Carbon Run

by J. G. Follansbee

  “You’re on ‘A’ watch, along with Panang over there.”

  Micah gave Bill a thumbs-up, and he realized she had some say in the matter.

  “I need some clothes. All I got is what I have on and my knife.” Bill had left everything else back at the Henderson Hotel, belongings he’d never see again. He didn’t mention the com.

  Stubbs didn’t bother raising an eyebrow. He’d seen it all before. “Slop chest opens when the captain says it’s open. Turn to now and fast. Panang, come over here and lend the new man a hand.”

  The work tying down the lifeboat gave Bill a chance to learn more about the voyage. “What are we carrying, Micah? Where are we going? Judging by the amount of supplies, we’re going to be at sea for a while.”

  Micah eyed Bill, as if judging his trustworthiness, or his intelligence. “Let me tell you something.”

  He matched her whisper with his own cautious voice. “Is something wrong?”

  “Remember I said the captain doesn’t ask too many questions? You shouldn’t ask a whole lot of questions yourself.”

  “If you mean I should be grateful for the job, I am, but...”

  “If you can’t control your nosiness, call up the paperwork on the net. The basics are there, if you can believe them.” Micah’s grimace confirmed Bill’s growing suspicions. She knows the truth.

  “Why don’t you just tell me?”

  “If you haven’t figured it out by now, it’s too late.”

  Why doesn’t she trust me? Something nudged at Bill’s ankle. At his feet was a robot about the size and depth of a sauce pan. Its once-white casing was stained and chipped, and a section was missing over one of its brushes. It sprayed soapy water in a corner and extended a brush in dire need of new bristles.

  Bill moved out of its way. “That swab-bot has seen better days.”

  “Pain in the ass, always underfoot.” Micah nudged it impatiently with her shoe. “At least we don’t have to scrub the deck.”

  Aganippe’s mate returned with a grim look that Bill guessed was his standard expression. The rain had stopped, and the eastern horizon was showing the first hints of dawn. “You two, aloft to your stations and shake her out. We’ll make sail as soon as we’re over the bar.”

  Without warning, the mate flinched. The swab-bot had sprayed his ankle, like a dog marking a tree. “Damn.” He kicked it, and the machine landed upside down under the rail. It righted itself, like a turtle, and it continued its never-ending cleaning routine.

  A few minutes later on the foremast yard, Micah elbowed her watch mate.

  “What?” Bill said, struggling with a tight lashing on the sail.

  “The nav AI says we’ve got company. Patrol boats.”

  Bill’s mouth went dry. “How many?” He scanned the horizon.

  “Two.”

  “Aloft there!” McMadden yelled from the deck. “Do you see them?”

  “Not yet,” Micah yelled, looking back toward the Oyehut River bar. Micah and Bill hurriedly finished with the sail and dropped down to the deck beside the captain.

  “Damn them. They aren’t using their ID transponders.” McMadden put his fists on his hips. “They have to be military, or worse.”

  Bill had a good idea they were worse. He had to figure out a way to hide without being too obvious.

  Stubbs came over from the wheelhouse and handed binoculars to McMadden. “God’s ass, it’s worse.” McMadden studied the craft. “Bessies.”

  Stubbs put his finger to his ear. His com was a ring that hung from the lobe. “They’re ordering us to heave-to, Jay. What should we do?”

  “I don’t suppose we can outrun them.” McMadden laughed. “Bear away and clew up, for chrissakes. Let’s not give the green shirts any cause for alarm.”

  “Helm up.” Bill understood the order was intended for the AI navigator.

  “All hands! Clew up tops’ls and t’gallants.” That order was meant for Bill, Micah and the other topmen.

  As they started climbing the ratlines, Stubbs laid a hand on Bill’s forearm to stop him. He handed over a banged-up com with a ear appliance that had known far too many wearers. “It’s one of the ship’s spares. Don’t lose it. It only works on our ship’s net. Your netlink ID is ‘Agatha.’”

  “Works for me,” Bill said as Micah laughed.

  McMadden strode to the rail and studied the oncoming patrol boats, their sea-green superstructures and titanite hulls angled and fierce. The boats slowed off the Aganippe’s beam, their all-seeing, never-sleeping radars on constant watch, like the eyes and ears of hungry predators.

  Bill’s hands sweated with the fear of trapped runaway. He did not want to admit his guilt, on the chance the patrol boats were making a routine inspection stop. He also reckoned Aganippe was special in some way, a bad way.

  Still, maybe McMadden would help him. He had nothing to lose. “Captain, I’ve got to tell you something.”

  “What the hell?” McMadden glanced sideways at Bill. Stubbs leaned in to listen.

  “I think they might be coming for me.”

  “For you? What for?”

  “I escaped BES’ custody a few days ago, and I’m sure they’ve been tracking me.”

  For a second, Bill thought McMadden was going to dispute his story. “You’ve got a high opinion of yourself, Penn, to think BES would send two patrol boats after you.” His eyes darted toward the approaching craft. One had peeled off toward the Aganippe.

  “They’ll be here in a few minutes,” Micah said urgently.

  “Captain, help me hide.” Bill was too proud to beg, but he was damned close. “A judge told them to let me go, but they ignored him.”

  “I don’t think you have anything to worry about, Penn.” McMadden watched the lead boat through the binoculars.

  Stubbs wasn’t so sure. “Jay, we don’t want to give them any excuses to force us to turn around. If they see him here, they might.”

  McMadden lowered the binoculars and gave Bill a look of appraisal. Bill didn’t act like a criminal, and that wasn’t the way the captain was regarding him. “Any ideas, Penn?”

  “They’ll be looking for com sigs. My com’s dead,” Bill said, trying to be helpful. He searched skyward, eyeing the rigging. “The foresail is still half furled. How about I climb into it and Micah can roll me up in it, like a carpet.”

  “I can’t think of anything better. Panang, you and Wong”—the captain pointed at another crewman who was listening—”get Penn ready. Quickly now.”

  With the BES craft a half-mile away—far enough that Bill hoped they wouldn’t notice the unusual activity on the yard—Micah and Wong wrapped Bill in the foresail. His head happened to come to rest near a torn seam on a patch in the sail. The break was wide enough for him to view a portion of the deck below him, though he viewed the scene at an angle. The dense, heavy canvas smelled of salt spray and mildew.

  Bill heard shouts and a metallic bump on the hull as one of the BES craft came alongside. He had seen them operate before; one of the boats would let off one or two people, the other would stand off a hundred meters or so, or it might do a slow circle around the Aganippe, making sure nothing was happening out of sight. He caught glimpses of movement through the sail’s open seam, and sometimes a face or a uniform. It was like trying to watch a vid through a straw. He heard the clop of hard-soled shoes on the teak deck.

  “I’m looking for Captain McMadden.” No mistake, Bill knew that voice.

  “That’s me.” McMadden stepped forward.

  “I am Inspector Kilel, Bureau of Environmental Security.”

  Bill licked his cracking lips. He spied McMadden through the seam, and he was shaking Kilel’s hand, though he wasn’t enjoying the greeting.

  McMadden’s tone was all-business. “This is my first mate, Stubbs. May I offer you coffee?”

  “No, thank you, captain. I’ll only take a few minutes of your time.” Bill heard slow steps. Kilel was walking along the rail. “I assume you’re aware of the carbon
-smuggling ring operating in this area? Oil, in particular.”

  Smuggling? Bill thought it had been stamped out years ago.

  “I’ve heard rumors about it, yes.”

  “To be sure, Captain, rumors are all we hear as well, but we take such things seriously. One of the rumors concerned traditional sailing ships operating on this part of the West Coast.”

  “We have no interest in breaking the carbon laws, Inspector.”

  “No one is accusing you of doing so,” Kilel said crisply. “You know, Captain McMadden, I’ve developed an interest in ships like yours. A professional interest.” Bill adjusted his head, and she came into view through the torn seam. If he weren’t so afraid of her, he’d describe her as a handsome woman in her green uniform and tulip emblem. As it was, she was worse than a demon. “You don’t use the modern wind ship design. I’m not a sailor, but I see natural fiber ropes, ordinary steel for the masts, steel hull, a wood deck. Why not modern materials?”

  Bill realized he might be creating a long bulge in the canvas. He prayed the fabric was thick enough to hide his prone outline.

  “The original owners of our line were the first to realize that wind power was again important for trans-ocean shipping after oil was banned as a fuel.” McMadden sounded like a CEO instead of a ship’s master. “They revived traditional designs and technology. A return to tried and true ways.”

  “Ah, the ‘New Age of Sail’ with electric motors and nav AI. Very romantic but short-lived. The new wind ships came along, correct?”

  “Yes.” McMadden’s voice had a touch of contempt. “Big, ugly, with about as much spirit as that thing.” He pointed at the swab-bot.

  Bill regarded some of the newer wind ships as graceful, even lovely. The captain had to defend what he had, though.

  “I take it, Captain, you’re a traditionalist yourself.”

  “The old ways did not bring on the Warming, or the Spike.”

  Kilel’s voice took on more of an edge. “Just so, but how do you compete?”

  “Passengers, though none this trip. Training voyages for students. Small cargoes. Specialty cargoes. Cargoes no one else will carry.”

  “Nothing forbidden, I’m sure.”

  “I’ll admit our customers are not always honest with us.”

  “How is business?”

  McMadden spoke in a measured manner. “Inspector, and I mean this respectfully, I don’t have much time for a chat. Do you want something?”

  Bill made out the details of her stony face. “We’ve reviewed the manifest that you filed with the Port Simpson authorities. We’d like to conduct a spot check.” She gestured toward a husky BES marine with a holstered automatic pistol on his belt.

  The captain was not fazed in the slightest. “Please do, Inspector. Panang, please show the man our hold.”

  Micah’s voice was polite and terse. “Follow me.” She led the marine toward the ship’s waist and the main hatch.

  Kilel motioned to a second man dressed as a sailor, a thin man in glasses. He pulled a small device from a shoulder pocket and gave it to Kilel. She waved it in the captain’s direction. “This can detect the presence of crude oil from a kilometer away. The aromatics, you know. Hard to get rid of, even if nothing is spilled. This will even tell me which well the oil came from. You don’t mind if we sniff around, do you, Captain?”

  “Please take your time.”

  Kilel handed the device back to the thin sailor, who wandered aft, his eyes studying the readout.

  “Always a pleasure to work with a cooperative citizen.” The inspector glanced at the watch and the off-watch, which had come from below. “I see that you’ve gathered your crew for ID checks. Is this your entire complement?”

  Bill held his breath. Kilel scanned the faces of the crew members, mostly younger men and women, attracted to the challenge of the old-style sailing traders.

  “Yes, ma’am.” McMadden had lied again, this time for Bill’s benefit.

  Kilel shifted a half-step, and Bill saw her tablet. “The port records say you have twenty-six souls aboard. I count twenty-five, including you. Where is the other person?”

  The captain’s weather-bitten face didn’t give away a thing. “One of the crew never showed up. We don’t wait for stragglers.”

  “Are you certain, Captain? Why haven’t you updated the manifest?”

  “It’s on my list of things to do.”

  Kilel was unmoved. “We ran a spectrum scan as we approached, Captain McMadden. We found twenty-six active coms. Let me ask each of your crew their netlink IDs.” She went through each one. “Agatha seems to be missing.”

  “ Stubbs!” McMadden barked, never taking his eyes off Kilel.

  The mate was behind McMadden. “Aye.”

  “Didn’t you tell me just now that Agatha was lost somewhere in the hold a couple of days ago?”

  Stubbs swallowed, also putting on an act. “I looked long and hard for it, Jay, but it’s nowhere to be found. Maybe it’s in the bilge. The battery will die in a few days.”

  McMadden lifted the edge of his mouth. “There, Inspector. Mystery solved.”

  Kilel’s irritation showed. “You seem to have an explanation for everything. Was this the man who failed to board?” Kilel showed the tablet to McMadden.

  McMadden made a show of looking at it. “Could be. Some of these hard luck types, it’s hard to tell one from another.”

  “His name is William Penn.”

  McMadden maintained an innocent, if impassive, face. “Does he have something to do with carbon smuggling?”

  “No, not that I know of. He’s wanted in a species extinction.”

  “Shocking,” McMadden said, deadpan. “I’m sure glad he never showed his face.”

  Bill heard more steps on the deck, and he spied Micah’s shoes. The sailor sent to the hold had returned.

  “You found nothing, I take it,” Kilel said.

  “The hold is clean, ma’am. The cargo tags match the manifest.”

  “What about you?”

  The sailor with glasses came into Bill’s field of view. “Nothing, Inspector.”

  Kilel tapped the tablet with her stylus, weighing the pros and cons of something. “My compliments, Captain. I find no infractions, for now.”

  McMadden was silent.

  “I will let you go on your way, then.” The inspector handed the tablet to the marine. “Safe travels to you” –she stole a look at the sails— “and your crew.”

  By the sounds of the Jacob’s ladder on the Aganippe’s bulwarks, Bill knew when Kilel and the BES men had departed. He heard the whine of an electric motor and the whoosh of water parting before a bow. A few minutes later, Bill heard Micah’s whisper. “Bill, are you all right? They’re gone. Almost over the horizon.”

  “Get me out of here.”

  Micah loosed the ties and set Bill free. When he was back on deck, he thanked the other crew members for not saying anything, but something was wrong. McMadden strode down the deck, pissed off. Bill extended a hand. “Captain, thanks—”

  McMadden threw a right, a sucker punch, striking Bill in the neck under his left ear, knocking him down.

  Taken by surprise, Bill scrambled up and lunged at McMadden, but Micah held him back. “Let me go. I don’t take shit like that from anyone.”

  “Who the fuck are you?” McMadden demanded.

  “I’m Bill Penn, that’s all.”

  “You came within inches of getting my ship confiscated, you asshole.” McMadden’s ruddy face was swollen with anger. “I thought maybe you’d cut down a couple of trees or took some fish without a license, but you’re a fucking species killer. I should’ve handed you over.”

  “Why the hell didn’t you?” Bill felt the crew’s eyes on him and McMadden, waiting for a fight.

  The master took a breath, regaining his composure. He spat overboard.

  “I need a full crew, even shitheads like you.”

  McMadden’s reaction surprised Bill. The ski
pper risked his master’s license and his business by harboring a fugitive.

  When McMadden ducked into the main cabin, Bill went up to Stubbs. The first mate was staring out to sea in the direction of the BES boats. Sweat drenched his hair and his flannel shirt. His hand shook as he put a mist stick to his mouth. Bill realized Stubbs’ state had nothing to do with his near brawl with the captain, or Bill’s status as a fugitive. “ Stubbs, are we carrying? Do we have—”

  “Shut up, Penn.” Stubbs tossed the spent stick over the rail. “Shut the fuck up.”

  At Penn’s feet, the swab-bot sprayed liquid into a crevasse between the deck planks and scrubbed. A bubble, dancing with iridescence, reflected the rising sun.

  CHAPTER 14

  ♦ ♦ ♦

  THE SUN SHINED INTO MARTIN Scribb’s empty begging bowl as he lingered on a slatted bench in Osoyoos, British Columbia. His saved-up food had run out on the morning of day three in the town. The yawning cavern that was his stomach filled his every waking hour like a disease. He distracted himself by thinking of his mission: Go to the Arctic Free Trade Zone and find Molly Bain. Martin had only a few weeks to accomplish his goal, though the colonel did not explain the urgency of his task.

  Once he found Molly, the colonel had directed him to report her location and stay with her, nothing more. The order was simple on its face, but laden with unpredictable consequences for Martin. He planned and re-planned ways to react to her when they met. The scenarios ranged from calm indifference to rage. How do you greet someone who sent you to hell to save her own skin?

  When Martin awoke at the first lightening of the sky on his fourth day in Osoyoos, hunger strangled his last shreds of dignity. He rose to his feet, unsteady and dirty. His hair flew off in all directions. Flecks of dried spittle stained his beard. If he hadn’t known the brute reflected in the broken windows of the hamlet’s abandoned storefronts, he would’ve thought the person had lost his sanity.