The Spitfire Tales of Jacky Conrad

In the post-petroleum future, Jacky Conrad sails aboard a full-rigged cargo vessel while braving the dangers of the black market, piratical thieves, and the secret to alternative engine power.

 

 

“We’re going to die.”

 

Jacky removed her wool cap and ran her fingers through her fiery hair. She turned to stare more closely at the old salt beside her in the bow watchtower, though it was impossible to make out his features in the dark.

 

“What are you going on about, John?” She tossed her hair back and replaced her cap, pulling it down over her ears.

“Death.” He gestured to the ocean with a silver flask in his grip. Jacky moved with the reflexes of born sailor, snatching the flask away from him.

 

“You’ll only die if the Watch Officer catches you soused up here.”

 

“Chewy?” John scoffed with the contempt of a man fifty years younger. “Known him since the nineties, I have. Ain’t nothing he could say t’would rattle my cage.”

 

Jacky raised the flask to toast his sentiment before downing the worst rotgut she’d tasted since the port of London, England.

 

“Easy now,” John protested. “That’s th’ last o’ the good stuff until we make berth to refuel. Who knows if we’ll make it out o’ there alive, let alone with more whiskey?”

 

Jacky tossed him the near-empty flask. “So that’s what has you in such an unruly way. Worried about our stop in Chantler, are you?”

 

John turned his back to her, staring out at the sea as if suddenly interested in that which had been clear of other vessels for the last two days. The fores’l behind them luffed in the breeze.

 

“Aye, an’ you should be too,” he spoke over his shoulder. “What with sailing right into a heavily-armed black market port on th’ southern tip of Greenland an’ all. Only to be robbed by a certain disgruntled thief or followed out o’ port to be sucked dry an’ left to freeze. It’s a wonder there’s any petro left to be had.”

 

John finished off the contents of the flask and chucked it from the tower. She watched as it disappeared over the rail of the bow.

 

“Look,” Jacky sighed. “The world is changing, but we need fuel if we aren’t to be stranded every windless day. It’s dangerous to get, yes; some would say the course to death. But this is the life we choose, and there’s an old saying in my family that explains our madness, one that’s been passed down for generations: Nothing is so seductive, so disillusioning or so enthralling as life on the sea.”

 

* * * *

 

As the MediLine sailed northwest for Chantler, the temperatures continued to drop until the choppy surface of the water became as smooth as glass. Once the sails were taken in and the engine began using the last of their petro, watches were doubled to guard against threatening icebergs and trailing thieves. Machine guns strapped just below the rails were checked to be loaded and ready to fire.

 

Jacky buttoned the collar of her fur coat while she gazed out at the ocean from the main deck. Over the course of many journeys north, the crew had bartered for the thickest furs and then hand sewn their own coats with sail thread. Each was as unique to its maker as a leather sheath, and only succeeded in importance by a sharpened knife.

 

“Conrad!”

 

Jacky turned from the port rail to face Chewy. He stared her down with piercing gray eyes as he scratched the dark stubble that covered his jaw. When his sour odor filled her nose, she unconsciously took a step back.

 

“Inspect the cargo containers, inch by inch.” He spat a glob of chewing tobacco over the rail. “We need a tight seal around Nunavut’s shipment of vaccine. If we overlook any corrosion, Conrad, the deaths of thousands will be on our shoulders.”

 

“Aye, sir,” Jacky nodded sharply, immediately marching past Chewy to go about her work.

 

* * * *

 

“We’re approaching Chantler,” Rider warned, casting an enormous shadow as he came around the corner. Jacky was midway through her inspection.

 

“I gathered as much, what with the ‘all hands’ call.”

 

“You nervous?”

 

“Anyone with any sense is nervous.”

 

“That’s not what I meant.”

 

“I know what you meant.”

 

“Jacky,” he crossed the deck, gently taking her shoulders in his hands. “We’ve been shipmates for as long as I can remember. You don’t need to hide behind that tough exterior of yours. Talk to me.”

 

Jacky shrugged out of his grasp and eyed the frost on a nearby container. “I don’t want any trouble. We need to get in, get the petro, and get out.”

 

“In an ideal world, perhaps.” Rider nodded as he crossed his hefty arms. “Yet you find yourself surrounded by shipping containers as we near Chantler. Chewy isn’t an idiot, Jacky. He knows Dameon will be looking for you and so he ordered you-”

 

“Checking the shipment for corrosion is important,” she argued.

 

“Plenty of other crew to do it.” Rider shrugged.

 

“Dameon’s brother was a thief and a murderer. If he hadn’t led the ambush against us the last time we were in Chantler, I wouldn’t have had to kill him.”

 

“Listen, baby sister. You played a key role in saving the ship’s fuel and we all know it. But the last thing we want is a party leader like Dameon seeking vengeance for his brother’s death and stealing today’s petro haul while he’s at it. Just stay out of sight. That red hair of yours can be seen a mile away, hood or no hood.”

 

Jacky clenched her jaw as Rider walked away. If he hadn’t been built like a giant, she would have tackled him at the knees out of spite. Instead, she gathered her hair in one hand and shoved it beneath the collar of her coat before yanking up the hood.

 

“Chantler gates!”

 

The Captain’s call served as both a greeting to the Chantler gatekeepers and as a warning to the crew. Jacky could hear running footsteps as her shipmates found their positions behind the guns strapped to the rail. Endless drills had assured that, if need be, they could grab the weapons and begin firing in under three seconds.

 

Jacky kicked the nearest shipping container, pissed that she wasn’t among those lining the rails. Every sailor knew how to fire a gun, but the majority on the MediLine had lousy aim.

 

With a huff, she sat down against the container and drew up her knees. There wasn’t much point in checking the remaining containers for corrosion until the ship made it safely out of Chantler with the vaccine.

 

Reaching inside her coat, Jacky brought out a tin box, opened it, and began rolling a cigarette. Her hands were shaking, but she attributed it to the cold. Flicking open her lighter, Jacky would have given anything for the company of John and his long gone flask. Not even smoking could calm her nerves.

 

An air horn sounded, signaling the opening of the gates. Jacky jumped to her feet and ran to where two shipping containers came together at the inner corners. Pressing her face to the crack, she peered out at a flurry of activity.

 

The port of Chantler was surrounded by walls of ice that were patrolled by armed guards day and night. The guards kept trading in Chantler relatively safe, refusing entry to known bandits. They were employed by dominant companies in the petro industry " companies that sold what was left of their supply for a generous profit.

 

Countless vessels were berthed on the island of Chantler, but the MediLine was directed to an elevated pier and had secured mooring lines moments later.

 

“Scouters!”

 

The Captain called for the party of three to go ashore and scout vendors for petro. Trading on the black market was a dangerous venue and it wasn’t unusual for vendors to be murdered between visits. Scarcely had the ship done business with the same vendor twice.

 

The Scouters passed Jacky’s line of sight. They wore body armor and carried weapons, as did everyone who conducted business in Chantler. She was horrified to see Rider leading the party. As he passed, Rider glanced in her direction and winked.

 

Jacky swore.

 

He was not an experienced Scouter, but more of a big teddy bear, and they were walking a thin line as it was. After the trouble they’d drawn last time, she was amazed the guards had opened the gates.

 

This would not end well.

 

* * * *

 

An hour later, she was pacing with worry and cursing up a storm.

 

“Who’s in charge here?”

 

The demanding yell stopped Jacky in her tracks. Her mouth went dry as she silently moved to peek out at the pier.

 

Dameon.

 

She couldn’t see him, but she recognized his voice. It was hard to forget the voice of a man who vowed to disembowel you.

 

“I’m the Captain of this vessel! What is your business?”

 

There was a forced laugh. “My business, good sir, is to settle a family matter with a young woman of this vessel. She has hair of fire, and I intend to speak with her.”

 

Jacky’s heart was pounding as the Captain answered, “The crew member you speak of is no longer with us. She departed the vessel shortly after our last visit here.”

 

Dameon moved into Jacky’s line of sight. The expression on his hard-etched face was eerily pleasant.

 

“Is that so? Did she speak of where she intended to go?”

 

“Where she planned to go was no concern of mine.”

 

“Of course. Nevertheless, one can’t be too trusting these days. We would like to conduct a search of your vessel. It wouldn’t take too long, I assure you. I’m willing to offer thirty gallons of oil.”

 

Jacky’s breath hitched. Thirty gallons of oil held enormous black market value. Captains had given up crew members for much less.

 

“I’m not interested in anything you have to offer. I’m certainly not interested in having the decks of this ship walked by a suspected party of thieves.”

 

Dameon’s features darkened at the insult. “I’m sure you’re fully aware, Captain, that even thieves are no longer called by such a name. Opportunist is the term. Anyone who calls them otherwise may as well deliver an obscene finger gesture.”

 

The Captain didn’t refute that theory.

 

“No more games then,” Dameon snarled. “We have your party of Scouters. If we don’t return to where they’re stowed within an hour, they will be dead. Give us the girl and their heads won’t top the masts of my ship! Give us the girl and we won’t attack once your ship has left the gates!”

 

A hand clamped over Jacky’s mouth. She reached up to grab it, but a heavily-muscled arm pinned her elbows and lifted her off her feet. As Jacky kicked with her heels, the voice of a surly crew member rasped into her ear.

 

“It’s you they want! Fond of you, kid, but it’s you or the vaccine.”

 

Jacky thrashed and squirmed, twisting in his grasp, but she was dragged backwards and into the open. During her struggles, the hood of her coat slipped off, plainly revealing her identity.

 

She heard cries of protest from the crew as she was forced forward. Though they were armed, there was little they could do as long as her captor used her as a human shield. He wrapped an arm around her neck and twisted one arm behind her back when they reached the rail.

 

“Well, well.” Dameon’s cold eyes bore into hers. “It seems you were misinformed, Captain! This girl is the crewman I seek! If you’ll kindly hand her over, we can conclude this unfortunate matter of business.”

 

The man holding Jacky dragged her down the gangway, not allowing her to regain her footing. When one of her sea boots caught on a metal rung, he gave an impatient pull that yanked her foot right out of the boot. There was a splash when it hit the water.

 

“Holden!” The Captain roared behind them. “What is the meaning of this?”

 

“I’ve family in Nunavut. They need that vaccine, Skipper!” Holden roughly threw Jacky to the pier so that she sprawled on the boards. “Them and thousands more! The life o’ this kid isn’t worth all o’ their deaths!”

 

His piece spoken, Holden turned to disappear into the crowd just beyond the pier, most likely to sign on with another ship.

 

Rage boiled within Jacky’s chest and she leapt to her feet. She pounced on his back before he could get far, pulling his hair, gouging his eyes, biting his ear. Even as Holden howled in pain, Jacky heard the amused laughter of Dameon’s men behind her. Tears stung her eyes when Holden got a vice grip on her hair, but she refused to loosen her grip on his throat.

 

The laughter behind her abruptly ceased when Holden fell to his knees. The last thing she felt before everything went dark was the unmistakable butt of a riffle slamming into her head.

 

* * * *

 

“Rise and shine!”

 

Jacky was vaguely aware of hands gripping her wrists and ankles before she was tossed into icy water. When the water closed over her head, survival instincts kicked in and she fought to break the surface. But it wasn’t until someone grabbed the back of her shirt and pulled her up that fresh oxygen filled her lungs.

 

As she coughed and sputtered through a curtain of drenched hair, she heard, “I’ve got you, baby sister, take it easy. Just breathe.”

 

“Rider,” Jacky mumbled, forcing her eyes open.

 

“Isn’t that sweet?” Once Jacky brushed the hair out of her face, she saw Dameon. He was standing in the bow of a small push boat, a foot resting on the side.

 

She frantically looked around, taking in the ice cave and the bars dividing the water between her and Dameon.

 

“This is where you will die, Jacky Conrad. Isn’t it lovely? My men designed it in the time since your ship last departed Chantler. All for you. Your three shipmates as well, of course. I thought it better if they remain here. I do have a reputation to uphold.”

 

Jacky became aware of the two Scouters treading water just behind her and Rider. Teeth already chattering, she asked, “Is this how pathetic you are? Planning for months on end to trap me here? Why not just hunt us down as we sailed, take the whole ship?”

 

“There are only two things I want in this world. One, petro, which is in abundance here. Two, your death, which will be much too quick unless you pull yourself onto the ice shelf at the back of the cave. Wait too long, and you won’t have the strength.”

 

Dameon nodded to the boatman beside him, who moved aft to start the motor. “I’ll be back in an hour, when you’re in more of a pleading mood. Nothing would please me more than to see the fire in you extinguished.”

 

Jacky’s obscene reply was drowned out by the roar of the motor, so she settled with carefully mouthing her words until the boat sped out of sight.

 

It wasn’t as satisfying.

 

“Your lips are already turning blue,” Rider shivered beside her. “We should climb onto the shelf while we can.”

 

“I’m sorry, fellas,” she apologized through chattering teeth as they swam aft and pulled themselves out of the water one by one. “This is all my fault.”

 

For a moment, there was silence. Then one of the Scouters spoke up.

 

“Yeah. Yeah, it is.”

 

She weakly laughed, delivering a half-hearted punch to his arm. “Shut up. It could be worse, you know. At least we aren’t being disemboweled.”

 

Once they were all huddled together on the ice shelf, Jacky took stock of their situation. “Did you manage to find a vendor for the ship’s petro?”

 

“What? Jacky, we’ve got bigger problems than-”

 

Her expectant expression stopped Rider from continuing. He nodded.

 

“So we have petro being delivered to the ship as we speak. But no coats, no sea boots, and those thieves took my knife.”

 

Fingering her empty sheath, Jacky looked questioningly at the men.

 

To her relief, Rider gave a sly smile. “Dameon’s men were so focused on our guns and body armor that they didn’t check us for knives. They’re either getting sloppy or they didn’t feel a knife would be much of a threat against an automatic.”

 

He brought out a standard sailor’s knife and the two Scouters did the same.

 

“Three knives,” Jacky listed, wringing the water from the cuffs of her carhartts. “How far do those bars go down?”

 

“Too far. And we can’t swim out anyway " the water’s too cold and we’re too far from shore.”

 

“That’s okay. Idiot that he is, Dameon’s coming back.” She pinched the bridge of her nose, willing her head to stop throbbing. What she would give for a cigarette.

 

“Here’s what we’ll do. . .”

 

* * * *

 

Jacky and the Scouters were listening intently for the motor of the push boat. The second they heard it, Jacky slipped into the icy water with little more than a grimace and a whimper. She swam to the wall beside the bars and waited until the push boat was just outside. Then she took a deep breath and slipped beneath the surface of the water.

 

Seconds later, the bars retracted and the push boat motored inside the cave. Jacky followed it until it rocked with the motion of Dameon stepping onto the ice shelf.

 

“Where is she?”

 

She heard the enraged voice of Dameon as her head broke the surface directly beside the push boat. It shielded her from his view. He turned over the limp forms of Rider and the Scouters where they lay, kicking them in the ribs for an answer.

 

Jacky silently reached into her waistband and pulled out Rider’s knife, taking aim at the man in the boat. He was standing in alarm now, but that hardly posed a problem. With a lightening jab, Jacky sliced open his ankle through the fabric of his pants.

 

That’s when all hell broke loose.

 

The man yelled, collapsing in pain.

 

Dameon turned from Rider and the Scouters. Just as Jacky caught a fist of the boatman’s hair and pulled his head back to expose his throat, Rider came up behind Dameon and did the same.

 

In that second, she caught Dameon’s eye. She and Rider finished the men off at the same time.

 

While Jacky was too numb to pull herself up into the boat, she swam around it and one of the Scouters helped her onto the ice shelf.

 

“Are you all right?” Rider asked her. He climbed into the boat and heaved the body of the boatman into the water.

 

“I’ll be all right . . . if we get back to the MediLine in one piece. As long as Dameon’s men don’t spot us . . . we should be home free.” She tried to ignore the slur in her words and how sleepy she was.

 

“Help her up and let’s get out of here.”

 

The Scouters took her elbows and stepped into the boat, dragging her behind them. Jacky felt the boatman’s blood seep through her shirt when she leaned against the side.

 

“Don’t you dare fall asleep on me, baby sister,” Rider snapped as he revved the motor. “Stay awake, Jacky, you hear me? Stay awake!”

 

* * * *

 

Warmth.

 

That’s the first sensation she was aware of. Jacky was utterly, blissfully warm, and laying on something soft. She couldn’t help but murmur contently.

 

“Jacky?”

 

The voice was low, almost a whisper. Rider?

 

Jacky slowly opened her eyes and found herself staring at the ceiling of her own bunk. Jacky wAs HerE. Words carved a lifetime ago.

 

“Jacky.” Rider’s relief was evident. “You gave us a scare.”

 

“What happened? Are we underway?”

 

He nodded. “As soon as you lost consciousness, we motored back to the ship. It was already fueled and we wasted no time departing Chantler. That was more than fourteen hours ago.”

 

“My watch must think me a lazy oaf!” Jacky squinted up at Rider through the light shining down the open hatch.

 

“They’re only grateful you’re alive.”

 

“Wait until another watch passes without me pulling my weight. They’ll forget grateful and move right on to irritated.”

 

“Damn any soul that does.”

 

“Rider, we can’t conduct business at Chantler anymore. It’s simply too dangerous. Sure, we took care of a couple thieves, but what about next time? There’s no shortage of greedy, dishonest murderers who’d like to make a pretty penny. And what happens when even the black market can’t get its hands on any more petro? There must be another way to power the ship.”

 

Rider scratched his chin thoughtfully. “The Captain is debating what to do about that. We think there might be an answer in the city of Arviat, Nunavut.”

 

“What gives you that impression?”

 

“There’s a turbine factory there. They only make wind turbines with ground connections, but we think it might be possible to rig something onto the ship to give us the power we need when there’s no wind.”

 

“Is that so?” Jacky threw back her covers and swung her legs over the side of her bunk. A draft made her suddenly aware that she was clad only in a nightgown. Rider held up his hands to prevent her from standing.

 

“Where do you think you’re going?”

 

“I need to speak with the Captain.”

 

“It can wait until your watch.”

 

“Oh, I think he deserves an earlier warning than that.”

 

* * * *

 

“Captain!” Jacky walked to where the Captain stood leaning against the starboard rail.

 

“Conrad, what a pleasant surprise to see you on your feet so soon. Although I must say, I expected to see you dressed for the arctic.”

 

“Aye, sir.” Jacky felt the blood rush to her ears as she glanced down at her nightgown and bare feet. “Forgive the way I’m dressed, but I needed to speak with you urgently.”

 

Just then, Jacky felt someone embrace her from behind.

 

“Jacky, you little spitfire!” John ruffled her hair affectionately. “All o’ them thought th’ worst when you was taken, but I knew you’d find a way, I did.”

 

“John, you old salt.” She turned to him. “Manage a refill in Chantler?”

 

He ventured a glance at the Captain before pointedly answering, “We have enough petro to last th’ next month, eh, Captain?”

 

“Indeed,” was the dry reply.

 

John bent close to Jacky’s ear as he turned to leave and whispered, “An’ I managed th’ other as well.”

 

“Now, Conrad,” the Captain spoke once John had left them. “What is it you wanted to see me about? Out with it, before you catch your death of cold.”

 

“Well, sir,” Jacky began nervously, “I’m not exactly welcome in Arviat, you see, and if we’re to be moored long enough to outfit the ship with turbines-”

 

“You mean to tell me you’ve made enemies in ports besides Chantler?”

 

Jacky twisted a lock of hair around her finger and smiled. “What can I tell you, sir? Not everyone appreciates a spitfire.”

 

Author's Note

More to come. My virtual writing home: Live-creatively.com