“You sure that’s what they’re really doin’?” said Koba. But Jolo held out his hand and he stopped.
Besen gave him a funny look and continued. “Add to that my last rock shipment from Duval didn’t come, or maybe was rerouted to another island with a little more political pull. I dunno. Nothing to worry you. The Crab Shack is still on level 19 if you are interested.” Since land on Barc was scarce, things tended to grow upwards into the sky. The crew usually ate at a greasy little restaurant that had some of the best crab cakes on this end of the galaxy.
“I wanna see one of the BG water conditioners,” said Jolo.
“Thanks for your concern, but I don’t think the input of a Duval pirate, even one so uh, well-regarded as yourself, is gonna help the ocean scientists.”
“That ain’t it.”
“Well, there ain’t nothing there to steal.” Jolo just stood there and frowned, his arms folded. The fat man sighed, sucked in another gulp of air. “Ok. Level 42. A man named Rat has a water bird you can use and he won’t be asking any questions or generating any logs.” Bensen waved his hand at the door which meant their business was over.
……
“Okay, here’s the deal,” said Rat, a skinny Barcian, standing in his makeshift office behind a laundry service. “You got four hours and then the little boat gotta come home. You get into trouble, you stole the it. You mention my name to any Fed or local Barc official and I will deny everything and then I’ll—” at this point Jolo and Greeley gave him the hard stare and he faltered just a bit. “I’ll, uh, report your asses to the authorities.” Jolo smiled. Rat was most certainly wanted by the authorities.
“That thing got a gun?” said Greeley.
“Y’all Duvalite rock humpers ain’t too swift, are ye? What are you gonna do, shoot a fish?” said Rat, shaking his head.
The little craft was waiting there on platform 03 lower level. It was a two-seater so Jolo left Koba and Hurley eating crab cakes on level 19 above the pachinko and neither one of them seemed upset to be left out.
The wind had died down and there was a bit of blue now in the sky. Jolo looked beyond the platform to a stretch of white sand beach where an old man was pushing a small skiff out into the water.
“What the hell’s that?” said Greeley. By then the man had jumped into the wooden vessel and was rowing out into the ocean.
“It’s ancient tech,” said Jolo. “Used to call ‘em boats.”
“You mean it just sits there on the water but ain’t got no fuel cells? Ain’t nothing holding it up? I for sure ain’t getting in one of them crazy things. It’s gotta a damn engine mounted under it is all.”
“Are you such a dumbass?”
“You don’t know how it works.”
“Yeah, I do. It just floats. ‘Cause its a boat.”
“Right. It floats ‘cause it’s got an engine under it. Dumbass.”
Jolo queried his computer and spit the data right back at Greeley.
“An object pushes water out of the way to make room for itself, which is called displacement,” said Jolo. “Gravity, determined by an object’s weight, pulls the object down. And buoyancy, determined by the weight of the displaced water, pulls the object up. So if the downward force is less than the upward force, then object will float. How’s that?”
Greeley stood there, wind tossing his hair around, and stared at Jolo with a sour look on his face. “You know, I expect that type of shite from the likes of Koba, or the one-armed synth, but it really scares me when you pull crap like that out of your ass. Like you reading from a screen or something.” He turned and watched as the old man made it further out into the rough waters. “Damn thing’s gotta an engine under it.”
Jolo smiled at Greeley and they climbed into the tiny cockpit of the water bird. The two large men barely fit, and when the clear bubble canopy closed down from above Jolo felt like he was back in the escape pod again. His head was nearly touching the canopy and his left arm was pressed against the hull.
Greeley looked at Jolo with narrowed eyes and lips tight together. “I don’t swim.”
“Ain’t never seen a water boat and can’t swim. Don’t make sense you thinkin’ of buying a spread here,” Jolo said, and then hit the large red button on the console that released the small craft from the docking clamps and dropped them into the sea.
For a moment Jolo could see nothing but bubbles and white water, and then everything cleared and their visibility was fairly good—white sand bottom, orange plants floating past, light rays breaking through here and there. Jolo engaged the small engine and the water bird jumped forward. The onboard computer screen showed their position and current depth and Jolo headed straight for the spot where Koba had seen the black ship diving into the water earlier that day.
“Why are we doing this?” said Greeley. We should be checking out my little stretch of island.”
“Just a hunch,” said Jolo.
“’Bout what?”
“Black ships.”
“Shite on the black ships.”
They headed in the direction of the BG ship, or where Jolo thought he’d seen the ship, but after fifteen minutes of endless sandy bottom, orange plants, and the occasional school of breem, Jolo popped up to get a visual on 226. They could just make out the large buildings covering 226 and guessed they were close, but Jolo knew they might be out here for days and never find anything. The ocean was vast and suddenly his water bird
