This is episode thirteen in the sixth novel of The Trace Troy Adventure Series. It is titled The Double-Cross in Paradise. Here are the links to The Double-Cross InmParadise: paperback, Kindle.
We’re All Looking For Something
Eight hours later, Trace stepped from his cabin. He stretched and yawned.
He stuck his head into the galley.
“Hey, Boss,” Makani said, “you sleep good?”
“Yeah,” Trace said. “And I’m hungry as a bear.”
“You sit, I bring,” Makani said.
“Nah,” Trace said, “I’ll go up and relieve Sage. Bring me something up there.”
“Aye, aye, Boss,” Makani said.
Trace plodded up the companionway steps, still trying to shake away the sleep.
Sage sat behind the wheel. “Good morning sunshine!” Sage said, feigning cheerfulness.
“Ah, take a dip,” Trace half-grinned.
“Sleep good?” Sage asked.
“Too good,” Trace said. “I fell in my bunk and woke up eight hours later. It was like the snap of a finger.”
“You ready to take over?” Sage asked.
“Yeah,” Trace said, “but I’m going to walk out on deck and limber up, get some fresh air in my lungs.”
“Take as long as you like,” Sage said, “I’m pretty fresh. I stayed in the pilothouse, but Paul and Tom had two hours each at the wheel.”
“That’s good,” Trace said, stepping out the back door. He leaned back inside. “Makani is going to bring something for me to eat, and set it on the chart desk.”
Trace exercised on the foredeck for about fifteen minutes and returned to the pilothouse.
“Feel better?” Sage asked.
“Yeah,” Trace said, “well kinda.”
“Go below and get some more rest,” Sage said.
“I’ll feel the same,” Trace said. “Take off, I’ve got it from here on.”
Sage motioned toward the chart desk. “Sit and eat. Take over when you’re done eating.”
“You're a true Texan,” Trace said, and sat at the chart desk, and began eating. The meal was made up of hashed brown potatoes, sausage links, fried eggs, toast, and coffee.
“I got to hand it to Makani,” Trace said, food bulging his cheek. “He can fix anything. This tastes just like back home. You know the place, the diner just before you get to town.”
“Best breakfast in Texas,” Sage agreed. “They make everything right.”
Trace shoveled another bite of food into his mouth. “Makani told me our passengers have complained about the food.”
“That’s because they don’t know what real food tastes like,” Sage said. “I bet they was raised on McDonald’s, dinners out of a can, and frozen meals.”
“They are a bit pampered,” Trace said. “I’ve had my share of those things, but anybody can toss something into a microwave.” Trace pointed his fork at the food on his plate. “There’s love in this food. Some machine a thousand miles away didn’t cook it, and portion-controlled it into a cardboard tray, froze it, and shipped it. I know everything on the plate came from maybe a thousand or more miles away, but that guy below cooked it to perfection. He doesn’t have to. He’s got enough money to buy his own place and have other people do it for him.”
“Yep,” Sage said, “and we could be in that diner outside of town eating breakfast. So, why are we here?”
“Because we can be,” Trace said. “And it makes me wonder, how different are we than those spoiled brats below? Maybe we’re all looking for the same thing.”
“What is that?” Sage asked.
“You ever go into a room looking for something?” Trace said. “But you got a lot of things on your mind. You’re not trying to think of two things at one time; you’re not trying to solve two problems at one time. You’re in the room. You look around. And don’t know what you’re looking for. Well, it’s no wonder. You got a lot going on upstairs.” He tapped his temple. “We came here to clear our minds.”
“But have we?” Sage said. “What do you think?”
“Yes,” Trace said. “On the surface, I’ve had one thing after another happen to me, to you, the crew, this boat; but we have a lot of downtime, time to think. We get behind this wheel and let the wind do the rest. There’s hours of nothingness. But they’re not really nothingness. We think, figure, and plan. Most importantly, we look inside. And try to figure out who we are, and where we are going. We want to move with purpose, and in order to move with purpose, we have to discover what our purpose is.”
“You know me,” Sage said. “And when you wrote me about this life, and a chance to be with you on The Tramp Islander, you were telling me something. You were inviting me on a journey. You were my scout. You went out, and found it, and invited me along. At first, I thought this was your journey, and you needed a first mate whom you knew and trusted. But it was more, at least to me. Sometimes I stand on the pulpit and let the sea air cleanse me. There’s nothing better. Do you really think those idiots below are like us in this way? “Do you think those idiots below are thinking about those things?”
Trace grinned with a stash of food bulging his cheek. “No, not really. It’s just something to say they’ve done it. Last night, they were crapping their drawers and praying to be anywhere but here.”
“Heard that you was about to toss one of ‘em in his cabin, and lock it,” Sage said. “And Tom was not so nice either; he was about to toss the same guy in the hold and lock it. Well, anyway, they’re nothing like us. That’s it, I’m tired of unburdening my soul.”
“Have you figured out how far to Vanuatu?” Trace asked.
“Ten hours,” Sage said, rubbing the back of his head.
“That will put us in port in the middle of the night.”
“Do we kick ‘em off the boat then?”
“I’ll tell ya what,” Trace said, “if we get any more crap from them, I'll wake them in the middle of the night and toss them and their baggage on the dock. We only agreed to sail them to Port Vila. There’s nothing said about giving them quarters while we’re there.”
Trace scraped the last bit of food from his plate together with his fork and a piece of toast. He shoved it in his mouth. “I hope it doesn’t come to that—and on second thought, why not?”
“You know how you can tell when your food is good?” Sage said.
“I suppose there’s all kinds of ways,” Trace said. “What do you have in mind?”
“When a guy shoves the food into the side of his mouth to talk, it means the food tastes too good to swallow for only a salient comment.”
Sage stood. “The helm is all yours.”
Trace sipped the last from his coffee and placed the cup on the tray with the empty plate. His mouth pressed a tight smile. “Take this and shove it—some place.”
Sage grabbed the tray. “I’m getting some sleep. But before I do, I’m going to see if I can provoke Patterson to the point that we toss him on the dock in the middle of the night.”
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