Syren's Song by Claude G. Berube Read Free Book Online

“damn.” The baby-faced ensign looked and acted like a choirboy. “What’s the problem, Ensign Fisk?” The boat was now only fifty yards away.
    â€œThat admiral, ma’am. I mean . . . I didn’t realize he made flag. I don’t know how he could have. And he’s coming here. And I’m here. Oh, fuck, ma’am. I’m screwed.”
    â€œYou’re not making any sense. What the hell’s the matter?”
    â€œIt’s him, ma’am. Daniel Rossberg. He was my CO on Bennington last year.”
    â€œOh, my God,” she said. “Maybe I shouldn’t have stood down the gun crews.”
    Malacca Strait
    The cargo ship Nanjing Mazu had just exited the north end of the Singapore Strait, a day out of port. The dockworkers and government inspectors in Singapore had been well paid to ignore the seventh forty-foot container unit loaded onto the ship. Gala had made sure it was positioned close to the aft superstructure, behind all the other containers. That had been easy to do with the ship’s high-tech deck crane. A software program called Tetris, named after the old computer game in which the player had to fit various shapes into a compactpattern, controlled the crane and organized the placement of the containers based on their destination to facilitate speedier unloading. The transfer had appeared completely ordinary. Nevertheless, Gala wanted to make certain the container’s contents were properly secured.
    The wind had picked up by the time Gala was certain that no Singaporean coast guard craft had followed them. The sea was choppy now that the ship had left the lee of the land to the west and east. He pushed his 120-pound body against the heavy hatch, which refused to open. A passing sailor assisted him and told him to be careful on the deck. Gala immediately went to the container, unsealed it, and entered. He hadn’t counted on the rolling sea. The door swung closed when he was halfway inside and struck him in the back, launching him head first into the crated equipment.
    In the darkness, Gala tried to cry out for help, aware that no one would hear him above the drone of the engines and the wind. His hands shook as he struggled to find the flashlight in his pocket. The sea rolled again, opening the door and shedding light into the container. He grabbed the crate and held on as his attempted cry became a sob. At least the crate was here and safe. Gala had spent months trying to find this piece of equipment after the first had been damaged in an accident.
    The door swung closed again, plunging him back into darkness. He found his flashlight and shone the light on the crate. The hydrostatic extrusion press was safe inside within several layers of shrink-wrap. Satisfied that all was as it should be, he turned to leave. The door creaked open and then slammed shut as the ship rolled, taunting him, beckoning him to exit as it opened and denying him just as quickly when it closed. He knew he wasn’t fast enough or coordinated enough to judge the right time to jump through, so he decided to stay with the crate for a while. As he turned back toward the equipment, he noticed a red spot on the shrink-wrap. He instinctively brought his free hand to his head and felt the place where it had struck the crate. His head was wet. He shone the flashlight on his hand, now red with his own blood. He felt light-headed, nervous, and fearful. Suddenly shaking, Gala dropped the flashlight, which broke into two pieces as it hit the floor. His legs gave out beneath him and he collapsed onto the floor. The door slammed shut and this time did not open again, even when he pounded on it.
    The accidental loss of the first extrusion press had been a devastating setback. Even with the new replacement, though, he needed more people and more resources to extend his research. He had tried to explain that to Vanni,but his leader had said only that there were too few people to spare. His