Post by CptNemo on Jan 25, 2006 0:07:14 GMT -5
The deep roar of a fog horn shook the sleep from the shipyard. Jeremy Becking dodged another passing cargo train as it motored by, parting the crowd of workmen as it went. He brushed his unkempt hair from his face and continued on.
The long red and black hull of the freighter stood like a wall next to the dock. Its horn sounded again, reverberating through every body in the area. Along the side, in bold, white lettering read the words Seafarer II.
A towering crane rotated to and fro, hauling metal clad crates from the dock to its flat decks where a men in blue coveralls fastened it down with tree trunk size clamps and vices. Crates ranged in size from anywhere of that of a car, to those nearly three times that of a bus. Jeremy rested himself on the damp wood of a shack, taking note of the whole scene in his mind.
A choking fog of grey coiled around the harbor, and ships on the brink of sight would become fuzzy silhouettes on the horizon right before another wisp would shroud them from view. He closed his eyes, and inhaled, listening to the sounds of a busy workday beginning and the smell of fish and sulfur on the dawn air.
At the back of the freighter stood the cabin, painted white and dotted with circular windows and rectangular hatches. A front cabin peaked the nose of the ship, but was much smaller in size compared the main quarters. A shrill steam whistle sounded, and he checked his watch. Seven a.m., just on schedule.
He approached the single gang plank, and flashed an identity card at the watchman, who merely shrugged and let him pass, not thinking twice about who this man with blue jeans and a jacket was. Jeremy didn’t linger, but moved right along. His heavy boots fell hard on the metal plank that resulted in a thunder-like rattle with each step. He looked straight ahead, focused, keeping his duffel bag close to his side. All business.
Failure was not an option.
He looked left, the sheer scale of the ship finally dawning on him. Layering the steel flooring was a coating of raspy matting, much like sandpaper, but this in particular was worn from frequent use. Jeremy paced down the walkway, running his gloved hands along the hand rail of the safety fence. Workmen bustled in and out of the containers ahead.
He stopped short, taking a right through an unhatched passage way. Heavy doors lined the corridor, most appeared to be storage or maintenance rooms, but he followed the sign that pointed to the sleeping quarters. A powerful wind ripped through the interior corridors, and it reminded him of the time he was privileged to use a wind tunnel.
Jeremy opened the hatch door that read ‘9’ in red lettering. So it wasn’t a luxury cruise ship. He felt for a power switch, and flipped it. A narrow, steel frame bed sat in the corner against the wall with a single wall mounted lamp above the bed’s head rest.
He kicked his leather boots off on the small space of steel grating before stepping onto green carpet that covered the floor. This too was worn, but appeared to be as clean as he could hope for. A wooden desk was set at the bottom end of the bed, pushed into the opposite corner. Then a flat narrow dresser, a coat rack, ceiling fan, and other minor appliances were positioned around the room. A small bathroom broke off from the main quarters. In a relatively small space, not much larger than a closet, it housed a shower cubicle, toilet, and a sink. A knock sounded at the door.
“Mister Korb?”
Jeremy returned. “I am,” he said, replying to his alias.
“Please to meet you, Sir,” the young crewman said with a generous smile. “Names Kellan.”
“Likewise,” Jeremy said, meeting the handshake.
“I was just informing you that we will have a meeting in the cafeteria as soon as we are underway. The captain likes to gives us a briefing on each outing, ya’know.”
“Ah, well you can count me in.”
“Sounds good. Oh, and we apologize if this room is not to standards. It’s the best we got,” said Kellan, an unsure half smile crossing his face.
“No. This will be fine, thanks. I’ve been in much worse before.”
The long red and black hull of the freighter stood like a wall next to the dock. Its horn sounded again, reverberating through every body in the area. Along the side, in bold, white lettering read the words Seafarer II.
A towering crane rotated to and fro, hauling metal clad crates from the dock to its flat decks where a men in blue coveralls fastened it down with tree trunk size clamps and vices. Crates ranged in size from anywhere of that of a car, to those nearly three times that of a bus. Jeremy rested himself on the damp wood of a shack, taking note of the whole scene in his mind.
A choking fog of grey coiled around the harbor, and ships on the brink of sight would become fuzzy silhouettes on the horizon right before another wisp would shroud them from view. He closed his eyes, and inhaled, listening to the sounds of a busy workday beginning and the smell of fish and sulfur on the dawn air.
At the back of the freighter stood the cabin, painted white and dotted with circular windows and rectangular hatches. A front cabin peaked the nose of the ship, but was much smaller in size compared the main quarters. A shrill steam whistle sounded, and he checked his watch. Seven a.m., just on schedule.
He approached the single gang plank, and flashed an identity card at the watchman, who merely shrugged and let him pass, not thinking twice about who this man with blue jeans and a jacket was. Jeremy didn’t linger, but moved right along. His heavy boots fell hard on the metal plank that resulted in a thunder-like rattle with each step. He looked straight ahead, focused, keeping his duffel bag close to his side. All business.
Failure was not an option.
He looked left, the sheer scale of the ship finally dawning on him. Layering the steel flooring was a coating of raspy matting, much like sandpaper, but this in particular was worn from frequent use. Jeremy paced down the walkway, running his gloved hands along the hand rail of the safety fence. Workmen bustled in and out of the containers ahead.
He stopped short, taking a right through an unhatched passage way. Heavy doors lined the corridor, most appeared to be storage or maintenance rooms, but he followed the sign that pointed to the sleeping quarters. A powerful wind ripped through the interior corridors, and it reminded him of the time he was privileged to use a wind tunnel.
Jeremy opened the hatch door that read ‘9’ in red lettering. So it wasn’t a luxury cruise ship. He felt for a power switch, and flipped it. A narrow, steel frame bed sat in the corner against the wall with a single wall mounted lamp above the bed’s head rest.
He kicked his leather boots off on the small space of steel grating before stepping onto green carpet that covered the floor. This too was worn, but appeared to be as clean as he could hope for. A wooden desk was set at the bottom end of the bed, pushed into the opposite corner. Then a flat narrow dresser, a coat rack, ceiling fan, and other minor appliances were positioned around the room. A small bathroom broke off from the main quarters. In a relatively small space, not much larger than a closet, it housed a shower cubicle, toilet, and a sink. A knock sounded at the door.
“Mister Korb?”
Jeremy returned. “I am,” he said, replying to his alias.
“Please to meet you, Sir,” the young crewman said with a generous smile. “Names Kellan.”
“Likewise,” Jeremy said, meeting the handshake.
“I was just informing you that we will have a meeting in the cafeteria as soon as we are underway. The captain likes to gives us a briefing on each outing, ya’know.”
“Ah, well you can count me in.”
“Sounds good. Oh, and we apologize if this room is not to standards. It’s the best we got,” said Kellan, an unsure half smile crossing his face.
“No. This will be fine, thanks. I’ve been in much worse before.”
