L. Ron Hubbard - Mission Earth 07 by Voyage of Vengeance

Author:Voyage of Vengeance [Vengeance, Voyage of]
Language: eng
Format: epub, pdf
Published: 2011-02-15T22:52:15.461000+00:00

Chapter 7

When I awoke we were at sea. I wondered where we were going.

"I'm glad you decided to lay off pot," the steward said as he shaved me. "It's so much trouble airing out the room."

Little did he know!

When I left the breakfast salon, I walked up to the bridge. Captain Bitts was sitting in a pilot chair, basking in the morning sun, while a watch officer and steersman handled the ship. I walked all along the bridge, looking at all the instruments and gyros. Words like Fathometer and Repeater 1 and such didn't mean very much to me. All the chrome and brass and dials added up to confusion.

Bitts rose as I approached. "Where we going?" I said.

"Don't you know?" he said, somewhat astonished. "You ordered it about 4:00 A.M."

(Bleep) that hashish! "What did I order?"

"Oh," he said, "you're running a check on us. Don't worry, we're going right where you said."

I looked at the low, sandy coast to starboard. It was backed by mountains-the Atlas? But it sure didn't tell me where I was going. It just told me that we were running along a rather strange coast.

"Pretty uninhabited," I said, hoping he would then volunteer information.

"Oh, it will get lively shortly," he said. "Half the shipping lanes of the world converge straight ahead."

I didn't want him to think I didn't know what I was doing. It would undermine his confidence. "So when do we get there?" I asked.

"Oh-eight-hundred hours Thursday," he said.

"Thank you."

"Always glad to help."

Maybe Teenie would know. I went down ladders and aft to the race track. It was not all that big and pretty tightly banked. Teenie was on a racing bicycle, bent low, pedalling like mad, ponytail streaming in the wind of her passage. The swoosh, swoosh, swoosh as she went round made me dizzy. Whipping my head made me aware that I had an ache there.

She didn't look like she was stopping. I yelled, "Teenie, where are we going?"

Swoosh, swoosh, swoosh. "Don't bother me," her voice whipped by. "I'm trying to clock twenty miles."

"Teenie," I called, "where is the ship going?"

Swoosh, swoosh, "Ask Madison. You're disturbing my rhythm."

I left. Madison was up in the squash court. He had a glove and was playing handball against the backboard.

"Madison," I said.

He jumped. It made him hit the ball too hard so that it struck against a ventilator, ricocheted sideways, flew out into the air and then down into the sea.

"Don't do that!" he said. "I thought for a minute you were the Mafia."

"Madison," I said, "there are two places we mustn't go: one of them is the United States and the other one is Turkey."

He was mopping his face with a towel to remove the sweat. "Turkey?" he said. "But this is a Turkish yacht."

"Not the same thing," I said. "They want me in Turkey just like they want you in the U.S. Shotguns and things. So where are we going?"

Madison sat down in a deck chair and the deck steward handed him a tall drink of water and threw a bathrobe over his shoulders.

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