Lenn glanced at the young man who was peering out the window beside his captain. Besides Frederick Lenn and his first officer there were only two other crewmen that served aboard 12-837.
"How long till Briton Bay flags us in?" Captain Lenn asked, ignoring the man's question. "Nothing is moving from the docks. They're saying now it could be days."
"That damn Globe Summit," Lenn complained. "They've got politicians from around the world in there. And their state departments and security. Why they couldn't put us off for another week I'll never know."
"They wanted to make sure they've got enough shit to dump in that machine of theirs," the first officer replied.
They had seen the Vaporizer unveiling on the news from their cramped crew quarters.
Lenn sighed. "I guess we get paid no matter what."
Lenn rubbed his fingers through his shock of gray hair. It felt dirty. It would have been nice to take a few days in Mayana, maybe a night or two in a hotel. Time away always made his return to his boat that much sweeter. But there was no way that was happening now. The whole of New Briton was booked solid. And now, as the country that was going to solve the world's waste disposal problem, things were going to get even more insane.
"I just hope we have enough provisions if they keep us stuck out here." Lenn scooped up a pair of binoculars.
There were many other scows in the same metaphorical boat as his. So many, the crews had come up with a name. "Garbage City" was rapidly filling this part of the Caribbean to capacity, with more scows on the way.
"It's getting pretty tight out there," Lenn commented as he passed his binoculars to starboard, aft. As he spoke, something caught his eye. He almost missed it through the flocks of crazed seagulls.
Another scow-this one from Mexico-was anchored nearby. When he trained his binoculars fully, he saw a thin line of black smoke curling up from the far side of the ship.
"Have we gotten any radio messages from next door?" Lenn asked his first officer.
The younger man had left the window. "No, why?" he asked absently, not looking up.
Lenn held his binoculars steady.
"They're in some kind of trouble," he said with a frown. "Looks like a fire. Radio over. Ask if they need help."
"Aye, sir," the first officer said. As he reached for the radio, Captain Lenn continued to monitor the other scow.
It was still smoking. Could be an engine fire. But who knew what they were hauling? Depending on what was on board, a small fire could send a scow up in flames in seconds.
"I can't raise them, Fred," the first officer said. "Could be they have their hands full."
"Hmm," Lenn said, lowering his binoculars as the first officer came up beside him. "You and Bob better take the little boat over. See if they-"
"Holy shit!" the first officer interrupted. He was staring out the window.
Lenn wheeled just in time to see the other scow's nose lift out of the water. He whipped his binoculars back up.
A huge fissure ripped the side of the scow. Streams of garbage slurped overboard as the ship listed to one side. As Lenn watched in horror, the bridge windows shattered. Flames began pouring out into the clear blue sky.
Lenn spun. "Weigh anchor," he ordered. "Sir?" the helmsman asked.
"Do it! Get us out of here, best possible speed!"
"What is it, Captain?" asked the suddenly worried first officer. "What's wrong?"
"Get on the radio to Mayana," Lenn snapped. "Tell them we're under attack."
"Attack?"
"Now!" Lenn twisted back to the grimy window. The scow was already slipping under the waves. All that remained was a thick oil slick and bits of floating garbage. He searched desperately for survivors in the widening debris field.
The first officer had raised Mayana.
"They want to know if this is some kind of joke," he said, holding out the microphone.
"Give it here," Lenn commanded. He took a step. But only one.
The scow lurched suddenly. Lenn had to grab the navigation station to keep from being hurled to the deck.
"Dammit!"
He scrambled to his feet and ran to the bridge window. The sea was still calm. Not a cloud in the sky. They hadn't been hit by a sudden squall. Lenn's stomach sank, growing cold as the ocean deep.
"Captain?" the first officer asked. He was steadying himself on the back of a chair.
Lenn's voice was flat. He had known it as soon as he'd seen the other scow's damage. Hoped to hell he was wrong.
"Torpedo," Captain Frederick Lenn replied, voice hollow.
The instant he spoke, a second explosion rocked the scow. Lenn felt the rolling impact through the metal deck.
The men were thrown from their stations.
As Frederick Lenn watched, the rear of his boat split apart. The bridge twisted as the massive weight of garbage shifted and began vomiting into the sea. "Abandon ship!" Lenn shouted.
The bridge was angling into the water. As the ship listed, the men stumbled and crawled across the slanted floor and out the door.
The deck was slick. Greasy water attacked their ankles. When his helmsman slipped and fell against the rail, Captain Lenn dragged the kid back to his feet by his shirt collar.
A lifeboat hung behind the bridge. Holding on to chain railings, the men scurried back to it. As they reached for the metal hooks, there came a sudden painful groan.
Captain Lenn stopped dead. "My God," he whispered.
And the ship bucked beneath his feet and split cleanly into two halves.
The bulk of the cargo dumped into the sea, the bridge pitched forward and a pile of front-loaded garbage came toward them in an avalanche.
Eighty thousand pounds of trash barreled across the cabin and slammed full force into the struggling crew. Captain Lenn caught a mouthful of rotting garbage before he and his panicked crew were swept into the churning sea.
With more groaning and spilling greasy mounds of trash, the little scow from New York joined its proud captain and crew in a watery grave.
Seagulls pecked away at the lazily scattering trash. And far off, the single eye of a periscope watched in silent satisfaction. Sun glinted off glass as it dipped below the waves. And was gone.