2020-07-18 Warning Shots 1/2

I had expected pirates, but not so soon.

O'Toole's corollary of Finagle's law: The perversity of the Universe tends towards a maximum.

I stood up, flexed the stiffness out of my knees, and wiped my forehead. The torpid Indian Ocean reflected the sun like a burnished steel mirror. The heat was brutal, and the smothering humidity made it difficult for me to think. The thrum of my ship's massive diesel engine vibrated through the deck plates, and the splash of our wake hissed a counterpoint. My bucket hat kept the sun off my ears and the back of my neck, but my boiler suit, so useful for belowdecks work, was stifling in the direct sunlight topside.

I had been checking on my robots as they bonded layers of photovoltaics and a transparent aluminum top surface to the tanker's deck. Every square meter they completed added the better part of a kilowatt to the ship's generating capacity and got us that much closer to freedom from fossil fuels. Looking across the deck, I nodded in satisfaction at the robots' progress. After the shakedown tests of the first few weeks, my supervision was largely unnecessary, but better to pay attention now than to have to strip the deck later.

I jumped when the PA speakers blared, "DOCTOR GOODWIN TO THE BRIDGE! DOCTOR GOODWIN TO THE BRIDGE!"

What now, I thought. I pocketed my instruments and trotted aft.

I had expected pirates, but not so soon. There they were: a half-dozen skiffs and a larger mothership coming up from astern with no flags flying. There was no legitimate reason for them to be approaching us. We were well out of the busiest trade routes, there were no major ports nearby, and we had not signaled for help or for resupply. The clench in my gut underscored the logical argument that their intentions were not good.