Tamsin Beech Ch. 13: Bath

All that remained after forty years of being plundered for desperately needed firewood and building materials were the rotting keel and a few of the warship's oaken ribs. A stark reminder every time she passed it that everything eventually outlived its usefulness. There was no longer a place for nostalgia or sentimentality in the world.

How much longer would she be useful to Volk?

Food supplies onboard the Baekdusan - for anyone not dining daily with the president, were running low. But surprisingly, morale amongst the crew had taken an upturn. After a year's hard work, the repairs to the carrier's hull were virtually complete and the ship would be able to embark soon. Ada wondered if that meant Volk might be launching his missiles ...

. . .

The evening's spicy solyanka was particularly good. Ada sipped at a spoonful of the thick soup as she listened to Volk speak.

"Before we arrived the country was in chaos," he explained, "there'd been no attempts whatsoever to rebuild infrastructure or communications. None whatsoever."

Ada considered that for a moment. She didn't want to appear ignorant by not having an opinion, "Perhaps the people were too busy simply trying to survive, that soon after Thanatos sir."

"Busy? Pfft," Volk leaned back in his seat and twiddled the stem of his empty wineglass, "they found plenty of time to squabble amongst themselves. Haven't you heard about the Reivers? Or the warlords that took over half the country?"

She had vaguely. Rumours mainly, so she guessed Volk was bound to know more, "No, sir."

Ada noticed his gaze straying to her modest cleavage whenever he thought she wasn't looking. The sleeveless black cocktail dress had been a gift. Though how it had come into Volk's possession she could only guess. It was flimsy, short and impractical but she liked the way the sequins appeared to sparkle whenever she moved.

"Trevithick for one," Volk began, "went completely insane apparently and murdered civilian families up on Orkney. Chinnor. Or General Chinnor as he liked to be called. Advanced as far as Truro in Cornwall, destroying everything in his path. The only one I've had any respect whatsoever for was a man by the name of Jack Aubrey. He tried to re-establish order with just a single Royal Navy frigate."

"What happened to him sir?"

The lingerie that had been delivered to her shared berth was supposed to complement the dress, Ada assumed. Though there'd been nothing packed in the tiny bundle she recognised. There'd been things like some kind of sock, but much longer and almost transparent. Flimsy impractical panties, so narrow that Ada couldn't even make out which way around they went. The straps and tiny clasps of the rest has been a complete mystery.

Watched intently by the North Korean woman on the opposite bunk, Ada had drawn the flimsy black panties up her legs and over her hips. The feel of the narrow strip of lacy material nestling up between her buttocks had been strange at first, but not altogether unpleasant.

With practice, she'd learned how to roll the black, lace-topped stockings up her legs. She had to admit they made her legs look smooth and shapely, but they were utterly impractical. They weren't warm, they'd snag easily and they left her thighs completely exposed.

Fifteen minutes later, she'd studied her reflection and come to the conclusion that she looked utterly ridiculous. The black bra Volk had sent squeezed her breasts together making them look fuller than they actually were. The matching thong, that she hadn't minded at first, chafed annoyingly against her delicate private parts both front and back making her want to tear the damn thing off.

And the shoes ...

The shoes had such ridiculous heels that Ada had wondered how anyone could possibly be able to walk in them, let alone fight. The unnatural position her feet were forced into sent pain shooting up her ankles and into her calf muscles. They were basically instruments of torture, that after only a few minutes tottering along the Baekdusan's busy companionways had given her weeping blisters. She suspected they might possibly have some use as a weapon though.

"What happened?" Volk raised an eyebrow as if surprised Ada was showing so much interest, "well ... rumour has it that a woman calling herself a 'professional bounty hunter' managed to destroy Aubrey's ship using the same satellite network that destroyed our fleet."

Ada frowned. The words somehow struck a chord deep in her subconscious. She immediately wanted to know more, "Bounty hunter sir?"

"Yes," Volk nodded, "ridiculous notion in this day and age. President Zakhvatchikov showed me old photographs of the very woman once. Terrifying looking, like a typical ... krest'yanskaya shlyukha. Dreadlocks. Tattoos over one side of her face. She looked no better than the feral creatures she was being paid to hunt," Volk snapped his fingers trying to remember something, "um ... Jess? Jessica? Some such name."

"That's ... such a tragedy sir," beneath the elaborate braid she'd plaited her hair into, Ada felt her scalp tingle, though she had absolutely no idea why, "uh, wh-what happened to the woman?"

A vague image flitted through her mind. She'd known someone who'd fitted that description. The dreadlocks. The tattoos. But whoever the woman had been, she'd been kind - not fierce.

Volk shrugged, "I don't know. Disappeared? Killed? Who knows?" he laughed, "who even cares?"

In her mind's eye, Ada could picture a pair of smiling blue eyes gazing down at her - the palest blue of glacial meltwater. The resemblance to those she saw in the mirror each morning was uncanny.

"Is something wrong Ada?" Volk asked from across the table.

It was a moment before Ada realised she was being spoken to, "Uh, no. Nothing's wrong sir."

"Good," Volk answered, "and please, call me Alexei."

Jess, Volk had called the dreadlocked bounty hunter he'd spoken of. Or Jessica?

No. Neither of those. In a sudden moment of clarity a name sprang into Ada's mind. On her lips before it was even fully formed in her consciousness, she spoke out loud, "Jessamy."

"What was that?" asked Volk curiously, his soup spoon raised halfway to his lips.

Ada cleared her throat. With the president's sometimes unpredictable mood swings, she had to be extremely careful what she said around him, "Jessamy sir. The bounty hunter's name ... I-I think it was Jessamy."

Gathering tears stung the corners of Ada's eyes as she realised something else. Speaking the name out loud had been like opening a door to a vault of long lost or repressed memories. Ada recalled another word she'd long ago associated with the name Jessamy.

Mummy.

Jessamy. And Mummy. Both the words and their meanings were so closely and tightly linked in Ada's memory, it could only mean they were one and the same person. Whoever the Jessamy woman was or had been ...

She was Ada's mother.

COMING SOON ... CHAPTER FOURTEEN: PORTSMOUTH

"Just take the fucking shot Tamsin! This has to end now."