Radclyffe - Wild Shores

“Permission granted. Use the south side dock.”

“Affirmed, Rig 86.”

Alexis directed the helmsman to the south side of the platform, where he brought it smoothly in to the ocean-level dock and idled as the crew threw down for temporary anchor. Alexis climbed down the ladder, crossed the dock, and rode up in the crane-operated lift to the rig platform two stories above the water. A woman with short dark hair, average height, early thirties, in the usual uniform of windbreaker, boots, and serviceable pants awaited her with a friendly smile. Alexis didn’t recognize her, and she thought she’d met most of the crew leaders at one time or another. She held out her hand. “Commander Alexis Martin. Good to meet you.”

Alexis thought she saw a flicker of surprise in the woman’s eyes, but the smile didn’t falter, and the hand that closed around hers was firm. “Austin Germaine. Welcome aboard, Commander.”

❖

Austin led the Coast Guard officer through the warren of containers and equipment to the command center, mentally evaluating. Martin. Had to be a coincidence the officer shared Gem’s last name. Her luck couldn’t possibly be that bad. She searched for some physical resemblance to Gem and tried to tell herself the shape of the officer’s sea-green eyes, the particular golden hue of her hair, and the subtle squareness to her chin weren’t really similar to Gem’s remarkable features. Her artist’s eye disagreed, however. The likeness was subtle, but it was there. God damn it.

As she opened the door to the command center, Austin said, “Come on in and make yourself at home. We’ve got some decent coffee. The OTL is out with the drill crew, but I can get him up here if you need him. I’m acting sub right now.”

“Thanks,” Alexis said, unzipping her jacket and stowing her gloves in the pockets, “but I’m just doing a drop-by to check on storm preparedness. No need to call the OTL. I’m good without coffee, but appreciate it.” She glanced around the room. The usually crowded command center was oddly empty. The only other occupant was a woman who sat at a nearby workstation in front of two huge computer monitors showing satellite graphics and a variety of charts.

“Dr. Claudia Spencer is our oceanographer and meteorologist,” Austin said, apparently following Alexis’s gaze.

Claudia glanced over her shoulder and smiled in Alexis’s direction.

Alexis straightened. Claudia Spencer was gorgeous. Ordinarily, the sight of a beautiful woman didn’t give her a little charge, but this one did. Her hair and eyes were the color of a starless sky, deep black and endless; her elegant features and pale skin as flawless as polished ivory; her sensuous mouth wide and full, and at the moment, lifting in a deliberate smile. Alexis cleared her throat. “Ma’am.”

The stunning brunette laughed. “Hardly. Commander, is it?”

“Yes, ma’am, Alexis Martin.”

“Very nice to meet you, Commander.” Claudia’s voice was throaty and warm, as rich as dark honey. She held Alexis’s gaze for another few seconds and then turned back to her computer screen.

Alexis dragged her attention back to Austin. “How’s the rig riding out the weather?”

“So far so good. As you can see,” Austin indicated Claudia’s screens, “we’re keeping an eye on what’s coming, but as I’m sure you know, these semisubmersibles have incredible stability, even in big storms.”

“I know, but we don’t want a replay of what happened with the Petrobras.”

Austin winced. Petrobras 36 was the world’s biggest semisubmersible rig until it exploded and sank in bad weather off the coast of Brazil. “Believe me, neither do we.”

“I noticed you’ve got a convoy out there. Transport?”

“Potentially. We’re keeping our nonessentials off the rig,” Austin said, carefully keeping to the truth. She wasn’t about to lie to anyone, but particularly not to a Coast Guard officer whose duty it was to protect all of them.

“Good idea,” Alexis said. “How’s your storage level on the rig?”

“We’ve offloaded most of our fuel already,” Austin said, again sticking to the facts.

“You have everything at the ready to evacuate the rig if there are problems?”

“We have protocols in place. Ray Tatum will contact the company to make the call if the situation changes.” Austin indicated Claudia with a tilt of her head. “Dr. Spencer’s keeping a close eye on the storm as well as evaluating the stability of the rig. We won’t take any chances.”

“I doubted you would.” Alexis glanced toward Claudia Spencer again. The brunette didn’t turn around, and Alexis hid her disappointment. Everything sounded in order, and she had no reason to stay. She pulled her gloves from her pocket and slapped them against her thigh. “Good enough. I’ll let you get back to it, then.”

“I’ll walk you out,” Austin said.

Claudia turned and caught Alexis’s eyes. “Safe seas, Commander.”

Alexis nodded. “And to you, Doctor.”

Alexis walked with Austin to the far side of the deck and swung her leg over the side of the railing into the cage. “Make sure you institute those protocols with plenty of time. This one is going to be tough to call.” The wind whipped her hair, the sting bringing tears to the corners of her eyes. “No matter how good your meteorologist might be.”

“You’ve got my word on that, Commander.”

Alexis nodded and disappeared as the cage rapidly descended to the dock below.

Austin gripped the rail and watched the cutter glide away in a rapid curve, headed toward the convoy riding easily on the horizon at the moment. The last thing she wanted was to put anyone in danger, and if they didn’t make the right call at the right time, it wasn’t just their crew they’d put at risk. Claudia wanted ten hours to make a firm prediction. They had six left, and every one hung over her head like the sword of Damocles.

❖

Gem set out when the sun finally broke through the clouds for a few precious moments. The weather report suggested they might have scattered clouds with a bit of sun for the rest of the afternoon, and she intended to make the most of it. She wanted to get her cameras situated and temporary blinds set up where she could view and record the various migrants en route through the sanctuary. With her backpack full of equipment and a water bottle tucked into the pocket of her cargo pants, she followed the main trail away from her cabin into the marsh for a quarter of a mile, using her GPS to map her route and mark observation locations. Then she left the trail and headed into the undeveloped areas where tourists had no access, taking care not to disturb the native vegetation that provided not only cover, but food for the birds. The type and plentifulness of the reeds, grasses, and other ground cover constituted two of the prime determinants of which birds nested in which part of the sanctuary. She stopped at intervals and set her infrared-capable video cameras to cover areas she anticipated would be prime nesting spots and attached extended battery packs. Some of the birds would only rest for a day or less, others might remain for several. She would make a twice-daily circuit, downloading the camera readouts and changing batteries.

She didn’t have to make the trip every day, let alone twice a day. She could just as easily monitor the cameras from her cabin’s computer, but she preferred to do it manually. A camera could only see where its lens was pointed, but her human senses could follow the trill of birdsong, catch the flicker of wings on the air, spy a flash of color in a way a still camera never could. And besides that, she was a field researcher. She didn’t want to sit in a warm room in front of a computer monitor. She wanted her boots on the ground, no matter how muddy, and the wind in her hair, and the beauty around her warming her spirit.