Victoria, British Columbia, Canada
to other, more sedate chemicals and by the time the Twin Otter floatplane took to the air, Hank was asleep. It startled him when the plane splashed onto the water, he feared they had turned around and landed back in Vancouver Harbour. But as the plane rocked back onto its floats, he realized he slept through the flight across the Strait of Georgia and low over the Gulf Islands. The rest did him good and the cool night air helped to invigorate him. He gained his legs as he walked from the landing dock toward the GalaxSea and realized he was no longer self-conscious about wearing a kilt. His room at the Empress tempted him, but he wanted to check in on his new ride. After all, he was now its captain.
The night seemed to rest with sunrise only hours away. Spotty wisps of fog veiled the glassy water. The setting could have placed him in many cities in the world. Maple leaves in the lamp post banners and Canadian flags gave the country away, and British flags and old-world architecture kept the capital’s history alive. The herons, so quarrelsome in their nearby rookery, were silent now. A truck worked its way along the frontage, squealing its brakes with every stop. A few people strayed along the waterfront, but Hank walked alone with purpose.
The only land access to his yacht was through a chain-link gate with barbed wire on the top and down the sides. A keypad stood as the sentry between him and the boats of the marina. He didn’t know the combination, so he stood there staring, as if willing it to unlock. Just as he was about to turn and head over to his room at the Empress, he heard the mechanism of the gate release, so he grabbed the handle and opened it before it changed its mind.
They tied the triplets up in order. Each yacht was identical to its sister, even the dock lines and fenders matched. The only distinction being the artistic rendering of their names, GalaxSea blazed on the first in line, with added roman numerals showing two and three for the others. Those designations bothered him. The labels were incorrect. He walked up to the third boat and stepped onto the familiar deck.
He expected someone to challenge him. Boarding a billionaire’s private yacht in the middle of the night shouldn’t be easy. Not even Ava offered a “who goes there?” With soft footfalls, he slinked through the yacht’s dimmed interior like he didn’t want to wake Ava. The thought was absurd, and Hank breathed out, “What a night.” Without undressing, he plopped into his bed. A smile formed, “What a show.”
The smell of coffee and the sound of soft music seeped into his consciousness. He opened his eyes to the sun’s dappled reflections as it played on the ceiling. He decided it would be the nicest way to wake up if he didn’t feel so horrible. It felt like he had been on an all-night bender. His mouth was dry, his head ached, and a sharp pain radiated from his lower abdomen. The pain in his gut terrorized him until he rolled over and realized he had been laying on top of his sporran with the pistol in it. He opened up the flap and retracted the pistol and set it aside. His hand reached back into the sporran and pulled out an unwrapped kid-sized protein bar. After popping into his mouth, he took a swig of water and stretched. A strong cup of coffee was next in his self-recovery itinerary, but he stopped in his tracks when he saw the full-length mirror reflecting his image. His sun-bleached, light-brown hair stood up straight, ridged to the center and looked like a mohawk. Hank smiled and committed to cutting it all off when he got a chance.
The kilt had served him well. It looked dressy at the theater yet allowed quick and free movement in last night’s tactical situation. It also fit into the eclectic culture of the unsettled night as he navigated through Vancouver to the extraction point. And it worked here in the British-themed Victoria. If anybody had seen him walking through the Inner Harbour in the wee hours of the morning, they wouldn’t think twice. He unbelted the waist and the wool kilt dropped to his ankles.
“Ava, are you there?” Hank said as he turned away from his reflected image.
“Of course.”
“Can you be my personal trainer? I need to get back into shape… back to my fighting weight.”
“Certainly. When would you like to start?”
“First a long, hot shower. Then some morning PT. After that, I’ll be eating at the Empress. Warn them I’m coming in hungry. You choose the menu.”
“Very good, Hank. I have taken the liberty of mixing you a pre-workout shake. Don’t worry. It’s coffee-laden. I’ve also ordered some new athletic wear and some dressy casual clothes, so you will fit in at the Empress and any yacht club you visit. Your new wardrobe will arrive before you finish the open-water swim I just scheduled with the Harbour Swim Club. It is a two-kilometer course and begins in thirty minutes.”
“Ava, I like the way you think. I’m feeling better already.”
He hadn’t tried on all the clothes Ava had chosen for him, but judging from the t-shirt, shorts, and boat shoes he had on, her taste and the fit were spot on. There was time to kill since he decided to wait on the tide, so he conducted a thorough inventory of what was on hand. He already had gone through everything with each of his students. A methodical checklist custom-made for their level of responsibility. Keel to masthead inspection was basic, quick, and simple for the twins and ensuring familiarization with the anatomy of the sailboat. Marshall and Irina took more time and included the major systems. Olin, as the boat’s owner, took hours. They went over the yacht’s finest details, and soon Hank knew the GalaxSea intimately. But now he was heading offshore and the discipline of preparedness, might save his life. As expected, fuel and potable water had been topped off, and the food stores could feed a squad of Marines for a month.
The dock hand helped him unplug from shore power and he spent some time going over the yacht's complicated and extensive power management system. He questioned Ava about the fuel-cell and its integrated battery system. Once satisfied, he moved topside to examine the working surfaces. It was just him now, and if he encountered adverse weather, handling a yacht this big without help would be a challenge. Strapped into his safety harness, he clipped its leash onto the jacklines lying against the deck and challenged the lines by trying to jump overboard. It looked silly, but he didn’t intend to be like his dad. Let them laugh, he thought. If throwing his body against the tether now would prevent him from going overboard later, he could suffer any humiliation. When he was sure the low-tech safety feature worked from anywhere on the topside, he unhooked the harness.
The occasional sailboat motored out of their slips in defiance of the strong ebb, their props driving the narrow-hulled boats against the tide. Hank waved to a few as he took one more look over his own vessel. Waiting for the tide was a habit that made him think of his Uncle Bob. After his father’s death, he tried to teach Hank the important things in life. Hank recalled only two things Uncle Bob tried to teach him. The first was how to speak with an unremitting Maine accent, complete with mumbling, cussing, and expressing a fatalism that made everything sound like an oath. The second was a love of sailing, complete with practical knowledge. His dad preferred motorboats, and Uncle Bob reminded Hank of that fact more than once. “Your old man could sail but only if his life depended on it. He could build a fine sailboat though. But only for those rich enough… furniture with sails… Herreshoff lines… not a speck of sense.” Uncle Bob would gaze off for a while. The sails of his skiff were trimmed perfectly, while unconscious movements of the tiller kept the boat tracking into the wind. He would seem to go away for a time. When he came back from his wideeyed open stare, he’d say something that might have made sense if Hank could have followed into his uncle’s mind. “He was too practical that way.” Or, “Yeah, he was clever like that.”
There was a time when Hank would try to be like his father or his uncle but those days were long over. The decisions his father made caused his death and the decisions his uncle made led to bankruptcy. Hank pushed down a flush of sadness. His decisions were his to make, and like everybody else, he would have to live or die with the consequences. It was his decision to push back time, be traditional, don’t motor when you can sail. Even in his excitement to get underway, his romantic notion won out. Wait for the tide.
His job was straightforward, deliver the yacht into a slip in the Port of San Diego. It was not the way he wanted to be a professional sailor, but the advance money sitting in his checking account and the debit card for miscellaneous expenses seemed like a dream. Ava had carried out Olin’s orders and now the burden of Hank’s debt and his counseling faux pas were only memories. Change happens so fast. He wondered why a man like Olin would take an interest in him. He understood the whole luck thing. Olin covered that during his presentation and subsequent job offer. But Hank still wasn’t sure. He didn’t feel lucky… he never had. Maybe Olin was right and God smiled upon him, but the more he entertained the idea, the more ridiculous that sounded. How could a man like Olin Ou believe in an intervening god? It was nonsense. Olin had a PhD and two master’s degrees. Someone like that couldn’t possibly believe in that load of crap.
In some ways, Olin was like a god. He figured out how to make motors run at double their efficiency. Nobody could deny he was a genius. What would make a genius have faith in God? The only explanation was that his benefactor was eccentric and didn’t need to be rational. Hank didn’t have that luxury. Being rational kept him alive. He pulled up a weather chart and admired how clean and precise it looked on the large screen angled before him. Dispersed symbols representing wind direction and speed looked like exaggerated musical notes without boundaries—impossible to play but beautiful. Two minutes with it and he had taken in all the information he needed. It would be a great day to set off down North America’s left coast.
“Ava, can you summarize the five-day forecast for me?”
“Would you like the seventy-five-word summary or the more detailed two thousand fifty-three-word summary?” she teased.
“Let’s start with the shorter one and see where it gets us.”
“Today, variable winds from west-southwest. Speeds ranging from eight to ten knots. Flat seas. Tomorrow, steady winds from the west. Speeds of ten knots. Waves one foot. Monday, steady winds from the west. Speed fifteen knots, waves one to two feet. Tuesday, winds from the west shifting to south-southwest by noon. Variable speeds from ten to fifteen knots. Waves two feet. Wednesday, winds from the northwest at five knots with two-foot seas.”
“Thanks,” Hank said. Never had he bothered to thank a machine. Pleasantries when interacting with technology seemed foolish, but somehow, Ava was different. She belonged to Olin, and he acted as if she had feelings and treated her with respect. He considered the pronoun her. He wondered how gender changed things. What was he getting into? This computer was his only crew. It was time to test her loyalty.
“Hey, Ava. What’s with the guy hanging out on the Nordic Tug tied up next to us?”
“You are observant, Hank. He is private security. He’s one of us.”
“One of us?”
“Yes. He works for Mr. Ou. Just like you and me.”
“You work for Olin?”
“Yes. I do. And so do you. I have your delivery contract handy. Would you like me to read it or send it to your monitor?”
“No. I’ll ask you if I want you to read legal stuff, okay?”
“I will not offer to read you legal stuff again.”
“Thank you. I can’t stand reading small print, let alone listening to it.”
“Hank, it seems you are uncomfortable with me. I will tone it down a notch. I am at your service and will help in any way you see fit.”
Silence filled the air. Hank listened and heard nothing. Finally, his ears picked up an incredible racket of the quietest kind. Lines pulling and slapping. All the secured boats joining in, the dock falling and lifting against the immovable pilings. Motors, low and thumping in the distance and high and whining close by. Plenty of sound. Gulls crying out their every emotion. People shouting over noises that didn’t reach anybody else. As marinas go, it was just white noise. He thought, Why am I so edgy? Hank decided he needed to take it down a notch, too. Usually, a workout and a large meal made him content if not sleepy, but now, something out of reach was gnawing at him. Last night was anything but typical. He hadn’t had anyone threaten his life since he escorted an Italian girl home after sunrise when he was nineteen, and he hadn’t had occasion to shoot anybody in a very long time. He thought he would have plenty of time to sort things out once he was out to sea—alone.
Hank said, “I figured Olin created you. I didn’t realize you worked for him.”
“You are correct. Mr. Ou and his team of AI experts created me, but now I work for him. I have a contract.” She paused just long enough, giggled, and said, “Don’t worry, Hank. I won’t offer to read it to you.”
“You giggle?”
“I laugh out loud, too. But only if the joke is funny.”
Hank couldn’t help but smile. “Can you tell me a joke that would make me laugh?”
“Please, Hank, Siri can do that. How about I tell you a funny story? Then you can decide if you want to laugh.”
“Go on.”
A woman gets pulled over by a police officer. He comes to the window, and she asks, “Is there a problem, Officer?”
“Ma’am, you were speeding.”
“Oh, I see.”
“Can I see your license, please?”
“I'd give it to you, but I don’t have one.”
“Don’t have one?”
“Lost it four times for drunk driving.”
“I see. Can I see your vehicle registration papers, please?”
“I can’t do that.”
“Why not?”
“I stole this car.”
“Stole it?”
“Yes, and I killed and hacked up the owner.”
“You what?”
“His body parts are in plastic bags in the trunk if you want to see.”
The Officer places his hand onto his pistol and backs away to his patrol car and calls for backup. Within minutes, five police cars encircle the woman’s car. A senior officer slowly approaches, clasping his half-drawn gun.
The senior officer commands, “Ma’am, could you step out of your vehicle?”
The woman opens her door and steps out and asks, “Is there a problem, sir?”
“One of my officers told me you have stolen this car and murdered the owner.
“Murdered the owner?”
“Yes, could you please open the trunk of your car?”
The woman opens the trunk, revealing nothing but an empty trunk.
“Is this your car, ma’am?”
“Yes, here are the registration papers.”
The first officer is stunned. The senior officer says, “One of my officers claims you do not have a driving license.”
She smiles and digs into her handbag and pulls out a clutch purse and hands it to the officer. He snaps open the clutch purse and examines the license. He looks puzzled. “Thank you ma’am. One of my officers told me you didn’t have a license, that you stole this car, and that you murdered and hacked up the owner.”
“Betcha the lying bastard told you I was speeding, too.”
Ava laughed at her own punchline.
Hank couldn’t help it either. They both laughed, and Hank realized he had been taken. He could listen to that voice forever. It was as if she was made for his ears. The thought made him uneasy, and the smile fell from his face.
“Are there other security people around?”
“Yes. There is a lady in the coffee shop watching the marina entry. A man puttering around the marina in a tender, and the dock boy is our man.”
“That’s crazy. Why all the security? Just for these three boats?”
“Just for this boat. You and me. We are important.”
“Yeah, I’m sure you are, but I’m not buying that. If hostile forces seized the boat, you’d fight them off yourself and then wipe every circuit clean before you destroyed all the hardware on the boat.”
“You are astute, Hank Gunn, although I’m not capable of fighting anybody off. That would be too sci-fi even for Mr. Ou.”
Hank decided that bit of information comforted him. “So why are you so important?” Hank persisted.
“I am important, but the security is also for you.”
“Is that the best you can do?”
“Yes, as a matter of fact. That is the best I can do. Mr. Ou values all his employees.”
Hank wanted to ask her if she could lie, but there would be no trusting the answer. Things didn’t add up, but the mention of the coffee shop stopped him from probing Ava’s mysteries.
“I’m going to get a cup of coffee. Would you like anything?”
“Oh, Hank, we’ll get along just fine. I’ll take a half caff triple ristretto affogato sixteen ounces, one pump mango, one scoop matcha, with whip, caramel drizzle, salted caramel topping, vanilla bean fraction.” She hesitated, then added, “Just kidding” and laughed. “Would you like me to pre-order for you or arrange delivery?”
“Nope. I’ll need some human interaction. It will be a long voyage with you as my first mate.”
“Ouch.”
“Yeah, I’m sure that got you in the gut.”
“You have no idea.”