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The Mariner

“Bullshit!” She pressed him harder, jamming her arm into his neck. Two thoughts seeped into his brain. The first was how restricted his breath had become. The second, that her breasts were pressed against his chest.

“Okay!” he relented, croaking the words. “I’m searching for a specific island. It’s ringed by some sort of barrier. I thought the Oracle might have been it, but it wasn’t. Just another trap.”

“Why search?”

“I don’t know. I don’t remember how it began.”

Heidi released the pressure just enough for him to breathe, yet not enough to relax. Suspicion clearly still upon him.

“And knowing this Anomenemy is nothing more than a trap, a freak, an anomaly of nature, you’re willing to go back and risk its presence again?”

This point had him stumped. He hadn’t reluctantly agreed, he’d leapt at the chance. And why? Because of a dream?

“The Wasp,” he whispered. “I believe she knows of the Wasp.”

Heidi frowned, her anger gone and replaced with uncertainty.

“Is that another Anomenemy?”

The Mariner rubbed his neck, painful dimples where she’d crushed him against a pipe. “I don’t know. Have you heard of it?”

“Sounds vaguely familiar but…” Heidi shook her head, drawing a blank. “Perhaps an Anomenemy spoke of it before its death and we missed it somehow.”

“Perhaps you should try talking instead of killing?”

“If you think that then you haven’t met enough of them.”

You’re wrong, he thought, remembering the eels. I’ve met plenty.

Heidi backed away, appraising him with her eyes. Finally she nodded and started down the corridor.

“Are you coming or not? I think a man like you could do with more of that whiskey.”

Amidst the bustle of the ship’s kitchen, the Mariner and Heidi sat upon a small work surface free from activity. Heidi, being second in authority only to Mavis herself, found no trouble at all acquiring a large bottle of scotch, which she emptied into two steins, originally designed for carrying beer, yet generously put to their new task. They drank the fiery liquid, watching a room that never slept.

“How many people are involved?” the Mariner asked, staring in wonder at the huge amount of food being prepared. Sweet scents of roasted meats teased his nose, spices ticked his throat, and chopped onions stung his eyes. Never in his existence had he imagined so many different foods collected in one place.

“Close to three hundred at the last tally,” she said. “Though more join with every day. We offer a slice of the old-world. That’s more than most can resist.”

“Three hundred,” he repeated, whistling through his teeth. “I have no idea how you manage to hold it all together.”

“It’s tough. We had an awful shortage of supplies a while back. Not just food, but medicines, ammo and spare parts. Fortunately we found an old crashed cruise ship to plunder. That solved the food shortages, and once bellies are full, other issues seem to matter less.”

“So you’re looters?”

“Not all the time. Sometimes we get supplies in exchange for services.”

“Services?”

“Killing… Anomenemies,” she added as if needing to clarify.

“Does everyone buy into the old lady’s theories?”

Heidi tilted her head, squinting at the Mariner. In the warm light of the kitchen, she seemed beautiful. Not just from youth, but from a confidence utterly unknown in the Mariner’s world.

“You don’t agree with Mavis’ analysis?”

“I’ve met many mystics and preachers. All promising truths. Right or wrong, she’s one amongst many.”

“No,” she shook her head, loose hair shimmering in the light, enthralling his inebriated brain. “They were superstitious fools, living in ignorance, no doubt contributing to the problem rather than reducing it. Mavis is not like that. Her arguments are justified by science, not faith.”

He shrugged and drank his whiskey.

“You don’t believe me?”

“I don’t understand. Science? All I know is what makes sense, and you make as much as anyone else.”

“You’ll change your mind. When we find this Wasp of yours, we’ll get to the bottom of it.” With a hint of sadness she added, “things will make sense again.”

The Mariner, eyes blurry and manipulated by lust and booze, looked longingly at the captain. She saw his gaze and mistook the admiration for pity, so shook the sadness from her shoulders in one graceful push.

“You’re lucky to be alive.”

“Really?” he asked, surprised at the comment.

“Yes. If you hadn’t brought Harris back to us of your own free will, he would have killed you for your ship.”

“You know this?”

“He’s a ruthless bastard that one, but committed to our cause. A good captain.”

“And are you a good captain?”

She flashed him a drunken smile. A real prize-winner. “The best.”