James Axler – Watersleep

“Mebbe he is,” Ryan said.

Carter pressed on. “However, he hasn’t done a per­sonal appearance in a long time. Too busy, I guess. If there’s no boats on the horizon and a land wag pulls in like the pattern for the last few months, we can totally discount the Admiral’s presence. He’s not as inclined to show off anymore. He just wants his men to pick up his offerings and bring them back to the base.”

“Fifty-fifty odds,” J.B. mused.

Ryan grunted in reply. “Either way, we can take the bastard out. One method just takes a little longer, that’s all. Doesn’t matter much to me. I’ve got all the time in the world now.”

As the two old friends talked, Mildred glanced around, trying not to betray any sign of nervousness. While she had never been frightened of heights be­fore, the openness of the tower was beginning to get to her peace of mind. The sensations of falling were only increased tenfold when the wooden tower creaked and swayed in the stiff sea breeze that flowed in from the nearby ocean.

“Got a plan?” J.B. asked.

“Yeah,” Ryan responded tersely, but didn’t elab­orate.

J.B. wasn’t convinced, but the Armorer took the intonation of Ryan’s voice and the loss he’d endured into consideration. What kind of plan was needed, really, beyond the healing power of playing avenger? He thought about asking Ryan to elaborate on the plan, then thought the better of it. His friend would explain what scheme he had in mind when ready.

“So, we know where they’ll be coming from now,” Mildred said. “How about we discuss our next move down on the ground, where it’s safer?”

“Don’t you worry none, Dr. Wyeth,” Carter said. “This tower might seem shaky, but she’s here to stay. We check her out on a regular basis. Being so close to saltwater and all, we have to.”

“When do they come? How often?” J.B. asked.

Carter squinted his eyes as he scanned the sky. “Usually midmorning, before noon,” he said easily. “Comes once a month during winter months, but dur­ing summer and early fall, they show up once a week. Mebbe ten days. There’s no real accurate way to pre­dict it. Since heat tends to spoil meat faster, he’ll be sending men out or coming himself within a hand of days, I’d say. The good Admiral prefers his seafood fresh. Likes it raw, from what I hear.”

Mildred made a face of distaste. “Likes sushi, does he?”

Carter, not really comprehending the reference, smiled and said, “I’m sure he does, Doctor. He seems to enjoy everything else.”

“Can you keep a lookout up here during the day?” Ryan asked.

“Why?”

“I need to know exactly when this Poseidon is go­ing to arrive. Even a warning of a few minutes is better than nothing.”

“Shouldn’t be a problem. I’ll discuss it with Shauna.”

“Nothing to discuss,” Ryan told him bluntly. “Here’s the plan. If Poseidon floats in by sea, we go on board his ship and take him out, face-to-face, no mercy. If he sends a gathering party in by land, we take them out and ride back in style to his base, where again, we meet him face-to-face and chill him. Either way, we win. Simple as that.”

Ryan turned and started to climb back down the ladder to the ground. The others watched him go. Suddenly the air on high didn’t feel nearly as good.

OVERHEAD, THE NIGHT SKY was crystal clear, reveal­ing the facets of each and every star. Evidence of past storms and conflict had once again vanished in a space of days.

Ryan was sitting alone in a naturally created nook near the rocks and sand of the beach at the far edge of the primary encampment of the commune when Shauna approached him with a covered plate of hot food and a battered bottle of tea. His back was to her, so she tried stepping lightly to keep from startling him. No go. He heard her in time to whirl around with his blaster. He pointed the weapon directly on a sight between her eyes and wordlessly waggled the barrel of the SIG-Sauer.

“Hello to you, too, Cawdor.”