To Ocean's End (2 page)

I held my gun aimed at Tethys, struggling to keep my arm raised. The will of the quasis was trying to get me to hand over my gun like hunger drives a person to eat. Having seen the eerily silent death of the gun’s previous owner for firing it, I was more than willing to oblige, but I feared Tethys would go right back to slaughtering people if I did. A gun was the fastest solution to needless slaughter, even though it gave me a new problem to deal with.

Knowing I had only a few more seconds to make a decision before the quasis made it for me, I hid away my gun and let my arms, which felt like two blocks of ice, hang at my sides. The gesture was enough to stop their creeping closer to me, but not enough to get them to disappear back to wherever they came from. They stared from four feet away on all sides.

Tethys looked like he was about to be sick. His crew of typically superstitious seamen ran for their ship and started boarding. One of the crew called to their captain, which snapped him out of staring at the quasi-children. He ran off and didn’t put away his sword until he’d reached his ship.

I headed for my own with the quasis still surrounding me.

Mido spoke, his voice subdued. “Why don’t you just give them the gun?”

“Why don’t they just let me keep it?” Considering all the trouble the weapon caused, I should’ve never claimed it. But I’m obstinate like that. I deal with it.

Mido shook his head then jogged to the
Pertinacious.
Once again, I followed my cook up the ladder, but this time with the quasis surrounding me, ascending the ladder or crawling up the sides as if the laws of gravity didn’t apply to them. They never took their eyes off of me, which kicked in my fight response, urging me to punch the nearest one. Those emotionless eyes and cold faces wouldn’t stop
staring.
There was no point in punching them though. Bullets wouldn’t do the trick either.

The quasi-children encircled me once again, their presence having the same effect on my crew as they had Tethys. More quasis rose into existence all over the stern. I trudged towards the wheelhouse. “Sam, let him loose,” I said calmly as I passed. Sam let go of O’Toole, a short Irishman with curly orange hair. I’d picked him up on a trip to Ireland two years ago. He was a severely autistic person with the intelligence of a one-year-old, but he served his purposes, one being the ability to get rid of quasi-children.

O’Toole charged the circle of quasis with his arms up by his head, and cackled and whimpered like a chimpanzee. The quasis looked at him and vanished one by one, like a thin patch of fog you’ve gotten too close to, as he ran through where they’d been standing. He made what sounded like imitations of speech as he zigzagged all over the stern. Once the last quasi-child was gone, I ordered Sam to round up O’Toole, then told the rest of my crew to prepare push off. They slowly got back into motion, then we all went below deck to shake off the chill left behind by those creepy kids.

Chapter 2

Special Cargo

My crew sat with me in the galley, nursing their wounds while Mido brewed some coffee. Hazelnut filled the air but we all sat or stood uneasily, still chilled by the quasi-children’s most recent visit. Nobody but Scully and O’Toole were left uninjured. Scully was still at the Harpy, and O’Toole was gibbering away as he watched Mido make coffee. I had a sore sternum, but that was it. The rest bore cuts, bruises and gashes. Two of my cargo pushers were self-administering sutures, their gruff features wincing with each needle jab. My other two cargo pushers watched with morbid fascination, while my last surviving techie rolled fresh gauze over a forearm.

The total death count was two, Jersey and Mike, both of them engine room technicians. It was
always
the techies that bit it in fights. They knew the most about steam engines and the least about sword fighting. They’d have to wait until Virginia to get cremated for a modest sailor’s funeral. Their deaths subdued us, but for the most part we tried not to think about the two body bags currently in use.

Mido brought over a tray of steaming mugs, a collection of clay, porcelain and tin cups that were perpetually stained with coffee, and dirt, oil and grease that’d rubbed off our hands. Everyone except O’Toole accepted a mug, but no one took a sip, not even me. Mido took his own cup, sat at the edge of the table and held his drink as if he were trying to warm his hands, then inhaled its aromatic steam.

Jacobi, a bronzed Hawaiian and my biggest crew member, tied off his sutures, then bit off the excess black thread. Rammus, the other guy stitching himself up, pushed over the bottle of rubbing alcohol with his bandaid-covered hand, and Jacobi use an alcohol-soaked cotton ball to sterilize the needle.

“Rammus,” I said, “how many more days do I have?”

His slate eyes studied an upper corner of his black-haired cranium. “Three more until lockdown, sir.” He looked like a typical short old Polish guy: strong and stocky.

“Good enough.” I took a sip of coffee. Boy did it feel good going down. “Sam, did we complete our resupply?”

“I have to check.”

“Go do it quick. The sooner we see Tethys off, the better. Be safe.”

“Yes, sir.” Sam’s short, husky frame squeezed past Mido, then disappeared down the hall.

Jacobi pushed the first aid tin over to Mido, who took Sam’s seat, then Jacobi looked at me with flat, cold eyes. “Captain, we need to talk about your gun.”

I sat up straight so the gun’s handle stopped digging into the side of my ribs. “Why?” Of course
some
one wanted to talk about my gun. This had happened every time I’d drawn it.

“It would be best for both you and all of us if you’d get rid of it.”

“Mido, get a towel.” My cook dutifully retrieved a green hand towel from off the oven handle and tossed it onto the lacquered table. I used the towel to touch the grip, then draped it over the holster so not one bit of the weapon would be exposed to the naked eye. I wrapped the towel around it without removing it from my coat, and set the poorly mummified thing on the table. It looked like a giant, forest green scone without the sugar crystals on top. Everyone sat up straight, leaning as far back into their seats as they could. Coffee cups sat abandoned on the table. Heck, even I tensed up. I couldn’t help it. Handling a gun the wrong way, even with a towel, would make the quasis return. I’d learned that the hard way.

Back then, I hadn’t known that planting a naked gun on a table would make the quasi-children return, that all they needed was for some small portion of the gun to be out in the open, and poof. There they’d be. Those kids had followed me for
days.
My crew all quit before the quasis left. Losing so many friends like that hurt, but I didn’t hold it against any of them. They’d probably been better off...

O’Toole let out a monkey-like yell and lunged for the gun. Everyone let out a cry of dismay and surged to their feet. Mido and Sauna pinned O’Toole to the table with a fleshy thud. If it hadn’t been bolted to the floor, our concerted surging to our feet would have sent the table flying across galley. It was big enough to accommodate ten at a time in a semi-circle. O’Toole squirmed with one side of his face pinned to the table, his hand within inches of the towel. Sauna wrapped a lean arm around the Irishman’s neck and pulled him upright. The rest of us commenced breathing and cautiously sat back down.

“Sauna, put him in the cargo hold, please.” Everyone looked at me funny at my sudden use of manners. I never said “please” or the likes, unless something was really bothering me. O’Toole lunging for my gun like that was enough to reduce me to using etiquette.

Sauna, a Dominican kid, dragged a struggling O’Toole in the opposite direction Sam had left. Once the whimpering fell silent, Jacobi downed his coffee like a shot of vodka, and even sighed and smacked his lips.

Mido, if you ever die in a sword fight, so help my cursed soul I’ll... I’ll never be able to replace your stupid hide. Somehow Mido could make something as simple as coffee so enjoyable to drink. I took another sip and the rest of my crew finally warmed up to their own mugs. The tension diffused, but our hearts remained heavy. Jacobi regarded me with his hard stare.

Twenty
years after the Purge, women began reporting giving birth to babies that were cold to the touch. Other than that, their newborns were perfectly healthy and grew up without any unusual health problems. They were just quiet kids that didn’t start talking until around age seven. It was strange but no one thought too much of it.

After forty years, the “cold kids” stayed mute and all had black eyes, and some stayed bald as chemotherapy patients. Confusion and some disorganized research ensued. It wasn’t until around the fifty-year mark that scientists realized some humans were either evolving to compensate for the decimated environment, or it was a genetic mutation thanks to all the radiation. At that point I was on the mutation boat, since I didn’t see the point in being mute. Religions took their typical stance and labelled these oddly bald and silent people another punishment from the invisible man. I stayed quiet and let the rest of the world speculate. The truth didn’t matter much to me. I had rougher things than post-apocalypse problems to deal with.

Seventy years after the purge (two hundred years ago), things began to get real clear as videos on the news showed gun users dying to bald ten year olds. Every time a gunner died, another gun vanished to I have no clue where. It didn’t take more than a few months for people to catch on to that using guns meant those strange kids would appear, and that people would die just for holding a gun out in the open. Crowds began to gather at factories to melt hundreds or thousands of guns at a time. Of course stupid people lived in denial and became unfailing demonstrations of the power quasi-children, as the kids eventually became known as. The stupid died while wielding guns over their heads and laughing at people “foolish enough to rid the world of guns.” They died with shock on their faces. Guns became an object of fear and nothing more.

Today, maybe a few dozen guns exist in semi-secret.

“So,” I began casually, “Jacobi. After managing to get rid of Tethys, along with the quasis without any incident, why--?”

“That’s because we had O’Toole this time!”

“Which is why it’s no longer as much of a risk.” Five years ago, my then sole surviving techie went mad. I’d pulled the gun out to scare off a pirate captain that was trying to steal my frigate, along with my valuable shipment, with his sheer numbers. Just like today, the quasi-children had come. The techie had accidentally backed into one. He’d committed suicide a week later.

“They’re cursed beings. We should, at no cost, ever risk their company again.”

“I agree with the cursed part, but not the second part. I’d rather not have to deal with those kids ever again, but the gun is worth it.”

“Worth what?” Jacobi asked.

“We’ve beaten off Tethys every other time without the gun,” Mido said. “He’s too stupid to beat us. Next time we’ll be prepared to defend the landies if he tries to do that again.”

Jacobi sat back in his seat and folded his arms, as if Mido had won the argument for him.

“The way I see it,” I said, thumbing the rim of my mug, “is that keeping the gun will spare us from losing more techies. We had Jersey and Mike for only five years. I don’t enjoy losing crew members to this insane world we live in today. There are just as many pirates slinking around as there were a hundred years ago.”

“And plenty of captains trying to monopolize the shipping industry,” Mido said bitterly. He took some solace in a noisy sip of coffee as Sauna returned to the galley.

“Yep. The faster we stop sword fights, the longer the average lifespan of this crew gets.”

International trade and shipping were almost a luxury reserved solely for those who’d managed to find a way to stay rich after the Purge--the few days where a hundred nuclear bombs blanketed this unlucky mud ball of a planet. I was one of many captains that fought to keep trade and shipping fair. I knew how it felt to be broke and miserable. I didn’t wish that kind of life on anyone but Tethys. And, of course, that bitch who’d--

“We should hire techies who actually know how to sword fight then,” Jacobi said, resting his elbows on the table’s raised rim. “Or at least find a way to make the time to train them in self defense. It’d be better than having that thing in your coat.”

I finished my coffee, set the tin mug near the edge of the table, then reached for the toweled gun. “I’m not getting rid of it, and that’s final. End of discussion.” With utmost care, I returned the gun to its holster and chucked the towel back on the table. The crew that’d survived with me the longest would understand if I explained my reason for keeping the gun, if I told them.

“But, sir!”

I got to my feet and adjusted my coat. “Sauna, get the engine fueled for a trip to Virginia. Jacobi, go help him. The rest of you go help Sam. We’ll push off as soon as everything’s in the cargo hold.”

Jacobi unfolded his arms and stood. “Then consider this my last charter with you. I put in my request to be discharged in Port Chesapeake Bay.”

“Request denied,” I said calmly as I headed for the stairs. “You’ll find that any other crew is a bunch of wusses compared to us. Don’t insult yourself like that.” Jacobi was big enough to take on Tethys in an arm wrestling match. My crew and I didn’t share an undefeated record for nothing. “Besides, I pay better than most.” I climbed the darkened stairs and headed for the wheelhouse.

*     *     *

We escorted Tethys’ ship out of Newport without any problems. It probably helped that Scully hadn’t left the Harpy until Tethys had sailed a good ten miles from port. I diverted my ship south and slightly east, so we wouldn’t run into Long Island. It would take the better part of a day to reach Port Chesapeake Bay. Steam engines weren’t known for amazing water speeds. I set the frigate on auto pilot, meaning I’d strategically wedged two pieces of wood on either side of the steering stick, and headed for the galley. Mido was cooking up some cheeseburgers and fried potato wedges.

Sauna, Jacobi, and Mido joined me to lunch, but I was the only one with an appetite. It wasn’t surprising. Just being in the presence of quasi-children for a minute or two would kill anyone’s appetite for a few hours. I, however, hadn’t eaten yet.

Upon taking the biggest first bite I could manage of the best meal on Earth, Scully appeared clutching the back of his head and sporting dried up blood on his chin and nose. I hastily got up to let him in. He sat at the edge of the table and winced. Mido rushed out of his seat, fetching a wet towel and some ice. It felt like a brick sank down my esophagus as I swallowed. “What the hell happened to you?”

He scooted in so I could sit back down. “One of Tethys’ men, I think. I never saw. I musta fell on my face after receiving a blow to my head.”

Well, this is odd. “Where were you when you came to?” I’d seen him leave the Harpy. However, once he was out of sight, I’d forgotten about him and focused on piloting the ship.

“The lifeboats? I dunno. Everything’s real hazy right now.”

I pushed my burger towards Scully, even though his concussion would probably make him vomit it up later, if he decided to finish it for me. I got up and started running for the main deck. Tethys must have planted an assassin on my ship--no! That couldn’t be it. Scully wouldn’t be alive right now. But there definitely was someone who didn’t belong. I climbed the steep metal stairs to the deck, Sauna right behind me. Cool salty wind greeted us. I fastened three buttons on my trench coat and jogged to starboard side.

There was nothing out of place. Absolutely nothing. I was one of those people who could tell if anything had been moved in the slightest. The
Pertinacious
was like my own room. I knew exactly where everything was supposed to be at any given time. Sauna and I ran across the bow to port. Sure enough, one of the covers to a lifeboat had come loose, and there was some dried blood on the wood deck. Okay, so here was the crime scene; now where the criminal? Sauna peered inside the lifeboat while I checked for more blood. Instead, I found an oar left helter-skelter on the deck. So, one of Tethys’s men, with an oar, near a lifeboat. I handed the oar to Sauna, who slid it in its rightful place in the lifeboat. I fixed the tarp so that detail wouldn’t bug me for the rest of the day, then scrutinized the deck for more clues, but there was nothing. Absolutely nothing.