I: CONTAGION
The container ship swayed on rough waters of the Gulf of Mexico, nearing what was left of Galveston. The deck was full of sea containers and crewmen in neon uniforms and face masks. Storm clouds raged above, rain came crashing down on the ship. The crewmen struggled to keep upright, holding onto any railing they could find.
The door to the bridge bursted open, crewmen turned their eyes upward and watched as Captain Nigel dragged a young employee by his collar, the boy scrambled at his hands, trying to claw away and wheezing as his body attempted to fight the virus killing his lungs. The hoarseness of his screams made it clear to anyone who could hear it what was about to happen.
Nigel walked the boy down from the top of the bridge, down the metal stairs and across the deck. He wrestled with him for a moment as he tried to escape, but Nigel still lifted the boy over the railing. He crashed into the waves, dying instantly, and Nigel buttoned up his overcoat and walked back up the scaffolding stairs, returning to the bridge. The crewmen resumed their work.
He closed the door behind him, took off his gloves and mask. Nigel collapsed into his chair and watched the rain patter against the windows. The small red lights of their ship flashed in patterns, casting the crates in cold red light. The sea was black and endless.
The Gulf could be seen on the horizon, the lights from the Galveston Plantation glowed amid the trees, below it the mass of tent cities and small establishments. Nigel glanced at his watch and one of his petty officers took a seat beside him, “You wanna smoke?”
Nigel turned to him with a serious face, then a grin that turned into a laugh, “What? You– Step outside if you want a smoke, I don’t want to smell that shit.”
The officer put his pack away, “Are you alright, did something happen? Did you know the kid?”
Nigel shook his head, “Nothing happened. I don’t know him,
Closer to shore a smaller vessel waited, a police boat of some kind. Nigel watched the ship through binoculars, it was approaching them. Mounted floodlights blasted their eyes and sirens blared. Nigel shielded his eyes and looked to his crew, “What do they want?”
“Pharmaguards…” his petty officer frowned, “They’ll want to board.”
Nigel kicked his feet up on the navigation station, “Alright, drop 'em a ladder…”
The petty officer relayed the order to the crew, and men got to work. Nigel took out a cigarette and closed his eyes. He listened to the rain and waves, he felt the boat sway as the container ship came parallel to the police boat. Nigel took deep breaths, then heard a knock at the door. His petty officer opened the door, and Nigel opened his eyes to see one man in a red peacoat and another in a blue peacoat, “Who is in charge of this vessel?”
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Nigel stood up, “Howdy, fellas. Is everything alright?”
“You’ve a lot of cargo,” the red one smiled, “We thought it’d be best if we had a look before you came to port. You don’t mind if we search some of these crates?”
“You take me for a smuggler?” Nigel scoffed.
The red one looked to his partner, “Y’all are in Pegasus waters, can we see some identification?”
Nigel took out his wallet and tossed it to them, “What? You suspect something?”
The red one walked around the bridge, the staff stood silently and kept their eyes forward. The blue one read his passport, “Bangladesh?”
“We moved there with the Peace Corps, I’ve worked out of there ever since, in Dhaka…”
The Pharmaguard smiled, “Policy still states that we need to have permission for a search. We can be in and out of here in five minutes.”
Nigel sighed, grabbed an umbrella, “I’ll give you the tour,” he said. He led them down the scaffolding stairs and guided them along the sea containers. The pharmaguards eyed the numbers painted on the corners of the containers, on their watches Nigel could see they were looking for something specific and knew where to find it.
His petty officer cleared his throat, barely audible amid the high winds and rain, “Is everything alright?”
They stopped, something was a match. The red one turned to Nigel, Do you have any keys for these crates?” he asked. Nigel’s face turned red, he shook his head and took a step back, “Oh, well nevermind the keys.”
The pharmaguard in blue took out a pair of bolt cutters and pressed them to the chains. The man strained to cut them without falling over on the ship. Nigel heard a sharp sound and the chain rattled to the floor. The pharmaguards worked together to open the crate, finding tons of unmarked wooden crates. The red one pulled one of the crates out and used a crowbar to open it. Packed inside the containers were packages of pills, piles of pills.
The pharmaguards turned to Nigel, “What do you know of this?”
Nigel shook his head, “What is the issue?”
“These are not ours…” the pharmaguard in blue shook a bottle of pills, “Why are these on your ship?”
“I contract with so many people, I don’t have a record of every order in my head.”
“Sure you do,” the one in red said, “But it would be faster to use a computer, I’m sending you the files which we are hoping to investigate, given these contraband items.”
“I don’t know how this got aboard…”
“You’ve no criminal record, Captain, we have no reason to suspect you of anything. If you comply with us, we can get out of your hair quicker.”
Nigel bit his tongue, cursing in his mind because he did know how those pills got aboard… He watched the pharmaguards order his crewmen around, they drove one of their magnetic crane trucks to the container, they put the counterfeit medicine back in the crate, and carried the crates overboard. The giant containers smashed into the waves below, and Nigel watched under his umbrella with a sullen face.
Twelve containers in total sank to the button of the ocean, and the pharmaguards were satisfied with their search. They wished Nigel a good night and climbed back down to their patrol boat.