Free Seize the Storm by Michael Cadnum

handle in a detective show morgue. She shut the door hard.
    For a long time they did not talk, their work a secret language between them. He knelt to pick up a bag of pearl rice, eye to eye with her as she wiped thawed beef juice off the galley floor with a Teflon-coated sponge. He helped, with one of those blue heavy textured rags that are famous for soaking up liquid, cubic liters of liquid, a world of fluid soaking into the cloth, even some of the rain and seawater from outside.
    She put a hand out for Martin. Her fingers were clammy from picking up so many pieces of frozen food.
    â€œWe’re going to have to run the ship,” she said. “Probably until we get to Honolulu. Mom’s not as tough as she looks.”

M ARTIN WAS ON DECK WHEN , with a suddenness that shocked him, the storm was nearly over.
    He felt relieved and renewed. But in another part of his mind he felt dazed, the way he had not felt during the actual fury of the weather. He had been more afraid than he had let himself realize.
    Sunlight broke through the clouds, and even though the seas continued to claw upward, pocked with angry foam, the wind was losing its power. Lightning flared, far off, and thunder crumpled, but the disturbance was moving on.
    A greenish, beautiful light came off the ocean, day reflecting from the surface of the foam-laced water. The deck was radiant with afternoon, and the rigging sparkled with drops of water. The sea grew much calmer, and Martin thought he could see a pair of wings, a frigate bird, gliding along over the peaks of the whitecaps.
    Martin took off his life jacket and suspended the garment on the hook reserved for it near the helm. There was a rule about life jackets—you had to wear them on deck at all times—but the rule was often ignored. There was a freedom about this new calm.
    â€œThe old man is resting, I take it,” said Axel.
    Old man. Martin had never heard this phrase from Axel before. Was Axel being affectionate and respectful, Martin wondered, or was he being quietly mocking?
    â€œMy uncle’s a tough guy,” said Martin.
    Axel was the sort of person to sense a power vacuum on board and move in. This did not offend Martin, but he saw the possible danger of an unbridled Axel.
    Claudette and Susannah came out on deck.
    Claudette said, “He’s asleep.”
    â€œWe’ll be good,” said Axel, one hand on the helm, like this was at last his own personal moment.
    â€œI know we will, Axel,” said Claudette. “We’ll be fine.” She said this with an air of challenge, keeping Axel in his place.
    â€œI mean that I have a lot of experience,” said Axel.
    â€œAnd I am sure that all your experience will prove very helpful, Axel.”
    To Martin her response sounded like a riposte, her words meaning just the opposite of what she said. Axel understood this. He gave a nod and a little shrug, his feelings hurt, but maybe not sure why.
    She continued, “And I know you’ll prove to be a model crewman—in every way.”
    Axel considered this. He cut his eyes over at Susannah and back at Claudette.
    â€œOf course, Mrs. Burgess,” said Axel.
    Susannah stayed apart from the rest. Martin’s glance kept going back to her figure as she stood gazing out across the water, and he wondered what she was doing, what temper she had fallen into.
    *   *   *
    Susannah was listening.
    But she was not listening to the conversation.
    She heard a sound, but she was not able to determine what it was.
    One of many difficulties inherent in being on a yacht, in Susannah’s experience, was that if you lifted a hand to hang on to the stays, as the ropes supporting the masts were called, the mast swayed and the ship shifted, so you felt everything was connected to everything else.
    But as she leaned out over the side of the vessel, hanging on with one hand, she had to ask herself what she was doing. Why was she clinging with