Free Offshore by Lucy Pepperdine Page B

oceans would attract no undue attention. There
were no markings on the sheet to identify its source.
    Satisfied his activities had gone unnoticed, he closed the
hatch. One of Lonny’s thoughts pushed itself forward. The group had
agreed on pancakes for breakfast, with maple syrup.
    Although
his stomach still carried some of the savoury meal from the
previous evening, he rather fancied something sweet and was sure he
could fit some in. A couple more chores and he would be done -
dismantle the nest, clear up the latrine, generally tidy
up.
     
     
    After a
final look around and satisfied he left no obvious clues to his six
week incarceration, Euterich stuffed Lonny’s small tin box into his
pocket, turned off the fan and the lights, and pushed the workshop
door closed behind him.
    A little
heaving, straining and shoving, had the crates of engine parts back
in place. Well placed illuminated signs and the smell of salt air
led him to the door to the main deck, and outside. Fresh air and a
turn around the deck before breakfast would do his appetite a power
of good.
    The wind
dropped to something less than gale force and the rain had eased
from the horizontal as he stretched his new limbs and filled his
new lungs, scouring Lonny’s memories for information.
    He let
them guide him through the maze of corridors, up the steps, and
into the warm and comfortable habitat, to the company of other
living beings and their food.
     
     
    When
Lonny Dick entered the mess hall only two faces looked
up.
    Both
registered complete indifference at his presence. The others didn’t
bother to look at all, preferring to concentrate on their
breakfast.
    Had anyone even noticed the real Lonny had been absent
since seven o’clock the previous evening? Did anyone care? The
answer to both questions was, apparently, no .
    A quick
look round to get his bearings and he took a plate and fork from
the servery, then filled the empty seat at the table next to Shaw.
He stabbed at the pancakes heaped on a plate in the middle of the
table and transferred three onto his own.
    “ Is that all you’re having?” Shaw said with his mouth full,
pointing with his fork. Euterich searched his new-found data to
identify the speaker - Matthew Shaw, aka Dipstick, Capstan’s
lackey.
    Be careful what you say in his presence because he’ll
report back. Act dumb. Stick to short blunt answers, preferably
edging on the aggressive, he’ll expect nothing more. Keep
conversation to a minimum .
    “ Yeah,” he said dully. “What of it?”
    Shaw
shrugged. “Nutt’n. Just thought a bloke your size would pack ‘em
away like nobody’s business.”
    “ Just ‘cos I’m big don’t mean I’m greedy, so mind yer own
beeswax.”
    Shaw
returned to his own plate. “Pardon me for breathing.”
    Euterich
smothered the pancakes with maple syrup, and as Lonny would have
done held his fork in his fist like a brickie wielding a trowel -
so terribly crude. Also, as he imagined Lonny would do, he ripped
into the pancakes, stuffing them into his mouth so tightly he could
hardly move his jaw to chew.
    They
tasted like heaven, the intense rich sugary sweetness of the maple
syrup stroking his taste-buds like angels wings. Truly
divine.
    He
helped himself to two more pancakes. If they made him sick, he
didn’t care. It would just make room for more. He alternated
mouthfuls of sticky breakfast with slurps of hot milky coffee and
listened in to the conversations around him; raw, male chatter,
dominated by cars, football and sex, until his ears picked up
another tone from behind him, softer, gentler … unmistakably
female.
    Why had
he not noticed her when he came in? Why did he not pick up on her
scent straight away?
    Maybe
his naturally heightened senses had been dulled to the level of the
human he inhabited. Or maybe the overpowering aroma of the sweet
food and coffee had blocked it.
    Disguising a deep inhalation as a runny nosed sniff, he
quickly filtered out and dismissed the rich sweet