Earth Thirst (The Arcadian Conflict) - By Mark Teppo Page 0,17
the requirements of your buyer, and then make the delivery. Neither end knows how much you skimmed off during the transaction. Everyone goes home happy.
The captain of the ship, an angular man in a black pea coat and woolen hat, ambles up the beach. Taking a nature hike while his crew does their work. I crawl over the top of the hill and start sliding down the other side. This gentleman and I have a matter to discuss.
He spots me coming. I am a black shadow tumbling down the red rock hillside, a bird of bad omen coming to roost. He tugs a large revolver out of his waistband as I reach the base of the hill, and he waits out in the middle of the beach for me as I weave through the copse of lancewoods. I've been exposed to a lot of sun the last few days and my skin is red and peeling. I'm worn out, like a husk of dried fruit, and my mood is as foul as my skin.
I'm going to try to be nice, though. Just in case politeness will make a difference.
The captain's got a bulge in his cheek, and as I cross the pale beach, tiny shards of bleached coral, his jaw moves and he spits a squirt of black goo onto the beach.
I come to an abrupt halt, staring at the dark stain on the coral.
“Um, hey,” he says, thumbing back the hammer on his revolver.
I raise my head and stare at him.
“Oh, shit,” he says, his hand trembling. The barrel of the revolver wiggles off-target.
I really should be polite, but I'm thirsty.
He manages to pull the trigger once, the report of the firearm breaking the calm respite of the island. On the rocky nail, birds startle, flooding into the sky.
His blood is foul, tainted by years of chewing tobacco. I drink it anyway, because I don't want to stain the beach.
* * *
The sailors are Maori, their dark skins covered with tribal tattoos, and they don't appear overly agitated. Apparently this isn't the first time their captain has fired his hand cannon on the island. I can only imagine what sort of target shooting he's been doing with the birds, which only makes me happier that I killed him. The sailors have finished whatever unloading and loading they needed to do, and a couple of them are still wandering around the beach as I walk up.
“Nice boat,” I say. I'm wearing the captain's coat and hat, the handgun shoved in the front of my pants in much the same lackadaisical fashion as he carried it. I don't expect my disguise to fool the sailors; more that I hope to suggest a starting point for our conversation. Ship needs a captain. Captain needs a crew. Everything else is negotiable. To a point. I could probably manage the boat myself, but I'd prefer not to.
“It's a bucket of rust,” one of the sailors replies. The others begin to wander back toward the boat, trying to look nonchalant, but I can tell from the tension in their shoulders that they are trying hard not to run.
I keep my gaze on the spokesperson. I'm not terribly concerned about the others. Yet. “What's your name, sailor?” I ask.
“Winston,” he replies. “Where did you come from?”
I indicate the landscape behind me. “From the other side of that hill there.”
He offers a polite laugh. “Where are you going?” he asks.
“That depends on a small matter, doesn't it?”
“Aye,” he nods. “It does.”
“You going to miss your late captain?”
“Captain Henry was an asshole,” Winston says. “He never paid us shit.”
“Well,” I point out, “he was captain of a rusty old trawler. What did you expect?”
Winston laughs at that. He has a lot of strong-looking teeth. A good sign. Virility and self-confidence.
“I need a ride, Winston. You think that boat will remain seaworthy long enough to get back to Australia?”
He shakes his head lightly. “It is bad luck to give rides to stranded spirits. Especially kiri mate.”
“I'd be happy to give you what is in my wallet, except…” I shrug, suggesting that the story of how I lost my wallet isn't that interesting. I don't know what a kiri mate is, but it isn't too hard to guess. “Well, here's the thing,” I continue, taking the late captain's hat off and tossing it to Winston, “I need a ride more than I need a ship.”
Winston catches the hat and turns it over in his hands for a moment. His gaze