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Two and a half years before
The Rose left port of Hin on the western coast of Lingguo, the weight of its cargo pushing the boat lower in the water. All twenty one of her crew moved about the boat, securing crates in the cargo bay they hadn’t had time to fasten down before they shoved off. In the kitchen, the chef had already started on dinner, and his sou-chef plating the first course. On the bridge, navigation, free of the harbor pilot, plotted the quickest course back to the COS, while the helm prepared a report for the captain of their upcoming voyage.
In the guest quarters, the crew settled in their passengers, who had left their suitcases in their staterooms, and now were mingling under the false-sunset of the dome. The lights on the tables around them provided the rest of their light, while the crew served drinks and set the guest table for dinner.
Logan found Cait just as she had started to prepare her office for sleep. The papers on her desk had been arranged into neat, separate stacks, only a few luxuriating in the In Box. What had been sorted, Logan knew, had been filed away in Cait’s filing cabinets. Her pens had even been lined up neatly at the top of her desk, ready to be used in the morning. Cait was unplugging the electric kettle as Logan stepped in to the office.
“Hello, dear,” Cait said, her ears lowering a little. “What brings you up here?”
“Just wanted to report in,” Logan said, waiting just inside the office door. Cait nodded.
“We have quite the haul this time. This may be a ship record,” she said. “Why are you actually here?”
Logan faltered, and then straightened up. “I have something,” Logan said.
“Oh?” Cait looked behind Logan, who held her hands behind her back. “Is it here?”
“Well, no. But it’s big!”
“Big like the Rose big?”
“Big like we’ll never have to work again big.”
Cait wrapped the kettle’s cord around its base. She set it back on top of the filing cabinets, her smile fading. “Go on.”
“I met a group while we were in Hin, and they’ve been talking about something that, if they can find it, will be worth more money than we have ever seen.”
Cait placed a hand on her hip. “Really? Treasure-hunting? How old are you, dear?”
“It sounds like a sure thing,” Logan said. “They have a few strong leads. With a little detective work, we could be part of this.”
“And in the meantime, we just give up our work?”
“I guess we’d have to, yeah,” Logan said. She stepped forward, holding on to Cait’s arm. “At least hear them out.”
“I will hear you out,” Cait said, sliding an arm around Logan’s shoulders. “What is this thing they aim to find?”
“They don’t know. They think it’s an old weapon, from a lost civilization. They think maybe it’s where Ebe himself had been imprisoned.”
“But they are not sure.”
Logan dropped her eyes. “No. But they have a whole lot of research about it. Lots of books. Like, on every surface. So many books.”
“And they are not sure of where it is,” Cait said, her ears very slowly leveling out.
“You should have seen the books, Cait!”
“I think,” Cait said, “that this would be a bad investment of our time.”
Logan let go of Cait’s arm, and Cait stepped into her quarters. She took off her COS coat and hung it neatly on a hanger. “Remind me,” she said, if not to Logan, than herself, “that I need a dry cleaners when we land again.”
“Eaton thinks this is a sure thing,” Logan said, leaning against Cait’s desk.
Cait came back out of her quarters, in a tank top that bared her arms and shoulders. Without her coat, Cait was slender, with a hint of a tummy snuggled up under her top. Logan was once again reminded of what years of training at Archertown got Cait. “Eaton? Eaton Fyfe?”*
“Yes?” Logan said, shrinking a little.
Cait suddenly seemed much bigger. “We do not associate with pirates. Under no circumstances do I want to hear that name on this boat again.”
“Cait,” Logan started, “he’s not that bad.”
“He’s part of the decline of civilization, and that has no place on the Rose.”
“He’s on to something really big,” Logan pleaded.
“I do not care. We have no room for him or his ideas on board the Rose. As your captain, I will not allow further contact.”
“What about my friend? What does my friend think?” Logan asked.
Cait grabbed Logan by her shoulder and with gentle force, pushed her out on to the bridge. “As far as I am concerned, this conversation is over. Good night, Logan.” Cait closed the door behind her.
Tre watched from the helm’s seat. Navigation had left early, or had stepped off for a bathroom break, and now Tre sat in the glow of the helm, eyeing Logan.
“I don’t want to hear it,” Logan said to Tre. She stomped off the bridge, fuming. She got down to the crew quarters before her mind caught up with her momentum, and she turned around, back up to the bridge.
Tre had resumed his duties, checking the monitors pulled up around him. Logan sat down in the navigator’s chair.
“I’m willing to bet you heard all of that,” she said to Tre. He eyed Logan, but kept his gaze on the weather radar.
“Do you want in?”
Tre didn’t move.
“There’s more on the other side of that. Glory, riches,” Logan said. “More than this existence. No more cramped bunks, no more sharing space with twenty other people. You can go where you want, when ever you want.”
Tre turned to Logan, exhaling hard and short through his nose. He stared into Logan’s eyes until she turned away.
“Fine,” she said. “I thought I’d try. Let me know when you change your mind.” She got up, shoulders back, and strode down into the crew quarters. As she entered, a hand named Trenz looked up from his cleaning.
“Hello,” Logan said. “You got a minute to talk business?”
—-
This is what the index of the Æncyclopedia Latania says about Eaton Fyfe:
Fyfe, Eaton (3943-?)
ALSO SEE:
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