Operation: Mutant of the Seas - Log 7

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Kevin and Domino dig up a little information regarding security from a 'motivated' crew man



Barry didn't like to drink at noon. That was what his old man used to do; get drunk by mid-afternoon and pass out until it was late enough to stagger back out to the bar. He had been an alcoholic. Today, Barry wished it had been that addiction he'd picked up from the old man, instead of gambling. He'd been so close. Eight grand in the pot, just enough to pay off his current ticket at the club. He could feel it, that tingling sense in the tips of his fingers, along his spine and deep in his stomach. He'd gotten his ace on the turn and pushed all in with two pair.

Until some teenage tourist without a clue called him with a pair of twos, only to get a third on the river. Unbelievable luck for her and disaster for him. Twelve large in the hole and Diaz very pointedly saying that he expected the money before the ship sailed. Or else. Else in this case meant being put in traction and an exciting future of learning about life without kneecaps.

"Hey there buddy." It was her again - the obnoxious teenager from the night before, just grinning up at him like it wasn't entirely her fault that he was contemplating a future confined to a secondhand wheelchair. "Bad night?"

The urge to grab her and shake her until the smug little smirk slid right off her face was strong, but somehow he resisted. Although if he was arrested for assault it might put Diaz off for a few days... "Get lost," he grunted; with his luck security would turn a blind eye to his attempts to get into some sort of safe custody.

"Aw, really? Because I was going to offer to buy you a drink... I had a really good night at the tables last night, see, and I just don't know what to do with all this money."

"You little b-" Barry turned angrily towards her as a hand landed on his shoulder and shoved him back towards the bar.

"Sit down, Lasker. Bartender. Another round here." A man slipped into the seat beside him; big guy, broken nose that had been badly set, lots of scars on his hands. He'd seen the type before, usually working for Diaz.

"See? Totally good intentions." Dom hopped up on a stool, swinging her feet back and forth insouciantly. "Y'know, I've seen guys like you before. They sit there looking over their shoulders like something's about to pop out of the shadows and get them. And y'know what? Sometimes they do disappear, and never come back. It totally sucks."

All Barry could do was stare at her. Literally, since the guy next to him looked like he'd be happy to do Diaz's work on him for free. Shit. What if this was some sort of set-up? His eyes darted to one side, contemplating the exit.

"Hold on!" Fuck, the girl had caught him looking. She tsked, shaking her head slowly. "C'mon, I said you could trust me, didn't I? We wanna help you out of this little pickle you're in, got it? So why don't you just calm down and have that drink and we can talk about it like adults."

"Large adults." Kevin said quietly, so only he could hear. He picked up one of the shots of tequila and drained it slowly. "As far as I can tell, with today's vig, you're exactly twelve thousand, four hundred and fifty-five in the hole to Diaz. For that kind of money, he's going to take your car as three grand, although he'll get six for it, and likely take some time breaking your hand. It will be enough to keep you from sailing as doctors do their best to reconstruct all those tiny little bones after he takes a ball-peen hammer to them. Within a month, which is your next deadline, that three grand will be back on the bill as the vig. You see the problem here..."

Yeah, Barry saw the problem. He'd been seeing the problem for the past eighteen hours and Ugly here describing it to him wasn't making it sound any nicer. He was about to make a quip saying as much when he caught a flash of green out of the corner of his eye. He winced, but the girl just set a stack of bills next to his shot glass. A big stack.

"And now you see the solution. Or at least part of it," she chirped. "See, I get the feeling you're a guy who likes sailing. So do I. So if you just tell us what we want to know you get the money to give to Diaz, and then you're free to keep sailing. Capisce?"

"Yeah? What is it you want to know?" He said defensively. There had to be a catch. A big one. His luck wasn't good enough for charity.

"Your employer's security system. We know that your cruise advertises an advanced proximity sensor and full mutant detection systems. Even the US military doesn't have those. What do you know about them?"

As catches went, this was a pretty major one. But the cash was right there, and God knew he needed it. He made a petty attempt at dissembling but after downing his tequila the words seemed to come pouring out.

"The sensor's foolproof - anything that comes within a ten-foot radius of the ship's hull sets it off. It gets tested before we leave port on every cruise and it's never been wrong."

"...okay but what type is it?" the girl pressed. "IR, photoelectric, radar, ultrasonic, what?"

"I don't know, okay?" Barry admitted, his cheeks burning. Somehow this was more embarrassing than selling out the company to save his sorry ass. "I haven't seen it or even the control room it feeds to. I just know it works."

"What about the mutant detection system? Haven't heard of anyone having a fool proof one yet?" Kevin said, pushing the man hard.

"That's... it's bullshit." Barry said with a sigh. "All of the rich fucks are paranoid about mutants. What happens if one blows up while we're at sea. So they tell them that there's a mutant detector. It's really just a bio-metric scanner that is coded to each person's access card. You get checked in when you board and then every time you come and go, they confirm who you are."

"Hah. Don't worry," the girl said when Barry looked slightly apprehensive, "I'm all about lying to rich idiots. We're not going to spoil your fun or rat you out to the Rockefellers."

He just grunted and reached for the untouched shot - the girl didn't stop him, thankfully. It lubricated the last of his confession. "We've got a no-entry blacklist of some profiles; my boss says they're criminal records from the ports we hit, but I dunno..."

"Something doesn't fit?"

"About eight years ago, I did a season on an East African cruise. It used to stop at Genosha. There's... kind of a pattern to their names. A little like white South Africans." He sighed. "Most of the names looked like that. Genoshan. I wouldn't have paid attention, but some of the senior officers have Genoshan accents."

"Huh." Kevin filed away the information. "Let me make a suggestion, Barry. Pay off your debt and resign. Hook up with another ship."

"No fucking kidding," he responded, scooping up the wads of cash as fast as the girl could put them down. A minute later he was making a quick (if inebriated) exit out of the bar and Dom was turning to make a face at Kevin. "See how desperate he was? I told you he would've done it for less. You should've let me keep a couple grand back."

"They still would have broken a couple of fingers if he was a dollar short. Besides, never know when Barry might come in handy." Kevin waved for another round. "I also know that you took at least three other people at that card game that totaled a healthy amount over what we just gave him."

"Oh yeah," she grinned. "I guess drinks are on me."