As the storm roared its rage outside, Frick stayed in his cabin, doing his ‘Captain chores’, as he called them. His first call was to WSU HQ in Maasvlakte, to get the phone numbers of important contacts in Havana. He found out that the Fugro Symphony was held up in Belfast getting some work done, but should be on its way within a couple of days at most. He also discovered that the leader in Havana, Eduardo Quiros, only spoke Spanish. “Not a problem,” he told the duty officer. “Three of my crew speak fluent Spanish. I’m not one of them. Thank you for the heads-up.”
After hanging up with Maasvlakte, Frick went upstairs. As he hoped, he found Frieda there, finishing the lunch clean up, with help from Fred and Michie. “Frieda, I have a new job for you,” he said from the top of the steps.
“Oh? What now?” she asked from the galley.
“Just found out the leader of Havana, Senor Quiros, only speaks Spanish. I’m going to want you, with Fran’s help, to do the negotiating with Havana both before and during our stay there, which won’t be long. Fugro Symphony is due there within three weeks, then we can pick up our Florida friends and head to Maasvlakte,” Frick said with joy. “While you’re doing that, I’ll call our Florida friends and let them know that we will be on our way soon, and make ready to depart.”
“I’m glad you have Fran helping me. I’m not so sure about technical Spanish. She is. Get good lodgings for us while we’re there, the best possible trade for the Deliverance, and don’t mention the medicinals unless asked. We have the raw, not the finished, and they’re already labeled for the WSU,” Frieda said, outlining their goals, which has been discussed on and off since leaving Nebraska.
Frick smiled at his life-long friend. “Once I found the language barrier, I went straight for the best griffoness for the job. You,” he said, happy sparks flickering up and down his horn. “Just remember, always think the other negotiator is just as good as you are.”
“Always!” Frieda laughed. “This is for fair trade, not to slit your opponent’s throat. I know what to do and what you want. I’ll do my best to get it!”
“You mean we, right?” Fran said from the saloon table.
“Yes, we. Our trip is almost over. I’ll be glad when it is,” Frieda said before looking at her husband. “No suggesting relaxing sea cruises after this one!”
Fred held up a hoof. “Hey, I want to get back to feeling real dirt under my hooves. Living by the sea, okay. Working for a sea-going company, okay. Me going to sea again after this, not okay!” he said emphatically.
“I trained you well, husband of mine,” Frieda said, going to hug Fred, who returned the hug with as much passion and fervor as when they were newlyweds.
“That you did, wife of mine.”
While Frieda, Fran and later Malala spoke with Leader Quiros, Frick was on the phone, calling their friends along the Florida coast, giving them the news about pickup, and to have all groups decide where they want to establish themselves, Havana, Belfast or the Netherlands.
The first one he talked to was Joan Tucker, at Sunken Gardens. “That’s sooner than you thought, Frick!” she exclaimed when he told her of their approximate ETA.
“Hey, I’m not perfect, I just try hard. We’re going to do the jump to Key West tomorrow. It’s pouring down here!” Frick said with a laugh.
“Same here in Saint Pete. Typical summer weather. Any other news?” Joan asked.
“Not really. Still have to call Tarpon Springs and Pensacola and let them know. Can I ask to have a case of mangoes set aside for our resident addict?” Frick asked.
“Not a problem! When we get closer to departure, I’ll see about doing a harvest of anything possible. That should ‘pay my freight’ to Rotterdam!” Joan said with a laugh.
“No doubt, Joan! Take care and keep dry!” Frick chuckled before hanging up. As he did, he heard a startled rowl from the next room, followed by a deafening CRACK and BOOM as light poured in his porthole window before going out. He covered his ears in reflex, curling up some. That’s when he noticed the room lights were out. It did take him a while to recover enough to get off his bed. By then, the lights had come back on.
Frick shakily managed to open his cabin door. In the main cabin, Frieda and Malala were sprawled across the big bed, looking dazed, Frieda’s phone between them, some squawking in Spanish coming from the speaker. Frieda managed to say something that Frick knew was Spanish, but other than that, he was lost. “Eduardo, lightning just struck here. Will call back once we check things over.” Some more squawking and the line went dead.
“Frick, are you alright? You look like you got hit by my skillet!” Frieda said, concerned.
“I think I’ll go upstairs and tell Fred to turn the volume down on the church bells. I’m sure they heard that in Omaha!” Frick replied, still dazed. Slowly, he made his way upstairs, where he found some chaos. Michie was screaming in the corner, Fred wrapped around her. Frack and Bernie were leaning against each other on the settee, apparently asleep. Foster was in the galley, leaning against the sink, obviously stunned. Fran looked like she had jumped into the pilothouse from the main cabin.
“Running level two diagnostic on ship’s electrical systems, Captain. Will advise when complete,” Fran managed to say, sounding groggy.
“Very well, Technical Officer. Carry on,” Frick told her before turning his attention to the others. He first looked toward Fred. Michie had stopped squalling and was snuggled against Fred’s furry blue chest.
“I got her, Frick. The others are stunned. Give them a few minutes,” he said from the floor of the saloon.
“Right, Fred.” Frick went to the pilothouse, quickly nipping outside and back in. It was still coming down in torrents.
“Master electrical system worked as planned. Surge suppressors reset, we have power. Scanning computer now,” Fran said while she worked.
“Stop for a second and let me get you up here properly. That can’t be comfortable,” Frick observed.
Fran lifted her hands up off the keyboard. “It’s not. Go ahead, please.” Frick enveloped her in his purple glow, and soon she was standing upright. “Much better. Thank you, Frick.”
“Thank you, Fran. You had a last-second ‘oh shit’ warning, right?” Frick asked.
“Yes. Got up here to reset the surge suppressors and restore power. I’ll check the computer, you check other systems?”
“Good idea.” Frick got to work, checking individual circuits, like navigation lights, air conditioning, and various internal power circuits. Everything checked out fine, until he got to communications. “Uh oh…” he grunted after turning on the radio, which was set on the WSU’s frequency, and heard nothing.
“Find a problem?” Fred asked, getting up off the floor. Michie was sound asleep.
“Not getting WSU’s signal. Antenna must have taken the hit. I’ll check it out after the storm passes,” Frick said, picking up the boat’s phone and attempting to dial. “No signal here, either.”
“If it is, how can you fix it?” Fred asked.
“I can try to gimcrack one, but I think the best thing is to wait until Key West. There’s bound to be a lot of maritime radio antennas there. At least our personal phones are working,” Frick explained. “How is everyone?”
“Stunned from the thunderbolt,” Fred reported. “My healing does work on me, so I recovered fast. The others will wake soon. Bernie and Frack’s senses are a bit more sensitive, especially Bernie’s hearing. I gave her a touch. She, and the others, will be okay. Michie was just completely terrified. I got her to sleep. She won’t wake for a while.”
“Good. Frieda and Malala are shaken, not stirred downstairs. You can check, if you want,” Frick told his first officer.
“I’ll do that. You see what else is screwed up,” Fred said before heading downstairs.
Frick and Fran worked for another hour, checking the boat systems. When Frack woke up, he went to check on breaker panels he knew about belowdecks, as a backup to the displays. Finding some breakers needing resetting, he did so and, once the rain stopped, checked the engines out, removing the cover and digging in. Frick climbed up to the bridge, checking first the ship controls, then the guns. Finding all working, he then did the difficult chore of getting up to check the antenna, a not-easy chore because of a vertical ladder.
Frick popped the hatch and looked. As he expected, the antenna had been hit, and the wiring looked burned coming from it. “Oh joy, oh bliss…” he muttered on seeing the damage. “The shock diverters worked, but the heat is something else entirely.” He shut the hatch and carefully climbed down to the bridge deck, then downstairs to the saloon for a Jolt.
“Is it bad?” Bernie asked when Frick sat down with his can.
“Bad enough. Antenna’s toast, and the only way to fix it is to replace it. The radio is undamaged, it’s just without the antenna, we can’t send or receive signals. No radio, no Internet until we get to Key West and replace it,” Frick explained before having a sip.
“Why in Key West?” Bernie asked. “Why not try to scrounge one up here in Naples?”
“Well, one, I don’t know where to look. Two, plenty of boats down there, so I might find a similar model. Three, I want to get this big step done and over with!” Frick emphasized before having another hit of Jolt.
“Understandable, but, with no antenna, does that not mean our GPS system is down? How can we navigate?” Bernie wondered.
“I plan on using some Nebraska windage and some natural features to help us, Bernie. The currents down here are not that strong, but are there. Also, one can drive to Key West, right?” Frick asked.
“Yes. My family did so every couple of years. It’s a beautiful drive. What about it?”
“If I alter our programmed course two degrees to the east, and we miss Key West, what will we hit?” Frick asked smugly as he finished his can of Jolt.
Bernie’s slitted gold eyes lit up in realization. “The bridge!” she called out.
“Right! We aim to the left, we’re going to run into the bridge. When we do, just turn right and follow it right to Key West!” Frick exclaimed.
Bernie thought for a moment before speaking, sipping some coffee. “For someone who doesn’t fly, you sure can navigate!” she said.
Frick bowed a little, ears reddening at the compliment. “Thank you for saying so. I’ve been studying how to navigate blue-water. Right now, I feel like it’s fourth down and twenty on the Cornhusker fifteen. Only one thing to do,” he said.
“What’s that?” Bernie asked. She knew Frick was talking football, but she never cared much for the sport, being a Tampa Bay Rowdies fan from the time he was little.
“Punt.”
“Ship’s log, date 1606.16 0300 hours, Welder Seven recording.
“I’m about to go wake everyone up before heading off to Key West. Coffee is already made, and I’ll let Frieda do any cooking. Six downstairs, Foster and Malala outside in a tent. Pack up and set out. I’m not looking forward to lookout duty, because of the pork and chicken stored there. Frieda and I did gather eggs and two more chickens last night, eggs not only for breakfast, but Havana asked for a dozen eggs to hatch out to add to their flocks. I have to say shredded chicken is tolerable. Give me a fish plank or two, for sure!
“Wish me luck. I know some of the ponies aboard wake up cranky!”
Bernie saved the log entry before heading downstairs, flipping on the lights and pulling the curtain back on Fred and Frieda’s bed. She paused a second to admire how the two were cuddled up to each other, their love obvious to her, at least. “Fred, Frieda, it’s three o’clock. Coffee’s on!” she said in a squeaky whisper.
Frieda’s head snapped up, followed by Fred’s. “Thanks, Bernie. We’re up,” Frieda said.
“Good. I’ll get Frick and Frack. We’re leaving Fran and Michie to sleep in. Best way to keep Michie out from underfoot,” Bernie said quietly before going to Frick’s door and opening it.
“We’re up, too. My alarm went off ten minutes ago,” Frack said from the depths of the darkness.
“Oh? Where’s your brother?” Bernie said with a bit of snark.
“Behind you, coming out of the bathroom,” Frick said. Bernie almost hit the ceiling with an eep before landing on her hooves.
“And I thought I was quiet!” Bernie whispered.
“Looks like my sound-muffling spell worked. Go out and get Foster and Malala. I’ll head upstairs now,” Frick said quietly, going for the steps up. Bernie could only shrug and follow, heading up and out to the tent on the shore.
Just as she reached for the tent flap, a gold light shone from inside. “Foster?” she asked.
“No, the man in the moon. Who else would it be?” Foster said with a bit of a grump, followed by a yawn. “Time to wake up, Malala.”
Another yawn was heard before the zebra spoke. “So soon?”
“You can nap while we’re underway. Hope to reach Key West by noon,” Foster replied. Bernie just slipped away quietly, going to the pilothouse.
An hour later, after Frick relieved Bernie in the pilothouse, she collected her breakfast omelet and coffee from Frieda before going to the bridge. There was enough light for her to eat without trouble, and seeing the bay around her was also no trouble. The engines started, lines were cast off, and the Deliverance carefully backed up from the pier, turned about, and headed out, Bernie calling out which way to turn, as a backup to the radar image.
Once safely away from shore, Frick turned the boat, aiming just east of due south and slowly brought the twin Cummins diesels to full power. With a joyful noise, the boat leaped forward, settling some by the stern as it accelerated through the clear blue water. It being light enough now to see easily, Bernie kicked back and enjoyed the scenery. She may have been raised in Florida, but she wasn’t much for boating. Frack soon came up and sat beside her on the driver’s bench, putting a wing around her and also admiring the sight. After a while, they went to Frick’s cabin, where he converted the single beds into a double, and the two spent the morning napping together, happy to be with each other and on their way at last.
A little after eleven, Fred, who was on watch, noticed something on the radar returns, something fuzzy at extreme range. “Frick, I think we’re coming up on land,” he told his captain.
Said captain looked at the clock and nodded. “Right about when I expected. Frack, Frieda, ready for some aerial recon?” he asked two of his three fliers. Asking Bernie to go out around noon near the first day of summer down by the Tropic of Cancer he thought was a little much.
Frack was prepared, radio and phone on his harness. “Ready, Frieda?” he asked.
Frieda grabbed a radio from the charger rack. “You go east, I go west, together we’ll find the cuckoo’s nest!” she laughed, putting its strap around her neck.
“Let’s do it!” Frack shouted as he headed out and took off from the after deck, Frieda a minute behind.
As she pulled for altitude, Frieda noticed something about the water they were nearing. It took her a little time to figure out just what she was seeing. “Cornhusker Three to Cornhusker Base!” she called, using her radio.
“Cornhusker Base. See something, Maw?” Fred asked.
“Looks like you’re heading for a reef. Slow down some until you can find a way through it!” Frieda warned.
“Just what we were expecting, Maw. Head on past until you find the road, and we can find out where the hell we’re at. Just how far off is Frick’s navigating? Is he the second coming of Magellan, or Wrong Way Corrigan?” Fred replied.
“I bet on Cudjoe Key while Frick says Stock Island. Loser does up dinner tomorrow!”
“You trust Frick to bake garlic bread on his own?” Fred said with a chuckle.
“I’ll be supervising! Cornhusker Three out!” Frieda laughed as she continued on course.
“Cornhusker Base clear.”
Frieda flew straight on while Frack went a little east. They flew over the reef, spotting a few small islets, heading on towards the keys. “Three, is that an airfield ahead?” Frack called.
“Looks like it. Big one, too. I know the main Key West Airport is on the south side of the island, and it’s only one runway, not three!” Frieda said back.
“That has to be Boca Chica Key, then. How did Frick learn to navigate so damn good?” Frack wondered.
“That means he won the bet. Cudjoe Key is a few miles farther east. I’ll have to scavenge for pasta and tomato sauce tomorrow, and garlic spread,” Frieda said, sounding a little disappointed.
“Why wait? Let’s check out Key West while we’re out and up. See if we can find a good place to moor,” Frack suggested.
“Sounds good to me! Turning right!” Frieda replied. “Frick, have you decided where you want to moor?”
“At the Naval Air Station, which is located on Dredgers Key, which is on the north side of Key West. There’s a marina there, as well as the Navy Exchange. Easiest place to raid for supplies,” Frick told her.
“Okay, Frick. I’ve got the smoke floats, so once we find the place, we’ll drop a trail of bread crumbs for you!”
“That’s the plan, Frieda! Cornhusker Base out!” Frick replied.
“Let’s go, Frack! Let’s find this place!” Frieda sent.
“Right behind you! Lead on!”
Within two hours, the Deliverance was securely moored at Sigsbee Marina, the fueling station set up, and a scavenging expedition led to the Navy Exchange, said expedition consisting of Fran, Foster, Michie and Malala, Foster pulling the wagon. As soon as they got to the front door of the Exchange, they saw that they were not the first ones there. “Looks lakh someone wanted in bad,” Foster commented at the wreckage of the door, which was bent and twisted some.
“Someone with more strength than sense,” Malala observed as Fran helped Foster unhitch.
“She only looks mean. She’s lonely here. Only one other,” Michie said as she looked at the debris.
“She? Who is she, Michie?” Fran asked as Foster used his glow to pull a shopping cart over.
“Her!” Michie squealed, pointing into the store, where a shadow moved in the gloom. Foster brought the shopping cart near, prepared to use it as a battering ram.
“Y’all come on out where we can see ya, an’ don’t try anything funny!” Foster called out.
From inside came a loud voice. “What do I look like, a comedian?” was heard as a light flared inside, outlining a shape. A large unusual shape with wings.
“And I thought the Fly Lord was bad…” Malala muttered as the shape came closer.