Chapter 8

There were so many beaches and so many restaurants in and about Sydney that, quite frankly, we gorged ourselves to sybaritic excess. It was getting to be monotonous. We needed an adrenalin shock. We needed combat or a courier job. I called our contact with the state department and requested a high-risk, high-demand job. Well, we got one.

We were to pick up a containerized remote-control microsurgery platform off our dock and transport it to Quatar in the Arab Emirates as soon as possible. It couldn't be done by aircraft as others were looking for it, ready to shoot it down. It seemed that someone had an accident whom powerful people would rather memorialize than shake hands with. I accepted the job in our name, if we got twelve MANPADS and a crate of replacement HE/I ammo up front, as well as two years vessel insurance payments in recompense. We were ON! We bunkered up and loaded up two extra fuel pods on deck. We burned diesel south, then west out of Sydney harbor, the north-west into the Arabian sea. Sure, we ran into rough weather. Everything was tied down and we maxed out our diesels. We hit the gulf of Oman and didn't slow down. (MANPADS=shoulder fired surface-to-air missile)

We damned near did an immelman around the spur and headed due west for Quatar. We screeched into port and dropped that damned thing on the government dock where a bunch of blue-light specials and a flat-bed semi burned rubber to take it away. Catching our breath we bunkered up and slowly steamed back to Sydney. Too bad we had to dead-head the back-journey. Well, somebody needed it and we sure as hell provided it. At least the fuel was comparatively cheap there.

Since we'd never visited, we took in the Maldives and the Seychelles, out in the middle of fucking nowhere. I've never before seen any economies so dependent on external tourism and trade.

We headed back to Australia, to bunker up if nothing else. Brisbane was too hot! We'd gotten used to a nice, cool environment but we were screwed when we hit that city. We cut it short and headed out across the Pacific with four thousand gallons of fuel on deck in various collapsible rubber bladders. We had more than enough for the Pacific crossing.

The new collection of books and movies helped with the crew's attitude. They kept themselves distracted and happy without doing anything cut-throat. Granted, for communal diversion we continued Tai-Chi every morning at dawn on the top deck and the exercise room stayed busy. We had Judo and Kendo competitions (I competed in Kendo, but lost). I was glad that we had that class of competitors on board.

One day while mellowing out in the hot tub, Gene asked me "Why do you do so much for the galley?" I looked at him kind of funny then got the idea. He thought that I was neglecting the rest of the crew! "Gene, All I know is computers and cooking. If I've been neglecting the others I need to be informed, and quickly before any resentment builds up. I can only do what I know, get it?" He nodded and seemed a lot happier. I then began to get wish-lists from the other departments--spare sensors, another crewman for watchstanding and cutting heads from engineering, a spare person for housekeeping, another trained security person for watch-holding and fire control. Well, damn! We had the space since Ellen and I had shacked up. Tina and Gene had done the same. Lashanda and Carey kept eyeing each other but nothing seemed to gell. Carl and Janet were such a well-known pair that I expected an engagement ring to appear any day now.

Kimberly was a tall blonde goddess from somewhere within Russia. She'd been trained by her mother as sniper and came on board with her Drugonov hugged tightly to her side. She had been trained by the Russian military as a security officer. She was quite detail minded. I actually got a peck on the cheek from her and a "Spasebo!" when I presented her with her very own .50 cal sniper rifle with a 35 power day/night scope. She wanted to re-load her own ammunition! God love her. I adore a perfectionist.

Gina was a smiling little buttercup out of Italy that was happy to sign on for housekeeping, kitchen and bakery duties.

Ted had just left the Australian naval service as an engineer's mate.

I sent their profiles and fingerprints to Vladimir. After a week or so he vetted them as clean and sent along diplomatic passports in their names. We had new crewmembers! I'm certain that the dirty bastard knew what he'd let me in for. I should have shot him when I had the chance.

Kimberly's Tai-Chi was waaay too smooth. She admitted to retiring from the assassin teams. Oh, lord. I asked her "Are you sure that you want to sign on with us crazies?" She shrugged. "Crazy is as crazy does. If I never have to kill anyone again I will be quite pleased." Okay, I could live with that. Still, when push came to shove I belive that she was the coldest professional among us.

Our smiling little Gina was from a, ahem, 'well connected old school family'. I had a talk with her. "Gina, do you realize that this is now your family? We each own a piece of the other. We have something special here. Can you believe in this?"

She nodded furiously. We do good things, not bloody things unless provoked. This familia is our only familia, si?" I nodded. "We are as condottieri, yet each are as captains. We know each other's moves and dance about each other in combat. Can you work with this?" She smiled brilliantly. Suddenly two knives appeared in her hands. Big, sharp knives. "I dance with my friends and against our enemies. I join this company with all honor." We kissed as compatriots. We did good with our little Gina. She was a cuddly little ball of razor blades!

When Ted saw our machine shop with its CNC milling machine he got a nasty little grin. "You get me the stock and engineering drawings and I can build you anything that'll fit on the cutting table." Nice to know! I knew that our demand for milling machine bits and drills were about to increase.

All the wish lists were filled before we departed for Hawaii. Another bookstore was decimated on the ship's tab before we left--we'd want reading materials. We had a long journey ahead of us. It was the second week of March. Just before we departed we received two cases of what appeared to be very fine Australian wine, with a thank you note courtesy of the Australian department of Energy, Resources and Tourism. I supposed that our reporting the police sting cleaned somebody's house--or somebody's clock! The first week was pretty calm as we headed up into the equatorial doldrums. We noticed immediately when we encountered the north Pacific currents. Our progress picked up and the pitch of the engines changed. We flew as if on wings towards Hawaii with a folllowing current. During most years the trade currents circle around Hawaii--This year we were guided to them. I'd never heard of anything like it before or since. It was quite an unusual year for the currents. We docked in Honolulu with over half our standard fuel reserves on board. After having had our black-water tanks steam-cleaned we docked and proceeded to become residents of the local sugar-sand beaches. It was great not having to worry about the next cargo or where the next load of fuel was coming from.

I personally owned over 700 pounds of gold, and Ellen owned nearly 500. At 16 ounces per pound and an average of 2000 dollars per ounce we were quite comfortable. The ship's account was in the very comfortable range of middling eight digits and our insurance was paid for two years. I felt that we could relax in comfort.

It was april first.

Our three new crewmen needed some acclimatization time with us so we scheduled a walking party about a group of restaurants and bars. We got rowdy, noisy and happy. The 'happy' part kept the local police off our ass, despite our tendency to goose unwary passers-by. A few Japanese tourists giggled and understood--we were playing "kancho assassin!" They laughed delightedly. The cops caught on and gave us a pass. (look up kancho assassin--a school girl would act as innocent as hell, then wrap two thumbs around her index fingers and goose the hell out of some unsuspecting homey. Good fun!") The Japanese clued in the Koreans and the Chinese. Soon nobody was safe and everybody was playing surprise stink-finger! Gawd, I love a meme explosion! It's like spontaneous emotional fireworks. People just come together and have fun doing something stupid.

I had survival suits made for Kimberly, Gina and Ted.

I found a sword auction. Litte attracted my attention exept for one blade. I bought an old, old katana with separations and inclusions, just for its historical value. It must have been over a thousand years old. I put in pride-of-place in our museum. (I had no fucking idea what I'd chanced into.)

I was quite happy to find a Buddhist temple in city. I purchased tea and biscuits then sat and spoke with one of the monks. We had fun poking at each other. I was invited to another temple for something unusual--a display of kata. I damned near freaked--Buddhist swordsmen? Nothing like this had been heard of for centuries! I was determined to attend--and brought my newest friend along in a transport case.

The pageantry was paced, beautiful and pulled at my heart. Soon the kata exhibitions began. I witnessed what must have been seventy-year-old men dancing the katas as if they were twenty-year-old atheletes. I shook my head in total admiration. At the end I was invited to make a fool of myself--I was asked to show what katas I knew. I took several deep breaths, gathered myself and slowly danced with my new friend. We danced well together--we made allowances for each other's difficulties. Finally I made the little 'hop' to demonstrate the major butterfly cut and came down to rest. I closed my eyes and rested with my new friend across my thighs. I heard a shuffling before me and opened my eyes. an older monk stood before me. I looked up into his smiling face. "May I examine your sword?" I replied "This is my new friend. I hope that you give her the respect that she deserves. She has seen many years." I presented her to him, supporting the blade by the handle and the spine edge up. He accepted my blade and carefully examined her. I watched as he carefully pulled the wooden pins fastening her to the grip. The exposed chop marks made him catch his breath. I don't know what he whispered but the three monks beside him suddenly dropped to their knees. He carefully replaced the grip and pins, then conveyed her back to my hands. "She is the queen's sword, a gift to the Thai royal family some twelve hundred sixty years ago."

"She speaks to me in the way my hands hold her, the way she bends and cuts the air. A beginner would bend and snap such a blade, but an older one, such as I, have learned to dance about her flaws and she is gracious enough to bear with mine. It as if we are an old married couple." He nodded fast. "Balance is good." I smiled so hard tears came to my eyes. "Yes. Balance is very, very good." We sai'ed to each other and parted. It had been a wonderful, eye-opening experience. I was glad that none of the crew were with me to witness what I had experienced. It was a very private thing.

After that I did sword katas after Tai-Chi every morning, leaving the running for the younger ones. I did not try for the speed of a competition swordsmaster--my goal was smoothness and the dance. I often came out of my trance with several observers watching me, a grand smile on my face. Perhaps my fate was to become a monk. I had no idea! The idea certainly didn't repel me. There were many types of monks.

that I interacted with others and the world around me. Something profound had touched me.

I visited another Buddhist monastery. I had placed marbles in my shoes to alter my stance and kept my hands in my pockets. I left four monks with krugerrands in white envelopes in their begging dishes. I love raising hell to do good.

We paid homage to the ones gone before us at the world war 2 monument. We climbed an active volcano and sat at its rim, contemplating the uncontrollable power of the earth itself, watching the lava slowly swirl and bubble below us. It was truly a humbling experience.

We went hunting different cultural feeds--Greek barbecue was strange. Grape leaves and vine charcoal gives the meat a strange flavor. Wrapping the meat in pickled grape leaves doesn't leave much in the way of ordinary flavors either. There were a lot of Vietnamese emigrees around. They had their own restaurant presence in a big way. I don't think I'll ever appreciate nuc mam (umm, strong-tasting fish ketchup?) but a little goes a long way in a preparation.

There were so many cultures represented in chinatown that I mused that someone had picked up a little of everything, stirred it together in a big pot and spilled it out on the street to take shape. It was quite cosmopolitan.

I'd never knowingly had horseflesh to eat, but I paid to attend a native luau where a pony was the guest of honor. When removed from its pit and the palm fronds unwrapped it smelled amazingly meaty. It had an interesting taste--like game. I'd hate to eat what came off of an old nag, though. I tried the steamed taro root or poi and really can't say much for it. It's a cultural thing with religious overtones. I believe that it's something like Jewish unleavened bread--it kept them alive when there was nothing else. The luau dinner ended with haupia--a thickened coconut milk thing that looked like a thick, fat, wet white chocolate bar. It was very good. Then the beer came out. Shit but those guys can drink. I woke up flat on my back on the beach next to a train wreck that used to be a luau. I was getting too old for all-nighters.