Makarovia! Yes, I Know Where That is! Sophomore Year - 68. Last Stop

Last Stop

Henri deserved more credit than we could give him. He really touched and you saw it in his face. We did appreciate all of the crew, Captain Agius, Earl, Gretchen, and Anita. Gretchen was good and did a hell of a job. Gretchen called her Nita. Nita was shyer than Gretchen. It was an interesting pattern I saw. All of the crew excelled at being invisible. The Captain rarely left the bridge except for meals with the crew in the Mess (the crew dining area?).

The Count and Countess von Barr had a preference for that quality. The Duchess was built for that need the need for that many in the crew. When the Duchess had more passengers there were more support crew members. The more the Duchess worked, things needed maintenance and more crew was added for that purpose.

What I began to say was Henri was the one we dealt with every day and on a personal level. I was again reminded of what Grandpa said. You needed to get to know and befriend a few people or groups; those in charge of your paychecks, your medical care and those that feed you. He did more than provide meals. He was funny and smart as well as a great chef. He was a genuinely nice person.

Henri nodded and wiped his face with the rag in his hand. “Thank you.”

Boris cleared his throat. “I think I know what's coming next." Everyone looked at Boris. "As a reward, you will offer something well-intended. I will agree, but; he's like me.”

Peter grinned and nodded. “We've seen him work. He never looks for a thing. He knows where everything is.”

“Fine,” I agreed. “He can direct and know where things will be, but we will help clean up. We know there is a lot to clean.”

“Just the dishes are a lot!” Peter said. “We can help clear them.”

We did. There was a problem though. As big as the ship was, the galley was too small for everyone. Captain Agius went back to the bridge to prepare for returning to Athens.

Peter and I helped as well. I say, thank God for dishwashers. Henri's The Duchess had a nice one.

Henri was the sort of chef that kept up with what he'd used. The pots, pans, and utensils were clean. I remembered another distant thunderstorm from Boris when someone used a scouring pad on his perfect pots and pans. He said he never "scrubbed." Absolutely nothing abrasive was used. I could only imagine Henri's reaction. Boris' knives were also a passion, so don't let me get started with that.

Nothing was burned with Henri. Ever. I saw Boris throw a pan away when something did. He claimed it was ruined as what was burnt on could and would never be cleaned. He had different cleaners for grease as opposed to baked-on cleaning.

I didn't see the big deal, but Boris did. His and Henri's cooking was second to none. They drew people with it. So, I say that made a difference with what they made.

I got an idea. First, I told the idea to Peter who nodded instantly agreed.

“Henri,” I began. “You don't cook just on the Duchess, do you?”

Henri shook his head. “No, I'm by contract here. I have restaurants. Paris is my main one and I have a smaller one Cannes.”

Of course, he did. “Is that all?” I somewhat joked.

Henri wasn't bothered. “How many do I need?”

I shrugged. “There are celebrity chefs that can't seem to get enough.”

Henri nodded a shrug. “If I do, that restaurant has my name on it.” He sighed. “That means every chef I hire there must do it my way to say it's mine. I spend several weeks at them.” He grimaced. “All that business work takes me away from cooking!” He shook his head. “I won't do that.” Then he said helplessly, “I can't!”

Peter nodded. “You have time now to do that, right?”

Henri could see what we might be leading toward. “I do,” he grinned.

“We mean what we said," Peter assured. “You can come anytime for as long as you want in Boston or Makarovia...”

"Oh, just say it, Peter," I grumbled. "There is so much to love about you. You’ve got a great personality and a wonderful sense of humor. We love you! We would love to have you there and we will love to have you cook again to enjoy.”

Peter nodded. “Makarovia would be a challenge as access to what you're used to, but Boston should be no problem.”

I shoved Peter lightly. “There you go again with what we don't have.”

Peter shoved me lightly back. “He can't say he's unprepared if do.”

My eyes rolled at that. “Things are improving. In the future, if you decide to; you could open a restaurant in Makarovia. I can promise a near virgin clientele..."

“And Boris and Yuri will go on a vacation again,” Peter added, “and we know Boris won't object to you being there...”

"Not a bit," I said.

Henri chuckled. “And when will that be?”

“Who cares?” Peter asked. “If you have time; come!”

I looked at Peter. "Of course, if Boris knows Henri's coming he won't go anywhere," I said reluctantly.

Peter was getting good at making poker faces. He really looked like he realized the error in what he said. “True. If he had gone somewhere, I know he'd come back.”

Henri was laughing. “Oui, oui. Je le promets!” He swore. “I promise.”

He did have a certain place to put things for quick access when desired.

It was early morning when we heard and felt the Duchess begin to move. There was no lurch to a speed. I knew there were ways they compensated for it, but I really didn't want a headache. Physics? That would bring on a migraine! I've seen the equation. “kg”m2” kilogram mass times two, rotational acceleration. Radians/sec2. Feeling any pain yet? I am and I know I remembered the formula wrong. I can add, subtract, multiply, and divide. I’m good.

Loretta. She was a girl in school that seemed to have her life totally emerged by math. She had tried to explain what she understood easily. If anything, she was the exact opposite of me. She, for example, found emotions difficult to understand. Her chosen degree was Biomathmatical Engineering! I knew what it was, but had it a career. There had to be. When samples are taken of blood, biofluids or tissue the computer gives numerical properties that are displayed by a computer that lets those in science to read and understand what it means. She wanted to be the one to get the computer to do that. I just wished her the best and let it go feeling the pain begin.

We would stay close to the northern coast of Sicily and continue near the southern coast of the Italian boot and head east. There would be a lot of traffic there even at night. The Beauty/Beast pirate would have to seriously consider the situation as we traveled this way.

Yuri had this...thing. He called it a filament. He could shut the whole integrated system down, but that, he said caused more problems because; there is a ship you can plainly see, but don’t show on the computer? Someone's trying to hide something. A ship you can see on the computer and see is having difficulty.

With luck, we will simply be one of a few and ignored.

The filament worked like a light bulb filament that burns between two electrical sources. With what he was using, it lit between a sent computer source and the authorities’ computer. Giving unclear information is darned clever.

With time he could have a computer output that did what he could do. Give whatever ship configuration he chose. Having the Titanic would cause different problems and could not fit in the Corinth Canal. Yuri preferred faulty information was sent.

The crew of the Duchess would be welcomed by us. Don't doubt that. Luke would stay, but we knew he had to return to the sea. He was the first “old salt” I'd ever met. That wasn't completely accurate. He spent half his life on the water, but he wasn't "old." Mature? Yes, but not old. The ladies would visit and so would Earl. We gave Henri an excuse to come and stay. We hoped. We didn't want to piss off Step-Aunt Maria by stealing her chef. But he wasn't her chef, was he? He said he was under contract for the Duchess. He mentioned his restaurants, but nothing about her estate. He said he cooked for them...here. Was he an accessory when they got the yacht or something? You know by now I had to ask. I did later.

Peter and I didn't sleep in. We didn't get out of bed (nudge, nudge, wink, wink). Eventually, the desire for coffee won out.

Peter and I showered and as we were dressing Peter contemplated. “Is there a term for not really being hungry, but want to eat something?”

Chuckling, I nodded. “Sure. Lazy and getting fat." But I thought of one. "My friend next door, his mother had one. Peckish. When she wanted to eat but wasn't really hungry. She felt peckish.”

Peter nodded. “That doesn't sound Southern.”

I grinned, nodding. “Oh, you want one of those.” It only took a few seconds. I shrugged. “You quote one or make one up. I'd get the nibbles and hankerin' for something.”

Peter's mind worked over the words. "Nibble is small bites," he began working it out. "And hankerin' is a desire?” He asked hopefully.

"Yes," I answered. "Hankerin' is a bit more specific. A flavor remembered and you want again.”

Peter nodded understanding. “I get it!”

I kissed him. “I never doubted you. I'll make a Southerner out of you yet!”

We had passed through the narrow passage between Sicily and the boot toe of Italy and headed for the heel.

Walking into the galley I was surprised to not see Henri, but Boris. Alone! It just seemed so odd to me.

“Boris!” Peter blurted.

Boris grinned. "Yes." He looked at us. "I insisted Henri take the morning off." His head lowered and gave us a challenging look. "I fed you for a while. You don't doubt I can now, do you?"

“No...” I said.

“That...” he said in frustration, “lovely woman...” he said so that wasn't the word he wanted to use, “only let me cook twice. She refused to even let me help!”

I nodded smiling. “She knew you were to relax.”

Boris held his arms out exasperated. “I was relaxing. I'm damned relaxed now! Don't tell me I shouldn't do this!”

I chuckled. “Of course, we won't.”

Peter nodded. "Just remember where you got everything."

Boris nodded. “Absolutely!”

We got our coffees and were promised lunch in an hour. The Consortium was a constant threat. Other religious groups were just as much a threat out there, too. Why!? You don't agree with us? We didn't agree with them! And? We portrayed a happy result in being wrong or immoral!? That's too bad. Life doesn't always go the way we want. Get over it.

The Consortium didn't give a damn about any of that. All they wanted was the money.

I know, I often relate to movies and shows, but I'd seen it before. Many of the early 007 movies! Spectre? But even with that comparison, there were huge differences. Money. Spectre committed crime after crime to get money to finance them taking control. The Consortium committed crimes to get money. That's it. They should stick to one name. The Greedy.

I know. I did it again. It's not like I heard voices causing me to stand on a streetcorner, put a sandwich board on saying "The End Is Near" while ringing a bell.

We got our coffees and went to see others that had gotten up. The Duchess' crew had duties to perform. I really have to stop how I think about things like the crew having to do things...like they were doing their jobs! It was why they were hired and I hoped paid well to do it.

It was interesting to see even with the advanced surveillance capabilities of the Duchess, people still tried to look out as if their eyes could work better. The brain was needed to interoperate what was seen. Mikell was on the deck looking out away from Italy with a pair of binoculars. No fishing boat or even a rowboat was getting past him.

"What are you doing?" Peter asked as he looked at me. He wasn't concerned about it too much.

I chuckled putting an arm around his waist. "You can't tell?"

Peter shook his head. "Not really." He pointed at my face. "There is a little worry, but also satisfaction."

Stopping us, I looked directly at Peter. "Wow. You're getting right word, "concerned about this situation, but liking what I see." I saw the confusion on his face. "I'm concerned we could get in trouble. There are innocent people here." I waved at Mikell. "He and our other agents signed up for this." I waved toward the upper levels. "Luke didn't. Neither has Earl, Gretchen or Nita. I am concerned about their safety."

Peter smiled. "You left out Henri."

I shook my head with a chuckle. "I'd never forget about Henri. I can't." I tapped lightly on Peter's chest. "In fact," I stated, "I believe he's the most important person on the Duchess right now. He does a whole lot more than cook."

Peter's left eyebrow rose a little. "Oh? Why is that?"

"He's not commissioned, but he's the morale officer," I said. "With his wonderful meals and a great sense of humor he eases the minds of those he serves."

Peter agreed with a nod. "Yes, he does."

"I don't want any of them hurt," I said seriously. "Not because of us, be it because of money or morality. Religion, greed or stupidity is no excuse. That's the concerned part. The satisfaction is about how people on the Duchess have rallied around each other and congealed as a team. Our agents are working together are feeling comfortable with each other and even with the crew of the Duchess."

Peter smiled. "It will make leaving much harder."

"It will," I smiled. "We've made some good friends. The hurt I've begun to feel, I welcome." I shrugged. "Those feelings prove they are. I said the first day this was dangerous."

We had been trained to be on time for meals on the Duchess. We were on time.

Boris was happy to be cooking. We had the croissants with the butter and jellies. Boris served us...hash? He made is Makarovian has many times, but this was...I could see something I never did in his hash. You can mash it up and cut it up, but shrimp is shrimp.

"I know you've had seafood every day," Boris smiled. "This a breakfast hash only because I'm giving it to you for the day's first meal. It has shrimp and crab." He said happily. "I hope you like it."

I can make a few things pretty well. Somehow Henri and Boris added...something that spoke of them. Boris was a good chef and so was Henri, but they could make the same dish and have each one say Boris versus Henri. Two different artists with two different interpretations of the same thing. It was delicious!

"This is," I said, "sooo good."

"Now he's in trouble," Peter said sadly. "We'll be asking for this again."

The galley door opened and Boris didn't come out but said. "I heard that."

I found Yuri in the library working on a desktop. Alec was watching him as Yuri explained what he was doing.

"...see where we are," Yuri said. "They won't see who we are."

Alec nodded. "I see, but won't they come to investigate the faulty information?"

Yuri gave a slow nod grudgingly. "If they are an authority, maybe. Other ships have deadlines and perishable cargos. Passengers who need to be somewhere. They might report the faulty information, but shouldn't stop to find out why."

Alec nodded. "This is fascinating. I took BASIC in school."

"That's a great language to program with and only the beginning," Yuri instructed. "There is also C and C++..." he shuddered when he remembered something unpleasant. "FORTRAN, COBOL, Pascal..." Yuri saw us and smiled. "Good to see you survived!"

Peter nodded. "We slept like..."

"A pig in the mud," I said in English with that hillbilly accent. It is different than a Southern accent. There were sharper vowels. It was still Southern, but different. "We were happy as a possum eating a sweet potato?"

Peter chuckled, but Yuri and Alec looked baffled.

Peter put his arm around my shoulder pulling me close. He's teaching to be a Southerner."

"Guys!!" We heard Mercea shout and run around looking for us. He stopped seeing us. "You have got to see this!" Without giving us anything about what we had to see, he dashed back to see it again himself.

We sensed the urgency and raced after Mercea.

I also knew the Duchess was no longer moving forward much. My imagination thought of many possibilities and most were not good. Mercea went up, but not to the bridge. Luke was talking to someone who apparently was on another ship. The new ship was bigger and being raised on the coast and seen many. I knew it was a Navy Destroyer. The green, white and red colors told everyone they were the Italian Navy.

"Boris is still writing his program," Peter pointed out. "There shouldn't be an investigation yet."

Luke was having a friendly conversation. In Maltese? He was speaking Maltese to someone on an Italian Navy Destroyer. "...huwa apprezzat. Se nkunu tajjeb sakemm ninsabu fl-ibħra Griegi." He was nodding at what he heard. "Sewwa!"

I had to learn more languages. I was jealous!

Luke clicked his phone off and turned. "That was Stefeno. He's the First Officer on the Durand de la Penne." He pointed at the naval vessel. He shrugged. "I didn't know if they could, but," he chuckled, "he could it seems. They are escorting us until we get to the territorial waters of Greece near Corfu."

We were still in Italy, so I asked. "In exchange for what?"

Luke chuckled. "Nothing really. I mentioned he could win favor with the kingdom of Makarovia." He pointed a finger of caution. "I said favor, not uranium. I was in school with Stef. He was a grade behind me. His mother is Maltese, but his father was Italian."

I nodded. "I don't know anyone that's from one place." I grinned. "I'm a prime example."

"We'll be off again," Luke said. "I hope they can keep up." He laughed and went into the bridge.