Chapter 27: Betrayal and Irradiation

I returned to my stretching and my katas. I exercised quite early in the day, when no others were awake to bear witness. If found the presence of others disturbing because I could not answer their questions about my behavior.

We continued on our travels like an armed patrol of gypsies. We were not understood and were reviled by those that did not understand. Most ignored us as we were below their attention. Some strove to steal from us or destroy us. Those we sharply reprimanded. Our anonymity and nearly random path served us well.

One day we warped into the busiest port in France, Marseilles. Our troubles began immediately when a government official strode aboard and demanded to inventory our cargo. I called the Portmaster. He was unavailable. We refused to comply. I called for a full alert and the arming of our scuttling charges.

Within twenty minutes we were surrounded by armed French patrol craft. Our CIC went to high alert and started blasting high-frequency target acquisition microwaves all over the harbor. I took the console. Two crewmen manned the 60mm mortar. I began calling NATO embassies all over the region. Nobody wanted to take my call. I smelled collusion.

I shrugged. It was time to shit or get off the pot. I escalated. I took a roofer's hammer and a razor knife down to the lower rear deck. I stripped off the lead-bearing tarps from one of the two low-slung shipping containers and tore off the outer wooden crate, exposing the radiation warnings. I cut free the safety wires, undogged the top of the inner carrier and pulled off the heavy leaded cover, exposing the contents for all to see. I got away from there as quickly as I could. The thorium isotopes in the graphite blocks squirted hard radiation all over the place. I heard a cacophony of klaxons and sirens as panic befell all the ships about us.

Soon we were the only ship within a half mile. I smiled a tight, angry smile. I ran back on deck and covered the slugs as quickly as possible, then screwed down the compression dogs. I re-covered the caisson in lead-bearing tarps and strapped them down with new cargo straps as I'd cut the others free.

I had the crewmen immediately hose me down with a high volume water hose while I stripped and soaped myself, scrubbing everywhere. I had Inger take a set of hair clippers and take my hair down to the scalp. I dressed in a warm robe and went to bed. We steamed out of that harbor leaving terror and confusion in our wake.

I contacted the New York Portmaster over my satellite phone, and said, "Uncle Angleo, we're in deep shit."

We were directed to Barcelona, where our cargo was taken off and I underwent an emergency total blood replacement therapy.

I was not a very fucking happy camper, and I let it be known far and wide. I filed a complaint with the French nuclear security committee, the Nato nuclear certification groups and the U.S. Nuclear Regulatory Committee (which held power way out of scale with their relative size in the community). France was past screwd and was well into 'just-kill-me-now' territory. Their oh-so-popular and lauded nuclear program was suddenly in question. It was in jeopardy of being de-certified. All nuclear fuel was to be transferred to a certified country upon pain of a joint NATO military incursion.