Dreamboat Ch. 09

Usual standard declarations about age, ownership etc. apply here. All parts and sections of this story are copyright to the author.

So welcome at last to the ninth innings of this story, and by that I don't mean it's the last chapter. I think we are almost half way, but I can't really be sure until I write it. After all, new story arcs are still appearing, with plenty of others left to be closed off. So there is plenty of food for thought.

This chapter and I are not friends. During a bout of flu and another of food poisoning, it and I have gone to the mats on many occasions, resulting in three complete rewrites of what is so far the longest and most complex of the book. So I can't apologise for taking much longer with this one. I'm sorry you may have grown frustrated, but I can't put out something that has less than my best effort within it. I just don't work that way.

But, as the mystery deepens within the story, lie back in your hammock, make it swing a little from side to side and observe the blue skies visible between the branches of the coconut trees overhead. There is some fun sex in this one, so...

Relax, and I'll tell you a story...

CHAPTER NINE

Honey leaned against the rear deck rail, gazing out into the dark, listening to the waves lap against the side of the hull and periodically taking a pull on the cigarette between her fingers. Absently, she peered at it in the light from the cabin, glad that she had found the pack in the back of one of the store cupboards. Getting it lit had been more of a problem, which Sasha had solved after a search of what she regarded as her area, finding a pack of extra-long barbecue matches in the engine room store cupboard.

She made a little sound of surprise and held her left hand up, fingers extended, noting that her nails which, up until she had been pulled from the inflatable, had been cracked and filthy. Now they looked almost elegant, thanks to Wren's ministrations during the long hours while they had watched Lachlan over the last four days since she had operated on him.

The vigil had gone on uninterrupted, each of the three women taking an eight hour shift to take care of him and listen for any alarm from the bridge. When Honey had finally declared that he was going to mend, there were floods of tears from the other two. Even the medic found that she had had to turn away for a moment as a prickle in her nose warned of impending weeping - something she hadn't done even in the worst of times after she had been sold, but at that moment faced the prospect of tears for the second time since coming on this damned boat.

The three had discussed whether one of them should man the bridge at all times in case of collision warning, or some other potential disaster. The boat couldn't be steered or moved out of the way, and although the little electric engine was apparently keeping them in position very precisely, they couldn't operate that either. In the end, they realised that even if another boat did come close all they could do was use the radio to try and establish contact, send up a flare or two and dance and wave to try and attract attention. So they'd agreed to continue sitting around Lachlan and simply doing as he had dictated up until the point he was shot, with a flare gun from the bridge ready nearby. And, as Sasha had pointed out, with the AIS working, anything larger than a pleasure boat would have its own AIS and should see them in plenty of time.

Each had related their stories to the other two, with sympathy and strong support coming from the listeners. It wasn't all sadness and despair, however. Honey had related stories from her school and university times in Britain, and then described the fierce, unwavering loyalty and courage of her fellow fighters in the PKK. Sasha had almost shyly offered stories of things she had done or seen in Russia, and the sometimes hilarious actions of the customers at the garage. Wren had countered with tales of the streets and their invariably damaged and often weird denizens, Sasha pressing her for more and more stories of her meetings with Reid, or even hearsay stories of him. Honey had noted to herself that the girl seemed to becoming obsessed with the man who slept and healed next to them. If it was just a crush, it was a massive one. Hopefully, it would work out for the four of them, she thought. Then she caught herself. Why was she including herself in this ménage?

To avoid that uncomfortable question and pass the time - Honey had checked them all over carefully, noting temperatures, pulse rates and blood pressure, and making sure there were no unattended cuts or grazes that might fester on board the boat, treating these with the admittedly excellent blue antiseptic. Wren had passed the time in cooking ever better meals as she became used to using the compact stove and equipment in the tiny kitchen. They had also discussed all possible futures endlessly - all they could think of, anyway.

Sasha spent several hours of her free time in the engine room. It had a little workshop area, and she was busy on a secret project of her own devising. Sometimes the others could hear the faint sound of hammering coming from below, but withheld their curiosity after the Russian girl had made them promise not to snoop.

When sleeping, they used the forward cabin, and although each was sometimes paired up with one of the others in the bed there, there was no repeat of the intimacy between Wren and Sasha, and neither had offered anything more than a hug when sharing the bed with Honey, respecting her need to heal from the trauma she had been through.

Honey put the cigarette out in the little handheld ashtray Sasha had knocked up for her, and placed it down on the deck, picking up a glass of a very decent chardonnay in its place.

She enjoyed her time on the night shift, watching the waves in the light of the moon, and now and again seeing a repeat of the bioluminescence that had alerted Sasha during her rescue mission. Secretly she hoped to see a hump-backed or sperm whale surfacing, having discovered from the laptop in the forward cabin that they were often seen in these parts from late autumn.

She had pondered long and hard whether to start searching for information about the boat. All she had was the boat's identification number on the AIS - XB92777, and had been tempted to just put it into a search to see what came up. However, she discovered when it came down to it there was a strange reluctance in her to do so, or at least until she had discussed it with Lachlan and received the go-ahead.

The boat was on some sort of mission, she knew that. But without knowing anything more, any internet search for information might raise alarm bells somewhere. She knew her way around computers as an informed user rather than any type of hacker or professional IT expert. She knew enough to find the boat's static position on the map according to their GPS coordinates - which apparently remained constant thanks to the electric motors, despite the driving currents of the Gulf Stream. When she had placed them on the map, she had felt a rill of cold sweat run down her back. When she'd made her escape on the stolen inflatable, she had imagined she'd been going north from Havana, heading into the Gulf of Mexico and certain to hit an American beach if the fuel held out, or if it didn't, at least she would have had a reasonable chance of being picked up by the coast guard.

However, it seemed that she had become confused and slowly turned east instead of remaining on a northerly course. She had actually passed the southern tip of Florida, either before the propeller had jammed up, or had drifted there after it had stopped. She had been heading out into Bahaman waters and although there were a lot of islands in that archipelago, there was a whole lot of water in between them, with only the vast Atlantic beyond that. The chances of survival had been very low.

So the arrival of the boat and its crew had been a godsend.

It would be a very poor reward for their saving her if, by doing something stupid, she then alerted some agency, corporation or lethal drug dealer of not only their existence but also their coordinates. She knew that with the right software, any searches on a certain subject could be tracked back to their source - and who knew what response that might invoke.

So, as if she hadn't a care in the world, she didn't try to carry out any research connected with the boat, and spent her time instead looking up whales and dolphins - one of her pet projects. It was odd really, she thought as she sipped at the wine and pondered lighting another cigarette. By all appearances they were in a fairly desperate situation, stuck out at sea without any means of propulsion that they could access. However, they were not really lost and had plenty of supplies to keep them fed and watered for weeks. In addition, they did have what looked like a state-of-the-art radio system with which they could call for help if things became really desperate.

And so she had spent time which could and perhaps should have been spent in panic, happily browsing on the internet, delighted at the strong Wi-Fi signal that the boat put out.

With a sigh of pleasure, she drained the glass and turned to take it back to the dishwasher. Then she screamed as a man suddenly loomed in front of her dressed in shorts and a tee-shirt, and she felt her body go into fight or flight mode.

"Nice evening," Reid said quietly, seemingly undisturbed by her loud response to his presence.

"God, you scared the shit out of me!" she stated, breathing hard to try and flush the adrenalin from her system.

"Sorry, I didn't mean to. I just got tired of lying in bed and thought I'd come out for some air. I didn't realise you were here for a moment."

"No, it's my fault. I shouldn't have reacted like that. Who else would it be but you? You're the only man within a hundred miles, I think."

He grinned at her. "I understand the reaction. I've had a few moments like that myself."

"So I heard," she said, concern for him overtaking her momentary panic. "But you really shouldn't be up and about. You're not in any real danger as far as I can tell, but you still need to rest and take it easy. Here..."

She reached over and pressed on part of the outer wall of the cabin. A section of the deck sprang up suddenly, flipping and unfolding into a curved, cushioned seat along the rear rail.

"Where...?" he asked, his eyes big with astonishment.

"Sasha discovered it yesterday," she explained. "This weird boat keeps springing surprises from what I've been told."

Reid shook his head, marvelling once again at the ingenuity of the designers.

"That's for sure," he said, seating himself gingerly on the bench and leaning back against the rail with a sigh of pleasure. "I think I have you to thank for my continued existence."

Honey sat near him. "I had to take the bullet out. They always carry shit with them into the wound they make. Infection sets in and..."

She let him imagine the rest of the sentence.

"Yeah, been there. Gut shot is a long, slow, painful way to go."

He stuck out his hand.

"I'm Lachlan Reid, although you probably know that and a whole lot more about me than I care to think. Wren does like to chat."

She smiled at the affection in his voice when he spoke of the blond.

"She does that," Honey agreed. "I'm Nirupesh Shahidi, known to all as Honey, because of the—"

"The little honey sweetmeats," he broke in. "I've eaten them before. Very nice. So I'm guessing you're from the Middle East, although the accent is pure British upper middle class - Oxbridge, I think."

She nodded, surprised. "Good call. Not many people could have placed me so accurately."

"We shared quarters and missions with the British army on many occasions. A lot of the officers had the same way of talking."

They were interrupted as Wren and Sasha, alerted by Honey's scream, shot along the side of the boat while yelling in delight, and plonked themselves down each side of Reid, Wren going for a big hug and then - remembering his injury - turning it into a gentle one with her arms around his neck and insisting on a loving kiss instead.

When they pulled apart, she smiled at him and nodded at Sasha. "Don't forget to greet the rest of the crew. You've been sleeping for days and we've all missed you."

Surprised, he turned to Sasha, who smiled bashfully and then leaned forward determinedly and pressed her lips against his, her mouth opening after a few moments and flickering her tongue against his like a little snake.

When she released him, she went back into bashful mode and wouldn't look him in the eye for a few moments as he stared at her, his eyes big and round. Then she gave him a cheeky grin, and he laughed.

"He's nice to kiss, isn't he," commented Wren to Honey.

The older woman shrugged in embarrassment and said nothing.

"You haven't kissed Honey?" Wren asked incredulously, staring at Reid accusingly. "After she saved your life?"

"Well... I did say thank you." He paused. "I think."

"Well, thank her properly," the blond insisted. "And she's crew now, so you have to accept her as one of us."

They looked at each other awkwardly, until Wren gave out an exasperated noise, grabbed Honey's arm and pulled the black-haired woman across her lap, almost causing the older woman and Reid to bump noses.

"Do you want to be part of this crew?" asked Reid softly. They were so close he could smell the faint scent of tobacco and wine on her breath, and feel the warmth of her skin on his face.

"I guess," she said. "I mean, I have nowhere... yes! Yes I do."

Her sudden determination surprised her, although Wren and Sasha seemed to expect and accept it.

He put his hand to Honey's cheek. The touch seemed to seal the offer and acceptance. "Thank you for saving my life. You are now part of us."

Afterwards, when her lips - surprisingly soft and warm - had drawn back from his, leaving just the echo of her taste, he was taken aback by his own words. Taken from that little distance in time, they seemed almost over-formal and a little silly in the circumstances, as if putting voice to a sacred vow. But at the time, it had felt right.

Wren gave a little happy wriggle. "That's better. Now it's official."

She turned to Reid and stroked his cheek. "I should have asked it first, but how are you feeling?"

"Sore, like someone wacked me in the back with a baseball bat, but really not that bad considering. I've been shot before, and felt a whole lot worse."

"Shot, stabbed, shrapnel. You've experienced a lot, Lachlan," remarked Honey. "I know what each of your scars means."

Reid looked puzzled, and the three of them explained Honey's back story, and her experience with warfare.

When they finished the four of them were huddled close, subconsciously offering comfort to each other for a time, until Reid slowly and carefully went to get a bottle of wine and three more glasses, dismissing their protests that he should remain seated so that they could run around after him.

"Nice touch that," he said, uncorking the bottle. "Having that wine storage cupboard mounted on a gimbal so that it stays still and doesn't shake up sediment while the boat moves."

"It's a wonderful boat." Wren was absolute in her faith in their new home. It was so hard to believe that they had been living on it for less than two weeks. "It's everything we need."

"And that's what we need to talk about," said Reid, pouring them each a glass of the fragrant wine and then sitting once more between Wren and Sasha. "This boat is not only running itself, it's doing some very weird things. I know we've talked about it before, and come up with some possible solutions, but there are things that just can't be explained."

"I told you," Wren whispered to Honey. "He's good at this stuff. That's why he's captain."

"Oh?" Honey whispered back. "So not just because you get all antsy for a man in authority and want to get him between your legs?"

Wren stared at her for a moment, and then burst into giggles, knowing that she was blushing and unable to do anything about it.

"Well, perhaps. I've never wanted a man there so much, I must admit. You'll feel the same way once you get to know him."

Honey raised an eyebrow. "After what I've been through? I never want a man to touch me ever again."

Their whispering was becoming intense, and Reid had paused while the two women spoke, their words only semi-audible, but the emotions very clear. He wondered if he should be doing or saying something, and if so, what?

He was distracted as Sasha took his hand and held it. He made as if to say something, but she shook her head and squeezed the hand tighter. He felt as if he was deaf at a wonderful concert, able to see the musicians playing with finesse and passion, but unable to hear or understand anything but the vibrating of the beat through his feet.

"I know what you've been through," Wren whispered. "And I feel so sad for you I could cry. And I can empathise, although you might not believe me. But he is what you need to make you whole again."

"That's crazy! You can't know that."

"I believe it completely."

"But you haven't even been with him that way yourself yet."

"I haven't fucked him properly, yet," Wren admitted. "But we have done a whole lot of things and he's been completely behind me all the way, if you get my meaning, and believe me, he soothes my soul as well as a whole lot of itches."

Honey shook her head, tears in her eyes. "I can't think about that now. I can't!"

"Well, whatever you do, don't discard the notion completely. It's my turn first, then Sasha, and then - if you want to - you can decide then. Just don't let yourself set your decisions in concrete now. Let your emotions be flexible when the time comes. If you decide now, it would be so much harder to change your mind later. Please, promise me that."

Honey shook her head. "You know you sound crazy, don't you? Why does it matter so much if I get laid or not? You don't even really know me very well. So why do you even want this? Why don't you want to keep him for yourself?"

Wren was silent for a moment. "I don't know. I just know it's the right thing. I don't even think it's about the sex so much as the bonding, the binding of us into a unit, a singularity rather than four separate individuals. That's what's important."

"But why?"

"I don't know why. I just know it is."

"Okay," Honey conceded. "Despite your threat to drown me, you all seem to be good people. So I'll take your word for it. I'll try not to set anything in stone. But don't push me on it."

Wren gave her a hug. "That's fine, Honey. That's all I ask."

She turned back to Reid with an innocent look on her face. "Sorry, you were saying?"

He shook his head, but couldn't help smiling at her brazen cheek.

"I was saying that the boat is doing more than a boat should be able to."

"Da," Sasha chipped in. "Five hours at fifty knots, and fuel levels not change."

Reid stared at her. "Really?"

"Impossible, yes?"

"I would agree that's impossible. Have any of you noticed any another changes."

"There is new locker in engine room," muttered Sasha. "I am sure of it. Two days ago I can feel the sea through hull. Today, nothing. There is space now between wall and hull. There is now door, somewhere, I think."

The other two gaped at her.

"But boats don't just change," stated Honey. "You must be misremembering it."

"Nyet," said Sasha firmly, her cheeks turning pink. "Yesterday I lean against wall for a while and vibrations feel good. Today - nothing."

Wren sniggered very quietly, and Sasha threw her a frown.

"Next time you wash your clothes," giggled Wren. "Take a rest there and lean as much as you want. The vibrations are very interesting there as well."