The day of the auction for Britain, I spent ping-ponging between the harbor and the yacht port, hoping to come across the boat I saw in Bobby’s pictures. Sadly, I didn’t find a vessel named Southern Star or one that was visually similar. The indigenous people whom I asked about it knew nothing. Spit Master wasn’t there either. He probably thought he had his yearly schedule filled now, celebrating. It was actually an exhausting search because of my bad hip, but the positron gun in my pocket gave me some hope. At least I wasn’t completely harmless anymore.

The atmosphere in both places was vibrant and colorful, as usual. Fortunately, I fit in pretty well with my brand-new shirt, which had a pirate flag in the hands of a skeleton printed across the front. It was one of my favorites. Quite naturally, a few explosions thundered in the area as I hung around, contributing to Tutuila’s overall feel because it was simply inevitable if you stayed on the island for over an hour. On top of that, it was hot as hell.

While making continuous raids back and forth, I had a perfect chance to look at the thriving business activity happening in the capital of the former American Samoa. Here, on the harbor, it was mostly about mona, but the yacht port turned out to be a true marketplace for all kinds of illegal stuff. Between the shitty articles like my water gun, they were selling many gadgets originating from Mars. In Greenland, we usually don’t have access to them because, like most other confederations, we lost our connections with the colony over the last years, but in SPC, it was different. Because of the Indian nature of this place and its closeness to the docking station on Swains, nobody cared about trade moratoriums or embargoes, and smuggling flourished on a large scale.

Like every other child, I had dreamed about being invisible, for example. Back then, I mainly wanted to steal into supermarkets and malls to pinch things my folks refused to buy me, but later, in puberty, my goal transformed. I yearned to sneak into the girls’ locker room at school and see my schoolmates naked. Even nowadays, with my occupation, I would definitely benefit from such an ability in various ways, too, and I’ve always thought I wouldn’t live long enough to see it possible. It turned out it was possible, though—only not here, on Earth.

There was a Martian gadget called a stealth strip, and when you put it on your head—like a sweat headband—it produced an angle-sensitive close-distance hologram for the surrounding people. It mimicked the environment behind your back, regardless of the viewer’s position. A hundred people might circle all day around you simultaneously, and the hologram would be correct for every one of them at every given moment. Honestly, the patch between the natural and virtual was a bit rough around the edges and imperfect, but it worked sufficiently well even so. I didn’t know about supermarkets, but it was good enough for locker rooms. Unfortunately, the device was too expensive.

Another marvelous thing, which I thought impossible, was the gravity-shifting umbrella. These created a bubble of weak antigravity force around you, making raindrops and other small objects bounce away. I’ve always wondered why nobody cared to invent them, but as it seemed, they were invented on the red planet, although they protected people from dust, not rain. They actually had many other bizarre gadgets in the colony, which we don’t have here. They have automated flying transport, houses of organic materials supporting constant temperature through perspiration, domestic androids in every household, and a human-free government and judicial system. Of course, there are fewer people on Mars, which makes it easier to sustain a better standard, but the main reason is that they still have close relations with the aliens. Couloongs constantly feed them with new technologies, while down here, we only have access to what traffickers manage to smuggle out.

It was all different once—we worked together. Mars was inhospitable, and the first settlers had to suffer incredible misery and privation, but they did it because the colony was our life insurance as a race. They thought the difficulties were temporary, and we, on Earth, believed so, too. Every new batch of people we sent there delivered to the settlements not only supplies and things they couldn’t produce themselves but also hope. Regretfully, after twenty missions, a long line of recessions hit our planet, and the colonizing ceased. The timing was terrible because, up there, they had just started a reproductive program and needed more resources. At first, everybody here swore the missions would be restored when the current recession ended, but then the Great Shifting of People followed, and after that, the Couloongs arrived, so the moment was never right. As a result, they have stealth strips on Mars now and gravity-shifting umbrellas, while we only have tons of hungry migrants everywhere, omnipresent misery, and never-ending global climate warming.

Incidentally, I don’t think we’ll restore our relations with the colony ever again. They believe we betrayed them, and maybe they are right. Not only did we ditch them on a hostile planet without any help, but we also ridiculed them for their complaining and nagging about stuff. Currently, a Martian is a nickname for a faultfinder and beggar here on Earth. Many people consider them a nation of loafers who have always relied on us for everything without making any effort, and when we weren’t able to help them anymore, they just switched to the aliens. Who knows where the truth lies—probably somewhere in between—but the fact that we abandoned them remains.

I suddenly stopped and looked around because another loud explosion thundered through the harbor, startling me. It was more of a reflex; I was already getting used to it. This time, it happened pretty close—somewhere in the crowd ahead—but, as usual, none of the people around me paid attention. Everybody was too busy burning guano in primitive stoves, mixing it with water or various acids, and then calling the slurry mona and selling it. Other people were buying this shit, carried it to Ofu, and then, after Greenspace’s refusal, brought it back for “recipe improvement.” It was a vicious cycle that no one wanted to notice. The wretches who participated in it had no time to care about someone else’s explosions because the explosions were simply part of the game!

I turned back and headed for the yacht port because I didn’t want to watch the agony of the next masochistic idiot who mutilated his body or face. Over there, the Chinese were just selling fake guns and smuggled items, and although it wasn’t good for my wallet, it was definitely much healthier for my nerves.

Despite having my car at hand, I decided to walk there because I was afraid that when I returned, I would lose my spot and have to stop too far. It was better to keep the vehicle ready, and besides, it was too hot to drive anyway. Inside my Ford, it felt like an oven, and outside, I could fry eggs on the front hood! I slowly left the area, still thinking. Everything was so weird on this stupid island, and this entire ammonia fuss made no sense. I couldn’t understand why Chavez needed the theatrics with his trade hub and all the people going nuts about it instead of cutting the bullshit and buying the substance from factories all over the world. After all, he didn’t need to hide from the authorities because it was just an ordinary business activity—the stuff wasn’t illegal. Moreover, none of the indigenous people could produce ammonia and sell it to him, obviously.

Another strange thing I couldn’t understand was the business of my Greenland friends. They could have safely done it from home if they really wanted to trade chemical compounds. Greenland was an industrial country, and there was no point in taking the risk of messing up with Chavez. His paramilitary ex-environmental organization was far from being a reliable business partner unless it had a monopoly over the trade, which definitely wasn’t the case. Like everybody else, Chavez used the docking station on Swains, and the pirates who owned it were politically neutral. They would shoot a railway composition in space for anyone with enough money.

Ten minutes later, deeply entrenched in my thoughts, I reached the yacht port and squeezed through the crowd. I made the usual rounds there, but nothing had changed while I had been away. Southern Star was still nowhere in sight, Spit Master was missing, and Marty Cork was too. I had just started wondering where I could hide from the severe sun when I realized there was a balance in life, and I was presented with something in return for the bad luck I had with the guys I was looking for. I glimpsed the idiot who sold me the water gun in my pocket. As soon as I noticed the bastard, I ran to him, furious.

“Hey, give me my money and take your fucking shit back!” I cried angrily, grabbing him by the elbow because I knew he had the habit of vanishing miraculously. His funny little toy was worth only a hundred bucks, but I didn’t want to give up my warranty claim. It was a matter of principle.

The jerk looked at me, unimpressed. He took the gun to check it out, after which he said it was my fault. I broke the weapon, he explained, because I used it in the hot weather. Due to its firing technology, the thing had an operating range between minus ten and plus thirty degrees Celsius, and it had been forty-five on the island for days. I couldn’t believe my ears when I heard his ridiculous answer. Naturally, I refused to accept his point and insisted he should give me my money back. He said he couldn’t do it because my money had already gone to his contractor, and if I wanted, he would give me an email address to claim my warranty. He lied, of course—there was no contractor. He had bought this crap on the street market in Shanghai, where the manufacturers worked with almost no supervision by the local government.

We continued our quarrel, and at some point, I was tempted to use my real gun to make the bastard reimburse me. Unfortunately, too many people were around us, and I had no permit for the Luger, so I restrained myself from pulling such a show. I would only get into a complicated situation if I wasn’t careful. Eventually, the Chinese agreed to take the weapon if I picked something else from his stuff for the same money. I chose a portable air conditioner for thirty bucks, a pair of night vision goggles for twenty, and a cell phone for fifty. Then we parted in peace.

I grabbed my brand-new acquisitions, which would be just as functional as the gun—I was sure about that—and headed toward the market exit. Tired of all the pointless wandering around, I intended to return to the harbor, take my car, and drive to Failolo because I feared Marty would give it another try to kill Bobby. I hoped to catch up with the moron there. It turned out I wasn’t meant to go anywhere, however. I had just taken a few steps when I noticed Sengupta’s marine monster anchored at its usual place on the quay. Its arrival had escaped my attention, and I went to check it out.

This time, the big shot wasn’t on board, as it seemed. I could tell because there were no guards in sight. I saw only a few dockworkers doing rounds between the vessel and the shore, and soon, they provoked a wicked idea in my mind. I was tempted to play an idiot and pretend I was a crewmember. I wanted to take a short tour of the deck and see what was going on, but unfortunately, I had no equipment to do it successfully—a stealth strip or a marine uniform, at least. The chance of getting away with it unnoticed was practically zero. Then an even cleverer idea occurred to me—to pretend I was a dockworker—but I had to ditch this one too because the guys who carried boxes of fruits and vegetables around probably knew one another.

I idled on the quay for a while, “supervising” the process of loading with provisions, but at some point, I realized I was making an easy target out of myself. During my short stay on the island, I had made quite a list of acquaintances, and some of my new “friends” could easily recognize me. So I quickly drew away from the yacht to prevent that, checking out my new cell phone instead. When its screen turned on, I looked at it, worried and expecting it to start ringing immediately. I was particularly terrified Dunkin might call and ask me what the hell I was doing so far away from home. It made me regret the time when life was so much simpler and mobile phones had only a SIM card and nothing else. Back then, you vanished completely if you pulled out the latter or changed it. These times were gone, however, and with them, yet another piece of our freedom. Nowadays, the moment you turn on your cell and it logs into your account, the entire fucking world knows about it!

Fortunately, my Indian gadget remained quiet and peaceful when it verified my identity and updated my status in the global system, so I sighed with relief. I put it into my pocket—now fully traceable by every policeman or villain in the world—and strolled to the harbor to fetch my car. When I got there, I hopped in, but I gave up the idea of going to Failolo and instead drove back to the yacht port, ready to follow anyone from the boat worth following. Meanwhile, the gangway had been pulled up, and the guys with the vegetables had disappeared. Hoping I still hadn’t missed the right moment, I took the air conditioner out of the box and prepared to wait. “At least I’m well equipped now,” I thought while plugging the thing into the dashboard, impatient to see its magic in action.

A few minutes passed, during which nothing changed in the car. The device remained totally silent without indicating in any way if it worked or not. No LED flashed, no sound beeped, and the temperature inside the vehicle was still devastating. I scratched my head and started the engine to give the air conditioner more power from the car battery, but it didn’t help either. Somewhere in the depths of my mind, I knew it wasn’t the problem, and I kind of expected it.

Highly annoyed, I grabbed the box and turned it to check the back label. The letters were too small, but I managed to verify that the voltage was correct, the polarity was okay, and everything else was fine, too. After remembering my experience with the gun, I checked the operating range, and it turned out it wasn’t fine. It read that the thing was effective between seventeen and twenty-seven degrees Celsius, which made me grab my head in my hands, not believing it.

“What the fuck?” I cried out of myself with rage. “Why would I need such a ridiculous gadget? And what idiot would manufacture it in the first place?”

I stormed out of my car, furious, and ran back to the cart of the damn Chin, thinking what I would do to him. I had some really good ideas in mind, but when I got there, the jerk had miraculously vanished again. Only an hour after reimbursing me with a fake air conditioner in return for the fake gun he had sold me before that, the bastard was gone. I was surely going to kill him the next time I saw his fucking face around!

Totally devastated, I returned to my Ford, breathing with difficulty, and wearily placed my butt on the leather seat, where the moisture from me sitting there just a few minutes ago hadn’t even evaporated yet. In such a terrible and unfriendly environment, I opened my mouth like a fish that was drawn out of the water and waited for the sun to finish its dirty business here and go burn the opposite side of the Earth. I remained in the car for four painful hours and nearly died there, but nothing happened on the boat.

Meanwhile, I had enough time to follow the auction results for Britain on my brand-new cell phone. As expected, the Chinese conglomerate eventually won the bid. The businessmen in Chinasia had too much money accumulated in the old times and quickly put the Indian Central Bank in the corner. Right after the event, the winner shared their plans for the acquisition, and quite naturally, they wanted to resurrect China in the heart of Europe. They said New Britain would bring the European Confederation down to its knees, and the Brits, most of whom were tired of all the misery and chaos during the past decade, were actually excited to hear it. Of course, there were some catches and downsides to the Chinese plan. One of them was that the money behind the conglomerate belonged to former functionaries from the Communist Party, and they insisted that New Britain should become a communist country, too. The EC was shocked to hear it, but it was too late now, even for damage control. The only thing the officials could do was wait to see if other governments would decide to follow the British example and put their countries up for auction. If it happened, an entirely new world order could be expected.

Somewhere around nine, after discharging my cell phone completely, I decided it was time to stop my self-imposed torture in the Ford. Since there was no wireless charging station in the area and I didn’t want to connect the device to my car battery because I feared the “air conditioner” had drained it too much, I stepped out of the vehicle. All wet and exhausted, I approached the cart of the closest Indian merchant, looking through his stuff for some refreshments. I bought two cones of ice cream, an ice cream sandwich, an ice cream cake, two bottles of Coca-Cola, and one bottle of soda pop, and I hardly stopped myself from asking the guy to give me the bucket of cold water where he kept them. After eating and drinking all this, I wiped my mouth, satisfied, and I had just taken a few steps back toward my car when I glanced at the boat and realized I had paid dearly for my refreshment. The gangway was down again, and someone had obviously used it, but I had missed them!

I looked anxiously around, but there was nothing unusual. I didn’t notice the white limo or Sengupta in the area; his bodyguards were also missing. By that moment, darkness had already started falling, and the yacht port was progressively emptying. Very soon, the merchants took their goods, leaving their carts behind, and only a few guys remained, hanging around by one of the vessels twenty meters away. They didn’t pay any attention to me. After ten more minutes, I nervously wondered what to do. Still, there was no sign of life on the boat, and I cautiously approached it, pretending I was on an innocent night walk. Then I listened tensely but heard nothing coming from the two decks. The vessel was peaceful, and the passage to its lower level gaped invitingly only a few steps from me.

I looked around again. It was a stupid idea to climb up, but I couldn’t resist the thought. Something about Sharon’s plans clearly involved Sengupta, and I needed to know what it was. Besides, the opportunity seemed perfect—the boat was obviously deserted for the night. Of course, it was weird that the gangway was down, but maybe they had it ready for tomorrow morning. Many other vessels had their gangways down, too.

I glanced around one last time and hesitantly stepped onto the ramp, ready to jump back instantly if I had to. No one shouted at me or hurried to catch me. No one even saw what I did, so I quickly trotted up the gangway, climbing onto the boat before I could change my mind. Ten seconds later, the vessel became the next place on a long list of private properties I had violated lately.

As expected, the lower deck turned out to be empty. Extremely cautious, I briskly walked around, trying every door in turn, but they all were locked. The access to the staircase leading to the second level was blocked by a metal gate, but it was small enough to jump over, so I did it. When I climbed upstairs, I found nothing interesting there either. It was the same story—locked doors everywhere.

Shuddering, I returned to the lower level and stopped for a moment to think. As usual, I had no idea what I was doing or looking for. Well, apparently, I was looking for trouble, but that didn’t count because it was normal for me. Besides, the nightfall was making me feel confident. I hesitated for a while, wondering whether it was worth taking a second tour around, but I doubted that, in the meantime, any of the doors had unlocked themselves, anxious to help me. And then, just before I headed back toward the gangway, something on the bridge caught my attention.

I noticed a sign on the arch above it, which seemed to be a logo. It consisted of three intersecting blue balls and two letters—S and T. At first, I didn’t register what was weird about it, but then I remembered the boat from Bobby’s picture and grasped it. The sign there was just the same but seen from an acute angle, making it unrecognizable. Now that I saw it correctly, I immediately realized what the letters stood for—Sengupta Transports.

After my unexpected discovery, I felt utterly lost for the zillionth time. I had just started thinking I was getting the overall picture of what was happening, and this logo here made a total mess of my head again. Did it actually mean Bjornson was fooling around with the man who was beloved by the moon? And if so, why did the latter and Sharon kiss? Or, if the two bitches still played together, why did Marty try to kill Bobby?

Being too confused and full of questions, I walked to the bow and cautiously looked over the railing. It was stupid because the boat didn’t look like what I saw in Bobby’s pictures at all. Southern Star was a cargo vessel with cranes and a deep hold for storing containers, and this one, whose name was Emilia, was clearly built for pleasure. The lower level was practically a nightclub with numerous cocktail lounges, video screens, sound systems, a dance floor, a wet bar, and an entire jungle of exotic plants. There was even a pool table in the middle of it.

Still puzzled and intrigued, I approached it to take a closer look. The table was ready, with the balls arranged and waiting for someone to break them. It made me wonder how playing such a delicate game in the ocean was even possible. I pushed one of the balls, and it moved naturally, after which it stopped. I looked under the table and found it equipped with a gyroscope mechanism. Nevertheless, it seemed stupid still because I couldn’t see what difference the steadiness of the table would make if the people playing weren’t steady on their feet. And right then, I unexpectedly noticed something strange near one of the corner pockets.

Four small objects were there, looking like pieces of rock. I grabbed one in my hand, and it glistened with bluish-gray reflections like metal, although it wasn’t metal because its surface felt soft to the touch. It resembled graphite or something. “It’s probably nothing. Someone must have played with these and forgotten them here,” I shrugged at first but then remembered I had a pair of night vision goggles in my shirt pocket. Exited, I pulled the thing out to examine the objects, and despite my skepticism about it, the gadget actually worked. As it turned out, I could see clearly at night, not only between eight a.m. and six p.m.!

Satisfied that I had bought something from the Chinese that was worth my money, I looked at my palm. The stone was just the same, except it seemed greenish now. I couldn’t sense any particular smell, but it felt like I could scratch it with my nails. Since the goggles didn’t help me gather more information, I put the thing in my pocket for further inspection. The thought that the material might be dangerous briefly flashed across my mind, but I rejected it because they wouldn’t have ditched the pieces so carelessly on the pool table if they were. Then, I finally headed for the gangway to prevent any unpleasant surprises. The longer I stayed on the boat, the greater the chance for it to happen, and I didn’t even know yet how right I was to be afraid.

I had just stepped onto the quay, still looking at the world through my fancy new goggles, when a light green shadow crept behind my back and hesitantly stopped at my feet. At first, I thought a cloud had sailed across the moon, but a moment later, when a threatening hand rested on my left shoulder, I knew I was terribly wrong. I sharply turned around, startled, taking off my goggles and praying that it would be Peularia asking me for a threesome with her cute Indian assistant. Unfortunately, it wasn’t them. Fate was much crueler to me, as usual, and I came up against a heavily bearded, bald-headed Indian guy who was so huge that I stared right into his chest. He was the same one who maltreated me when I first met Sengupta near my hotel, and later on, he guarded the gangway when he and Sharon kissed on this very boat.

“Don’t bother anything. Just start talking.” The man roared after securing his grip on me, his voice as hoarse as a maneuvering fighter jet. And let it be convincing!”

Worriedly, I glanced behind him to see if he was alone. He had no company, and I assumed he was installed here to guard the boat for the night, but he had decided to take it easy and have a little chat with some of his fellows on the other vessels. Then I looked back at him.

“Why aren’t you sticking your fucking ass on board?” I grumbled, falsely affected, and secretly placed my right hand closer to my pocket. “Do you really think this is how you’re supposed to guard this property? Is this what you’ve been paid for?”

“What? Who the fuck are you?” The jerk’s eyes bulged in disbelief. He was genuinely shocked to hear me talking like that, which was my plan, in fact. I didn’t even let him finish his stupid curses or whatever he had to say and just grabbed his huge beard with my left hand, pulling it sharply to distract him. With my other hand, I quickly dug into my pocket.

This is actually a classic mistake that every big guy on this planet makes. They all presume to be strong enough and start talking nonsense instead of searching you for a weapon right away. In the next second, the Indian tried to squeeze me harder, but long before he figured out why I was caressing his beard, my Luger’s muzzle was already digging into his nostrils. The idiot crossed his eyes to focus them on it, and after recognizing the situation, he slowly started pulling his hands away from me.

I silently stepped back and gestured to him to turn around and get down on his knees. He obeyed reluctantly, and when he took the right pose, I aimed for the back of his neck with the gun handle. Since the man’s head was huge—it was bigger than my ass—and I wasn’t quite sure about the result, I used my left hand to reinforce the strike. It proved to be enough. His massive body shook abruptly, and then he collapsed on the ground, unconscious. It happened right at the moment when a cry echoed in the darkness.

I glanced around. An ordinary-looking guy stood hesitantly near one of the other boats, not knowing what to do. He was probably the one who had kept my friend company. I quickly raised my hand in the air and waved it so he could see the silhouette of my weapon, and then moved on. I glanced behind several times as I walked, but he didn’t dare follow me. Ten minutes later, I was back at my hotel. I had no time to waste because I had another meeting I had to prepare for in just a few hours. My schedule was pretty tight that night, and I really hoped it would bear fruit soon.

©2016 S.T. Fargo
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