Chapter
13
A Serialized Story of the
Not So Distant Future
September 4, 2005
Part Thirty Nine
The Pirate Ship Revenge
Eve got to her feet as the ACDENS helicopters stopped projecting.
She felt dizzy and short of breath, but not as bad as she would have
thought. She looked at Kenny, the guy she came with. His wild brown
hair and beard gave him a Charles Manson look, and Eve wasn't so
sure that was far from the truth.
"HAH!" He said jumping to his feet, now it's time for PAYBACK!" He
ran north through the crowd of protestors all still getting back to
their feet. Eve didn't say a word, she had regretted hooking up with
him almost from the start, and was glad to see him go.
There were no familiar faces around her, but that didn't mean much.
Eve was quick to make friends wherever she went. She brushed her
long blonde hair out of her face and got her bearings. The
combination of pulsing rotors and the ACDENS assault had given her a
splitting headache. The air around her was humid and thick with the
warmth of the other protestors. A little space to breathe would be
nice she thought, heading south and away from the main police lines.
Many others seemed to have the same idea, an older woman with
graying hair and a backpack wearing a tie dyed t-shirt offered Eve
some water.
"Thanks." Eve said, taking a deep drink. "Where are you heading?"
"The Ferry. I'm hoping that it's running," she said, "I live on
Staten Island."
"I didn't think of the Ferry," Eve said. "but we might be walking
right into the cops."
"That's true for just about everywhere. I'm Ally by the way."
"I'm Eve."
"It's great to see young people getting involved again." Ally said,
"I was protesting Vietnam when I was 16, and against nukes and for
woman's rights after that, but I could never get my own kids
interested. I was just their embarrassing hippie mom."
"Maybe it skips a generation." Eve said lightly. Eve had been an
army brat, both of her parents were soldiers, until her father had
died of lung cancer, and her mother retired several years back.
"Oh, I think the draft had a lot to do with it." Ally said. "Once
that was back in effect, people started waking up. Kids started to
realize that they were mortal, way earlier than they should have
to."
Eve smiled at that, as she looked around she realized a steady
stream of protestors was moving with them. There were police
bullhorns and sounds of chaos behind them, but as they found their
way onto Water and Whitehall street, everything seemed almost
tranquil.
They entered the ferry terminal, just as one of the big boats had
finished unloading. Eve chuckled as a handful of smartly dressed
people rushed through to get to their jobs. Good luck, she thought,
wondering if they just hadn't turned on the news that afternoon.
"Looks like we got here just on time." Ally said, glancing
backwards.
Eve looked behind her and realized that now a wave of protestors was
making for the Ferry terminal in a all out run. "We better hurry."
She said.
They got on board, and Eve even bought a cup of coffee from the
little kiosk inside the Ferry, just as droves of people started
arriving. Covering her coffee, she guided Ally to the front end of
the Ferry, grabbing them seats where they weren't as likely to get
trampled.
Seats started filling up fast, a tall, thin, nervous looking fellow
sat next to Ally. He sounded asthmatic, wheezing to catch his
breath.
"You poor dear, would you like some water." Ally said.
He took it egearly and gulped some down.
"What's going on?" Eve asked him, "why is everyone running?"
"There were gunshots." He said, "someone said a protestor started
shooting at the cops, other people said it was the cops firing
rubber bullets. Either way, I didn't want to stay and find out.
Everyone started running this way, so I just went along."
"Oh dear." Ally said, "I was in Seattle went things went bad many
years ago. At least we're away from it." She took the water bottle
back and pulled out a box of crackers for everyone. "So what's your
name?"
"Walter, Walter Barnes."
"The radio is saying that someone's taken hostages at 180 Broad St,"
Another protestor said, "I arrived late, so I never got that close
to things."
"I was right near there when the ACDENS hit." Eve said. "I thought
they would last longer, but once they turned them off, I figured it
was time to go. I saw some people rushing into the buildings."
The Ferry was now packed with people, and Eve wondered if they would
even allow it to launch.
"We may have walked right into a trap." She said to Ally.
"Maybe so, but at least we're comfortable." Ally said.
The Ferry's motor hummed to life however, and despite the crowds,
the crew managed to close the boarding gates. For a moment it looked
as if everything was normal. Then the first PA announcement came
over:
"Ladies and Gentlemen, this is your Ferry Operator. I have been
advised at this time by the NYPD and the Department of Homeland
Security to hold my position. I apologize for the delay and we hope
to be under way as soon as possible."
The simultaneous groans of several hundred people were almost
comical to hear. The Ferry's engines were cut, and a sense of
hopeless gloom settled over the passengers.
Tyrone Parker made his way to the upper cabin of the Ferry. Four
years ago he had been a Ferry operator on the graveyard shift four
nights a week. That was before his past came back to haunt him, and
the Hosers labeled him a 'security risk' causing him to lose his
job, his pension, and any hope of getting a decent job again. He
spent his days now as a dishwasher in Delveccio's the uber chic
restaurant at the edge of the new Freedom Center, sometimes for
extra money, he went through Battery Park on the way home collecting
recyclables.
When Tyrone was stationed in the Free Republic of Iran, he had
become friendly with a local girl there. U.S. forces had just
liberated the country, and many of the moral restrictions had been
lifted, at least until the population could supposedly decide for
itself what sort of laws it wanted.
Her name was Irina, and she wanted to go to college and study. She
spoke a little english, and had been very friendly towards the
American soldiers. They called her a camp follower, but Tyrone knew
that she would be so much more if she got the chance.
He taught her how to read and write english, and they spent all
their free time together. Many of the locals shunned her, because
Tyrone was both American and black. Tyrone wanted to bring her back
to the U.S. but he found himself getting transferred instead.
"Are you nuts?" His C.O. had sad: "She's a tramp, you don't bring
these girls home to mama! Just buy her some candy and say goodbye,
I'm transferring you stateside."
And Tyrone found himself going home, only for the first time since
he had gotten there, he didn't want to leave. He continued to write
Irina letters, her responses took some time, but she wrote back in
English. She told him that she was pregnant with the first letter
she sent.
Tyrone tried to arrange for her to come to the U.S., to have the
baby here, but all of his requests for visas were denied. One smart
mouthed Officer had said: "We're doing you a favor, odds are that
it's not your kid anyway."
Time passed and the baby was born. He was a boy, and Irina named him
Tyrone after his father, flouting the Muslem names that would have
been more socially acceptable. The country was holding it's first
round of elections though, and it looked as if the people were
really embracing Western culture. She sent him photos, and the baby
was the spitting image of Tyrone. He sent her as much money as he
could every month, but gave up trying to get her a visa. He figured
that he would have to return to Iran once he was discharged and
marry her then. As a civilian he would have a better chance of
bringing her into the country.
It wasn't the military that interrupted his plans though, it was the
Fundamentalist movement in Iran. They swept the second round of
elections and restored many of the oppressive theocratic policies
that had ruled the culture for so many years. Among some of the more
personally troubling laws put in place were that women could not
marry foreigners and that having children out of wedlock was now a
crime punishable by death. Irina was now a criminal, as would Tyrone
be if he were to set foot there again.
Despite the return of draconian rule, Neil Bush smiled on the
televison and said that the new president was a 'good and fair' man
who simply represented his people's traditional values. Tyrone began
to explore other means of getting his woman and child the hell out
of there. He was out of the army now, and in the training program to
be a Ferry operator. His pay was better, but he was far from being a
rich man.
He contacted Amnesty International, where he was met with sympathy,
but little help. They advised him to stop sending Irina money, or
make any direct contact, lest she become a target of the new regime.
One person there did get him in touch with a group who promised to
smuggle Irina and Tyrone Jr. out, the only problem was the
astronomical cost.
It took over a year for Tyrone to save up and borrow enough money to
meet this group's cost. In that time, he had not heard a word from
Irina, and stories coming out of the renamed: Islamic Nation of Iran
were not promising. He hoped against hope that she was alright, that
his boy was alive and safe somewhere. He prayed to God for help
nightly, pleading for some sign that they were alive, but all he
ever got was silence.
The man who took his money was friendly enough.He was working as a
translator for one of the big corporations, but had actually been a
languages Professor in the short lived Free Republic of Iran. Tyrone
paid him in cash, and the man said that it would take weeks or even
months for them to find Irina and get her out. That was assuming
that she was alive and not imprisoned.
More than a month passed, and the man was in touch with him again.
He said that Irina and Tyrone were alive and living in an outlying
province. However, they had exhausted the money Tyrone had gave them
and he would need more.
Tyrone raged, and demanded to at least get a letter or some other
proof that they really had found Irina. The man apologized,
explaining that his group had to be extrememly covert in it's
actions, and that they couldn't even contact Irina directly. In the
end, Tyrone gave him more money, unwilling to let go of the even the
slightest hope. He began giving monthly payments to the man, who
swore that the money was being used to help secure a means of
getting Irina and Tyrone Jr. out.
Meanwhle, the news in Iran was not good. Insurgents from rival
religious factions had taken up arms when they lost the elections.
Only the U.S. presence was keeping the country in any sort of order
and that order was fading fast. Tyrone was losing all hope of seeing
Irina again, when two Homeland Security Agents had knocked on his
door.
Over the next 6 hours he had learned that the group he was supplying
money to was in fact a terrorist organization, and had nothing to do
with helping people. His contact had been arrested and put in jail,
and while Tyrone wasn't formally charged, he was now considered a
'person of risk' and could not be allowed to hold any positions
where he might be a threat.
And that was when, as far as he was concerned, his life ended.
Nothing mattered anymore. He declared bankruptcy, but the new laws
made him liable for over 80% of his debts, payable over the next 50
years if necessary. The more he earned, the more they would take,
not that he could earn much as a security risk anyway.
And now he would be going to jail, not because he was a protestor,
which he wasn't, but because he was here and that's all it took
these days. He had only boarded the Ferry in order to scout for
cans, he had never bothered himself with the anti-war movement.
He was only heading up to the control room in order to convince the
Operator to open the gates and let everyone back off the ferry. He
was hoping it would be someone he knew from the old days, but
doubted it. Nobody seemed to know him when things had gone bad.
When he got made his way up there, a group of brightly dressed
protestors were already banging on the door and pleading with him to
let everyone off.
"Excuse me folks" Tyrone said in a loud voice, "but I believe I can
get us into the Control Cabin." On his keyring was a thin, flat
screwdriver, the kind of thing you could buy for a couple of
dollars. It was also known as "the emergency key" by his fellow
Ferry operators.
The group was mostly a yonng bunch, late teens to early twenties.
They all looked fresh faced and innocent, Tyrone wondered if he ever
really had looked that way himself. They eyed him with suspicion as
they made way for him. He jammed the screwdriver into the slot, it
went in about 3/4ths of the way. "Damn. Has somebody got a shoe or
something I can hammer with?"
A girl handed him a slim high heeled shoe, and he chuckled for the
first time in ages. "That's a beautful shoe, but I'm afraid I'll
break the heel off." He handed it back to her.
A young man wrestled his foot out of a heavy hiking boot and handed
it over. "Now that's more like it." Tyrone said and gave the
screwdriver two solid whacks. Returning the boot to it's owner, he
twisted the screwdriver hard and the lock clicked open.
"MAYDAY MAYDAY! I AM UNDER ATTACK!" the Ferry Operator yelled as
Tyrone and several protestors came through the door.
"Shut up!" Tyrone said, pushing him out of the way. "People just
want to leave!"
"Too late." Said the young man with the hiking boots." He was on his
cell phone. "Cops are pulling up to the terminal."
"Then we're leaving." Tyrone said, activating the PA system. "Ladies
and Gentlemen, this is your Ferry Operator, and we have been given
the all clear, thank you for your paitence." He started the engines
and unlocked the docking clamps.
"Dude. Do you know what your doing?" An 18 looking kid with ratty
hair and a long nose asked.
"Yup. I used to do this for a living." Tyrone said, and picking up
the microphone: "Next stop will be Canada folks!"
Cheers erupted all over the Ferry, Eve and Ally looked at each other
in alarm: "They can't sail this thing all the way to Canada, can
they?"
"Not a chance." said Walter. "On a full tank this boat can only make
it about 300 miles or so. Maybe we can defect to Conneticutt."
As the Ferry left the dock, a police bullhorn was blaring for them
to return. The Ferry's proper operator abandoned the control room
and had locked himself in one of the public bathrooms. From his cell
phone he was telling the police that he had been taken hostage.
Back in the Control Cabin, people were crowded so close, Tyrone was
having trouble working. "Folks, I need some elbow room here or we'll
end up hitting something."
"Sorry Matey, it's just that I've never been a real Pirate before."
The ratty haired kid joked.
"Yeah, I guess we are pirates." Tyrone said. "So what should we name
this fine vessel?"
"The Pirate Ship Revenge!" Shouted the girl with the high heels.
"Beautiful!" Tyrone picked up the microphone again. "Ladies and
Gentlemen, this is... Captain Bligh, master of the newly christened
Pirate Ship Revenge! We are sailing out into open waters and woe be
to any enemy ships that cross our path!"
Around the Ferry, people were singing bits and pieces of Sea
Shanties, not to mention the Gilligan's Island theme. A handful of
people had brought booze aboard with them, and bottles were being
passed liberally.
Tyrone felt giddy as the Ferry headed out into open waters, he knew
they didn't stand a chance. Either the police or Coast Guard woud
board them or they would just force them to dock somewhere. For the
moment though, he was free and that was enough.
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