The Beast of Cretacea (15 page)

The first mate sits back in his chair, presses his fingers together, and scrutinizes Ishmael, but he doesn’t speak. Several moments pass. Finally, as if he’s made a decision, he rocks forward.

“Congratulations, boy. Starting immediately, you and your crew will be full-time on Chase Boat Four. We need to put serious weight in the hold, and it’s going to take every stick-boat crew we can muster. A new group of nippers will arrive this afternoon and take over in the galley. Your pay levels will be adjusted accordingly.”

Ishmael fights a smile. “Thank you, sir.”

“You’ll be hunting smaller creatures for now,” the first mate continues. “Bashers and whatnot. We’ll see how you do with those, and then maybe you’ll be allowed to go after the larger beasts.”

Ishmael feels his heart beat faster. They’re a full-time chase-boat team!

“That’s all. You may go,” Starbuck says dismissively.

Ishmael hesitates. “One question, sir?”

Starbuck sighs. “What a surprise.”

“Charity’s back, sir. Did we make a deal with the pirates?”

Starbuck’s eyes may be hidden, but the dark round lenses don’t cover the wrinkles around them, which deepen. “Don’t stick your nose where it doesn’t belong, boy.” He points. “There’s the door. Use it.”

At dinner that night, Ishmael and his crew quietly celebrate in the mess, wearing new blue uniforms, while the latest batch of scrawny, gray-skinned nippers in brown uniforms hurry around on mess detail.

“We never looked that bad, did we?” Queequeg jokes.

“Time to make some
real
money,” Gwen says with a rare gleam in her eye.

Tashtego, the harpooner, stops at their table. “Congratulations, and welcome to the best job on this ship.”

“The drone ops would disagree,” Pip says.

Tashtego waves the comment away. “All you bobbit worms do is play with joysticks. We’re the ones who bring home the goods.”

“When you’re not chasing phantom terrafins,” Pip says.

“Where you been?” Tashtego hooks his thumbs through his belt loops. “We’re done with the white terrafin. As of tomorrow, assuming this blasted fog lifts, we’ll be putting weight in the hold like nobody’s business.” He salutes the crew of Chase Boat Four. “See you out there.”

He goes off.

“That was n-nice,” Billy says.

“He seems like a good guy,” agrees Queequeg.

“Especially compared to who’s next.” Gwen gestures toward a familiar head of bright-yellow hair coming their way.

Daggoo stops by their table. He’s using a knife to carve a large beast’s tooth into something that resembles the grip of a gun. They’ve heard that he’s been promoted from skipper of Fedallah’s boat to harpooner on Chase Boat Three.

“Congratulations.” Queequeg tries to be friendly.

“Took me nearly three years to be promoted to stickman,” Daggoo replies sourly, launching small white bits of whittled tooth onto their table. “Then you come along and do it in a few months.”

Ishmael’s in too good a mood to argue. “With all the catching up they need to get the pot where it should be, guess they’re willing to send out just about anyone. Truth is, we got lucky.”

“Sure, luck.” Daggoo nods contemptuously at Pip. “Or maybe it’s who you know.” He gouges a larger piece of tooth and launches it into the air. It lands with a splash in Pip’s bowl.

“Yee-ha!” Queequeg cries early the next morning while Chase Boat Four races away from the
Pequod,
skimming over gently rolling ocean swells. The fog has finally lifted, and they’ve received word that a drone has detected subsurface activity several miles away.

As the chase boat whisks along, Gwen and Billy let out gleeful whoops of their own, the wind whipping their hair, their new blue uniforms flapping. Ishmael feels hopeful as he steers toward their quarry. If they work hard and are a tad lucky, it’s possible that by the time his year is up he’ll have made enough to pay what he owes for the chase boat’s repairs
and
to send Old Ben the money to help his foster parents leave Earth. And after that, whatever he earns he can keep for himself.

In the bow, Queequeg points excitedly. Ahead, several dark shadows glide beneath the waves. From their slender, pointed snouts and long, sleek bodies, Ishmael thinks they’re bashers — not particularly large beasts, but valuable nonetheless. And given that no other crew has caught anything yet this week, a fortunate find.

Heart thudding with excitement, Ishmael positions the boat parallel to the pod while Queequeg aims the harpoon gun. A shadow begins to darken as one of the bashers rises toward the surface, and Ishmael angles the chase boat closer to give Queequeg a better shot. Gwen and Billy have slipped on their line-handling gloves and crouch at the ready.

The basher’s pointed dorsal fin breaks the surface thirty feet away.

Bang!
Queequeg fires. With a white cloud of smoke, the harpoon rockets toward the beast.

It’s a hit!

With a frantic splash of its tail, the basher starts to flee. Red line begins to whip out of the tub. Now the linemen take over. Ishmael keeps an eye on Billy, who handles himself well and makes sure the big orange float goes over the side without a hitch. The red line goes tight and the basher begins to drag the float behind. Ishmael follows with the chase boat.

It’s not long before the creature tires. Gwen and Billy start hauling in line, slowly bringing the exhausted basher closer.

“How about that?” Queequeg beams. “Our first day and our first beast!”

“If you don’t count that big hump that nearly destroyed this boat,” Gwen reminds him.

The basher is only fifty yards away when they hear the whine of another chase boat. As it gets closer, Ishmael sees that it’s Chase Boat Three, with Daggoo in the bow on his first day as a harpooner. Ishmael signals that they don’t need any assistance and points to the west, the direction in which the rest of the bashers are headed. Hopefully Chase Boat Three will find the pod and stick another beast.

But instead of veering away, Daggoo’s boat shoots past Chase Boat Four, headed toward the basher that Queequeg just harpooned.

“What’re they doing?” Gwen asks.

The answer comes quickly. Chase Boat Three pulls close to the beast and Daggoo aims his harpoon gun.
Bang!

Ishmael doesn’t get it. What Daggoo’s done makes no sense. There was no reason to fire another harpoon. It’s not a terrafin or even a big hump that might require two chase boats to tow it in.

But no sooner has Daggoo put a stick in the creature than his skipper guns Chase Boat Three around to the other side of the beast. A knife blade flashes in the sunlight and Chase Boat Four’s line goes slack.

“They c-cut our line!” Billy yells.

“They’re stealing our basher!” Queequeg cries as Chase Boat Three begins to tow the exhausted beast away.

“No Earthly way,” Ishmael growls through gritted teeth, angrier than he’s felt in years. But before he can take action, Gwen and Billy must haul in fifty yards of slack line. While the linemen pull as fast as they can, Queequeg joins Ishmael behind the controls.

“What’re you planning?” he asks quietly.

“Not to let them get away with it,” Ishmael replies tightly.

“Careful,” Queequeg cautions. “Daggoo’s not stupid. He’s got to know what you’re thinking.”

As soon as the slack line is in, Ishmael guns the engine, but Chase Boat Four’s RTG suddenly quits, leaving them adrift under the bright sun. Ishmael tries to restart the RTG, and again it quits. For a moment Ishmael wonders if Daggoo has somehow disabled his boat. He tries once more. This time, the engine starts and they take off.

Moments later they catch up to Daggoo, who’s been slowed by the task of towing the basher. But when Chase Boat Four nears, Daggoo calmly steps behind the machine gun in the stern of his boat and trains it on Ishmael and his crew. Ishmael can’t believe it. This whole incident has become bizarre. Twenty-five yards from Chase Boat Three he shifts into neutral and idles.

“That’s our basher!” he yells.

“Not anymore!” Daggoo replies, still behind the machine gun.

“What are you gonna do?” Gwen shouts. “Shoot us if we try to take it back?”

“I might.”

“And exactly how would you explain that to Starbuck?” Queequeg yells.

“Pirates.”

Ishmael and his crew watch in disbelief while Chase Boat Three continues to tow the basher. Billy looks upward, probably hoping there’s a drone around to record what happened, but the sky is an empty azure. Ishmael guns Chase Boat Four back toward the
Pequod.

Forty-five minutes later, his crew and chase boat back on the
Pequod
’s deck, Ishmael climbs the ladderways to the B level and raps on the first mate’s door.

“Who is it?” Starbuck calls from inside.

“Ishmael, sir.”

“Go away.”

“It’s important, sir.”

“Are you deaf ? I said go.”

“Sorry, sir, but I really have to speak to you.”

“I don’t think I heard you correctly, boy.”

“You did, sir. I’m not going away.”

From inside the cabin comes shuffling sounds, mumbling, and a woman’s voice saying something Ishmael can’t decipher. Thudding footsteps grow loud, and then the door swings open. Buttoning his uniform, his glasses askew, Starbuck glowers at him. “This better be good.”

Ishmael is in the middle of explaining how Daggoo stole the basher when Charity, wearing a sheer pink robe, shambles out of the bedroom and stands beside the first mate. This is the first time Ishmael has seen her since her return from the pirates. She looks thin and has faded bruises on her jaw and arms. The sparkle is gone from her eyes, and her lips are a flat straight line. The first mate glances at her with displeasure, though Ishmael can’t tell if that’s because she’s revealed herself in his quarters or because he doesn’t want her interfering in this matter.

When Ishmael has finished telling the story, Starbuck folds his arms. “Sorry, boy. It’s Daggoo’s word against yours. Nothing I can do.”

“Are you serious, sir?” Ishmael asks. “You really think I’d make that up?”

Charity shoots the first mate a lethal look. “You know it’s true. It’s exactly the kind of thing that idiot Daggoo would do, and Ishmael’s not the type to lie.”

Starbuck knits his brow. “That’s not the way it works, woman, and I’ll beg you to stay out of it.” He turns back to Ishmael. “Let it be a lesson, boy. Next time don’t let him steal your catch.”

The door closes, leaving Ishmael standing stunned and furious in the passageway. A few minutes later, back on the main deck, he tells his crew what happened.

“No way is Daggoo getting away with that!” Gwen starts for the hatch that leads up to the B level. “Wait till I give Starbuck a piece of my mind!”

Ishmael grabs her arm. “Don’t.”

“You’re going to let him cheat us?” Gwen challenges him.

“I didn’t say that.”

On the deck behind them, sailors cheer when Chase Boat Three appears in the distance, towing in the first captured beast of the week. Ishmael feels his hands ball into fists.

“Easy,” Queequeg cautions. “You don’t want to do something you’ll regret.”

The basher is hauled up the slipway, and the flensing crew begins to cleave it for processing. The cargo net has gone down the side of the ship so that the crew of Chase Boat Three can climb up. Ishmael casually strolls along the deck, getting to the gunwale just when Daggoo’s head appears over the rail.

As soon as they lock eyes, Ishmael hauls back and punches him in the face as hard as he can.

It’s something he knows he’ll never regret.

The brig is scalding — no surprise, given that it’s deep in the ship’s bowels beside the nuclear reactor. Ishmael lies bare-chested on the slab of metal that serves as a bed, his face and body glossy with sweat. The hum of the reactor is loud, but oddly soporific. As he drifts off, he savors the memory of his fist smashing into Daggoo’s smug face, knocking him off the cargo rope ladder and back down into the sea.

The boy with the leg braces is hunched over a broken tablet. He sees Ishmael watching and motions for him to help. The boy has squeezed his fingertips into a seam along the side of the tablet and is trying to open it. Together they press their fingers into the seam and pull.