouth.

  She reached out with her pink tongue and lightly probed under the head of his cock. She licked and smiled, and bent her head to lick some more. It felt agonising. She looked up at him from behind his vertical cock. Her smile was half-hidden behind its purple head. Her beautiful black eyes, carefully ornamented with mascara, liner and shadow stared knowingly at him as she moved nearer and hearer to his cock. She opened her elegant red lips and sucked the head of his cock slowly into her mouth.

  It was too much for Tim. The sight of her and the feeling of her wet mouth had brought him to the edge of orgasm. She sensed it, and held still until his excitement faded a little and she could start to explore him. Using hands and mouth, she took him on a wild ride. She would lick and suck, pumping him slowly, feeling his excitement build to the limit, and then she would take him out of her mouth and wait. Again and again she led him to the edge and stepped back. It was torture.

  Tim leapt to his feet and drawing her up, picked her up like a child and took her into the bedroom. He laid her on his single bed and she reached for his cock as he stood beside her, taking him into her mouth again. He reached for her panties. She tried to stop him with one half-hearted hand, but he brushed it away and eased her panties over her hips. A small patch of black hair appeared and then her cock, folded up between her thighs and held in place by the panties. As she helped him take her panties right off, it fell from its hiding place and lay limp across the top of her thigh. It was small and wrinkled, and its exposed head was soft pink. It gave no sign of standing.