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The Fata Morgana by Leo A. Frankowski

“Shit. They say misery loves company, but I sure never meant that to happen. Not that I feel all that charitable after what they did to me at the bankruptcy court. I don’t know what I’ll do now. Probably spend a week getting properly drunk, and then go out and really tie one on. What about you? You got any plans?”

“Me? Why, I’m stickin wit you, boss. So are most o’ da udder guys an’ girls.”

“Adam, you are out of your frigging gourd. For one thing, I’m not your boss. I’m nobody’s boss, because I don’t have a company anymore. I made my last payroll, but that cleaned me out, so show some sense and go find a soft place to land. And tell any of the other people you see to do the same thing.”

“Nah, don’t talk like dat, boss. We still got fait in you. You always pulled it all togedder before. Anyway, it’s time we all took dat boat ride you promised us.”

“Boat ride? Adam, they took the boat along with everything else. Anyway, we never got it finished, and equipping it would have taken even more money than you’ve got squirreled away.”

“Boss, dey never took da boat. I took da boat. Well, me an some of da guys, an half of da Bay City Police Department. You know dat big travelin hoist we was buildin? Well, dat was for da guys at da marina. See, dey needed a new boat hoist, and dey didn’t have one big enough to handle Da Brick Royal anyway. We needed some sails, life preservers, safety equipment, some kitchen stuff, an, oh, a list about as long as your arm. So, as usual, we cut a deal.”

“I’d already ordered the sails, though I never had a chance to pick them up and pay for them.”

“I know. Which was anudder reason why dey was so eager to deal. Dose sails was all custom made, an dey woulda been stuck wit a very expensive white elephant witout you to take it off their hands.”

“So you’re saying you stole the boat? How, for God’s sake?”

“We had a brand new traveling hoist, didn’t we? An you was always good about donating to da Policeman’s Benevolent Fund, wasn’t you? So at two o’clock on a Tuesday morning, we just picked da ting up and drove down da streets to da marina, wit a nice police escort, even.”

“There has to be something illegal about this. The law says that a bankrupt’s property gets divided up between his creditors.”

“Nah. Dere is nutin nowheres written down dat says dat you own da boat, except for dis, of course.”

He handed me an envelope that contained a bill of sale and the registration for The Brick Royal.

“You see, dere was da Coast Guard certification, da registration, an all dat stuff, an you was udderwise occupied, so I just sort of put it all in my name. But once everyting settles down, you file dat registration, an she’s yours again.”

I fought to keep tears from rushing to my eyes.

“Adam, I don’t know what to say.”

“Den yous don’t have to say it. Come on. Drink up. Da guys an girls are down at da marina, puttin da finishin’ touches on da boat. It’ud be nice if you let dem all know dat you was still alive an all.”

Adam insisted on stopping at the doctor’s office on the way to the marina, and I got nine shots in my arms and butt to update the medical records on my passport.

Then he drove me to see Alan G. Greenberg, our lawyer, where there were two Power of Attorney forms ready for us to sign, one for me and one for Adam. They would let Greenberg do whatever he felt was best with any legal problems that might come up while we were gone. I signed mostly because it seemed to make both of them happy. Personally, I didn’t see where anything that might happen could possibly affect me anymore, except maybe for a bullet in the head, and I’d probably welcome that.

When we got to the marina, the “finishing touches” being handled was the unloading of a semi full of canned and dried food. Everything was being sorted out, logged, put into several layers of waterproof plastic garbage bags, and then carried into the spacious volumes below The Brick Royal’s lower deck.

“Dis one you really don’t want to know about,” Adam said, so I didn’t ask.

I was a little shell-shocked by then, anyway. I went into the boat and sat down in the big center cockpit, which was little more than an outdoor living room, what they’ve been calling a conversation pit, although you could control the boat manually from there. Normally, the boat was controlled from the much smaller aft cockpit.

I looked back at it and was surprised to see that it had an automotive style convertible top! And the windshield looked suspiciously like it had come from a big, new Chrysler. On inspection, so did the padded steering wheel, the leather bucket seat and the electric windows. Oh, the single seat was now in the center, as was the steering wheel. The dash- board was like something out of a Hollywood spaceship, with five display screens along the front. On both sides of the driver were banks of switches and lights, and in back, once you swiveled the seat around, there was a chart table in case you wanted to do things the old-fashioned way. Yet it was obvious that most of this had to have been ripped out of the company car Adam had reported stolen! Damn his ass!

“I didn’t steal nuttin. How could I? You can’t steal what you already got. Da car was mine. I asked for it and you gave it to me!”

“I leased it for you, and you reported it stolen!”

“Well, how you got it was up to you, none of my business, really. And I didn’t report it stolen. I just said dat it was in my driveway and da next morning it was gone. Nobody ever asked me if I was da one who drove it away.”

“Adam, you’re hopeless.”

“Yeah. Don’t you feel glad?”

“Shit. Are you sure that this top will stay in place during a gale?”

“Dat top didn’t give me no trouble when I drove da car at a hundred and fifty. You ever heard of a hundred-and-fifty-mile-an-hour hurricane?”

“I don’t think that it’s quite the same thing.”

“Have fait. You’ll be glad about da top when we’re cruisin under a tropical sun. Da air conditionin will be nice, too.”

“What tropical sun? We’re in Bay City, Michigan!”

“Right now, yeah, boss. But once we get our people shook down, we’re going to take tree years and sail her all da way around da world!”

“Ridiculous! I can’t take off for three years.”

“Oh, yeah? Why not? You got sometin else better to do?”

And you know? I really didn’t have an answer for that one.

SEVEN

Adam and the gang had the whole trip planned out, and I didn’t see any point in changing anything.

About a half dozen of them, including Adam, had studied seamanship very seriously, taking all the courses in it they could find, and sailing rented boats whenever they could find the time. A group of the girls had really gotten involved with the itinerary, and made sure that we could get to the right place at the right time to see everything that was worth seeing.

When everything and everybody was finally aboard, Adam came up, gave me a palm-forward British-style salute, and asked if I wanted to take her out now.

“Me? I don’t know anything about driving a boat!”

“Dere’s nuttin much to it. Come on. Everybody’s waitin.”

I was still in no mood to do anything in public, but sometimes you’ve got to keep the peasants happy. I went up on deck and shouted, “All right! You all know what to do!”

I gesticulated wildly, with my fist held high, but everybody just stood there. “It always worked when Errol Flynn yelled that,” I said to Adam. “They climbed up on deck, killed the Spaniards, and pulled all the right ropes to make the boat go. They even got the words to the song right.”

“You don’t got no tights on,” Adam said. “And you don’t got no mustache, either. Try sometin different.”

“Okay. All right, you swabs! Let’s shiver the scuppers and keelhaul the fo’c’s’le, and do all the rest of that nautical stuff that gets this boat moving!”

Those of the crew who had been working and studying for years in preparation for this event just stared at the sky and pretended not to know me.

“Or better still, do what Adam tells you to do, and wake me up when we get there.” I went below again.

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