Tiger didn’t reply. He was too busy stripping off clothes now. Dee had a large nylon bag open, and he pointed to it.
“Dump ‘em all in there,” he ordered. He was already in his wetsuit. Once Tiger stripped down, he pulled on his, mindful of the fact that the Baroness was watching it all, seemingly enjoying his rapid change of wardrobe. Dee closed up the bag and snapped it shut. He turned toward the front of the boat and whistled to Skeeter. He then turned back to Tiger.
“You ‘bout ready? We need to get wet now!”
“Right behind you!” Tiger nodded as he finished strapping his shoulder harness on over his suit and slid his pistol into the holster. “Let’s do this!” He picked up his PDC. “See ya on the other side, Baroness!”
“I’ll be waitin’, handsome!” she smiled saucily. He hung up and slid the PDC into a watertight pouch. Putting his mask on, he felt the oxygen regen kick in automatically, as soon as he took a breath. He then followed Dee over the side, diving deep and fast, leaving Skeeter all alone, fishing quietly as if, only seconds before, there had never been anyone else there with him. Calmly, he reached inside his life vest and pulled out a remote control.
A few minutes later, from down the river, the small drone hummed into view. Skeeter moved the controls of it ever so lithely, guiding it into the boat. With practiced precision, he brought it in with grappling arm already extended. It caught the loop on the nylon bag on the first pass and was up and skyward with only seconds to spare as the Space Authority hovercraft came into view down the riverbank.
***
“Where the fuck is he going in such a hurry?” Space Guard Ensign Roddy spoke into the intercom mic of the Dragoon aerocraft gunship, as he spun the turret in the direction of the bass boat speeding away suspiciously. He trained the twin-barreled pulse cannon on the trimaran, and his finger caressed the trigger release longingly … oh, so longingly.
“You can’t shoot him, asshole!” He heard his partner and craft operator, Chief Petty Officer Grabowski, chuckle in his battle helmet. “He hasn’t done anything.”
“You don’t know that! He sure as hell looks suspicious!” Roddy kept the cannon trained on the boat as it sped away. If nothing else, it was good practice.
“Suspicious of what? Fishing without a license?” Grabowski chuckled. “You spent too much time on Mars. This ain’t the shit here. We ain’t got a perp behind every red rock trying to fuck up your shit. We just ride this fence and make sure no one’s trying to get in.” He paused. “Or … get out. And I ain’t caught anybody trying to get in yet!”
“Well, I think we should call it in.”
“What for?”
“He’s running like his hair’s on fire!”
“Then we’ll have to do an incident report.” The CPO suddenly had images of his tour running over. This meant less time down at the post canteen. He cursed mentally and chewed his bottom lip. God, he hated these gung-ho fucks rotating back in from Mars or the Belt! They still had too much adrenaline in their system. They still needed that blood high.
Fuck that! Busting the heads of pro-Independence demonstrators, slapping around some back-of the-dome thugs or boarding a pirate ship was kiddie play. He’d done his time in the real shit! He’d spent three weeks in it on Luna fighting people who, once they realized there was no escape, fought like cornered, rabid animals to the last man, woman and sadly … child. Street-to-street. House-to-house. Room-to-room. Foot-by-foot. Inch-by-inch. In the end, when their ammo ran out, they fought with kitchen knives, homemade clubs and even bare hands.
He didn’t know a man who survived that didn’t have nightmares still.
“I’m telling you! My Spidey sense is tingling, Bro!” The gunner was insisting. “That mother fucker is up to no good!”
“Well, call it in!” Grabowski growled, conceding grudgingly. “But you’re doing the report when we get back to base.”
“Roger that, boss!” Roddy dismissed him as he switched over to the main channel. “Zebra Michael Seven to Containment Control … come in, Control …”
Grabowski rolled his eyes, puffed his cheeks and blew out the air in exasperation. Fucking asshole!
***
As Tiger swam after Dee in the darkness, all he could hear in his head was his Uncle Mud’s voice telling his old wives’ tales. One of his favorites used to be about the giant catfish people claimed to have glimpsed throughout the years, swimming the waters of the river. Huge, whiskered monsters that lurked on the muddy river bottom scavenging on industrial waste from feed mills and processing plants. People swore some were as big as sharks, able to swallow a grown man whole. Cases of swimmers and others who went missing were occasionally blamed on these mythical giant scavengers, swimming up from the bottom for a taste of fresh meat. And while they were becoming increasingly larger through the years, no one had ever caught one over two hundred pounds … yet.
Thankfully, they didn’t have far to swim. Through his AquaVision, he saw Dee at a large object protruding from the bank of the river. It was a pipe of some kind, huge, maybe eight feet in diameter, jutting out into the river about ten feet or so. More than likely, it had been a water draw for either the Arsenal or the Possum Works at one time. It once had a filter screen across the face of it, but it had fallen away, hanging askew by one lone, rusty screw.
Well, that’s a stroke of luck! Tiger thought to himself, following Dee through the opening. That could’ve been a hindrance. Maybe it was a sign. Maybe things were looking up, and they’d finally turned the corner.
He followed Dee for
