Tobias Buckell - Arctic Rising

Then Martinez narrowed his eyes and stabbed his finger to make a point. “But I want to make sure you understand that this is also a PR coup for the people who gave me the orders to go hunt for the vessel. They’re trying to justify keeping ships like mine operational. Normally a ship like this, we coast around, trying to sip fuel as best we can and patrol some area. We usually leave the fast-moving interception and hunting to nuke-powered steamers and the sailships.”

And, Anika wondered, was that also a sign of the Americans overcompensating for the unexpected rise of Canada’s strength throughout the polar region, and as a result of those riches, the world?

There were Americans rioting about the cost of their military. And the American naval fleet would be testing combined maneuvers soon with other G35 navies as a way to possibly make cuts in its fleet. No wonder this captain’s superiors wanted the usefulness of their ships proved. It’d get that much harder for the UNPG to keep order in the North if the Americans started drawing down from the Alaskan bases because of the cost of the Polar Fleet.

Maybe Canada would step up.

Anton nodded. “We just want to talk to the sailors of the Kosatka . No pissing match, Captain. We won’t try to take them back with us.”

Martinez smiled sadly. “It’d be nice if we could prove the value of keeping these ships around, enough to justify the expense of converting them to nuclear power.”

Anton and Yves nodded sympathetically. They were both former sailors, now deskbound. They understood a captain’s desire to work hard to keep a ship going.

Martinez stopped in front of a locked room with two men on guard outside of it. “I doubt they’ll tell you much more than we found out already. We already passed on everything they said.”

“Yes,” Anton replied as he waited for the door to be opened. “But it’s always best to do your own interrogation, I feel. Look into their eyes and see what is there, yeah?”

The thick metal door swung open.

“Knock yourselves out,” Martinez said.

Six grubby men sat on a long bench, their backs to the gray-painted metal bulkhead. Two of them had their faces in their hands, elbows on their knees.

Anika locked eyes with the man wearing the blue woolen cap.

“That’s the man who fired the rocket at me,” she said.

Anika’s attacker had been about to stand, as were some of the other men on the uncomfortable-looking bench.

They were, she realized, quite young. Very early twenties, maybe late teens. Hardly more than boys. One of them had a patchy beard.

This crew wasn’t a group of hardened drug runners, as Anton and Yves had passed along to her. That was what the Kosatka ’s crew told the navy they were, after they’d been captured.

The U.S. Navy said they’d most likely weighted and sunk their evidence after ramming her airship in the water, then ran for it, because there was nothing in the Kosatka ’s holds when they found the ship. And the U.S. Navy didn’t buy the whole seasoned criminals thing either.

“A bunch of young punks, most likely first timers, who panicked,” Yves said. “That’s what everyone seems to think.”

Now Anika felt like a tightly wound spring that had snapped, pieces scattering everywhere. She’d come here taut and angry. Self-controlled, but sadness and anger torqued tight and deep within her.

These … kids, she thought.

Just scared kids.

Anton and Yves sat down on small metal chairs in front of the five drug dealers and started asking questions.

“You’re … you’re not the lawyers, then?” one of the young men asked. He looked scared.

Yves shook his head and leaned forward. “Terrorists don’t get lawyers on a U.S. Navy ship,” he said softly. “Terrorists don’t get much of anything at all.”

One of the young men leaned forward and threw up.

Anika turned around and left the stink of fear behind her.

Half an hour later Yves joined her, leaning against the rail, looking out at the Kosatka again. “Okay?” he asked.

“They’re younger than I expected,” she said.

“Young drug dealers. Young murderers.” Yves lit a delicate thin cigarette and drew in a deep breath of smoke. Exhaled. “You know … drug dealers on a street corner, they can be any age. They are still deadly people, yes?”

Anika looked over. “I’ve seen enough fourteen-year-olds with automatic rifles, Yves. I know. I was just surprised.”

Maybe she thought she’d left some of that behind in the desert. Lagos was built up. Like any other city in the world, it was its own little country deep in the canyons of its skyscrapers and municipalities. Not what foreigners thought of when she said Nigeria when they asked where she’d been born.

But up north … Up north it was all still tenuous country in scattered places. Religious tension. Riots. Broken landscapes and desperate people.

Kids with weapons.

She’d been a city girl with Nollywood-inspired dreams of becoming a pilot. To fly out from the depths of city and noise and packed people outside in the heat.

And she’d flown into a part of Africa that she’d only ever seen in news reports or Western-made movies.

“If they were running drugs, then how come my scatter camera went off?” Anika asked, turning and leaning her back against the cold metal rail. “Are drugs radioactive now?”

Yves grinned briefly around the edge of his cigarette. “They are not. But, you know, it is good you asked.”

“Why is that?”

He took another long drag. “Your airship transmits flight data via satellite continuously. Your scatter camera logged nothing on this flight. I think maybe there was a mistake?” He looked meaningfully at her.

“The scatter camera went off. We went in for a closer look.”

“Maybe you heard the wrong alarm,” Yves suggested. “It’s been seven months since your last event. That’s a long time. Combine that with the trauma of the attack…”

Anika stared at him. “We went in closer and got further readings. There was something on that ship.”

Yves looked uncomfortable for the both of them. “Maybe something went wrong somewhere?” he suggested. “Bad data?”

“Maybe. I have a physical backup of the data at home. Pass that back to our superiors. When I get back I can prove this wasn’t just about drugs, and that they’re lying.” Anika rubbed her temples. This sort of mess was why she always made sure to cover herself. Her father had always warned her about bad equipment and bureaucracy. “I don’t want to talk about that anymore, Yves. What’s next?”

“Next?” Yves mulled the word over. “Next.” He folded his arms and looked out over the dark harbor water.

She followed his gaze, turning around to face the rail again. “The boat.”

Yves nodded. “ Kosatka, yes. Understand, it is just routine, yes? But I like the poking around. There’s a dinghy waiting for us.”

“Routine?”

“We have the bastards who did this to you,” Yves said. “We have their confessions. You identified them.”

“And then that’s it.…” Anika said.

“That’s it,” Yves said.

Except it wasn’t. They were lying about being drug runners. And why lie about something bad unless you were covering something worse?

“Let me come with you,” Anika asked.

Yves moved his head back and forth, as if considering. “We just needed you to identify the crew. You are not needed for this part.”

“You need me to fly you back, though, right?” Anika said.

“You wouldn’t!” Yves protested.

“You leave me here on this ship to go out there, I’m headed for the airport,” Anika insisted. “After a day like this, do you think anyone would be willing to formally discipline me?”