It was four in the morning. There was no moon in the sky, and it was dark as hell. I wasn’t comfortable with such a complete lack of light, especially when surrounded by so much water. In an environment like this, unprepared people feel helpless, and I, in particular, was afraid I would die soon.

“No worry!” I heard Avinash’s voice trying to cheer me up. He was my boatman. “Hurricanes finish. Three hours, and you go happy!”

I turned my head toward him, not cheering up at all. In his cubicle behind me, which was supposed to serve as a bridge, he was lightheartedly pushing Saranya-82 through the frightening void. There was only room for him inside, so I had to sit by a pile of fishing nets in the bow.

I looked around, worried. I couldn’t see anything on the horizon. There was no horizon at all—only impenetrable and endless black space. The boat engine was roaring quietly, and I wondered how its owner knew where to sail. There were no instruments in the so-called “bridge” as far as I could see, and my only hope in this terrible situation was the guy’s name. Avinash meant “indestructible,” as he had explained to me. I didn’t count on it too much, however.

I nervously wrapped the jacket around my shivering body—I bought a new one, especially for the occasion—and tried to distract myself by thinking. Some four hours ago, still fresh after the trouble I had on Sengupta’s boat, I actually jumped for another one because I realized I had overlooked something on my way toward the hotel. If Marty was planning to sail to Ofu the next day, he would most probably want to load Mountain Cougar with his stuff the night before, and I would miss it. So I feverishly changed my clothes in my room, grabbed a few things, and quickly returned to the harbor to wait there.

My presumption turned out to be totally reasonable. Shortly after midnight, I saw a flickering light appear in the distance, and soon, it started slowly dancing toward the shore. I took cover behind one of the empty carts and hoped no one would see me. There were no people in the area except for my old friend, Spit Master, who was idling on his boat and waiting. About twenty minutes later, the light in the sea grew more distinct, and eventually, it turned into the dark silhouette of a vessel. When it came around and stopped right next to Mountain Cougar, a powerful floodlight on the latter’s deck pierced the darkness, allowing me to read the name of the newly arrived boat. It was Southern Star!

I stirred uneasily behind the cart because I didn’t see that coming. The weirdest part was yet to come, however! After a few minutes, an obscure figure appeared on the bridge, and when it came closer to the light, I recognized Marty Cork. I gasped with surprise because his presence here suddenly turned everything in my head upside down again. I was supposed to see Bobby on this ship, not him! The bastard briskly jumped over to Mountain Cougar to exchange a few words with the owner, and the latter spit eight times on the deck of his own boat while listening to him! Then Cork hopped back onto Southern Star and gestured to someone on the bridge who started operating a small mobile crane. The guy quickly transferred five big containers from their hold over to the other vessel.

The work was completed within half an hour. Spit Master covered the containers with a tarp, and when it all ended, Marty just waved his hand to him; Spit Master returned the gesture, and then Southern Star set off. Soon, it vanished into the darkness of the sea. I expected to see Mountain Cougar setting off, too, but although the owner sank into his boat, she remained anchored. A few minutes later, I cautiously crept out of my hiding place and hurried to the far end of the harbor, where I had a rendezvous with the guy who was supposed to take me to Ofu. At least, I wanted to believe he would—it was either there or to death!

I looked back at Avinash. He whistled merrily in his cubicle, almost blindly turning wheels and pushing handles. Since I had just seen a pale light slowly stretching along the horizon, I was impatient to know what it was.

“Hey, is that dawn over there?” I cried, hopeful.

“The don, the don!” I heard his cheerful voice. “Three hours, and happy!”

I sighed with relief. It was everything I wanted to hear at the moment. During our trip, I had tried a couple of times to hold a simple conversation with the boatman, but since he acted nervously when I asked him about Greenspace and its business in the region, I decided to give it up. I didn’t want to provoke the man, at least not until we reached our destination, because I was afraid I might end up in the sea between Tutuila and Ofu in the middle of the night. The guy’s stuff was hidden beneath a thick canvas in the stern, and he cast anxious looks at it every now and then. There wasn’t much to discuss with him anyway—he believed he carried ammonia in his buckets!

I turned my head back to the light and focused on it instead. I didn’t know what exactly I would do when I arrived at Ofu, and I had to make a plan. It wasn’t easy, though. Life on these islands was so ridiculous that it felt like I was in Neverland. From the few words I exchanged with my boatman, I understood that he believed the entire South Pacific had always been an Indian territory and Indians had lived there for ages. Again, I didn’t want to argue with him for the same reason as above, but the man’s words made me realize that these uneducated people here were quite easy to manipulate. Guys like Sengupta and Chavez clearly relied on their desperation to increase their profits and achieve their goals.

Two and a half hours later, with the dawn kicking in, my nervousness about the trip gradually faded. The daylight and closeness to the shore made me feel much better. At first, I saw the island through my portable binoculars as a small blurry spot on the horizon, but very soon, it grew bigger and stretched along the sea line, eventually turning into a vast land mass resembling the silhouette of a whale’s backbone. Another half an hour later, we were no longer alone in the sea. Progressively, the waters around us were filled with vessels of all sizes and sailing technologies. Without a single exception, they carried tanks and buckets containing “ammonia” in liquid form, and it all was happening at a temperature of twenty-eight degrees Celsius!

Shortly after seven, our boat finally approached a small bay, and we joined the whole party at the shore. Avinash skillfully maneuvered among the other vessels and quickly directed us toward one of the last free spots at the wharf. By the way, the guy deserved credit for that because he didn’t lose a second wandering aimlessly in the water, and exactly ten minutes after we docked, there was not a free centimeter around us. Every boat that came later had to either stay in the sea and wait for someone else to leave or cast an anchor near the rocks, where its integrity and the lives of the people on it were at risk.

When I set foot on the shore, I sighed with relief, taking out seventy bucks to pay my boatman because I was happy to still be alive. The act immediately evaporated his entire interest in me, and the man promptly began preparing his mona for sale while throwing suspicious looks at me. From a cash cow, I suddenly became an obstacle for him, and since I didn’t want to annoy the guy because I needed him for my return, I decided to leave him alone. I focused my attention on my surroundings instead.

The place I visited was an actual island, as it seemed, and not just a coral reef. When I looked at the map back in my hotel room, I had that impression, but I was obviously wrong. Now, I could clearly see a mountain in the distance, although not very high; a river, although not very long, and even a small volcano on the neighboring island of Olosega. When we were still in the sea, I took it for a part of Ofu, but it disappeared behind it when we turned around to enter the bay area.

Not far away to my left, I noticed Greenspace’s trade hub, where a narrow path winded. The facility seemed surprisingly big for such a small island. It had a tall, wired fence with various machines and cranes inside, as well as many containers and tanks, some of which were connected to pipelines. The bay in front of the hub was reserved for selected vessels with buoys, and the place was still empty. The “ammonia shop” wasn’t open yet.

I turned around to look at the other side. On the Internet, I read that this entire area had once been the public seaport of Ofu. However, when Greenspace arrived, they turned it into a restricted zone, and the boats had to dock further south at Alaufau, which I could see down the road. Still further down, the capital of Ofu—Ofu—was located, and I could see it too. It was more than clear that this island wasn’t an ordinary place anymore. Greenspace dictated everything here, and the trade hub dominated every aspect of life within a radius of at least a thousand kilometers because every single man on the wharf was actually a foreigner.

Since I had nothing to do until the opening hour, I wandered aimlessly to pass some time. Unfortunately, too many people gathered at the wharf very soon, casting glances at me, which made me realize I looked weird to them. The men formed a few long queues, waiting with their mona in wheelbarrows and handcarts, and I was the only one carrying nothing. I definitely seemed suspicious. Maybe it would have been a good idea to disguise myself, grabbing an old bucket and pretending I waited too, but I knew I wouldn’t find anything like that. Buckets were the most valuable thing here.

After fifteen more minutes, I had to draw away from the crowd because I felt people were talking about me. It was too risky to stay among them, and since I didn’t know when exactly Marty’s ship would arrive, I decided to visit the capital and kill an hour until they opened the hub. It wasn’t the wisest idea either since the community was probably too small, and they all knew each other, but I had no option—this was the only town on the island. Soon, I strolled into it.

Capital is actually a bit of a stretch for a settlement like this. It consisted of a few short streets and thirtyish houses spread between them, all painted white with blue window shutters and doors. Their yards were buried in greenery, and many flowers grew on the streets, too. I saw only one square in the middle of it all, and two cafes were located at each of the distant corners. At the ocean side, there was a wharf, and beyond it, the road continued further south. Everything in this place was, in fact, so small-scale that I had the feeling it was a replica of a bigger one in a Disney theme park.

I slowly walked into the square and glanced around worriedly. It was still early in the morning, but one of the cafes was open, and I noticed a few guys sitting there and enjoying the fresh air. They all stared at me as if seeing a clown with a big red nose, gigantic feet, and a funny hat. At first, I looked back at them, annoyed, but very soon, I realized that maybe they didn’t like my T-shirt, which had a giant middle finger stamped across the entire front. Cursing my terrible choice of clothing, I quickly zipped up my jacket over it, but it didn’t help much—the guys kept examining me. Whatever the reason for their hostility, my coming was a mistake anyway because no one around seemed affected by the ammonia fuss or cared to sell anything to Greenspace. Instead, people here probably worked for Chavez, making me realize I had crammed myself into the lion’s mouth.

I shuddered unpleasantly at the thought, and since I didn’t know how to react, I kept strolling and pretending to be a lost tourist. It was even worse this way because, on an island so heavily dependent on Greenspace, I might as well pretend I was a lost dinosaur on the moon! Route 20, as the plate on one of the fences read, winded further south, and the further I went, the more I felt like an idiot. In this stupid role, a quarter of an hour later, I left the town of Ofu behind me and stopped. I had no more “brilliant” ideas, which truly surprised me because I’m usually choke-full of them.

To be fair, whatever I had done wouldn’t have made much difference since the only place I could reasonably fit in was the crowd down at the seaport. People there looked at me weirdly, but they weren’t local, and it didn’t matter. Unfortunately, the seaport was a ten-minute walk back along the only road on this island, and between here and there, the lion was probably waiting with its mouth open, curious to see if I would be stupid enough to get into it again.

Depressed, I continued my walk, realizing I just couldn’t go back so soon. I had to kill at least half an hour here before throwing the locals the same show because they obviously weren’t used to seeing strangers in the area except near the hub, and I was like the star of the year for them. Thinking like that and advancing, I soon reached a facility that seemed to be an airport and hesitantly looked at it.

At this point, the road made a sharp turn around it and then continued by the shore. On the map, this part of the island looked like the silhouette of a wild goose, and both the capital and the trade hub were located at its butt—on the west coast. From here, which would be the abdomen, Route 20 headed east and afterward north, drawing the goose’s neck and head, where Ofu almost kissed the neighboring island of Olosega. Menelaus’s property was right beyond that.

Since the airport seemed abandoned and I saw no people in the area, I felt encouraged to proceed. I still had some time to kill, and besides, I wanted to take a closer look at where DuPont had chosen to build his secret project. It was unusually close to Greenspace’s base—literally in their backyard—which was very strange.

At first, I was hopeful about my journey and believed it would be easy enough. However, I soon realized everything regarding maps and distances in my head was rather messy because the trip took a whole hour in the terrible heat, with a temperature of nearly thirty-five and rising. Somewhere in the middle of it, I started puffing like a steam locomotive, afraid that my adventure would cost me the arrival of Marty’s boat. Unfortunately, I had already invested too much time and effort and didn’t want to give up.

After an exhausting stroll, which almost sucked me dry, I got to the goose’s head at last and stopped at the beak where Route 20 sharply ended. A small bridge over the strait divided the two islands, and I could see the road continuing on the other side. Regrettably, the passage was obstructed by a wire fence and a heap of scrap metal right in the middle of it. The pieces were hanging on both sides, and some of them were even down into the water. It all resembled a military roadblock.

I looked there, disappointed. About a kilometer further south into Olosega, I could see a construction site, which seemed deserted. Numerous tanks, water pumps, and other heavy machinery were scattered disorderly, with no people around. I noticed a few pipelines climbing up the steep terrain toward the volcano’s neck, making me speculate about their purpose. What surprised me most, however, was a very tall structure right in the middle of the site. It looked like a tube with a spiral railway inside.

I extracted the cell from my pocket to take a picture of it. The thing was maybe half a kilometer high, but it wasn’t finished. It closely resembled one of those structures they erect for docking stations. Yet such an endeavor was too big, and I couldn’t believe Menelaus had ventured it. No matter how mighty his corporation was, building it was simply beyond the power of a single man or company because these facilities were worth trillions of dollars. They were so expensive that many countries like Britain or the numerous Chinese states didn’t have their own.

I put the phone back, thinking about it. Even though I wanted to look closer, I didn’t have the time. It was after nine now, and they had probably opened the trade hub already. I had to hurry back because if I missed Mountain Cougar’s arrival, my entire trip to Ofu would be totally pointless. Besides, the wire fence in front of me seemed like a serious obstacle. I wasn’t prepared to go through or swim across the bay.

I wearily turned around and started on the long way back. It was much harder this time because the temperature had already risen to thirty-eight degrees, and the road ahead was shimmering from the heat. The air was so wet that it felt like there was no free oxygen in it. I tried to protect myself from the sun by putting the jacket over my head, but it only worsened the situation, and soon, rivers of sweat started running down my face. I nearly fainted.

Almost an hour later, after a desperate gallop through the town of Ofu, I finally arrived at the hub. When I passed the square, people looked at me really worried this time, and it was no wonder. Hurrying like that, I probably looked like a thief to them, and I was sure my presence on the island would be reported to Greenspace immediately. At the wharf, I lay on the grass, exhausted and dehydrated, and I didn’t even have enough strength to look around myself. I did it only fifteen minutes later when I finally managed to breathe and search for a shadow.

It was an entirely different situation in the facility now compared to what I saw in the early morning. The restricted bay area was busy with a few middle-size ships emptying their holds on the loading platforms. A few bigger ones were waiting in the open sea, and many smaller boats were making rounds between them and the shore. Almost all the vessels seemed Chinese, and none looked like Southern Star or Mountain Cougar, as far as I could see through my binoculars. I was actually surprised to witness such vibrant activity here. I expected a kind of dog-and-pony show—the product of Chavez’s sick business ambition—but it was not.

While watching the endless dance of the ships, I noticed another weird thing: while most of them were coming from the west and heading back there, some were hitting the north instead. They were all Greenspace’s, and contrary to common logic, they seemed full when leaving. Regarding that, I could think of only one reasonable explanation—the docking station on Swains was located right there. There was no other in the region, which was probably the reason for these courses. Nevertheless, it still seemed strange. If Chavez simply wanted to reexport the ammonia, why didn’t he arrange the deals with subcontractors and direct the stuff straight to the docking station? Why did he need this hub here?

A few minutes later, when I checked the alternative supply chain, I could see a completely different aspect of the chemical madness that possessed this place. At the small wharf, things looked pretty irrational and absurd, to say the least. A very long line of agitated people was waiting there, but instead of moving toward the base, they stood still, and a few guys in Greenspace’s uniforms moved among them. The personnel didn’t even have testing probes in their hands, and they were just going from place to place, taking a brief look into wretches’ buckets and tanks, and after saying a quick “no,” the man would take his shit back to his boat and leave, devastated. Afterward, the next believer would follow, and then the next, and next… The line of fools was virtually endless.

I watched the sad scene for a while, but then I looked around exhaustively because I had been running on empty for more than sixteen hours and needed to recharge. I had to find something to put in my stomach now because I suspected I wouldn’t have that chance later. So I slowly walked down the wharf, heading for the area behind it, where an improvised field kitchen had formed spontaneously. There, numerous hot dog and barbecue stands served the earthly needs of the mona manufacturers during their long wait for approval, and although I had serious doubts about the food quality, I had to risk it. I had no other choice because I was stupid enough not to bring food with me.

“Well, at least I’m gonna perish of my free will.” I tried to soothe my fears about it. “Chavez won’t lay his dirty hands on me!”

As expected, the thought didn’t relieve me, though. It only convinced me that I was going to die on this island one way or another. It was just a matter of time and an executioner.

©2016 S.T. Fargo
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(www.stfargo.com)