by John Ringo
"That's a little . . ." Courtney said.
"Cold-blooded?" Mike asked. "It's better than the alternative. And get ID."
"Okay," Pam replied. "Uh . . ."
"Hang on," Mike said, grinning. He found his wallet and handed over his, entirely fictitious, Florida driver's license. "I wish I still had my Kinky Single Girl's Guide to Sex and Dating, but my ex took off with it."
"Your what?" Courtney asked, aghast.
"One of the funniest books you'll ever read," Mike said, taking the ID back from Pam. "Great tips about dating, even if you're not kinky. Including a great section on safe calls. Got a cell phone?"
"Yes," Pam said, shaking her head. "Who should I call?"
"Well, your parents might be a bit much," Mike said. "But you're sure to have somebody on your speed dial list. Tell them we're going out and you'll call them back around a specified time, even to leave a message. Depending on how far out we go and how long we stay out, you might not have cell coverage. But you decide the time and we'll work around it. If nothing else, I've got a satellite phone."
"You do?" Courtney said. "Why?"
"Because I'm not always where there's cell coverage when I need to make a call," Mike said, shrugging.
"Like on the 'sharp end'?" Courtney asked, curiously.
"No," Mike said, shaking his head. "Like in the Bahamas Deeps and I just caught a really nice marlin and I want to call a friend and rub it in."
"Oh," Courtney said, grinning.
"I'll call Stacey," Pam said, smiling. "She'll get green with envy."
"I'll go topside," Mike said after a moment's thought. "Get the bollards in and the gangway up. Come on up when you're ready to go."
Chapter Two
He had gotten all the lines in but the stern and was on the flying bridge lifting the gangway when Courtney came up, carrying her Coke and his Gatorade.
"You forgot this," she said, sitting down on the bench and looking out. "This is so cool."
"I sometimes forget that," Mike said, nodding. "It's better than . . . some stuff in my life. Lots. I'll get tired of it after a while and have to go find something interesting to do. But right now . . . I need the downtime."
"What are we going to do?" Courtney asked, looking at the instruments. "And how do you read all that stuff?"
"It takes practice," Mike admitted. "There's radar, GPS with charts, depth-finder, anchor, winch and gangway controls and various stuff about the boat," Mike said, pointing to each of the screens and buttons. "The closed bridge below has duplicate instruments and controls as well as more and larger. There's a tuna tower up there," he said, pointing overhead. "It's got most of the same stuff, but in miniature and harder to read. It's also only got a Bimini top, so I mostly stay here. Except in storms, then I go in the closed bridge."
"I was right," Pam said, climbing up onto the flying bridge. "Stacey was just green. Where are we going?"
"I'd say 'up to you,'" Mike replied thoughtfully. "But you don't know what's around. The snorkeling in Islamorada is only so-so, but there are a few shallow reefs. Go for that, first?"
"Fine by me," Pam said, looking at Courtney.
"I've never been," Courtney said.
"It's not hard," Mike said, grinning. "And, well, SEALs make Number One life guards."
"Okay, we'll try that I guess," Courtney said, shrugging. "I was just planning on, well, boating and sunning."
"That too," Mike said, opening up a glove box and pulling out a foil packet. "You guys know if you're susceptible to seasickness?"
"No," Pam said. "I don't. Courtney?"
"No," she said, warily, eying the packet.
"Bonine," Mike said, showing her the printing. "Better than Dramamine, lasts longer, very little in the way of side effects. Not perfect. If you turn out to have real problems, I've got scopolamine tablets. They're prescription in the U.S., but I get mine from Canada where they're over-the-counter. You probably won't have any problems, but I recommend taking one before we go out." He paused and flicked the packet to Courtney. "Sealed."
"You take this safety stuff seriously, don't you?" Pam asked, taking the packet from Courtney and pulling out a tablet.
"They're chewable," Mike said, starting both engines. "And, yes, I do."
He climbed down and walked to the stern, throwing the docking lines onto the pier, then scrambling back into position.
"If we do this much, I'll probably have you guys do that the next time," he said, engaging the engines and pulling out of the slip, turning hard left with a bit of bow thruster.
"That's not bad," Courtney said, washing down a Bonine with her Coke. "You're strange, Mike. Most guys wouldn't talk about safe calls and whether a drug is in a sealed packet."
"Most of the guys you date, maybe," Mike said, shrugging. "They're your age and wouldn't know about it, most of them. Or they'd take it as an insult. 'What, don't you trust me?' 'Don't you trust me?' translates as 'The check is in the mail' and 'I won't come in your mouth.'"
Pam nearly snorted Coke out of her nose at that. "I can't believe you said that!"
"Why?" Mike said, maneuvering into the narrow channel out of the marina. "You don't know the list of great lies in history? 'The DZ is wide enough' is one that we loved in the teams. Yeah, for one guy to land on at a time," he added, chuckling. "By the way, you guys want classes in what I'm doing?"
"I'm interested," Pam said. "But those controls are beyond me."
"Now," Mike said, "but I was talking about general navigation. See those posts with signs on them?" he said, pointing to the channel markers.
"Yeah," Courtney said, frowning. "They've got numbers."
"Thing to remember is color," Mike said. "Red, Right, Returning. That is, the red one is on your right when you are coming back to port. Which side is it on right now?"
"Left," Pam said. "We're going out."
"Yep," Mike replied. "But when you're in some channels, especially in turns, all you'll have is one channel marker to figure out where the channel is." He leaned forward and dialed in the GPS to maximum. "See these contour lines? They say what the depth is to either side. This thing draws nearly six feet. See that two? That's how shallow it can get to either side of the channel. If we drift out of the channel, we're going aground. That's why you have to know which side of the channel marker to follow."
He waved at a passing jet ski and turned to watch as the man jumped his wake.
"That's what I'd like to do," Courtney said, watching it recede.
"Hate those things," Mike replied. "Most of the people who ride them are just fine, but you'll get some drunk idiot going eighty miles an hour and not realizing he can't turn in time, and then you've got blood on the side of your boat and a hole and a big investigation. But yeah, they're fun."
"Well, I'd like to try one," Courtney said. "Carefully."
"I shall, as Bill Slim's logistics chief said, arrange," Mike replied, grinning.
"I'm going to go up front and sun," Pam said. "Do you mind?"
"Oh, jeeze," Mike said. "Break my heart. Beautiful college coed laid out forward. I don't think I can handle that."
"You are a tease," Pam said, getting up and going below.
"Okay, what's that?" Courtney said, pointing to a screen. "I know that one's a map or something. But what's that one?"
"Radar," Mike said, pointing. "See the red dot?"
"Yes."
He pointed off to starboard at a boat nearing the end of the channel.
"That's that dot," he said, then pointed to a moving blue dot. "That's an aircraft," he continued, looking over his shoulder. "Yeah, Coast Guard helicopter."
"Do you use it much?" Courtney asked, looking around. "I mean, you can see . . ."
"It's more useful at night or in storms," Mike said. "Boats are supposed to have running lights and most do. But this radar is on a computer that can be set to beep if there's something coming up that looks as if there might be a collision. So, say I'm off coast and I want to go below and get
something to eat? I set it for a close point approach of, say, a mile. So when I'm eating and some idiot in a cigarette boat comes barreling in, I have time to get to the bridge and maneuver."
"Oh."
"Or, say I'm in a storm, which I have been. I can see what's around even through the storm. I can see the land forms, the way the islands are laid out," he added, pointing to the land that was visible on the screen. "Sometimes that gives me a better feel for where I am than the GPS. But mostly I use the GPS to navigate."
"What's that one with the fish symbols?" she asked. "Oh, a fish-finder. Stupid."
"Not stupid, good guess," Mike said. "It's that, but it also tells me the depth. I would like to take you guys offshore, if you have time. The water out there . . ." He paused and shook his head. "Pelagic water has to be seen to be believed. This stuff is what's called brown water, then you hit green and finally the real blue of the ocean. It's beautiful."
"You really like the water," Courtney said musingly.
"Love it," Mike replied. "But when I was a SEAL it was almost like it was the enemy. When we trained it was always at night and half the time it was in the northern Pacific, which is mostly zero viz and cold as hell. But this stuff?" he said, waving around. "This is great, brown, green and blue. This is as close as I've come to heaven. Great water, good reefs, good fishing and pretty girls," he finished, grinning at her.
"Have you had a lot of pretty girls on your boat?" Courtney asked archly.
"You're the first ones," Mike admitted. "There are ladies who make something of a profession of moving from boat to boat. I prefer not to deal with them, even the pretty ones." He paused and shook his head. "Crap."
"What?" Courtney asked as he leaned across her.
"Pam? Can you hear me?"
"Yes," the girl called from forward.
"There's a cabin on the right, forward, that's locked," he yelled. "Kindly don't try to find out why. Remember the story of Bluebeard."
"Now you've got me nervous," Courtney said as he straightened back up and made the next turn in the channel.
"Not like that," Mike said. "Like I said, sometimes I do classified stuff. That room has some of that stuff in it. That's why I keep it locked. Also has my weight gear. Do you mind if I take off my shirt?"
"Changing the subject?" Courtney asked, smiling. "Go ahead."
"The scars make people comment, so I generally keep it on when I'm in dock," he said, setting the autosteer for a second and stripping out of the T-shirt. "But I like to keep it off when I'm out."
"Nice bathroom," Pam said, coming topside. "Wow, you really are scarred up, aren't you?"
"See?" Mike said, shaking his head. "Yeah."
"That's some major damage," Courtney said, running her finger over a suture mark in his side. "Like, I'm surprised you lived."
"Nursing student?" Mike asked.
"Pre-med," Courtney said shortly.
"Well, the doctors told me they spent about ten hours with their hands in various parts of me," Mike admitted. "And about half of my insides are now plastic. Wonder of modern medicine, that's me."
"You want to go sun?" Pam asked Courtney.
"I'm going to sit and talk with Mike. Maybe later."
"We can actually do both," Mike said as Pam made her way forward. "Up on the tuna tower. And you can see more."
"Uh, it's kind of high," Courtney said.
"You'll hardly notice," Mike replied. "Let me get out of the channel, first, though. And there's more motion up there."
"It's pretty smooth so far," Courtney said.
"Well," Mike said, spinning the wheel and engaging the bow thrusters to make the final turn, "that's because the bar we're about to go through is breaking the waves. It's pretty calm today; inshore, which is where we're going to be most of the time, it's only a foot. Offshore it's two feet and glassy. That's good conditions. Very good. We'll rock up there," he said, gesturing up. "But it's fun."
They passed through the final turn and he powered up, the nose of the cruiser rising and riding easily across the small swells.
"Now this is more like it," Courtney said, grinning.
"Look," Mike said, pointing off to the left. "Dolphin."
"Where?" Courtney asked, standing up and shading her eyes.
"Look for a fin at about ten o'clock," Mike said, keeping his eye in the direction and on close boats. "There."
"Oh, cool," Courtney said. "Pam! There's a dolphin off on the left!"
"Port," Mike automatically corrected.
"What is it with sailors and all this port and starboard stuff?" Courtney asked, watching the dolphins. "There's three of them."
"Two females and a juvenile," Mike said, nodding. "You can tell the young one because its fin is smaller."
"Can we swim with them?" Courtney asked. "They're going away."
"Most dolphins won't swim with people," Mike said. "Sometimes you can slide over the side and get them to look you over. But there are very few that actively enjoy swimming with humans. Come on up on the tuna tower," he said, setting the autosteer. "You'll enjoy it."
"I need a bathing suit," Courtney said, temporizing.
"And sunscreen," Mike said.
"I've got a pretty good tan," Courtney replied.
"Trust me," Mike replied. "Up there you'll want at least fifteen SPF. Twenty-five would be better."
"Somebody will have to do my back," she said coyly.
"Twist my arm and we'll discuss it," Mike said, grinning.
He made his way up to the tuna tower and checked the controls. The autosteer had been set to run towards a break in the outer reefs, He leaned back and propped up his feet, reclining the chair and trying not to grin from ear to ear. After a second, though, he leaned forward and looked down at Pam.
"Pam!"
The girl sat up and looked around, confused.
"Up here," Mike said, smiling. "Did you put on sunscreen?"
"I put on tanning oil," she said, turning around and looking up at him. "Like the view?"
"Love it," Mike said, grinning. She had an exceptionally nice chest and the legs were outstanding. "I'd strongly advise more than tanning oil. But it's up to you."
"I want a tan when I get back," Pam said, shrugging.
"Okay," Mike said, sitting down. "Don't say I didn't warn you," he muttered.
"This is cool," Courtney said, coming up the ladder. "But a bit . . ."
Mike helped her up the last few feet and into the chair next to his.
"I love it up here," he said, sitting up. "More dolphins, way off to port, forward. And you see those," he said, pointing to some circles to the right. "That's bait fish feeding on the surface."
"Wow!" Courtney said, pointing forward as a small finny shape jumped out of the water and tail walked off to the left. "Flying fish!"
"They're pretty rare inshore," Mike said. "But you see a lot of them out in the Stream."
"The Gulf Stream," Courtney said, nodding. "That I've heard of."
"That's where you get the pelagics," he said, pointing down to port. "There, you see that flashing. Those are the bait fish."
"Something just jumped over there," Courtney said, pointing off to port.
"Probably mullet," Mike said, shrugging. "They jump a lot. Nobody knows why."
"Where are we going?" Courtney asked, looking around.
"There's a shallow reef," Mike said, pointing at the GPS. "You can't see it very well on this little bitty screen. It's not all that shallow, unfortunately, with the current tide you're talking six or seven feet. But it's pretty and you can dance to it . . ."
"What?" Courtney asked.
"What was that show?" Mike asked. "Soul Train? One of the judges was always saying 'it has a nice beat and you can dance to it.' I guess it's a generational thing."
"Okay," Courtney said with a laugh. "Whatever."
"Anyway, we'll hook up there," Mike said, "and you can try your hand at snorkeling."
"Hook up?" Courtney said, raising an eyebr
ow.
"Yeah, there's a buoy you hook up to rather than anchor," Mike said, looking at her. "Why?"
"Uh . . ." Courtney paused and shrugged. "It's a generational thing. Hook up is . . . well it's one way of saying you're sort of . . . dating . . ."
"Or having sex?" Mike asked, grinning.
"Maybe," Courtney said, shrugging. "Hooking up just means you're . . . together for a while. Maybe sex, maybe just making out, maybe just dating and none of the above. Generally at least making out is involved."
"Like going steady?" Mike asked.
"Not exactly," Courtney said, shrugging again. "God, I haven't heard anyone use that term since high school."
"Last time I heard it, too," Mike admitted. "But hooking up is a new one on me. Except for buoys."
"I wouldn't have picked you for going both ways," Courtney said, blank faced. "But, then again, you were a sailor, right?"
"Did you just make a joke?" Mike asked, grinning.
"What? I can't joke?" Courtney asked, smiling.
"Joke all you want," Mike said. "As long as they're not farmer's-daughter jokes."
The reef only had one other boat on it, a snorkel trip boat that was already starting to recover its group of dentists from Cleveland or whatever. Mike turned downwind, then lined up on the buoy and leaned over the tuna tower.
"Pam, I need some help," he called. "On the starboard . . . the right side, in a holder is a boat hook, could you grab it?"
"Sure," she called, getting up off her towel and getting the boat hook.
"Okay," Mike yelled. "There's a knurled grip in the middle. If you twist it loose, you can extend the boat hook."
"Got it," Pam said after a few moments. She extended the hook and clamped it back down.
"Okay, I'm going to pull up to the buoy. You'll need to pull it up to the boat." He looked at Courtney and shrugged. "I think two people."
"Going," Courtney said, heading for the ladder.
"Courtney's coming down. If you can pull the buoy up a bit, there's a rope down there with a clip on it. Clip that to the line on the bottom of the buoy and we're good."
"How heavy is it?" Pam asked.
"Pretty heavy," Mike admitted. "But I don't think you want to do this end, do you?"