International Waters, Pacific Ocean
five-pound dumbbells lay on the floor at Hank’s feet—the weapons from the gun locker. Pages of offenses sat stacked before him on the table. Half a dozen sheets of double-spaced text from the US and three times that much from the UN. Ava projected the lines he was reading on the monitor raised from the table’s center. The only thing he got out of the first reading was the exemption, which gave him permission to skipper the GalaxSea on his course to San Diego. That much he didn’t need Ava to interpret. Not a loophole, just the way governing bodies operate. The US had no ability to arrest him outside of the Exclusive Economic Zone, and the UN had no enforcement power over vessels sailing under a US flag.
The rest of the documents were in a foreign language—legalese. Ava explained everything explainable and for everything else said, “This is new legal territory, and the courts will have to interpret the legislation.” What lay before him was a test. The future of maritime trade, travel, and transportation. Rules on the high seas. Serious minded rules with deadly serious people behind them. Ms. Martin, the Peacekeeper, was the tip of the spear, poised to enforce each rule the bureaucrats created. Water comprises seventy percent of the world’s surface and he supposed the politicians saw it as the natural act of bringing order to the last under-regulated expanse of the Earth. He wondered why it had taken this long.
Politicians love power, and the oceans of the world begged for reasonable guidance. With millions of people trying to escape oppressive states by colonizing the oceans, some authority was bound to chase them down and give them rules. It seemed natural the UN would seize the opportunity and extend their reach. Today, he had been caught in the loose net of new world order and it left a tight feeling in his chest.
“What’s this one about?” Hank asked Ava as he focused his eyes.
“That is a recent law passed in congress—hoarding is a federal offense. They refer to it as the Abundance For All Act. It states no person may be in possession of over three weeks of food. When you return to US waters, you must declare the stores on board and forfeit any supplies more than the caloric needs of over twenty-one days.”
“These aren’t my food stores.”
“Hank, you are in possession of the excess and the law states you are responsible for compliance. I have placed a call to Mr. Ou’s lawyers. Perhaps when we re-enter US waters, things will be straightened out.”
“That’s ridiculous. You can’t take a trip around the world counting on resupplying everything every three weeks. What about people like my grandmother? She spent the summer and fall canning food to last her through the year. I suppose, if she were alive now, she’d go to jail.”
“It looks that way,” Ava said.
“And this next one. They’ve confiscated our flare gun and left us only three handheld signal flares. So now we’re safer?”
“According to the regulations. If a vessel has more flares than mandated, it is assumed the flares or materials within them are being used for criminal intent. The worldwide limit today is three handheld signal flares per vessel and no aerial flares. The compulsory adoption of the Universal Maritime Safety Tracker, or UMSAT, makes flare use obsolete. The US Navy has agreed to assist the UN with any regulations of parallel interest. You’ll see a similar statute on the second page of the UN list. Under Offenses Against the World’s People, item three.”
“Unbelievable,” Hank said. “And the UMSAT? Is tampering with it really a minimum of five years in prison?”
“Yes, Hank. According to both the US and UN regulation, all watercraft of eight meters or longer must maintain a certified Universal Maritime Safety Tracker. That is why a member of the ship’s boarding party hardwired the unit into our electrical system.”
“The price tag… this can’t be right?”
“Mr. Ou’s accounting firm paid eight thousand three hundred and sixty-three dollars to the US Treasury upon receiving the bill for what you refer to as the UMSAT and its installations. The UN fines and penalties of six thousand ninety-one SDRs for not complying are being contested. Would you like me to alert you when a resolution is agreed upon?”
“Ava, you must have known about these regulations. Don’t tell me this was an oversight.”
“I informed Mr. Ou thirty days before the requirement went into effect. He insisted that nobody touch his boats without his express permission. Five days before we left, I asked him about it, and he forbade me to bring it up again. I’ve learned not to challenge him.”
“Okay, what about this one? Dedicated storage for illegal firearms?”
“That concerns the gun locker in the forward crew quarters.”
“I know that, but what makes it a problem? Only these crowbars and dumbbells were stowed there.”
“If you read the Safe Weapons Act and the corresponding UN proposal, you would understand. Simply having the ability to lock and store weapons is evidence of intent to possess them. At this point, we have been given a warning regarding this offense. The law has not been ratified yet.”
“This is bullshit!”
“Would you like me to tell you a joke about that?”
“No, Ava. Is there anything I have to do about any of this right now?”
“No, Hank. Everything is being addressed by our representatives on shore. I will let you know if anything must be cleared up or thrown overboard.”
“Was that a joke?”
“I hope so,” she laughed. “Disposing of contraband or other non-native contaminants into the water is an offense outlined in the One World, One Water Resolution. Nothing is a capital crime anymore, but this one has serious penalties—restitution and up to life imprisonment.”
“It’s been a long day and I’m done. How about some music?”
“What would you like?”
“You know what? Why don’t you pick it out?”
A second later, the reggae sound of Bob Marley and the Whalers filled his ears. Hank laid back into the seat and brought his arms over his head, close enough to his face to hide his expression from any of Ava’s cameras. But he couldn’t keep his foot from tapping to the beat, almost convinced that everything would be all right.
The lighting in the main cabin increased with purpose. The music had stopped, and a wind pressed into his sleepy face. A feeling of dread coursed through his veins. Not waiting for the gnawing sound of fate, he launched himself up the companionway to view the catastrophe he expected. But no rocks reached out of the deep, no arrogant ships slashed at his beam. Everything was perfect except for Hank’s heart rate. It galloped along in a guilty panic. Empty horizons greeted him on all sides. Gentle seas laughed as the bow wave curled into itself, and the spun fibers of the rigging and laminate sails hummed a sound that could only be called happy.
“Captain. Prepare to come about,” Spock said.
Instinctively, Hank held fast, ducked his head, and softened his knees. None of which was necessary but always the proper way to respond.
“Coming about,” Spock reported as the bow pointed into the wind. Before the sails had time to vacillate, they filled with confident determination and the fresh course was better in every way than the old.
“What the hell are you doing?” Hank yelled.
“Don’t worry, Hank. Everything’s going to be alright,” Olin’s voice announced.
Hank squinted his eyes shut, forced his palm against the bridge of his nose, and pushed hard like a child experiencing brain-freeze. “Damn it, Olin! You’re doing that thing with my head again. Not cool!” He opened his eyes and pulled his hand away from his head. Finding himself surrounded in silence, he wondered if maybe he was dreaming. But the heart-pounding guilt for sleeping on watch had been replaced with the type of fatalism that shows up when fatigue wins. “Ava. Can you light up a screen or hologram or blink a light, so I know where to look? I want to see Olin. Can you do that?”
“Of course, Hank. It is my fault, as you put it, that Mr. Ou was… doing that thing in your head again. During maneuvers, it is standard procedure to use sonic projector communication. Please, accept my apology,” Ava pleaded. As if she cared.
A screen lit up with Olin’s image. “So sorry, Hank. It won’t happen again.” This time, the billionaire’s voice came to his ears the right way, the human way. “I just wanted to check in with you. Ava gave me the rundown, and my lawyers are on it at every level. What can I do for you? That must have been upsetting,” Olin said with genuine concern.
“I’m fine,” Hank said.
“You don’t sound fine. What do you need?”
“Just having a hard time waking up.”
“Did they hurt you?”
“No. Are you referring to the boarding?” Hank shook his head. “I’ve been through far worse than that.”
“Okay. Ava says your blood sugar’s low. Why not grab something to eat, maybe a cup of coffee? I’ll call back in fifteen minutes. I have a surprise for you,” Olin said.
“I’m not exactly into surprises right now.”
“If you’re going to work for me, you better get used to it.” Olin’s image disappeared from the screen.
Hank looked at the blank screen and muttered, “I should have figured that out by now.”
Food was a good idea. Blood sugar? Only something he had been dealing with his entire life and it took his AI nanny and fairy godfather to remind him. Coffee was brewing when he reached the galley. Coconut-flavored yogurt with a sprinkling of granola waited in the recessed door of the fridge. Words wanted to come out of his mouth, but there was no point. Lifting a carafe of piping hot coffee with one hand and grabbing the bowl and a spoon with the other, he faced the wall.
At the promised fifteen-minute mark, a pleasant chime sounded. The wall Hank faced changed subtly at first, from white into light blue and darker until a small rectangle appeared in front of him. He recognized it as it formed to the size and shape of the tablet in the cupboard above the nav station and wasn’t surprised when lettering formed on its front read DON’T PANIC and under it in small lettering he read THE HITCHHIKER’S GUIDE TO THE GALAXSEA. The cover opened like a book from a televised reading of a fable, but instead of a magical land, a 1950s black and white TV set appeared, with the iconic countdown sweep… 4… 3… 2… 1.
“Don’t panic… that’s always great advice. Don’t you agree?” Olin sat behind a news desk. The background with a world map matched the vintage of the black and white broadcast theme. “I’m not going to surprise you. I decided to call it breaking news.” He looked thoughtful and said, “The news for today is”—he rattled some papers laying before him—“the GalaxSea is about to change course. I have instructed Ava to make the preparations and set the new course as soon as she is ready. Hank, for now, you just need to go along for the ride.”
At that moment, Hank felt the boat change its point of sail. “Shit. We just jibed.” Hank frowned and shouted out. “Spock! What the hell are you doing?”
“Captain, I’ve corrected course on Mr. Ou’s request. I did not alert you because you were in conversation. You were seated in the safest place on the boat. I did expect your reaction, but I decided you would rather have me apologize than delay Mr. Ou’s Breaking News.”
To the lower right corner of the TV screen was the image of the outgoing feed in full color. Hank checked the small image of himself and saw his irritation. He decided to downplay the situation, but he could not ignore it. “Spock, that behavior is not worthy of a lubber. Remind me to have you keelhauled for your insubordination.” He managed an outward laugh, even though he was inwardly pissed.
“Ava warned me that you might not be pleased with me taking control out from under you. Deep down, I guess I wanted to watch and see how you’d react,” Olin said.
Hank ventured into unknown territory and declared, “You’re an asshole that way, aren’t you?”
Olin laughed out loud. “Yes, I am. Some of my friends call me much worse and you should hear what comes out of the mouths of my enemies.” With a kind grin, he said, “Hank, we’re going to get along just fine. I’m sorry. I’ll make it up to you soon. By the way, who is Spock?”
“Just Ava when I’m needing a first mate.”
“Oh, I see. Just a word of advice from someone who’s been there. Don’t get too carried away with assigning multiple personalities to an AI. It’s a slippery slope.”
“Got it. What’s going on with the course change? This way, we’ll be back in territorial waters. The new Navy seems to enjoy throwing its weight around. Are you sure you want every ship down the coast to have a go at us?”
“Absolutely. I told you not to worry. I’ve got everything under control.” Olin shuffled the papers, stared into Hank’s eyes, and said, “I’m Olin Ou. That’s the way it is.” The screen went blank.
Fantastic, Hank thought, Ms. Martin and the UN controls everything and Olin has everything under control. Here I sit in a carbon fiber shell, being guided through the Pacific by a self-aware supercomputer who would rather ask forgiveness than permission. My boss is erratic and…. He left that thought and poured coffee into a thermal mug, threw on a jacket and moved up onto the deck to gain perspective.
“Spock, take a break. I’ve got the helm and all the canvas. The only thing I want from you is to warn me if Olin is prying into my brain.”
“Captain, I understand the initial command. You now have full control of the GalaxSea, however, warning you if Mr. Ou is prying into your brain is… illogical.”
“Ask Ava what I mean.”
The gentle female voice broke into the silence. “I have to agree with Spock. It is illogical. Spock and I are one. I cannot understand something that he does not understand.”
“Huh.” Hank left the thought hanging, not convinced. He placed the slightest counter pressure on the steering wheel in order to stay on course. The main and the genoa remained trimmed for the twelve knot winds from the southwest. “Why is it I favor a starboard tack?” he asked himself, not for the first time.
“Was that a rhetorical question?” Ava asked.
“I was just talking to myself.” Hank felt the strain between his eyebrows. His internal dialog had been silenced for days, and now he was doing it again—talking to himself. At sea, alone, it came naturally. But on this night, he didn’t feel alone. Ava and Spock were more present than any crew he had ever sailed with. And Olin might show up anytime. “Ava, is there actually an answer to that? Why do I like the sails leaning left?”
“I’m sure there is, but I would not know the answer or even hazard a guess.”
“What do you know?”
“Oh, Hank. I know all kinds of things.”
“Such as?”
“Well, you already know that I tell a good joke, but may I suggest we take this opportunity to help me close the file on the Short Seven Solo?”
He ignored her and asked, “Can you tell me what makes Olin tick?”
“Oh, are you asking me why Mr. Ou is the way he is?”
“Yes.”
“Remember, Hank, the information I have available to me is practically limitless. The more specific your.... Excuse me, Hank, Mr. Ou is hailing you.”
“How do things look?” Olin’s voice came across the intercom.
There was nothing on any walls or monitors and no hologram above the tabletop, just the night sky, breaking clouds, and a few stars.
“Look, I know I promised to keep surprises to a minimum, but there is a change of plans and it’s going to be pretty big. In the meantime, I need you to help me prepare. Are you well-rested now?”
“Just trying to play the lonely sailor on watch, but it’s hard to pull off with all the interruptions.”
“Are you up for helping me execute—let’s call it—my shell game.”
“You’re the boss.”
“Yeah, well, about that. What I’m asking you to do isn’t exactly legal.”
“After what I’ve seen, nothing is exactly legal. As long as I don’t have to kill anybody, I’m in.”
“I wouldn’t think of asking you to murder.” Olin paused with a whimsical chuckle. “I don’t trust you that much.”