Arthur Clarke: Cradle

The boat looked out of character for the sleek modern marina and Carol imagined the other boat owners reacting with disgust each day as they passed the Florida Queen. On an impulse Carol looked at the computer listing in her hand. She almost laughed out loud when she saw the boat listing as one of the nine available for hire.

“Excuse me,” she began, intending to start the discussion about chartering the boat for the afternoon.

Nick heaved an exaggerated sigh and turned away from his televised basketball game. The miffed look on his face was unmistakable. It said, What? Are you still here? I thought we’d finished our conversation. Now go away and let me enjoy the afternoon on my boat.

Mischievous Carol couldn’t resist the opportunity to harass the arrogant Mr. Williams (she assumed that the name on the computer listing and the man in front of her were the same, for she couldn’t imagine a crew member acting with such apparent confidence and authority on someone else’s boat). “Who’s playing?” she said cheerfully, as if she had no idea that Nick was trying to get rid of her.

“Harvard and Tennessee,” he answered gruffly, amazed that Carol hadn’t got the message.

“What’s the score?” she said quickly, now enjoying the game she had just created.

Nick turned around again, his quizzical look acknowledging his exasperation. “It’s 31-29 Harvard,” he said sharply, “just before the end of the first half.” Carol didn’t move. She simply smiled and returned his fierce stare without blinking. “And it’s the first round of the NCAA tournament and they’re playing in the Southeast Regional. Any more questions?”

“Just one,” she said. “I would like to charter this boat for the afternoon. Are you Nick Williams?”

He was taken by surprise. “Whaat?” Nick said. At that minute Tennessee tied the basketball game again, distracting Nick even further. He watched the game for a couple of seconds and then tried to collect himself. “But I have had no calls from Julianne. Anyone who wants to charter a boat here at Hemingway has to sign in at the desk and…”

“I came down to look at another boat first. I didn’t like it. So I stopped by here on the way back.” Nick was watching the television again and Carol was losing her patience with him. At first he had been amusing. At least I don’t have to worry about his pawing me, she thought. The guy can’t even concentrate on me enough to get his boat chartered. “Look,” she added, “do you want a charter for this afternoon or not?

The first half of the basketball game ended. “All right… I guess so,” Nick said slowly, thinking to himself, only because I need the money. He gestured to Carol to descend onto the deck of the boat. “Let me just call Julianne and make sure you’re legit. You never know these days.”

While Nick confirmed Carol’s identification with the marina headquarters, a jaunty young black man in his early twenties came down the jetty and stopped just opposite the Florida Queen. “Hey, Professor,” he said, the moment Nick was off the phone, “am I in the wrong place?” He motioned to Carol. “You didn’t tell me you were entertaining beauty, style, and class today. Wooee! Look at that jewelry. And that silk blouse. Should I go now and come back to hear your stories later?” He winked at Carol. “He’s no good, angel. All his girlfriends eventually end up with me.”

“Cut the crap, Jefferson,” Nick reacted, “this woman is a potential customer. And you’re late, as usual. How do you expect me to run a charter dive boat when I don’t have any idea when or if my crew is going to show up?”

“Professor,” the newcomer jumped down on the boat and walked up to Carol, “if I had known that you had something that looked like this down here, I would have been here before dawn. Hello, there, young lady, my name is Troy Jefferson. I am the rest of the crew on this lunatic asylum of a boat.”

Carol had been slightly discombobulated by the arrival of Troy and the quick repartee that followed. But she adapted swiftly and regained her composure. She took Troy’s out-stretched hand and smiled. He immediately leaned up and almost brushed his cheek against hers. “Ooueee,” Troy pulled back grinning. “I just caught a whiff of Oscar de la Renta. Professor, didn’t I tell you this woman had class? Well, angel,” he looked at Carol in mock admiration, “I just can’t tell you how much it means to me to finally meet up with someone like you on this tub. Usually we get old ladies, I mean old ladies, who want to—”

“Enough, Jefferson,” Nick interrupted him. “We have work to do. It’s almost noon already and we’re still at least half an hour away from being ready to leave. We don’t even know what Miss Dawson wants to do.”

“Carol is fine,” she said. She paused for a moment, assessing the two men in front of her. Might as well, Carol thought, nobody is going to suspect anything if I’m with these two. “Well, I told the desk that I wanted to go out to do some swimming and diving. But that’s only partially true. What I really want to do is go out here (she pulled a folded map out of her beach bag and showed them an area of about ten square miles in the Gulf of Mexico to the north of Key West) and look for whales.”

Nick’s brow furrowed. Troy peered over Carol’s shoulder at the map. “There have been numerous irregularities in the behavior of whales in this area lately, including a major beaching at Deer Key this morning,” Carol continued. “I want to see if I can find any pattern in their actions. I may need to do some diving so one of you will have to accompany me. I assume that at least one of you is a licensed diver and that your dive gear is onboard?”

The two men regarded her with disbelieving stares. Carol felt on the defensive. “Really… I’m a reporter.” she said as an explanation. “I work for the Miami Herald. I just did a story this morning on the Deer Key beaching.”

Troy turned to Nick. “Okay, Professor, I guess we have a live charter here. One who says she wants to look for whales in the Gulf of Mexico. What do you say? Should we accept her money?”

Nick shrugged his shoulders indifferently and Troy took it as assent. “All right, angel,” Troy said to Carol, “we’ll be ready in half an hour. We’re both licensed divers if we’re really needed. Our gear is onboard and we can get more for you. Why don’t you pay Julianne at the desk and get your things together.”

Troy turned and walked over to the jumbled mess of electronics at the front of the boat. He picked up one of the boxes with its housing partially removed and began toying with it. Nick pulled another beer out of the refrigerator and opened the built-in counters, exposing racks of equipment. Carol did not move. After about twenty seconds Nick noticed that she was still there. “Well,” he said in a tone of dismissal, “didn’t you hear Troy? We won’t be ready for half an hour.” He turned around and walked toward the back of the boat.

Troy looked up from his repair work. He was amused by the friction already developing between Nick and Carol. “Is he always so pleasant?” Carol said to Troy, nodding in Nick’s direction. She was still smiling but her tone conveyed some irritation. “I have a few pieces of equipment that I want to bring onboard. Can you give me a hand with it?”

Thirty minutes later Troy and Carol returned to the Florida Queen. Troy was grinning and whistling “Zippity-Do-Dah” as he pulled a cart down the jetty and came to a stop in front of the boat. A partially filled footlocker was resting on the cart. Troy could hardly wait to see Nick’s face when he saw Carol’s “few pieces of equipment.” Troy was excited by the turn of events. He knew that this was no casual afternoon charter. Reporters, even successful ones (and Troy’s street intelligence had quickly informed him that Carol was not just an ordinary reporter), did not have everyday access to the kind of equipment that she was carrying. Already Troy was certain that the whale story was just a cover. But he wasn’t going to say anything just yet; he wanted to wait and see how things developed.