I’m lying in bed, staring at the glove on my hand without seeing it. I know it’s white, with a mild blue hue and a crescent shaped wave marking it. I’m not watching the four balls of water that I’m rotating around my palm without touching them. My thoughts are miles away. When I meditate like this, I can feel them. The disturbances. It’s been at least six months since my predecessor threw everything out of whack by brutally murdering a whole bunch of people. Controllers. I’m not one of them, I’m not the same, but if I were I’m sure that water would be my element. A waves rocks my ship, the Freedom, and I try to settle it, but my chest tightens and I’m gripped by the urge to cough. The balls in my hand splash into nothing, and a loud knock on my door startles me upright.

“Andy? You awake?”

“Yeah, come in. What do you want?”

Jeremiah is probably the closest thing to a friend my age on this ship. He’s twenty. “Do you ever sleep?” he asks, halting a moment to study me.

“You know I don’t.”

“Right.” I can see he wants to ask me why, but refrains. The right moment to question me passed months ago. “We’re wanted at the nets.”

I stand to grab my kit. “Why?” I ask as I get dressed. “We’re not due on for a few hours.”

“I’m not sure.” After a moment of waiting patiently, Jerry asks, “Did you work with Bobby tonight?”

“Yeah.” I finally pull on my jacket and we start walking down the halls. Another wave rocks the ship: we counter without effort.

“Learn anything interesting?”

“Nah, we were just cleaning.” Jerry is mildly jealous of my work with Bobby, the ship’s engineer, so I’m always readily telling him what I’ve learned. He doesn’t begrudge my training, though, because he has no desire to spend 18 hours a day working. I wouldn’t call it a work ethic, really, but it’s the only thing keeping this insomniac sane. It has earned me respect from my crewmates, too, which is an added bonus. Ever since I returned from my shore leave, battered and beaten with Mac by my side, all the bullying stopped. They’d thought that at the first sniff of freedom I was going to bail, Mac told me later, and were all pleasantly surprised when I not only returned, but did so willing to work whatever was needed. It earned me a promotion to the nets, the most physically demanding job on the ship, and the traineeship with Bobby. It earned me a future.

Now I just need to get rid of the glove on my hand, and everything will be good.

My crewmates, while initially curious, have accepted that the glove doesn’t leave my hand. I’ve heard whispered rumours that my hand was disfigured when I received my other injuries, which isn’t true. I haven’t denied it, though.

Jerry and I step through the final door and out onto deck. The floodlights are running, illuminating a bunch of activity around the nets. It’s been non-stop for a while – the fishing has been exceptional, so we’ve been running flat out until full, running in to port, offloading, and returning. Everyone has been worked hard, but we’re raking in the money, so it’s fine. I’ve got a sneaking suspicion that the glove on my hand has something to do with our good fortune, though it isn’t deliberate.

I spot Mac. He’s the first mate, my friend, mentor, and the closest thing I have to a father. Right now, though, he’s my boss, so I approach him.

“Yo, Mac, where do you want us?”

“Hey, Andy, Jerry. Sorry to pull you from your beds. I know you need the rest.” Mac is usually gruff, and his soft tone is odd. He isn’t looking at us, either, but rather watching some of the crew members working around a particular net that’s been strewn on deck.

“What’s going on, Mac?”

“A kid got caught in the net. They’re cutting him out now. We need you to . . .”

“Wait, what?” I interrupt. That earns me a glare.

“You heard me. Get the rest of the nets pulled in, then find me. We’ll talk.”

“You’ve seen the kid?” I ask, my curiosity getting the better of me. Mac nods once, then returns to supervising the crew cutting him out. I’m even more curious – Mac got close enough to eyeball the kid, but wasn’t directly helping in pulling him out?

Shaking the weariness from my arms, I shrug my shoulder to Jerry and we head to join the net crew.

*

There’s a slight tremor in my hand when we finally finish sorting the last net. Aside from a tiny amount of debris, we find nothing else of interest – and we’ve still hauled in an impressive amount of fish. Jerry is physically shaking, too, the exhaustion finally taking a physical toll. Our lead notices and points at us.

“Get lost, get some rest!”

We don’t ask questions and immediately head inside. The sun is about to rise. We’re at about 75% load, but we haven’t tossed any more nets in until Mac and Cap make a decision. Everyone will have a break for, at the very least, the morning.

Jeremiah heads for his bunk, and I ignore my aching body to seek out Mac. I find him, as expected, in the bunk room that serves as our makeshift infirmary. He’s sitting quietly alone in the corner, his eyes on the unconscious boy. The kid is scrawny, with dark hair and dark skin. He’s probably sixty kilos soaking wet.

Without saying anything, I approach the boy, studying him. Mac casts his eyes to me.

“You really should get some sleep.”

“I can’t.”

“Look at you, Andy. Your body is barely hanging on. You’re pushing too hard, you’ll burn out. There are sedatives in here we could use.”

“I’m not skipping shifts for sleep.”

“You wouldn’t be. We’ll probably head for port, what with the kid and the near full load. You won’t miss anything.”

I’m startled by a hand on my shoulder. I hadn’t realised, such was my focus on the boy, that Mac had stood up.

“I’m not worried about missing anything, Mac.”

“You’re worried about what you’ll see.”

“No, I know what I’ll see. I see it every time I close my damned eyes. And I don’t want to. So, what is it that’s so interesting about this boy?” I try to change the subject.

“Please, get some sleep. I can feel you shaking,” Mac tries one more time. It’s touching, truly, but he pushes me just as hard as anybody else on this ship.

“I’m as fit as I’ve ever been, and you know it. Besides, my mind won’t let me rest until I know what’s bugging you.”

Mac sighs. “The boy will be fine. He was dragged in after the net caught his small boat, nothing more than a flimsy canoe, and destroyed it. He got caught in the heavy nets but he didn’t swallow any water. He was just cold and wet. We’re letting him rest – sedated – until the morning. I’m on first guard.”

“Guard?”

Catching me by surprise, Mac spins me toward him and drives a fist into my gut. It’s enough to blast the air from me, but nowhere near his full strength. I see the following punch coming toward my head and clumsily block it. Mac sweeps my feet from under me but catches me before I hit the ground.

“Yes, guard. Get some rest. You can barely defend yourself,” Mac says, placing me back on my feet as if he’d done nothing more than hug me. The treatment isn’t unusual. When I do get brief respite between my duties, Mac takes me into the cargo holds and teaches me to fight. Brawl, really, but after getting my arse kicked last shore leave I treat every lesson with respect.

“But why do I need to?”

“You can’t even think straight. Andy, we’re in the middle of the ocean. No one would have survived on a flimsy canoe this far out, and certainly not in as good shape. He’s either a victim, or something else, and we have to be ready for either.”

“Oh.”

“Gonna take my advice now?”

I finally concede defeat and nod. He’s right. I hadn’t even begun to consider the ramifications of finding the boy. It does explain Mac’s interest – when it’s his shift, he has an entire ship to protect.

“Good. When you wake, I want you to come in here and talk to the kid. When you’re rested, understand? I need you firing on some cylinders.” He playfully taps my head.

“Why me?”

“If I had to guess, I’d say he’s about your age, if a little malnourished. I want you to find out who the hell he is. Remember when you first stowed away? I’m sure you can tap into that and make a new friend.”

“. . . Alright.” I sense there is something more, but now even my eyes are betraying me, drooping lower. I turn and walk to the door.

“Good night, Andy.”

“Good night, Mac,” I say, and somehow I stagger back to my bunk, managing only to strip off my heavy jacket and pants before I fall in to sleep.

*

Five hours later I’m back on deck, freshly showered – well, rinsed – and dressed in slightly cleaner clothes. Four hours of deep sleep is a good result for me and as soon as I’d become restless, my mind churning through images of my past, I’d forced myself to wake and stand. Every night I see those images, though I occasionally see new additions, but I don’t think they’re true memories, but rather my mind trying to combine my knowledge to create something for me.

I also relive the moments when I met Stephen, the bastard that caused all of it, and constantly ask why I didn’t just walk away and avoid the entire thing.

Mac is on deck, wandering with the Captain. It’s pretty close to midday, which means it’s time for them to officially swap shifts. We still haven’t thrown any nets, so I approach, standing slightly to the side. They finish speaking in low tones before they turn to me.

“No nets, Andy, if you want to catch a bit more shuteye,” Cap says. I don’t actually know his first name. He’s always been Cap or Captain, or at worst, Captain Steviston.

“Thanks, sir, but I’m up now. What’s the plan in that regard?”

“The kid we found isn’t talking. Our fortune has been good, so we’re not going to push it. We’ll start heading to port before we throw the nets, and we’ll haul one more before we hit land.”

“Ok. Let me know where you need me.”

Cap nods. “Mac reckons you might be able to get the kid to talk, so he’s your focus. You need a break or some more rest, let someone know, but otherwise, you’re it. We’ll be leaving one of the bigger crewmen around, too, in case he gets rough.”

I laugh slightly. “I think I can handle him. He’s tiny.”

“You weren’t much bigger when we first met you, kiddo,” Mac says. I let my smile fade.

“There will be another within shouting distance at all time. I’ll leave Andy with you, Mac. Then you get to get some sleep.”

“Thanks,” Mac says, gently tapping Cap on the back as he leaves. I grin. One day I wish to have a relationship, a friendship, that is as solid as those two. Mac and I are friends, sure, but it’s more like a father-son relationship. Not true mateship.

Mac spots the stupid grin on my face. “What’s that all about?”

“How long have you two known each other?”

“Longer than you’ve been alive.” Mac shoves me playfully. I’ve grown a bit, and packed on some muscle, but I’m still dwarfed by the man. I’m sure he’s part viking – and his red-brown hair and beard reinforces the idea. “You’re happy today. Sleep well? It hasn’t been that long.”

“I slept like the dead for about four hours.”

With a considerate expression, he studies me. “That’s good for you. It’s your first day off in what, thirty? Let’s spar for a while.”

“I thought I needed to talk to the kid.”

“He can wait. Bobby can wait. C’mon, let’s go a round.” He has both hands in the air, and starts circling me.

I shift onto my toes and say, “It’s not like you to shirk off my duties for me.”

A meaty fist swings at my head, about half-pace, and I duck it easily. The following kick is also slow, and I block it with my hip. Both shots were an example – Mac is setting the pace. Today, it seems, it is friendly sparring. We’ve definitely gotten serious before, with an end result of numerous bruises, most of them mine. I settle into a defensive routine, dancing out of the way of most strikes and occasionally blocking one. It’s comfortable, and I find the exercise is loosening my muscles slightly. Feeling warm and ready, I shift to attack. I know Mac sees it, and the three quick punches, all aimed at his ribs, are blocked, as is my knee. He isn’t ready as I wrap my leg around his and yank, leaning into another punch. He twists away and grabs my shoulder, pulling me forward for balance as he regains his footing. His other hand snakes behind him as I try to escape his grasp by ducking and turning. He releases me and I complete my turn, coming up to see a glint of something silver. My heart freezes for a moment and I miss a beat, stumbling to a knee before I realise that it’s a butter knife. It’s too late, though, and Mac grabs me by the collar and pulls me close. Desperate, I call water to my hand and splash it up into his eyes.

Surprised, he releases me. We’re both panting. He’s staring at my hand, and I’m staring at the knife.

“Well, that’s a new one.”

“I’ve been practicing. Could you put that away?”

Mac looks at me, then at the knife, then back at me, laughing. “Sure. Little butter knife gonna get ya?”

I check around me, and, satisfied that there’s no one there, I circle water in my palm. “Are you afraid of a little water?”

The look on Mac’s face is unreadable. He slides the knife back into his pocket and motions with his hand. “You’ve really got a handle on that, haven’t you?”

“I can do small things, yeah, but I can’t do what a controller can.”

With a sigh, Mac turns his back. “Come on, I’ve got something to show you.” I follow him, and as we walk, he continues to talk, quietly muttering, mostly to himself. “I was hoping I’d have a little more time with you. More time to spar, more time to enjoy, more time to work on your PTSD.” Mac looks sideways at me.

“What are you talking about? We’ve always got time, Mac. When we hit port I’ll put some effort into my sleeping and . . . my phobia.”

Mac shakes his head and unlocks the infirmary door. Wide brown eyes greet us, the kid startled by our entrance.

“We don’t have time, Andy,” he says as he approaches the boy. The kid shrinks back until Mac reaches forward and grabs his arm.

“What do you mean?” I ask, ignoring the boy’s fear as Mac turns back to me, still holding the arm with the kid cowering behind him.

Only Mac and I can see what Mac is pointing at – a crescent shaped mark on the back of the boy’s hand.

A perfect match for the one on my glove.

© KL Burgess